WORK IN PROGRESS: The Bad Jokes #2: The Blonde

Chapter 10 (Wyatt): Out Of My Life

Admittedly, it took me a second. When I got the text from Gracie, I read it over twice before it dawned on me. The first time I read it, I was wondering what the fuck she was talking about. Glock? Hourly check in? She's fine? When had Gracie sent me a text in all the time I'd been assigned as her protection officer?

Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner, folks! The second time reading it, it clicked.

She'd sent me an SOS.

Glock, here's my hourly check in. I'm fine.

Someone was in the room with her, someone who had a gun, and she was not fine. With effort, I had to stop myself from thinking about what could have happened to her and what could be currently happening to her. I went into protection officer mode, not man who loves Gracie and is about to lose his mind mode.

Look at the facts, Wyatt.

Fact, she was OK enough to send me a text, and more than that, it was a clever one letting me know what she was facing. 

Fact, she was conscious one minute ago when she sent the text, so she probably still was.

I texted back Gracie.

Message received. Next check-in at the top of the hour.

I pulled my gun, then sent off a group text that was to be used only in emergencies. Hatch, Gracie's other protection officers and Alex were all part of it. I knew Alex was out of the country, but the replies started rolling in. Then I tried to access the camera in her room, but it was down.

Fuck. Who was this person who'd gotten in? Someone who could hack into at least four separate, secure systems.

Hatch: Protocol activated

Hank: On my way. Ten out

Errol: Fifteen out

I waited five minutes, then called out to Gracie. "Gracie, you want lunch? I'm making some sandwiches."

Answer me, Gracie. Answer me, dammit. 

I felt like I died three times in the five seconds it took her to answer me.

"No, I'm good, thanks anyway." Her voice sounded steady, not shaky, not pained. Good girl. Stay strong.

Stripping off my sweatshirt, I grabbed my body armor vest and put it on before I slipped my sweatshirt back on over it. 

Stay busy. Plan. Run scenarios. 

Checking my watch, I saw two more texts come in. 

Hank: Ten houses down. Coming to door.

Hatch: SWAT team on its way. Twelve minutes out. Don't do anything until they arrive.

And there it was.

The go signal. Hatch's training manual and protocols laid out a strict adherence to processes we needed to follow, including waiting for the SWAT team and the professional hostage negotiators.

Except one protocol wasn't on the books. 

Hatch had a thing against stalkers.

"You get the chance, take the shot. Stalkers get put away for a while and come back worse than before. If they have a weapon, take them out. Period."

So all communication exchanged in texts looked as if we were following our procedure manual to a T. But when Hatch told us not to act until the police arrived, he wanted things handled immediately.

I texted Hank to ring the bell, and one minute later, he did.

"Fucking hell, Gracie. Are you expecting someone? A heads up would have been nice."

Please answer me, sweetheart.

"Nope. It might be an Amazon package," she called back, her voice still steady. "She always rings the bell."

She was still conscious, and I couldn't think about how scared she must be. Gracie had also just told me the person with her was a woman because I knew for a fact her Amazon driver was a man. This woman was amazing with her ability to think under pressure like she was.

I opened the door and let Hank in. "You were right," I yelled to her. "Holy fucking hell, woman! How much shit did you order?"

"Sorry," she yelled back after a minute. "I'm trying to write, Glock, and you keep interrupting me. I'll text you again at the check-in time, but please leave me alone until then. I'm on a tight deadline."

Hank looked at me and mouthed Glock?

"OK, Gracie. Sorry!" I called back.

Hank and I quietly positioned ourselves outside Gracie's door. Hank pulled the tiny, under-door camera out from the surveillance pack, slowly slid it into place and I monitored the feed on my phone.

And there she was. Gracie's stalker, looking over Gracie's shoulder at the computer monitor as Gracie typed on her keyboard. The stalker held a gun in her hand, currently pressed against Gracie's back.

Errol joined us, moving close like a ghost. I'd left the front door open for him and he'd come right inside. He looked at the feed along with Hank and, using hand signals, we came up with a plan.

I knocked on her door loudly and called out to her to cover any noise Errol might make as he picked the lock on her door. 

"Gracie? Gracie? I need to talk to you for a minute about one of these packages!"

"God, Glock, what the hell is your problem?" Gracie yelled back at me. "What don't you understand about I'm on a deadline and can't be disturbed?"

Standing off to the side, Errol held my phone while I prepared to end this. The stalker was looking at the door, her gun still pointed at Gracie. I twisted the door knob and pushed it open and we saw the woman aim and fire at the doorway, obviously thinking someone would be standing there, making themselves a perfect target.

Surprise, bitch. 

Knowing where she was standing, I stepped into the doorway, aimed and fired before she could get off another shot or turn her gun toward Gracie. She flew back, the back of her head blown open, and dropped to the ground. The three of us rushed into the room, where I grabbed Gracie and pulled her out of the room, while Hank and Errol made sure everything was permanently handled.

Just as I sat a shaking Gracie on the couch, the police arrived, and swarmed over the house. Many hours later, the body was removed, the police had interviewed all of us separately, they'd viewed our footage showing the clear and present danger to Gracie, and finally told us they'd be in touch if they had any further questions. That may have been helped along by Gracie's uncle, the Judge. Her family was waiting outside, at Gracie's and the police's request, but before she went out to them, I pulled her to me.

"God, Gracie," I said as I wrapped her up in my arms. "I think I lost thirty years off my life. That was too fucking close. Way too fucking close. I could have lost you." I didn't care that my voice sounded choked because not only was I choked up, I was fucking emotional. I'd almost lost her. That fact kept playing in my mind.

Gracie gave me the slightest squeeze back, but then she was pushing away from me, from my hold.

"Thank you for saving my life," she said, and her words were also emotional but stilted and formal. She was thanking me for saving her life as if I were some stranger who couldn't be expected to save her.

"Gracie, of course I'd save your life. I'd give my life for you in a heartbeat, no question about it," I said. "And we definitely need to talk if you're surprised that I'd do that."

Gracie moved away from me and it reminded me of that fucking game Mother, May I? It looked like the Mother had told Gracie to take four giant steps back.

"No, Wyatt. We're not going to talk. I appreciate what you've done more than you'll ever know, I do, but now that you're not needed in an official capacity anymore as one of my protection officers, I won't be seeing you anymore. That means we're done, and you're out of my life for good."