Authors: Brooklyn James
S
ix months later, Gina trains in the dark basement of the Vigilare compound hidden deep in the rugged mountainous terrain. She has taken up refuge there by herself needing time to reflect, regroup, heal. She works diligently on the heavy bag, a magnificent form of release. Her feet and hands taped, she clicks away serving up perfectly placed strikes and kicks. Her auburn hair coiffed in one long braid taps off her back as she moves effortlessly through the motions. Her black tank top is tucked tightly into black
gi
pants that snap effectively with each precise movement of her legs. The large metal door separating her from the garage initiates, sliding open. Taking the opportunity to rest, she props her hands on her knees attempting to regain control of her labored breathing. She rolls her eyes with the image of Dr. Patricia Ryan entering the basement.
“Not who you expected?” Dr. Ryan questions upon seeing her less-than-enthused expression.
“Just in time,” Gina says, winging a pair of sparring gloves in the psychologist’s direction.
Dr. Ryan, in her usual pinstriped power suit, frees her feet from her four-inch heels, removes her suit jacket and dons the padded gloves. “I guess a simple apology will not suffice,” she deduces.
“Nothing’s ever that
simple
with you.” Gina invites her to the mat. The women square off, circling one another delivering and deflecting light, controlled blows.
“I hope you understand why I did what I did,” Dr. Ryan squeezes out between maneuvers.
“An apology is one thing,” Gina says bobbing and weaving, her skill vastly superior to Dr. Ryan’s. “But if you’ve come here to make me
understand,
all you’re going to do is piss me off.” She sweeps Dr. Ryan’s leg from beneath her, following her down to the mat, her forearm connecting with her throat. Careful not to exert too much pressure, Gina jumps up landing on the ends of her toes, waiting for Dr. Ryan to join her. “There’s no excuse for what you did.”
Dr. Ryan pushes herself up, lunging at Gina. Her arms wrapped around Gina’s waist, she rages like a bull. Gina gives in to the momentum taking their scuffle to the mat. Landing on her back, she plants her feet into Dr. Ryan’s abdomen propelling her into the air, turning her end over end until her backside contacts the mat firmly. Gina rolls with her, the women grappling for dominant position. “I did what I thought best at the time,” Dr. Ryan huffs, searching for oxygen as they battle. “And what’s your problem? You got what you wanted. A return to mortal life. Your Vigilare pedigree wiped clean.”
“With no help from you, I might add.” Gina assumes dominance, refraining from letting her fist follow through in the face of the attractive psychologist, slamming it down to the side of her head against the mat. Dr. Ryan’s eyes wince shut. Gina retreats, standing once again, waiting for her rival to do the same. “Amazing how it all worked out. How it came together,” Gina pants, recovering.
“You mean Maxim and Emily,” Dr. Ryan expels rising to her feet slowly.
Gina smirks, further agitating her opponent. “Don’t they make a lovely couple?”
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.” Dr. Ryan returns her hands to combat mode. Gina wastes no time in engaging, their gloves
ratta-tat-tatting.
“I’m sure you don’t approve,” Dr. Ryan groans leaving her ribs open, Gina takes the shot, bending her over at a loss for air.
Gina circles around her aggressively, wishing her to return to sparring. “It’s not for me or you to approve. They found each other.” Her chest heaves, hungry for air. “As long as Emily is good to him, loyal to him, consider me happy.” She shrugs her shoulders, bouncing around, her body light and quick. “That’s what happens when you play with people’s lives. It takes on a life of its own.”
“Maybe you could talk to Emily for me.” Dr. Ryan’s breathing returns as she stands upright flat-footed, her arms prepped.
“Get off your heels,” Gina coaches, tapping the backside of Dr. Ryan’s knee with her shin, demonstrating how easy it would be to sweep her legs out from under her in such a rigid position. Dr. Ryan swings that same leg, aiming for Gina’s kidney. Deflecting the kick, Gina returns with a combination of her own, bloodying Dr. Ryan’s lip. “I won’t do your bidding. I’m sure Emily has a perfectly good reason for avoiding you.” Gina stalks around her as Dr. Ryan holds her forearm against her mouth waiting for the bleeding to subside.
“She went into the Academy with Maxim. They graduate next week.” Dr. Ryan spits blood from the corner of her mouth, the action matching the disdain in her voice. “To join Vanguard Police Department. Detective Gronkowski has been mentoring them,” she huffs.
“He’ll make a good role model,” Gina defends. Having waited long enough, she engages again, taking it to the mat. Dr. Ryan, off her balance, pulls on the back of Gina’s braid. Gina dominates delivering a few body shots, a deliberate reprimand. “Did you really pull my hair?” she sputters pushing off the mat, the genteel psychologist no match for her grappling. “There’s no hair-pulling in martial arts.” Bobbing from side to side on her toes, Gina taps her gloves against her chest urging Dr. Ryan to rise.
Dr. Ryan shakes her head, pulling her gloves off and throwing them to the side, her chest heaving. She lies there, signifying her noncompliance with further sparring. “My daughter has bigger fish to fry. She is above Vanguard PD. We do not work for the
system.”
“Above Maxim?” Gina presses.
“That is a temporary thing,” Dr. Ryan pants. “Trust me, they have no future together. Not as long as I have something to say about it.”
“Seems to me, you have
nothing
to say about it. Emily has made her choice.” Gina picks up Dr. Ryan’s fatigued legs. “I always wanted to try this,” she says, hooking her legs through Dr. Ryan’s and sitting back on her haunches, applying a figure-four leg lock. Dr. Ryan yells, her hand beating against the mat, tapping out. Gina ignores her plea, maintaining her hold. “And just to clarify…you mess with my boy, harm one handsome little hair on his head…I will own you. Understood?”
Dr. Ryan refuses to answer. Gina cranks further on her legs. “Yes! Understood,” she affirms. Gina releases the leg lock, pacing in front of her catching her breath. Dr. Ryan sits up rubbing her knees. “I talked with Chief Burns and Judge Maybelline Carter. Your job is yours...in six months...once your sentencing is up. If you want it. Probationary, of course.” Dr. Ryan stands, her legs wobbly.
“Well, don’t expect me to thank you,” Gina dismisses. “What’s in it for you?”
“I’m attempting to clear my conscience.” Dr. Ryan dusts herself off, returning to her suit jacket and heels.
“Yeah,” Gina huffs. “Good luck with that.”
Footsteps approach in the corridor of the basement. “I brought a parting gift,” Dr. Ryan says. Gina turns, her system hit with a whole new set of feel-good endorphins as her eyes rest on Tony. “Flowers just didn’t seem to fit the bill.” Dr. Ryan passes Tony on her way out. “Detective,” she addresses him, her inflection somewhere between loathing and respect.
He nods, headed toward Gina, his walk purposeful yet contained. “How we doing?” he inquires, his voice soft and soothing.
“Better now.” She hangs her head as he approaches.
He stops, only millimeters separating their forms from one another. Instantly his breathing rate matches hers, her closeness consuming as usual. “Did I give you enough time?” he asks, his hand aching to touch her.
“Yeah.” She continues looking down, her eyes not quite ready for the effect his handsome hazels always seem to have on her. “A little too much, maybe,” she affirms, having missed him.
Her body gives in to his embrace much the same as a thirsting mouth would give in to its first drop of water—grateful, vulnerable and weak. “I gotcha,” he encourages, holding her up.
The next morning
Gina prepares a stout brew of coffee, her intent to have it in bed. Her pace hurried, she fumbles a cup onto the stone-tiled floor.
“Shit,” she sputters.
“You okay?” Tony’s voice sounds from the back bedroom.
“Yeah,” she quiets him.
Slow down, DeLuca. It’s not like he’s going anywhere,
she idles herself, bending to retrieve the broken shards. Carefully scooping them up, she scurries to the waste basket. “Ouch!” Lifting her foot, there in her bare flesh is a missed fragment. Gently removing it, fresh crimson blood trickles. Catching herself against the counter, “Whoa,” she says, feeling faint. Her foot begins to tingle; her jugular vein picks up speed, her pulse matching her throbbing heart rate,
ga-gung...ga-gung...ga-gung.
She sucks in air at a hungry pace, her chest visibly surging up and down. “No...no...no,” she implores, clamping the sides of her temples with her palms, the rhythmic drum sounding. She grabs at the toaster on the counter, staring into its shiny reflective surface. Sure enough, piercing back at her are sparkling eyes of emerald green. She inhales deeply, expelling a perturbed, “Gronkowski!”
Brooks Lake Fam
– A heartfelt thank you to Adam Long, staff and guests at Brooks Lake Lodge. Snowed in on the mountain = zero distraction = captive focus = another book down! From a girl who has so many notions and ideas, and can most often be found chasing my tail, I am grateful for the opportunity. The place is so serene. I mean, the view, the inspiration, the focus...a writer’s paradise. I surely appreciate the new readership gained from guests and staff. I can’t thank you enough for such encouragement, which truly propels me to continue to write. Thank you for lodging and feeding me (Woot! Woot! to Anto, Angel and Mike). And for the ever entertaining conversation (especially, Chantal and Dave...lol). Oh, and Claire—one of the most genuine, capable, hard-working women I know—thank you for your Pony Express services! The manuscript wouldn’t have made it off the mountain without you. Really appreciate it. I miss you all, and hope to see you guys soon. P.S.—Could one of you throw some snowballs for Moose every now and then? That dog cracks me up! Sure miss seeing his happy mug.
Gabino Iglesias
– Thank you kindly for the
‘Hells
Yeah!’ permanent smile, fist pump, and dancing around while partaking of my morning coffee causing review of
Vigilare
in the Austin Post. And it came out on my birthday, no less…happy birthday to me! Man, those reviews are so pivotal in spreading the word. I can’t thank you enough, Gabino. Looking forward to catching up over a little Guinness and chocolate cake!
Janet Kilgore
– I adore, respect and love me some JK! Thank you for your patience and encouragement through the ever-humbling editing process. I do say, it’s so refreshing to be called “kid” every now and then. Makes me feel young! Three books down. Let’s do it again, real soon. XO!
Steve Richey
– Digging that dark, menacing cover! Thanks for working me into your schedule. It’s no surprise to me that you stay busy. You’ve got mad skills, Steve. Can’t wait to see what you come up with for the third one!
Leslie L. McKee
– That’s the great thing about being a NOPO grad…oh the resources
J
I am happy to have reconnected with you. Thanks for the reviews, proofing the original
Vigilare,
and for your editing/proofing input with this novel. You have a great eye! Looking forward to collaborating with you on future projects.
My Family & Friends
(you know who you are
J
) – ‘I am a lucky girl,’ I tell myself all the time. I have the most incredibly sturdy foundation of family and friends. For that I am eternally grateful. I Love You All!
Facebook Supporters
– To the Facebook.com/BrooklynJamesSinger fans, thank you kindly for supporting the cause. And to all of those who have posted a review for
Vigilare
and
The Boots My Mother Gave Me…
you should work on commission…lol. Reviews sell books! Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Mesa Ranch
– Thank you Steve Ray and the regulars at Mesa Ranch for allowing John (my uber-talented guitarist) and I to feel like extras in the cast of
Cheers
every time we play the ranch. ‘Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name…’ Really appreciate the support. You folks are the best!
Competent/Capable Women
– We were tearing down from an acoustic gig in Austin one night, myself and my guitarist, John. I grab up two rather heavy pieces of equipment, one in each hand. John says, “Geez, Brook. How very manly of you. You’re making me feel bad here.” My response, accompanied by a chuckle, “I am not manly. I am capable.” Divert to the next gig. Once again, we’re tearing down at the end of the night. I grab up a few pieces of equipment. John holds the door for me, a grin across his face. “Brook, if I may say, you sure are
capable,”
he says. Ha! My point: Thank you to every competent, capable woman I have met in my walk of life. It is your grace, your respect for yourself, and your ability to define yourself by your own terms that inspires me to write about strong female characters. And to any man fortunate enough to share his life with a competent, capable woman...thank you for being strong enough and secure enough in yourself to walk beside her.
T.W.
– To think you were my impetus before I even knew you. Thank you for the endless inspiration and encouragement. And most of all, thank you for the peaceful nights. There is nothing as sweet as when a restless spirit achieves tranquility. “Right as rain,” he says. Could it be, my soul has found its home? Every writer needs a muse. Inspire away, baby.
Brooklyn James is an author/singer/songwriter inspired by life in the
Live Music Capital
of Austin, Texas. Her first novel,
The Boots My Mother Gave Me,
has an original music soundtrack and was chosen as a Quarter Finalist in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Awards. Brooklyn holds an M.A. in Communication, and a B.S. in both Nursing and Animal Science. The
Vigilare
trilogy is an adaptation from a short narrative film. She is currently working on the last novel in the series, as well as another book and music soundtrack combination. All songs from the soundtracks are written/co-written and performed by the author.