Excerpt of Ready To Protect

"Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee." Jeremiah 1:5

Chapter One

Jamie London was so afraid she was trembling inside. She’d been on edge ever since witnessing a murder several months ago, but this was different. Worse. Her level of anxiety was climbing off the charts. She didn’t want to be in busy Denver. She didn’t want to be interrogated by the FBI. And she certainly didn’t want to be noticed or recognized. Not now. Especially not now. The sooner she could escape the imposing government offices the better. She just wished the agent in charge hadn’t ordered her to park in the dimly lit garage instead of on the street.

The elevator taking her back to tier three of the concrete parking structure halted with a slight jerk. Doors whooshed open. Eyes widening, she peered out into the gloom. Traffic on the busy streets outside hummed in the background like a hive of angry bees but up there where she felt so isolated, nothing moved.

There were no suspicious footsteps, no dark figures loitering in the shadows, no sounds that should have triggered foreboding. And yet she was so scared she could barely convince herself to take the first steps toward her car.

“We’ll make it,” Jamie said, tenderly patting her stomach and believing that the unborn baby nestled beneath her heart could hear and understand. Pulling her hobo bag to the front, she held it like a shield and left the elevator. FBI Special Agent in Charge, Michael Bridges, had offered to summon someone to escort her to her car after her interview, but she had declined rather than wait around. All she’d wanted was to get out of there ASAP. To escape the building as well as the tragic memories his questions had dredged up. Being the key witness to Congresswoman Natasha Clark’s murder was not something Jamie could deny.

Testifying was her civic duty. But she wished she could leave that part of her life as far behind her as she had her unfaithful husband.

“It’s not your fault, honey,” she cooed to the baby. “You can’t help who your daddy was, can you? Of course not.”

Speaking aloud calmed Jamie some. She truly was not alone. Not anymore. She and her little girl would stick together no matter what, and she’d do her very best to assume the roles of both parents. Lots of women did it. She could, too.

Her jacket didn’t quite meet in the front anymore, but most of the time it kept her warm enough for early May weather in Denver. Tights beneath her tunic helped too, yet she shivered in the gloom.

Sounds of her own footsteps echoed down the aisle of the designated visitor area as she hurried to her car, unlocking its doors with her electronic key. Someone had pulled too close to the driver’s door so she tossed the bulky purse in ahead of her, turned sideways and started to squeeze through the narrow opening. Seven months worth of baby didn’t hamper her most of the time but in this case, it was a tight fit.

Jamie held her breath as she strained to wiggle into the car. Silence surrounded her. The rapid beat of her heart echoed in her ears. A car door slammed in the distance. Jamie froze. Tried to listen past the thudding of her pulse, the raggedness of her breathing.

The baby kicked, startling her and providing enough extra incentive to propel her the rest of the way in. Her hip hit the steering wheel and glanced off. Ouch! She pushed against the wheel in order to drag her left leg the rest of the way and slam the door. The key? Where was the ignition key? She’d just had it in her hand. Had she dropped it when she’d been struggling with the door? Or was it back in her purse?

Muttering, “Key, key, key…” she patted the seat and slipped her fingers into the crack between it and the center console. Nothing.

Her shoulder bag had slid to the floor on the passenger side when she’d thrown it in ahead of her. She reached to the right. Her fingertips brushed the strap. Almost had it. Almost, but not quite.

Frustrated and sensing impending trouble despite the comfort of her car, Jamie leaned to stretch farther.

A boom with a whine split the silence. Hurt her ears. The car’s windshield shattered into a spiderweb of shards, held in place only by the layer of plastic laminated between two sheets of glass for safety.

Jamie may have screamed. She wasn’t sure. What she did hear almost before the echo of the attack had died down was the wail of alarms and an automated voice instructing everyone to shelter in place. Well, duh, she thought. Like I’m going anywhere now.

More shots echoed through the tiers of the garage, this time with more bang and less whine. Tires were squealing. A motor raced.

Jamie pressed herself to the seat until the sounds of immediate danger ceased, then slowly raised on one elbow, trying to keep her head below the level of the dashboard.

Running feet pounded down stairways and elevators slid open. In minutes, armed men and women had deployed up and down the aisles and around her damaged car.

She recognized SAC Bridges as he shouted orders and reached for her driver’s door with his free hand while the other pointed a lethal-looking handgun at the ceiling.

“Are you hurt?” he yelled.

“I…I don’t think so.” Jamie opened the door slightly. “What happened?”

“Looks like you were shot at. Did you see the shooter? Can you identify the driver of the black SUV?”

“I didn’t see a soul.”

“Okay. We should be able to get info from our CCTV cameras.” Bridges motioned to one of the nearby plainclothes officers wearing a plastic ID badge. “Stay with her until the ambulance gets here and make sure she doesn’t move until we’re sure she isn’t injured.”

“Yes, sir,” the dark-haired agent said.

Jamie didn’t argue. She didn’t have it left in her at the moment. Lying on her right shoulder she closed her eyes and caressed her baby bump with her left hand, apologizing to her child over and over. “Mommy’s so sorry, little one. So, so sorry.”

Had pregnancy enhanced her senses? she wondered. Was that why she’d felt frightened even before the attack? Or was the fear simply a result of having to relive the congresswoman’s last moments for the FBI?

“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered. Bile rose in her throat. Her whole body was trembling. Reality settled in her heart and filled her mind with thanksgiving. If she hadn’t dropped the key and leaned down to retrieve her purse, the bullet might have injured her. Or worse.

There was only one suitable reaction to that horrifying conclusion. Keeping her eyes squeezed shut she turned her thoughts and words toward heaven with a fervent, “Thank You, Father. Thank You, Jesus,” punctuated by silent tears of gratitude.