Brianna's Navy SEAL (25 page)

Brie looked up at Cable. “How come there's no peanut butter or birdseed?"

Exasperated, Cable gave a bigger shrug, lifting his hands in innocence. “I don't know! I just did what you told me to do. I handed out the contribution assignments last week, and this is what we've got."

"You—ohhhhh,” Brie breathed, hand over her mouth, startled awareness widening her eyes. “I gave you the wrong list. This was what my class was supposed to bring, and yours ... shit."

"That's my cue to get out of here,” Steve said, shuffling his feet. “Brie, the bus request is approved. The field trip permissions are all back?"

She nodded. “We're good to go tomorrow. Except—” She waved her hands at the stage. “This. I guess I'll go to Wal-Mart and pick up the peanut butter and bird seed. And cups and hot chocolate. Oh, man,” she moaned. “I can't believe I did that."

"Okay, then, see you in the morning.” Steve hastened out of the room.

"I'll go with you,” Cable offered.

Brianna shook her head. “No need. I screwed up, I can handle the solution."

"It's a joint project. I'll go, we'll split the cost, and I can help you get it back here.” It would give them a few last minutes alone together, but he wasn't sure he wanted to tell her that yet.

But she knew him too well. “Forget it, Cable. We can't have a pseudo relationship. I don't—"

"Steve found a substitute."

She stopped. Snapped her mouth closed. “He did?"

Cable nodded, watching sadness seeping into her expression. “Told me just before you came in. She starts Monday."

"So ... tomorrow's your last day of school? Forever?"

His lips quirked, though he felt incapable of generating a smile. “Yeah."

She watched him for a minute. “What will you do?"

This time his shrug was only one shoulder. “I guess I'll go back to Florida until I can figure that out."

"But—"

"It's home. And it's best."

"I know.” But she looked miserable. “Then I guess you'd better come to Wal-Mart with me."

He nodded. “We'll take my truck."

They drove the fifteen miles in silence. Cable picked up Brianna's hand at one point, and she let him hold it. He wondered if she'd come home with him, this one last time, and figured she probably would. But that would make him an asshole.

Wal-Mart was surprisingly uncrowded. He figured Thursday wasn't a big shopping night, but it was still less busy than he'd ever seen it before. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad. If it had been crowded, their shopping would take them longer. At this point, standing in line next to her was preferable to what was coming.

Brianna grabbed a cart and headed for the far end of the food side of the superstore. Cable trailed behind, figuring she knew where things were and he was just along for heavy lifting.

"We'll need six big jars,” she told him, pointing at the peanut butter on the bottom shelf. Cable obediently started loading them into the cart.

"That many?"

"You'd be surprised how fast we go through it. Cups are two aisles over. I'll—what was that?"

Cable, too, looked toward the front of the store. They couldn't see anything from back here, but he knew the sound.

"Automatic weapon fire."

"What? No way.” She started to move out of the aisle, but Cable stopped her with a hand on her chest.

"Trust me. That's what it was. Do
not
go up there."

She didn't question him again, and stepped back from the end of the row, pulling him with her by the wrist. He went, but only for a second.

"You stay here,” he told her. “There was more than one gun, which means it's not likely to be a disgruntled employee or angry customer. I'd send you to the back room, but we don't know how many there are or whether they're covering all the exits. So just stay put.” He looked around. “If you can manage to hide on one of these shelves, that would be ideal. But don't leave stuff in the aisles."

"Duh.” She looked frightened, but not for herself. “You're going up there."

He didn't answer. He pulled his cell phone from the clip and flipped it open. Only one signal bar. Brianna did the same, but shook her head.

"Nothing."

"Okay. Use mine. Call the police. Try to explain what's happening. I'll be back for you."

"But I don't know what's happening! Okay, fine. Cable."

He'd started to move away, but her tone had changed, and he turned back.

"Be careful.” She leaned up, and he bent to meet her halfway in a tender, desperate kiss. “Come back to me,” she whispered. He gave her one more kiss, and moved away.

It wasn't hard to get to the front of the store. All the aisles in between the peanut butter aisle and the cash registers were empty. He checked each one as he moved along the dairy section on the far right side of the store. From there, the produce section was perfect for recon. Tall, asymmetrical, messy displays of fruit and vegetables were interspersed with bins of root vegetables. The years since he left the Navy melted away, his old training taking over within a few heartbeats.

The door was guarded by two people dressed all in black, wearing full head masks and carrying AK-47s. Four more were corralling the shoppers they had rounded up, along with two blue-vest-clad cashiers, and herding them into the game alcove at the front of the store. While he watched, three others dragged a handful more shoppers and another employee up front, then headed back into the store.

Two men—he could tell by the way they moved—separated from the crowd and hurried to the registers with overhead lights. One of them hit a series of keys on the first one, and the drawer popped open. He crowed in delight and started digging the money from the drawer.

That couldn't be all they were here for. There wasn't enough money in those drawers to make it worthwhile for one of them to rob, never mind nine or more. He didn't assume he'd seen everyone. He figured two had to be guarding the other entrance on the department store side, and maybe more searching that side of the building, as well.

"I'm telling you, I can't get into the vault."

Cable switched his attention to the customer service desk, where a slight man in shirt sleeves argued with one of the intruders.

"Don't you read signs?” the man asked, his voice rising and getting more agitated.

"Don't,” Cable mouthed, but of course the man couldn't hear him.

"Every store has these signs,” he pointed. “Not even just Wal-Mart. How can you not know I can't get into the vault?"

"If you can't,” was the reply muffled by the mask, “then I got no use for you.” He aimed the weapon at the man's chest. He looked terrified. Then the intruder laughed, a high-pitched sound betraying his own tension, reversed the weapon, and hit the manager on the side of the head. Then he pulled a backpack off his shoulder and started unloading it onto the counter.

Cable had no hope of stopping these guys on his own, not without unacceptable collateral damage. He was about to retreat to find a telephone when two sights stopped him.

One of the men was dragging Brianna toward the front of the store. And the man with the backpack was unloading explosives.

Cable had no sooner disappeared around the end of the aisle than a black-clad person in a mask and carrying a gun appeared at the other end. Brianna had no time to hide, and wouldn't have been able to figure out where even if she had. It wasn't like there was a lot of room behind the bread.

"You. Come here."

The terrorist—for lack of a better description—stepped toward Brie, reaching for her arm. A dozen responses zipped through her head, too fast to latch on to any, and none worth attempting. The man grabbed her by the upper arm, his fingers wrapping all the way around, and started marching her toward the front of the store.

Not again
. She went along, not sure what else to do. There was nowhere to run, even if she could get away, and she doubted he'd hesitate to use the gun. He didn't carry it comfortably, as if experienced with it, and to her, that made him more dangerous.

She wondered why she wasn't more scared. She felt detached, remote, and figured it was a survival mechanism. Or maybe she was desensitized to this stuff by now.

As they neared the front of the store she saw a crowd of people in the game area, and several more terrorists. Her teacher's brain, used to assessing the number of students in a room with a glance, estimated twenty or more civilians and maybe ten terrorists. She figured the guy would stuff her in with the other shoppers, but he stopped with her outside the room.

"Look at her,” he shouted, and those who weren't already looking turned. “She's our example."

Oh, God, he's going to kill me. Shoot me in the head.

But he wasn't aiming his gun at her. It was hanging from his shoulder, its aim loose, as if he wasn't thinking about the weapon. So she held still, listening.

"If anyone tries to do anything heroic, she's dead. Got it?"

"That's Ms. Macgregor!” a little voice popped up, and with horror Brianna recognized one of her students.

The guy holding her looked at her. “They know you?"

She tried to shrug, but his grip made it difficult. “I'm a teacher. Lots of people know me."

She could see him grin underneath the mask. “Excellent. Thank you.” He turned back to the group. “If anyone tries anything stupid, Ms. Macgregor here gets it. I'm sure none of you want that. And no one wants the kid to see it. So just stay put. Remember the definition of a hero: Someone who gets other people killed."

He started to move her toward the customer service desk. Brianna frowned at him.

"You're a Browncoat? What the hell are you doing?"

He glared at her. “I ain't no Browncoat. I quoted a movie. Doesn't make me a fan."

"Well, good. Because I'm sure Joss Whedon would be furious to know one of his Firefly/Serenity followers would use his words to commit a terrorist act."

He snorted. “Lady, I don't know what the hell you're talking about. This ain't no terrorism. This is robbery. And you're gonna help."

He shoved her through the pass-through door, then caught it as it swung toward his crotch. “And don't go thinkin’ we connected and you'll appeal to my conscience. I ain't got one."

I can see that
. But she kept her mouth shut.

She had to play this smart. Not that anything she did or said would make a difference, if they were going to kill her or anyone else. But she had a secret weapon they didn't know about. Cable.

The problem was, she didn't know where he was or if he knew she'd been captured. She'd have to assume he didn't. And that he didn't know she hadn't gotten to use the phone.

At that thought, she realized it was still clenched in her hand. The terrorist hadn't noticed it. But if she tried anything now, he sure would. She pretended she hadn't remembered it, and tried not to act any differently.

The guy unloading his backpack on the counter glanced up. “What you bring her back here for?"

"Insurance.” He shoved her again, toward the cigarette shelves along the back wall. She let momentum carry her further away, and then tripped over a man's legs. Startled, she fell into the door of the office behind the counter. The door swung back and she landed on her hip, half in the office, the door bumping into her head.

The guy who'd shoved her spared her a glance. She winced and rubbed her head. He looked away. She slowly sat up, keeping the hand with the phone hidden behind the doorjamb. Watching the bad guys, she flipped the phone open, then thumbed the keys to render it silent. Thank God Cable had a similar model phone to hers. She then turned the volume down, sparing a glance to make sure that was what was happening.

Then she dialed 9-1-1. As soon as it connected, she pulled her hand away, leaving the phone open on the floor.

"What do you guys want?” she asked, slightly louder than normal and with a little of the pain of her fall still in her voice.

They ignored her.

"Are you going to kill us all?"

"Shut up."

His voice was muffled, and she figured the 9-1-1 operator couldn't hear him.

"I mean, how do you expect to invade a Wal-Mart with a dozen armed men and get away with it?"

"I said, shut up!” The tall guy, her guy, raised the gun like he was going to backhand her with it. Brianna scooted forward, hoping the door wouldn't close, and started to pull her feet under her. He didn't tell her to stay down, so she stood.

"Come here.” The backpack guy motioned to her. She slowly moved forward. “Take this.” He handed her a brick-shaped mass of gray clay.

"What is this?"

"Duh."

Explosive. She never expected stuff on TV to look like the real thing. “What are you going to do with it?"

"Blow the safe, of course."

She frowned. “Is that all? All this, all these men, for the little bit in the safe? I—"

"How many times do I have to tell you to shut the fuck up?"

Even though she thought he might really hit her this time, Brianna gave him her best teacher glare. “You knew what I was before you brought me over here. How many of your teachers knew how to shut up?"

The kid with the backpack guffawed and handed her a bunch of wire. She decided he was a kid based on his body shape and voice, but she couldn't really tell anything about either of them.

"Why are you giving me this stuff?"

"Keep your hands busy."

"So I won't, what, unleash my kung-fu pencil on you?"

The kid laughed again. But she felt the taller man getting angrier. She had to shut up, like he said.

The kid grabbed the rest of his equipment, stuff Brianna couldn't identify, and said, “Come on."

"Where?"

"To the safe.” He paused, not able to get by her and his teammate. “In the office,” he added.

Shit
. They'd see the phone. It was in a corner formed by the wall and a file cabinet, but it was right next to the door. They'd see it for sure, and then probably kill her. Unless she could hide it somehow.

She followed the men into the office and stood by the door, hoping the phone was behind her feet and not visible. The tall guy went to a cabinet next to the desk and opened it. Behind the plywood panel was a heavy-looking safe door with a giant black dial and silver handle.