Rescue for the Student
Jeri K Raine
Copyright © 2019 by Jeri K Raine
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Epilogue
Chapter 1 Logan
I guess what I learned as a kid; I learned from admiring my dad. I can’t say more than that because I hardly knew him. He was only there until I was three. But he was my hero. What I was able to learn about him later was not all good, not by any stretch. But he was my dad.
As I stumbled and fought my way into adolescence, carrying the burden with every pickup job I could get, he was my inspiration. I worked for everyone in that little town who would employ a kid of eight, then nine and ten years old, all the way up to 14. I did everything that I could to bring in money for mom. To take care of her. Everything I could to replace my dad, I guess.
Of course I couldn’t replace him. Not in any way. And it wasn’t enough. I hope she found peace.
I didn’t know it, but all my life I think I was looking for someone to take her place. Someone I could care for and protect.
No girls I knew measured up. Whatever they offered me, and they all offered a lot, but never what I needed. I could never settle for a piece of ass. That works for enough guys and good luck to them. Not for me. I didn’t even know what I was looking for.
I was dark and empty inside. I didn’t even know it until I saw her in the crowd.
Petite and bouncy, her curves make me sigh. She’s being jostled by a big asshole. The look on her face, pushing back, standing her ground, cutting her eyes at him, pressing her lovely, full lips into a defiant heart shape, makes my heart thump.
As soon as I see her, a light flashes on inside me. Like I had been wandering through a thick mist. Like a beacon she snaps me into focus. Over the top of my shades, my eyes lock with hers. An electric thud pounds my cock alert. I need her. My body knows immediately that she is the prize I’ve been waiting for, all my life, even without me knowing it. The eye contact between us is a clear breeze of light and a snap of electricity.
Time slows down, almost stops, in that fraction of a second. I want to run to her right away. I can’t. But I can’t not.
Chapter 2 Logan
Chopper blades swish and cut the air above our heads, slowing as we burst out to run against the handrail of the metal walkway, ahead of the candidate. My group breaks out first. We hold a disciplined line, proceed at a rapid pace along the raised walkway.
There must be north of a thousand people crowding into the East Chicago car park. How they all knew about the ‘secret, unscheduled’ meeting is a mystery.
Like it’s a mystery how the candidate had time to arrange two helicopters, a detachment of bodyguards, and the local FBI and law enforcement for this supposedly ‘unscheduled meeting,’ that would be a mystery, too. There’s something wrong about this whole setup.
But all that’s way above my pay-grade. Anyway, a past like mine keeps me out of the gold-chip, legit, all-above-board assignments, so I take what I can get.
Guarding the candidate is a long way from what I’m used to. I’m more accustomed to a big helmet with a hi-rez digital telescopic sight, cameras, and headphones, lugging a heavy duty pack, an AR-15, handguns, combat knives and grenades. Back from special forces operations in Syria, Central Africa, and Afghanistan, I’m adapting. A lot.
Here, I have no body armor, just a black suit over a Kevlar body shield. Earbuds, and a pair of shades. And my Sig Sauer 9mm. The recruiter wanted us carrying Glocks. I don’t love a Glock. I love my Sig.
I scan the crowd, fast, on the move. Peer out, sweep the faces in groups. Imagine a grid, sixteen to twenty faces in each square. Swipe across. Sensing for nervousness, tension, anxiety, any hint of threat. Trained reflexes do the work. Scan the square. Move on. Next. As we move, the crowd packs closer and tighter at our feet.
Two things stand out in the same instant. Her at ten o’clock, and a threat at two o’clock.
The skinhead at two o’clock catches the corner of my right eye. A few feet back from the walkway, near the front of the crowd. Silver studs and tribal ink craze over his face. He has a fixed look in his eye. My sixth sense picks up on the way he reaches into his denim coat. Instinct takes over.
Without a thought, I comm to Russ, my GroupCom, “Potential threat ID’d. Cover my position,” With no hesitation, I vault over the handrail and off the walkway. I drop through the air and my knee connects first, on his right shoulder. He starts to crumple. I jab my left elbow at the side of his head. He topples. Straight to the ground. Face down.
I’m on his back. My knee between his shoulder blades. The arm that was reaching dislocated at the shoulder. The hand on the end had pulled a long, silver colt automatic. I twist the gun from him. Drag his other arm up behind his back.
Two uniformed cops come running, their hands on their guns. Coming straight at me. Still kneeling on the perp, I hold the silver pistol up, thumb and forefinger
