Dolby(2)
Author: Maryann Jordan
After his last mission, his boss informed him that their office manager, Rachel, had insisted that Dolby take some of his vacation days. Carson Dyer wasn’t a stickler for certain aspects of rules when it came to their business, but the health and welfare of the Keepers were of utmost importance to his boss.
Thinking of the office manager, he grinned. Rachel was retired from the Navy and a widow, having lost her Naval pilot husband during a training exercise fifteen years earlier. Hating to be at loose ends, she’d jumped at the chance to work with Carson and keep LSIWC running at maximum efficiency. And being a former Navy officer, she knew just how to handle the Keepers. When she’d said Dolby needed to take his vacation days… that was exactly what he’d done.
He decided the early spring was the perfect time to hike, camp, see some of Northern California that he hadn’t seen in a while, and spend time alone. As he left the wooded, mountainous area heading toward the coast, the hills kept the shoreline from his view, but he could see the darkening clouds in the distance.
Grumbling, he realized how mistaken the weather report had been. He wasn’t overly surprised because the weather patterns could easily change this time of year. He prepared for all contingencies in his rolled-up pack on his back.
As he moved beyond the hills, the Pacific Ocean came into view, and with each step, a little more was visible in the distance. Finally, he came to a cliff and, standing on the edge of the world, had the panoramic vista of the ocean with the waves crashing down below and the dark clouds rolling closer. He didn’t mind the weather. Hell, as a former Ranger, the weather rarely affected a mission, and if it became a difficulty, they simply altered their plan to accomplish the job.
Sucking in a deep breath of briny air, he grinned. Memories of him and his brothers racing along the beaches during their family vacations rushed back. They’d return to the campground with shells, sticks, rocks, crab claws, dead fish, and occasionally a bird skeleton. His mom would ooh and aah over their treasures, then lift a brow, shake her head, and smile toward their dad. He’d often heard other adults ask his mom if she’d wanted a girl, but she’d always laughed and said, “I was willing to take what God gave me. So boys it is! Couldn’t ask for better!” No matter how many times he’d heard her reply, it always made him smile.
Of course, when they were teenagers, racing down the road, dirty clothes sometimes hiding under the beds instead of the laundry basket, or the grocery bill tripling, she’d roll her eyes and grumble playfully, “Boys, you’ll be the death of me!” But even then, he knew they were loved.
And when each of them joined the military, his parents stood proudly at their graduations, cheering them on. Now that he was out of the service, he called his parents weekly and his brothers, who were still on active duty, whenever they were available.
He continued, invigorated by the cool breeze hitting his body. After another mile, the ocean was visible in its full glory, and he stopped near a small bluff. He never tired of the view. Even now, the Lighthouse Security Investigation West Coast compound was located at a decommissioned lighthouse on a cliff overlooking the Pacific. Every day when he parked outside, he stood for a moment and took in the sights and sounds of the waves, the sea birds, and the panoramic view of the sky.
And just then, the heavy raindrops began to pelt his body. Looking down, he spied the white, box-shaped lighthouse on the secluded beach. A deep chuckle of satisfaction erupted, and he started down the path as safely as he could. Quickly soaked, he scouted ahead to determine the distance to his destination.
Making a rookie mistake, he took his eyes off the rocky path, and his foot slipped on the loose, wet gravel. Before he could catch his balance, he tumbled downward. Even with the weight of his backpack, his former training kicked in, and he attempted to curl inward, compacting his body to lessen the impacts as he rolled over and over down the steep hill. Trying to protect his head, he felt the small rocks and scrub brush stab at his torso and legs, grateful for the jeans and padded jacket he wore. As he slowed, he reached out, his fingers instinctively searching for anything to grasp to halt his fall. When he finally came to a stop, his bruised body lay in a heap at the bottom, bleeding from a gash along the side of his head, his clothes soaked and covered in mud.
“Goddammit!” he roared. He rolled himself to a seated position, quickly taking stock of his body, discerning that the only thing broken was his pride. Swiping at the water and mud on his face, he glanced around, his gaze landing once again on the small, squat, concrete lighthouse. Having researched the area, he knew it was open-sided and would provide him with some cover. Pushing to a stand, he battled the dizziness that threatened to send him right back on his ass. He shifted the backpack to a more comfortable position, and after swiping his hand over his face, smearing some of the blood mixed with mud, he slightly staggered until he regained his footing and hurried toward the lighthouse.
He’d barely stepped inside when a piercing scream brought his body to a halt, his feet skidding on the concrete floor. Blinking the moisture from his eyes, he quickly dropped his gaze to the woman scrambling to her feet with a wide-eyed expression of fear plastered on her face.
Lifting his scraped and dirty hands, he tried to calm her obvious terror. “Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to startle you.” From her heaving chest and rapid breaths, it appeared his attempts at reassurance weren’t successful. She paled as the blood drained from her face, and she reared backward as her hands lifted as though to ward him off. Just as she rushed to the other opening, he staggered, falling onto his knees before pitching forward, darkness descending.
2
Marcia’s heart pounded as loud as the rain beating against the concrete overhead. She stared at the huge, mud-covered man who had lunged toward her before falling to the floor. With her back pressed against the wall, she edged toward the opening. With only a few more feet to go before she could escape, her gaze dropped to her backpack on the floor where she’d left it.
Hesitation filled her as her vision blurred. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d fainted when scared, but the idea of being at his mercy had her slow her breathing, dragging in deep breaths until the spots eased from her eyes. The man hadn’t moved, and her mind battled the yearning to flee with the desire to have her backpack with her. The instinct of escape took precedence, and she inched closer to the opening. As she looked down again, it was as though her backpack called to her. Phone. Wallet. ID. Snacks.
Grimacing, she moved with stealth, keeping her eyes pinned on the man on the floor. As she reached for her backpack, she knelt and felt for the strap with her hand, still not willing to take her gaze from him. One twitch from him, and I’m gone!
Inching toward the opening again, she was almost there when he moved slightly and groaned. Chest heaving, she stared at him lying prone on the floor. His head was turned to the side, and while muddy, he appeared to have a streak of red on his forehead. Blood?