with his strength.
“I’m sure,” she said, straightening her shoulders. She knew that the chances of whoever had done this coming back tonight were slim.
“Your lock is broken,” he said.
Now she frowned. “I’m a cop with a gun. I can handle it.” She waved at her place. “I’m just pissed that they messed up my stuff.”
“Okay,” he said. “You have my number if you need me.”
She nodded, but knew that she would never call him. “Thanks for your help. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She shut the door behind him and wondered briefly if she should barricade it. But the only thing she had was the couch or a bar stool. One was overkill and the other useless.
She got ready for bed and put her gun under her pillow. The hard lump was uncomfortable but reassuring.
----
Z ach stared at the door after Alyssa shut him out. He sighed. Even if she hadn’t been his friend’s sister, there was no way he was leaving her on her own tonight. He glanced up and down the hallway before settling himself beside her door.
He’d spent nights in way worse situations. Here, he was warm, dry, and no one was shooting at him. He leaned his head back against the wall. For Alyssa, he would endure much more than sleeping against a wall, especially to keep her safe. He knew that she probably wouldn’t need him tonight, but he couldn’t leave her alone.
He nodded at a neighbor who popped out to put a bag of garbage down the chute in the little room down the hall. The old man shuffled past in his slippers and Zach saw a faded blue tattoo featuring an anchor decorating his left arm. The man stared at Zach. “You’re the cop who came to my door before. You watching out for our Alyssa?”
Zach nodded.
“Good,” he said. “It’s about time someone did.” He dumped his garbage and walked back to his door. Before he went in, he looked at Zach. “You need anything, son?”
Zach smiled. “I’m good, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir,” he said. “I worked for a living.”
Zach chuckled, and hoped he’d have the same sense of humor when he was that age.
He closed his eyes and took a combat nap. It allowed him to rest, yet remain aware enough to hear and respond to anything around him. Combat sleep was an essential tool for any soldier, no matter what their trade. He’d learned it in basic training and refined it over his years in special ops.
He wasn’t sure how long had passed when he heard the scream.
----
T he souq is hot and crowded. Alyssa pushes people out of her way, but more and more stand in front of her, talking, smoking cigarettes, all staring at her with cold eyes. She can’t find her friends.
Where are Scott and Brian?
The crowd parts for a moment. A boy of no more than twelve walks by, humming.
No, not humming. Praying.
She reaches for her sidearm. Her hand comes up empty. She throws people aside, trying to get to the boy.
“Brian!” she screams. She has to warn them. “Scott!”
More people stand in her way.
Then a woman in a black hijab is there, gripping her arms. Her contact. Something is wrong.
“I’m sorry, Alyssa.”
Alyssa tries to shove her away, but the woman’s grip is too tight. “No!”
----
Z ach’s eyes snapped open at the sound of the scream. He was up and moving into Alyssa’s apartment before he’d even registered he was awake. His hand held his gun, but he kept it lowered and by his side as he stalked through her apartment to her bedroom. It was the darkest part of the night—around three a.m., he figured. Traffic noise was at a minimum.
At her bedroom door, he paused. He heard her thrashing in her bed.
“No!” she screamed.
He went into the room. Alyssa was in the throes of a nightmare, the sheets twisted around her legs.
“Alyssa,” he said, reaching for her shoulder.
Her eyes snapped open and she reached under her pillow.
Instinct and years of training made him dive for the floor as she pulled her Glock out.
“Alyssa,” he called from the floor, his
“I’m sure,” she said, straightening her shoulders. She knew that the chances of whoever had done this coming back tonight were slim.
“Your lock is broken,” he said.
Now she frowned. “I’m a cop with a gun. I can handle it.” She waved at her place. “I’m just pissed that they messed up my stuff.”
“Okay,” he said. “You have my number if you need me.”
She nodded, but knew that she would never call him. “Thanks for your help. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She shut the door behind him and wondered briefly if she should barricade it. But the only thing she had was the couch or a bar stool. One was overkill and the other useless.
She got ready for bed and put her gun under her pillow. The hard lump was uncomfortable but reassuring.
----
Z ach stared at the door after Alyssa shut him out. He sighed. Even if she hadn’t been his friend’s sister, there was no way he was leaving her on her own tonight. He glanced up and down the hallway before settling himself beside her door.
He’d spent nights in way worse situations. Here, he was warm, dry, and no one was shooting at him. He leaned his head back against the wall. For Alyssa, he would endure much more than sleeping against a wall, especially to keep her safe. He knew that she probably wouldn’t need him tonight, but he couldn’t leave her alone.
He nodded at a neighbor who popped out to put a bag of garbage down the chute in the little room down the hall. The old man shuffled past in his slippers and Zach saw a faded blue tattoo featuring an anchor decorating his left arm. The man stared at Zach. “You’re the cop who came to my door before. You watching out for our Alyssa?”
Zach nodded.
“Good,” he said. “It’s about time someone did.” He dumped his garbage and walked back to his door. Before he went in, he looked at Zach. “You need anything, son?”
Zach smiled. “I’m good, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir,” he said. “I worked for a living.”
Zach chuckled, and hoped he’d have the same sense of humor when he was that age.
He closed his eyes and took a combat nap. It allowed him to rest, yet remain aware enough to hear and respond to anything around him. Combat sleep was an essential tool for any soldier, no matter what their trade. He’d learned it in basic training and refined it over his years in special ops.
He wasn’t sure how long had passed when he heard the scream.
----
T he souq is hot and crowded. Alyssa pushes people out of her way, but more and more stand in front of her, talking, smoking cigarettes, all staring at her with cold eyes. She can’t find her friends.
Where are Scott and Brian?
The crowd parts for a moment. A boy of no more than twelve walks by, humming.
No, not humming. Praying.
She reaches for her sidearm. Her hand comes up empty. She throws people aside, trying to get to the boy.
“Brian!” she screams. She has to warn them. “Scott!”
More people stand in her way.
Then a woman in a black hijab is there, gripping her arms. Her contact. Something is wrong.
“I’m sorry, Alyssa.”
Alyssa tries to shove her away, but the woman’s grip is too tight. “No!”
----
Z ach’s eyes snapped open at the sound of the scream. He was up and moving into Alyssa’s apartment before he’d even registered he was awake. His hand held his gun, but he kept it lowered and by his side as he stalked through her apartment to her bedroom. It was the darkest part of the night—around three a.m., he figured. Traffic noise was at a minimum.
At her bedroom door, he paused. He heard her thrashing in her bed.
“No!” she screamed.
He went into the room. Alyssa was in the throes of a nightmare, the sheets twisted around her legs.
“Alyssa,” he said, reaching for her shoulder.
Her eyes snapped open and she reached under her pillow.
Instinct and years of training made him dive for the floor as she pulled her Glock out.
“Alyssa,” he called from the floor, his
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