Amber Scott, Ben Hopkin, Carolyn McCray, Jeremy Rodden, P R Mason, Mimi Barbour

132 Pages·2016·0.82 MB·English

by  Bullets Brass

Bullets, Brass, & Babes

An Indie Book Collective Anthology

Contributors:
Carolyn McCray
Amber Scott
Ben Hopkin
Jeremy Rodden
Patricia Mason
Mimi Barbour
Start Reading
An Engagement to Remember by Carolyn McCray
Uh Oh, It's Magic by Amber Scott
With Star Diamonds In Her Eyes by Carolyn McCray & Ben Hopkin
What a Tiny World by Jeremy Rodden
It Keeps Getting Shitakier by Patricia Mason
Partners by Mimi Barbour
Dark Lullaby by Cristyn West
Afterword
About the Authors/Releases
Author Contact Info
Copyright
Table of Contents
An Engagement to Remember
By Carolyn McCray

While this story stands alone, it is a vital work that bridges Rebecca & Brandt’s
relationship between the #1 Bestselling Kindle title in both Men’s Adventure &
War,
30 Pieces of Silver and its sequel, Havoc—due out in Spring 2013.

Rebecca’s gaze drifted over the elegant dining room. Every table set with
the finest of linens and sparkling crystal held bubbling champagne. She almost
wanted to pinch herself, except she didn’t want to wrinkle her silk dress.
Weird. Her in silk. She was far more comfortable in field-stained khakis.
But the Hotel Oberoi Amarvilas restaurant was a five star dining experience.
And given that they were in India, most of the other women were dressed in
elegant saris, draped in deep blue and shiny gold.
And for a woman who spent most of her time in a gray sterile laboratory,
the wall length aquarium brimming with exotic sea life and walls hand painted
with scenes from India’s rich mythology was just a tad overwhelming.
She glanced across the table to Brandt. He too was dressed to impress. A
tuxedo, even. But his jaw was as square as ever, and those dark eyes? No matter
whether in a tux or battle camouflage, Rebecca remembered how Brandt’s eyes
twinkled under the torchlight in that jungle clearing in Ecuador. Now they
glistened in the candlelight. How far they had come.
Brandt smiled warmly, putting his hand over hers. She knew how he
yearned to get back into the field, chasing down the baddest of the bad guys, but
he hadn’t complained a peep since being assigned close-protection duty to her
while the rest of his team tracked down and eliminated the remaining members
of the organization that had nearly killed both of them, the Knot.
Granted, she and Brandt had explored the “close” part of his protection
duties in great detail. Her cheeks flushed at just the thought of this morning’s
“exercises.” Six months into their relationship, and he could still make her blush.
And now they were here to celebrate the news that Brandt’s team had
taken down the last of the Knot. They could breathe easy again. Tomorrow, after
a quick sightseeing trip to the Taj Mahal for her and Fort Agra for Brandt, they
headed back to London. A part of her was thrilled to begin her research in
earnest again. To have a fully equipped and staffed laboratory at her disposal? It
was a DNA paleoanthropologist’s wet dream. But another part of her feared for
what would happen to their relationship.
Brandt was scheduled to go back out into the field in just three days. Could
their bond stand the test of days, weeks, and even months of being apart while he
was on classified assignments? Would he meet another damsel in distress, far
thinner and used to wearing silk dresses?
“Well? Romantic enough for Valentine’s Day?” Brandt asked as he nodded
to the bay window.
Across the street lay the massive gates that led to the Taj Mahal. The red
brick structure was lit against the night sky. In her mind’s eye, Rebecca could see
beyond the walls to the treasure they protected. The long, narrow pool reflected
one of the modern seven wonders of the world. The Taj Mahal’s huge white
domes and minarets glowed brightly, reminding the world of Shah Jahan’s love
for his wife. Of course she was his third wife, but the monument had become a
symbol of everlasting love, nonetheless.
Many may argue that Paris was the most romantic spot on earth, but with
all the reconstruction going on after their last visit there, the Taj Mahal was
absolutely the most romantic for her and Brandt.
Rebecca squeezed his hand. “You had me at ‘Let’s go to India.’ ”
Brandt leaned over and whispered. “You had me at ‘Are you a moron?’ ”
Oh, God. He remembered the first words that she had ever spoken to him.
In her defense she was tied to a stake in the rain forest with an anaconda
wrapped around her chest. But still. Brandt was anything but a moron. How
many times had he saved her life? In Ecuador, Paris, Budapest, Istanbul, and half
a dozen other locales.
“Brandt, I am so sorry for—”
He leaned in and kissed her, interrupting her apology. His lips, tender yet
firm against hers, asked her to stop talking and start kissing. Brandt’s fingers
interlaced with hers as his thumb stroked her palm. Rebecca could swear that
steam shot out of her ears. Her body lit up as brightly as the Taj Mahal. Luckily,
Brandt pulled back before someone asked them to go up to their room. Although
the way her legs quivered, that might not be such a bad idea.
“Rebecca,” Brandt breathed out.
“Dessert?” their waiter asked.
Brandt snapped back into his chair as she folded her hands on her lap. It
was so easy to forget that they were in a crowded restaurant. For a moment it had
seemed like only the two of them existed.
“Sorry, I’m going to need the menu again,” she murmured. Anything that
happened before that kiss, long forgotten.
As the waiter moved off to fulfill her request, Brandt whisked the napkin
from his lap and rose. “I will take this opportunity to use the restroom.”
Rebecca’s eyebrow shot up. “Everything okay?”
“Absolutely,” he reassured her, but his eyes didn’t register reassuring.
This was the third time to the restroom for Brandt since they arrived at the
restaurant. For a guy who didn’t allow for a single potty break on a five-hour
hike out of the rain forest, he sure was liberal with the latrine visits tonight.
She was about to rise and follow him, but then caught sight of his rear
tightly outlined by his black pants as he walked away. Maybe, on second
thought, she’d just sit here and enjoy the view.
*
Brandt kept his pace steady passing the elaborate saltwater tank filled with
coral, sea urchins, and clown fish until he turned down the hallway. Then, he
broke into a trot. He hit the bathroom door at a run. Bursting in, he found only
the attendant. Brandt wasn’t quite sure what these guys in swanky hotel
bathrooms were supposed to do for you exactly, unzip your fly maybe, but he
needed him gone.
Pulling out an American five-dollar bill, Brandt offered it to the guy with a
nod to the door, but the attendant only frowned. Fine. Brandt pulled out a twenty.
The man accepted it and left. If Brandt didn’t button it up these bathroom
excursions were going to cost over a hundred bucks.
Brandt stared at his reflection in the mirror. “Damn it, Brandt, pull it
together.”
But as he brought a small, red velvet box from the inside pocket of his tux,
he couldn’t pull it together if he tried. Slowly Brandt opened it. A diamond ring
stared back at him. Was it too small? Would Rebecca be insulted by a ring less
than three carats? What could he do, though? He was on a military man’s budget,
and he wanted to still save up for a house. Those things were more important
than the bling, right?
What if she said “no?” How could he leave for a mission not knowing if
she was waiting for him?
God, it was sappy and stupid, and his men teased him endlessly about it,
but his stomach lurched at the thought of not having her arms to wrap around
him at night. Well, and her legs too, but that was a different kind of yearning.
The ache he was talking about went far deeper than his groin.
Brandt snapped the box closed. This was ridiculous. He’d step in front of
the president to take a bullet, hell, even the secretary of education, easier than he
could ask Rebecca to marry him. A narco-drug lord? He’d simply throw an
elbow to his nose. But this … this churned his stomach like none other.
How many times had already tried to ask her? He was going to do it after
they sat down at the table. Then he was going to slip the ring into her glass of
champagne. Then after the salads came. Then forget about it after the chicken
satay.
And now, dessert? He was running out of meal to make this happen.
No. It had to be now. This mission was time sensitive. He was not going to
let this window slip by. Rebecca may not have the largest ring to brag about, but
by God, he was going to give her an engagement to remember.
*
Rebecca waved the waiter off. He was determined to keep their
champagne glasses full. And he wasn’t even their waiter. Five-star restaurants,
man. They did service with a capital “S.”
She sipped the nearly overflowing glass of champagne as she glanced
around the room. Was this what her life could have been like if she had applied
her skills to the commercial sector? Being able to splice DNA fifteen different
ways was an extremely well-paid career in the pharmaceutical world.
Could she dine like this every night? Forget what Top Ramen tasted like
and learn when lobster was best in season?
Rebecca chuckled. That was so not her. Sure, tonight was grand, but
tomorrow, she and Brandt would pick up some street food off a camel-drawn
cart and be all the happier for it. Opulence was great, but a well-worn pair of
jeans was much more her style.
Brandt came around the corner, straightening his jacket. He looked so
sophisticated. But was that water dripping off his nose? Rebecca frowned. Was
he sick? He had been acting a little odd all night. She had just assumed that his
tuxedo’s cummerbund was too tight. Lord knew that the silk dress had gotten
itchy after the first five minutes. And the static from the garment? Rebecca
feared she’d look in a mirror and find her hair standing on end.
He sat down rather abruptly, placing the napkin back on his lap like a little
boy might at his first cotillion. She waited as he stared down at the white
tablecloth. Finally his jaw bunched and he looked up, reaching for her hand.
“Your dessert menu,” the waiter announced in a clipped British accent.
“Not now,” Brandt rumbled.
The poor man’s eyes dilated as he awkwardly placed the menu on the
table, then scurried off.
“Sorry,” Brandt said as he gripped her hand. “But if I don’t say this now
…”
Rebecca kept a cheerful smile even though her heart sank. They hadn’t
really discussed life post-Knot. Had Brandt realized he wasn’t up for not just a
long-distance relationship but a transcontinental one? Had he brought her to the
shadow of the Taj Mahal to soften the blow of a breakup?
“Rebecca,” he said nearly pained. She hated seeing the crow’s feet at the
edge of his eyes pinched in worry. She hated it even more when it spelled the
bad news that was about to come her way.
“I, I…” Brandt stammered.
You what? She wanted to scream but also didn’t want to hear the words
that followed.
“Rebecca, will—” Brandt stopped, dropping her hand. “Crap. I almost
forgot …
Seriously this was going to go down as the worst break up speech ever.
But then Brandt pulled something out from his pocket. A box. A red velvet
box. A box just the right size for a ring. Breath caught in Rebecca’s throat.
Brandt wasn’t breaking up with her. Not at all.
Was he really going to propose?
As Brandt fumbled with the box, he asked, “Rebecca Sasha Monroe will
you—”
Yeah, that’s about when the first explosion sounded.
*
Brandt slammed the box closed shoving it into his pocket while his other
hand found Rebecca’s and pulled her down, using his elbow to knock the table
on end so when the car right outside their window blew, the wood took most of
the damage.
Glass shattered, screams sounded, and chaos reigned.
The restaurant was plunged into quasi-darkness as the lights plunged out to
be replaced by yellow emergency lighting.
Everyone here was well aware of the Mumbai attacks. This assault had all
the earmarks for it. Car bombs to start then gunfire in the distance. The terrorists
were known for hitting tourist spots, especially where Americans gathered. And
the Taj Mahal on Valentine’s Day? This restaurant was an all you can eat
jihadist’s buffet. The fundamentalists were getting more fundamental by the day.
Even grabbing and beating native Muslims who expressed their affection too
outwardly in public.
He held Rebecca close as the other patrons scrambled to flee. But he
pulled in one breath after another, making certain that there wasn’t a second car
bomb waiting to go off. Once past five breaths, he tugged Rebecca behind him
entering the stream of panicked diners who fled in all directions, falling,
slipping, trampling one another.
Brandt grabbed a young girl who had tripped, lifting her into her mother’s
arms. Once free of the girl, he angled them across the restaurant, away from the
bulk of the crowd. Unfettered, they broke into a full run. Brandt didn’t know
whether to be proud of Rebecca or feel a little sorry for her. She was so used to
being under attack that she didn’t complain. The woman knew when to run and
ask questions later.
They found the stairwell and pushed through the throng trying to get down
from the hotel’s upper floors. Not Brandt.
Rebecca’s heels clanged on the metal steps as they rushed upward. Making
the turn from the second-floor landing to the third floor, Rebecca balked as an
older man and woman burst through the stairwell door and then hurried past
them down the stairs.
“Our room is right here,” she said trying to urge him into the second-floor
hallway.
Yes, their room, booked under an assumed name with the best forged
passports that the CIA could come up with, was right there. The nearest room to
the emergency exit and on a floor they could make a jump from the window and
hope to live. But that wasn’t the room he was heading for.
“Trust me,” he said, not having time to explain.
And God love her, she did. Without another word, she followed him up
those stairs and through the third floor door. He pulled out the keycard and
swiped it in the first room’s lock but it flashed red.
Damn it. Wrong key. He fished for the second key, found it, opened the
door, and rushed inside.
*
Rebecca stumbled to a stop as the door hit her in the butt. In the dim light,
she scanned a room crammed with weapons. There were equipment bags
everywhere and enough machine guns and pistols to arm a militia.
“What is this?” she croaked out, finding it hard to speak after the brutal
shock of the last few moments. The explosion still rang in her ears. And the
blood. They had run over and around dead bodies. How much devastation could
one person see in a lifetime? And now this.
As Brandt dug around in the bags, tossing weapons like they were baseball
mitts into a gym bag, he answered, “A shadow room.”
“Shadow room?” she repeated even though she’d heard Brandt perfectly
fine the first time.