Deep Sleep (Devin Gray #1)(2)

“He’s not breathing,” said Maya, immediately beginning chest compressions.

“Keep that up,” said the soldier. “I need to find a pen to twist this tighter. I’ll be right back.”

She kept up the rapid compressions long after the soldier returned to tighten the tourniquet—long after it had become obvious that the man had passed away. The soldier checked his vitals one last time before shaking her head.

“We did everything we could,” said the soldier. “Let’s lend a hand closer to the explosion.”

Maya followed her into the dense black smoke washing over the promenade, catching a glimpse of a thick smoke column rising from the direction of her family’s neighborhood. She stopped and backed up until the column appeared again.

“Over here!” said the soldier, barely visible on the promenade.

Maya hesitated before answering, her gaze fixed on the growing black pillar. “I think one of the rockets hit my street!” The soldier got up and quickly made her way to Maya, putting a hand on her shoulder when she arrived.

“You did good here. Go to your family,” she said. “If you see a medical team on or near the promenade, send them this way!”

“I will,” said Maya before taking off.

Maya followed a maze of tight smoke-congested streets out of the beach area to her neighborhood, the smoke intensifying as she approached the intersection just west of her family’s apartment building, reducing visibility drastically. She stepped onto the sidewalk to avoid getting hit by a speeding emergency vehicle and reached the intersection corner a few moments later.

Hal Cohen, a close friend of the family, stepped out of the small market at the corner, blocking her path. He motioned for her to come inside.

“Maya. In here. It’s too dangerous that way,” he said. “A police car backed out of your street a minute ago and told everyone to stay clear until the firefighting teams arrive.”

“I have to check on my family,” said Maya.

“It’s not safe,” he said. “Fires and collapsing buildings everywhere. There’s nothing you can do right now.”

“I have to go,” she said, pushing past him.

“You always have a home with us!” he said as she turned the corner.

Maya considered his words while blindly navigating the sidewalk. She could barely see more than ten feet in front of her at this point, her eyes stinging from the acrid smoke. Maya lifted her sweat-soaked shirt collar over her nose to ease her breathing, but the simple trick had little impact. She started coughing uncontrollably a half block from her family’s apartment, which stood somewhere on the other side of a seemingly impenetrable wall of smoke.

Her lungs rebelling, she stumbled forward until a stiff breeze off the Mediterranean Sea momentarily drove the smoke inland, giving her a quick peek down the street. A tower of flames leaped skyward from the charred, skeletal ruins of her family’s apartment building. Maya dropped to her knees on the sidewalk and screamed until the smoke once again engulfed her.

Maya tried to get up but was unable to rise to her feet—or even take a full breath. She reached for the car parked next to her and tried to pull herself up but found the task impossible. Her lungs were spent. She leaned against the car and gasped for air, realizing she’d made a costly error. A fatal error that would keep her from reporting for duty in a few weeks and avenging her family’s murder.

She slumped a little farther, her sight dimming, until a familiar voice boomed nearby.

“I found her!” said Hal Cohen, his rotund figure appearing in front of her moments later.

Hands lifted her off the sidewalk and whisked her away from the darkness. An oxygen mask pressed against her face once the blue sky reappeared. Two paramedics crowded over her. She’d live to fight another day. And damn, would she fight.





PART I





CHAPTER 1


Helen Gray gently shut her eyes before taking several deep, protracted breaths. The short meditation exercise was more symbolic than anything. A few pretend moments of calm wouldn’t make a dent in her anxiety. The stakes were too high. Two decades of ruinous self-sacrifice had delivered her here. A single misstep tonight could render that painful journey meaningless.

She would have thrown away her career, destroyed her marriage, and—most painfully—alienated her children. For nothing. Helen had no choice but to see this through, even if redemption on any level remained entirely out of reach. At this point, she’d inflicted far too much misery on those she loved the most to fail or turn back. She opened her eyes, her hands still lightly trembling in her lap.

Helen turned the car off and placed the keyless ignition fob in one of the cup holders. The last thing she needed to worry about on her way out was finding the key to the car. Not that she expected to be flustered when she returned. Her plan to kidnap Donald Wilson was fairly straightforward, and she’d mentally rehearsed it, from start to finish, no fewer than a thousand times over the past year. She’d even created a list of possible obstacles, ranging from simple to elaborate—game-planning them until she was satisfied that she could handle just about anything and accomplish the mission.

Always the same plan, because Wilson’s warm-weather-season routine hadn’t changed since he’d taken up residence at the facility three years ago. The camera she had hidden along the western edge of the sprawling property had confirmed what she had suspected from a decade of off-and-on surveillance. Wilson had a fondness for an alcoholic beverage or three on the back patio at sunset.