UNSHAKABLE (Able Series Book 4) (29 page)

“Shots fired! Shots fired!” Everyone wearing a dark suit yells like a symphony orchestra, only it brings chills to my entire being.

Firm, solid arms grab me and another set grabs my mom while three agents converge around my dad, literally lifting him off the ground covering every inch of him as well as they can. “Move! Move!” Voices around us keep shouting as we’re hauled out of harm’s way.

There’s no time to scream, to speak, to check if my parents are okay. There’s no time to process anything at all. My feet aren’t touching the ground, my head pushed down, pinned on someone’s arms while another hand covers my head. My dad gets shoved inside the belly of the beast as I curl into myself, praying for everyone’s safety. I feel the beast moving and quickly look around—how in the hell are we getting out of here with a long line of SUV’s moving in the same direction—backward! We are moving backward!

“Maverick secure! Tell me someone knows where the shots came from! Find us a turn! We can’t be boxed in! Go! Go! Go!” Tony, my dad’s lead agent, bellows.

“I’m fine, Paul!” My dad wards off the agent checking if he’s been shot.

We’re speeding away, still driving backward when the SUV in front of us jerks to a stop and makes a quick turn, swerving violently with tires squealing, the back window open and long guns poking out, aimed at I don’t know what. When our car follows and makes a sharp turn jerking us all to the side, my face hits the side of the door as it speeds behind the black SUV, thankfully facing forward as sirens are blaring everywhere. Two black Tahoes are flanking us while behind us is a long line of black cars. My heart is beating as quickly as the beast is moving. That’s when I see my mom slumped on the limo floor face down.

“Oh my God! Mom! Mom!” I reach for her.

My dad beats me to her and quickly turns her over. “Sweetheart, are you hurt?”

My eyes frantically search for something red anywhere on my mom’s body, finding none I breathe a sigh of relief, but my dad’s words thunderbolt through my heart.

“Sweetheart, breathe for me. She’s not breathing!”

“Take us to the nearest hospital!” Tony yells. “Make the road clear for us and block all the side streets!”

I’m surprised to hear Joe’s voice. I didn’t even see him get thrown in after the melee. “The President is secure. I repeat the President is alive. Where is the V.P.?” He breathes out a sigh of relief and a short pause falls. “Keep the Speaker of the House informed and keep the line of succession secure!”

My eyes are still glued to my mother when hers open and my dad puts his ear right over her mouth. My dad’s eyes shut tightly as he twines his fingers with hers while my tears are raining down my face as the fear of something tragic . . . something morbid envelopes my heart.

The car abruptly stops and we’re covered once again with agents while my dad carries my mom inside. The ER doctor takes us into a room and quickly assesses my mother. “What meds is she on?” He asks looking at my dad as he works cohesively. . . . eerily calm, while I’m close to losing my mind.

“She’s on Coumadin . . . ah. . . . my wife suffers from Coronary artery disease.” My dad’s eyes never leave my mom as we both watch her. Her eyes are closed, her body isn’t moving, and her chest doesn’t rise or fall while the tight grip of my father’s arms surrounds my shaky body.

“Secure all points of exit on this floor. No one goes in or out . . . initiate total lockdown!” Tony barks orders. “I need coverage outside! Establish a secure perimeter a-fucking-sap!”

“Unresponsive! No pulse!” A female nurse shrieks drowning Tony’s voice.

“Code blue! Starting compressions!” The doctor yells as people wearing scrubs start moving all at the same time.

One woman puts an oxygen mask on my mother as loud whimpers escape my lips.

“I’m putting the pads on!” Yells another woman as she attaches two sticky white pads on my mom’s chest.

We’re pushed to the side behind the blue curtain as my dad’s hold on me gets tighter. I stop breathing, watching helplessly.

“Stopping compressions. Let’s see what kind of rhythm we have.” A calm voice coming from the doctor breaks the silence.

“Looks like it’s bfib,” a woman, probably a nurse, wearing pink scrubs answers.

The doctor yells more medical jargon, and the next thing I hear is him yelling, “Clear!” A couple of seconds pass. “Shock delivered.” Another round of unwanted seconds passes. “Resume compressions . . . administer Epinephrine, one milligram IV push. Someone let me know when two minutes have passed!”

Two minutes must have passed when the same woman says with a shaky voice, “Still bfib.”

“Charging! Defibrillate at one hundred seventy joules. Clear!” The doctor zaps my mom’s chest once again. “Starting compressions! Come on! Fight back!” He does the compressions himself, eyes focused on my mom’s chest.

Time seems to tick by ever so slowly when at the same time everyone stops moving, except for the doctor who’s pressing on my mom’s chest as fast as he can. That’s when I knew, as the avalanche of uncontrollable wailing purges out of me disturbing the silence. I stare at my dad pleading with my eyes to do something. . . . anything. He tries his hardest to hold me up as a few errant tears fall on his face, staring at my mother—his wife with so much love my heart aches even more.

Then a female doctor wearing a white coat stops the male doctor. “Call it, James.”

He pauses for a short while with head bowed down. “Time of death, two o’clock
P.M.
”

War
—my heart and mind are at war with each other. My mind understands what I’m witnessing, but my heart aches because of it. Fighting within myself should be unfathomable. Shouldn’t my mind try to understand the state of my heart? Or shouldn’t my heart try to see the reasoning of my mind? I am me, an autonomous ruler of myself, but one part of me has declared war over the other. The pain that pours out of my heart is without mercy.

DAMIEN

IT TAKES ME ALMOST THIRTY
minutes to get to the hospital and another ten just to set foot in the emergency room. But once I do, the curtain of sadness veils the hearts of every person Sophia’s mother has touched. My eyes land on my wife clinging helplessly onto her father’s chest as her shoulders shake uncontrollably, eyes tightly shut, and tears drench her flushed cheeks.

Once Steven meets my worried expression he nods acknowledging my presence, then kisses Sophia’s forehead whispering something to her. Her head snaps up, her eyes lock with mine. As she makes her way to me, more tears fall while my heart hurts for her knowing that there’s nothing I could say, nothing I could do to ease her pain.

She slams hard against my chest, her grip so tight I can feel her heaving sighs as I welcome the pain she so willingly surrenders. Can someone really surrender their pain? In reality though, I think the question is can I really protect her from this? I don’t think I can because the heart feels what the heart feels. As long as her heart beats, she will forever feel the pain of losing her mother.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” The only thing I can say while holding her close to me.

“M—mom . . . m-m-mom . . . ,” she says gasping between words.

My lips land on her forehead as I squeeze her even harder. “There’s nothing to say other than feel. Let your heart feel it, allow your mind to accept it, fight through it because that’s what she’d want you to do.”

“I . . . I didn’t tell her. I . . . I sh—should have! I should have!”

“Baby, she knows you love her so much. Think back on what happened today, this morning. Don’t you guys still have your morning talks? Knowing your mom, she must’ve told you she loves you and you her before she stepped out of your room.”

As soon as those words leave my mouth, the deluge of tears is like a raging storm. The ache of her loss serves as a gust of wind ramming her body as she searches for some kind of cover against its agony. My eyes find the President huddled with Joe, a cell phone attached to his ear. If I were a betting man, I’d bet he’s talking to Dan who’s giving him a rundown of what we’ve unearthed so far. Guessing by the look of shock in his eyes, his lips in a thin line, and the ticking tension in his jaw, he doesn’t like what he’s hearing.

“We need to move, Damien,” Tony mumbles.

As we surround the two most important people whose hearts are beyond repair, we forgo mourning Amanda’s loss to make sure that no more lives will be lost today. Losing one is too many and it comes with a steep price. The pain will be felt by so many for a very long time but carried by my wife and her father until the day they die.

“We’re not leaving until I’m ready,” the President barks at Tony. “Sweetheart, are you ready to say goodbye to Mom?” His eyes are overflowing with pain and grief. I don’t know how he’s still standing. His voice is solid, masking his reality. “I always say goodbye to her, today won’t be any different.”

“Mr. President, we need to move you to a secure location. The threat is still out there, Sir. I have orders to leave now.” Tony’s commanding voice doesn’t leave room for arguments.

Steven’s face is curtained with fury as he faces Tony. “I say when we leave. I don’t care if the threat is still out there. Neutralize it! It’s your job. Right now, I’m going to say goodbye to my wife. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sir.” Tony answers as he turns to leave.

“Sophia, are you ready?”

I nod for my wife who’s still visibly shaking against me. The three of us walk into the room, and for the first time my eyes land on Amanda. It’s as though she’s just sleeping. She looks peaceful, unmoving with her hands folded over her stomach, and a blue blanket covering half her body. Sophia and her dad stand on either side of the bed looking at Amanda with so much love shining in their eyes.

“Mom, I miss you already. I’ll take care of Daddy, don’t you worry. I hope I’ll feel you around me at the exact same time we have our morning talks. I’ll wait for you, Mom. I love you.”

I stay only to hear Sophia say her goodbye, but when Steven speaks I turn to leave. It hurts to see him hurt. I’m afraid I’m seeing my future if I continue what I’m doing.

Unwillingly, I let go of my wife to put her in the hands of her detail while I protect her father. As her husband, I
should
be the one to hold her . . . to protect her, but duty calls. This is the conflict that exists in someone like me. The tug of war between my head and heart is slicing me in half. The reality of the oath I took to protect the President battles with the vow I made before God and my wife that I would protect her forever. However, the choice was already made before the second promise ever left my mouth.

“There’s nothing to worry about, alright. You’ll be inside the beast with your dad. I’ll be right behind you, okay?” Calmly I grip her face with my steady hands, my fearless eyes conveying a message of strength. I hope it’ll give her some sort of peace.

She nods without asking, but instead speaks only of what she needs from me. Once again, she has taken the back seat without any complaint. “Please be careful. There’s something I have . . .”

I interrupt her, kissing her still quivering lips not wanting her to cry again. I nod in answer, assuring her that we’ll talk later. I watch her go inside the waiting limo followed by the President and his Chief of Staff. I turn to face Tony, awaiting his orders.

“Thank God this damn hospital has underground parking. Is everyone in place?”

“All major intersections blocked, air space secure. You’re good to go.” Dan’s voice comes loud and clear through everyone’s earpiece. He clears his throat then says, “Ryan and Sanders are staying behind with the First Lady.”

A painful silence hits us as Dan’s words echo through all of us, but we don’t have the liberty to succumb to it, not just yet. I climb in the back of the SUV behind the beast holding an assault rifle ready to fire if need be. We’re functioning at the highest level of stress following the incident at Walter Reed. As the motorcade moves it rises up even more, over powering everything else including thinking about my wife.

Dan gives us an update of the crowds gathering in front of the White House as we barrel down Pennsylvania Avenue. Along our route, people litter the streets as the police provide us clear passage.

“Heads up, boys, there’s a suspicious package reported by a trashcan at the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue and Fifteenth Street. It’s too late to divert now. Keep your eyes open and fingers ready.” I blow out a cleansing breath after hearing what Tony just said.

We’re almost there, I can taste victory. Hearing a possible situation brews ahead of us, everyone’s heightened sense of alertness reaches their maximum peak.

“If shit’s going down it’s gonna happen . . . . . .” I pause for what seems like hours as we near the intersection. “. . . . now . . . ,” I mumble at Greg next to me facing the right while I keep an eye on my left side. My finger itches to press the trigger with the slightest movement from anyone out on the street.

Nothing. Nothing happens, not a blast. As the motorcade roars by the gates of the White House, a silent sigh of relief leaves my mouth as well as every agent present. A shroud of triumph that we got the President and his daughter safely home permeates the air. I exit the SUV and run toward my wife, knowing she’d want to see me as soon as she steps out of the limo.