Special Agent Kate Weiss is hiding from a kidnapping she doesn’t remember.
Jack Tucker’s life as a morning radio host is uncomplicated, attachment free, and without regret.
Brought together by a mutual friend, the pair are at odds from the moment they meet. She finds his confident swagger arrogant and beyond reproach, while he in turn sees her as a self-righteous controlling dictator.
As Kate struggles with her confidence, Jack begins to realize his life without strings is missing something, or someone. Adversity quickly becomes attraction. Jack and Kate find themselves flirting with the flames of unexpected desire.
As emotions rise, scars are revealed and secrets are uncovered. Will the reality of their very different worlds bring them together or rip them apart?
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Shockwave
Copyright © 2011 Amy J. Romine
ISBN: 978-1-55487-841-3
Cover art by Angela Waters
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by eXtasy Books
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Smashwords Edition
Shockwave
Tarot: Temperance
By
Amy J. Romine
Dedication
To my husband and children for their unending support, and my best friend Brenda who believes in me even when I don’t. A special thanks to the inspiration for this book Tony Zazza and Victoria Snee from “the Morning MIX 102.9”.
Chapter One
She popped the trunk, lifted the carpet, and yanked on the trap door. She pulled, revealing a long flat plastic suitcase. Her five foot six inch muscular frame lifted it out and balanced it in her hand before she closed the trunk lid.
Suitcase in hand, she made a steady stride to the stairs. Her heels echoed off the concrete walls of the parking garage. Two flights later, she exited the stairs and picked her vantage point. Scanning the immediate area for civilians, she found few cars and no people.
Her Bluetooth beeped. She made her way across the upper level of the garage.
“Parker.”
“Are you in?”
“Almost.”
“You are going to miss your window.”
“Have I ever missed my window?”
“That’s not the point.”
“Gotta go. I’ll check back once I’m set.” She reached her destination.
She looked at her watch. It would take three minutes for her to set up, and she would have two and a half to spare.
Set and ready to go three minutes later, she scanned the area, twisting her mid-length chocolate hair into a pony tail. Laid out below, an overflowing fountain, concrete benches, and various idle suits walking around, oblivious to the world beyond their iPhone. Her Bluetooth beeped and she opened the line.
“Impatient much?”
“Usually,” the familiar voice replied. “Are we on target?”
“Probably,” she replied, her phone in hand. The GPS tracker she’d attached to her victim was beeping steadily.
“Probably isn’t good enough, Kate.”
“Pipe down, Warren.” Pocketing her phone before checking the scope, she listened to Warren huffing on the end of the line. Her target came into view. “You’re getting to be a nag.”
“Can you give me a count?”
“Zero.”
“Parker.”
She disconnected the call. “Bye, bye.”
She used her scope to focus on the sidewalk below. She moved the scope to follow a well-dressed, manicured blonde. The woman stopped next to the fountain, and waited. Her target was in place.
Kate pushed the air from her lungs. Her hand moved behind her ear, and she heard a low tone in the bottom of her ear.
“Ember Rose, eight six five.”
“Copy eight six five.”
“Mark is set.”
“Copy.”
Her focus remained on the blonde just below.
Forty-five seconds.
Kate pushed out another breath. Her finger slid toward the trigger. She watched and waited. Without warning, the blonde turned, and fell into the fountain. A stain of blood leaked into the water, confirming Kate’s fear.
Shit…
She lunged forward, searching the area. Above her came the scraping of concrete. She saw movement, and ran to the stairs. She leapt two at a time, and turned the corner to see a well-dressed man, black suitcase in hand.
He saw her, dropped the case, and ran. She took off after him. He led her down the first ramp. She gained some ground, but then he turned the corner. She rounded it a moment later. An arm swung. She ducked, responding with a spin kick to the lower back. He caught her leg and twisted. She turned into it. Her hands braced her torso. She hit concrete. Raising the opposite leg, she connected with his chin. He released her leg. She twisted her torso using the momentum to stand upright. He lunged. She turned her back into his chest rolling him over her shoulder. She moved with him, the heat of a second party at her back. She turned. Metal met with her temple and the explosion sent her reeling into blackness.
* * * *
“Welcome back to The Shot with Jack and Melissa,” Jack Tucker said into the microphone, his smooth voice having filled the Dallas morning radio airwaves for the past five years. “If you’re just joining us, one of our listeners has posed a difficult question to our audience.”
“About six weeks ago Beth’s younger sister met a guy. They seemed to hit it off and had been spending a lot of time together. At a family gathering this past weekend, Beth’s sister and her new boyfriend announced they are getting married,” Jack explained to the listening audience. “Is that about how it went down, Beth?”
“Yep. That’s pretty much what happened,” Beth replied.
“So, Beth, is your concern about this situation based on the fact your sister has only known this guy for such a short time?” Melissa asked.
“Um… yeah…that is part of it.”
“Well, first off, is he a nice guy? Do you have any reason to think this guy’s intentions toward your sister are not honorable?”
“No, not at all,” Beth’s voice eased in its harshness. “He’s a really nice guy.”
“You’re just worried they don’t know each other well enough to get married so quickly.”
“Exactly. I mean she’s saying it’s love at first sight, but it just isn’t realistic. She’s living in a fairy tale.”
“Hey, Beth, how old is your sister?”
“Twenty-three.”
“So, you think she’s way too young to even know what love is yet,” Melissa speculated.
“I know I sure didn’t at that age.”
“What about you, Jack? Did you know anything about love at twenty-three?”
“I didn’t know anything, about anything, at twenty-three. Much less love.” Jack laughed aloud. “Now hang on a second. I think we are talking about three separate things here.”
“How so?”
“First, we have got the love at first sight scenario, and while I personally don’t believe in it, I have heard dozens of stories about the phenomenon.”
“You would categorize this as a phenomenon?”
“Loosely speaking yes. It’s like seeing aliens.”
“Come again?”
“For the most part, people believe in life outside this universe. So you have people who swear they’ve had close encounters and those who have not.”
“Your point, Sass?” she asked, calling him out.
“My point is, all of those people who had the close encounters were most likely at one point a skeptic.”
“Right…okay,” Melissa was still unconvinced. “So, which are you?”
“I am the skeptic, I have never seen an alien.”
“So back to the other two items. Just so our listeners are clear about what we’re asking. Because I know I’m lost.”
“So we’ve got the phenomenon and then the maturity thing.”
“The age old question of how old is old enough to know the truth about relationships.”
“Bingo,” Jack said. “And the last question being can you have both of these things and still be successful? Alternatively, is one of the things, namely youth and or inexperience, a catalyst for the other? Creating the phenomenon, love at first sight?”
“Okay, Sass, what if we were talking about someone our age?”
“We’re not.”
“But if we were?”
“If we were, I’d ask where they were when they were twenty-three?” Jack smirked. “And on that note, we are going to take a break. Looking for any of your sage wisdom, you know you have some. Give us a call, 18005556767 or email Melissa or I at Jack or Melissa at The Shot.com…”
“We’re clear,” RJ said from the control booth to the side of them. “Lines are already lighting up.”
“Line em up.” Jack checked his notes before standing with a stretch. He shuffled to the coffee station. He quarter filled his cup with hazelnut creamer and picked up the half full coffee pot. Melissa joined him, swiftly apprehending the pot from his hand. “I was using that!”
“No you weren’t.” She turned away from him, filling up her own cup. “You said you were limiting the caffeine intake to three cups a morning. This would be your fourth.”
“You’re counting?”
“You asked me to!”
“I did not!”
“Yes you… RJ…oh crap…” Melissa looked to the empty control booth.
“You have no witnesses,” Jack took the pot back from her and filled his cup.
“Fine…fine, but don’t call me at eleven thirty, complaining you can’t sleep and you have to be here in four hours. My phone will be off. I am done.”
“Okay, but if something major happens and you miss it because I can’t tell you—”
“I’ll hear about it on the news in the morning.”
Jack returned to his seat and updated the play list, proudly drinking his fourth cup of coffee.
* * * *
“That was Train, Drops of Jupiter. The time is eight twenty-seven and we are getting ready to announce ‘The Shot’s annual No Hangover weekend. So, Miss, you have details for us?”
“I have to say, I am so excited about this trip! We have never had such an event packed weekend planned for our listeners.”
“Come on, let’s have it already!”
“Okay, Sass, here we go. A selected group of listeners will be flying in a private jet to sunny Las Vegas for a three-day weekend. Included in the trip is round trip air-fare for two, three night accommodations at Cesar’s Palace, and a complimentary four treatment spa package.”
“Damn, I am going to have to take back what I said about the boss being cheap.”
“Oh I haven’t even gotten to the best part! As an exclusive guest of The Shot, all of our winners will be attending an exclusive concert given by a mystery artist at P.U.R.E., the hottest nightclub on the strip.”
“Sign me up!”
“Oh I know. I would go just for the spa package!”
“What about the mystery guest, any ideas as to who it is?”
“Not sure yet, but I am working on it, Sass.”
“Okay, with that we are going to have to break. We’ll be back in ninety with how you can win. Don’t go away.”
The commercials faded into the background. Station owner Mike Turner reviewed the schedule for the week. He glanced up, seeing the On Air sign dim. He reached for the intercom on his desk. It buzzed and he waited.
“Booth,” RJ the production assistant greeted.
“RJ, patch me through to Jack.”
“Will do Mike.”
“Boss,” Jack said.
“You can give away four between now and ten.”
“Copy that.”
“Oh, and, Jack?”
“Yeah, boss?”
“I’m not cheap.”
“Copy that, boss.” Mike disconnected the line with a shake of his head.
The owner of one of the most popular independent radio stations in the Dallas Metroplex, Mike Turner could honestly say he enjoyed his job. His version of retirement, it was a steady income and kept his life mildly interesting. It was a life completely opposite to his previous existence, exactly what he’d wanted. He shifted in his chair. The door of the office opened and his assistant Elisa stepped in.
“Mike, you have a call.”
“Thanks.” He reached for his desk phone. “This is Turner.”
“Mike, it’s Andy.”
“What’s up?” His gut clenched, knowing the answer before the man responded.
“How soon can you get here?” Mike rose to his feet.
“How bad is it?”
“We’re going on seventy-two hours.”
“I’ll be there in six.” He hit a button on his desk before looking at his watch. “Have Stan waiting for me at the hanger. Send me the details. I’ll catch up on the way.”
“Will do.”
Elisa re-entered the office and Mike ended the call.
“What’s up?”
“Call Mark, tell him I need the jet for a few hours.” He collected his jacket from a coat rack in the corner, throwing it over his arm.
“Where are you going?” She followed him out of the office and down the hall.
“Los Angeles.”
“When?”
“Now.”
* * * *
Under the cover of night, Mike was third in line behind two heavily armed and armored I.U. officers. The three, along with Andy, and ten others, positioned themselves in front of the riverfront warehouse.
“Thanks for coming, Mike. I didn’t know whom else to call. I guess what they say is true, there is no such thing as retirement from the federal government.”
“It’s like riding a bike I guess, once an AD, always an AD. What do we know?”
“She’s been under for a hundred and twenty-two days. Level three classification, she was sent in to isolate an assassination ring. We got intelligence out of Spain that Hardin was expanding his…”
“Hardin?”
“Yeah.”
“You confirmed his involvement?”
“No, that was one of the goals of the operation.”
“When was her last check in?”
“Eighty-two hours.”
“Do we know if she’s been compromised?”
“No.”
His confidence in her was unfaltering. She could handle herself and then some. His stomach dropped at the name Hardin. Eli Hardin was—Mike knew from personal experience—a monster. The man had two faces, crazy and psychotic. Mike prayed she hadn’t met either of them.
Three hours after he arrived in Los Angeles, they picked up chatter on her possible location.
On the count of three, they hammered through the door, and stormed the warehouse. They took four men into custody. After a full sweep of the area, Mike grabbed the closest hostile he could find, by the back of the head. “Where is she?”
“Who?”
“Where is she?” Andy towered over the man menacingly.
“I don’t know what you are talking about!”
Mike pulled the man to the side, slamming his head against a nearby table.
“Tell me what I want to know, or you are going to become a permanent piece of furniture.”
The man’s head cracked against the table with a loud thud. “Alright, alright!” The pain invoked his cooperation. “In the back, there’s trap door.”
“Where?”
“In the back to the right.”
Mike released him. He and Andy ran through the open expanse, to the far right side of the warehouse. They scanned the floor for a handle, a hook, or anything resembling a door. He saw nothing.
“Mike!” Andy moved a stack of boxes.
Mike looked down at a crack in the floor. He immediately called to the other agents. Within minutes, they had removed all of the boxes covering the door, and Mike pulled the handle.