Page 72 of Her Fearless Warrior

“You never went to see anyone. No counselling, right?”

She shook her head as she burrowed closer.

“You are now. You get that, right?”

She nodded her head.

Leila didn’t know how long they stood like that, drowned rats in the middle of one of the biggest and oldest banks in DC, but nobody gave them any guff. She wondered if her dad had flashed his FBI badge to keep them at bay.

When she finally pulled her shit together, she took a step back. “I’m better now.”

“You sure?”

“Well, I’m not up for tater tots at American Girl. But I sure could use a grilled cheese made by mom.”

Her dad laughed.

They walked to the bank of elevators, and he pressed the floor to where his car was parked. When they stepped out of the elevators, Leila could see her dad’s car. He’d backed it in as usual. Linc did the same thing, something about an easy exit. Men.

Her dad still kept his arm around her, his coat and the Nordstrom package in his other hand. “I really am all right. I hardly ever lose it like that anymore,” she assured her father.

He turned to her as they stood in front of his car. “I don’t care if it only happens once a year. You still need to get in and see someone. I’m going to call our in-house psychologist and get you a referral. It’s been five months, Leila. The more you let this fester, the worse it’s going to get.”

“Okay, I promise.”

“That’s my girl. Now let me put this into the trunk, then I’ll open your door.”

“Dad, I don’t have a broken arm.”

“What’s the rule?” he teased.

She watched as her dad went around the back to put the Nordstrom bag and box into the trunk. She looked up when she heard some asshole driving too fast in the parking garage. Since she was with her dad, she didn’t yell out the speed limit like she might have if she were alone. Her dad came up to her and started to open the door, when a black panel van skidded to a stop right in front of their car.

Two men, all dressed in black, with ski masks on their faces, jumped out. Before she knew what was happening, her dad had pushed her behind him, so hard that she fell onto her hands and knees onto the cement.

She heard a shot fired and screamed.

“Dad!”

Two more shots were fired. They were deafening.

Her dad fell backward on top of her. Their car passenger door was slammed shut. Over her dad’s shoulder, she could see one man with the ski mask pulling at her dad’s arm, trying to take him away from her.

“No! You can’t have him!” she screamed. She pulled her father back on top of her.

The terrorist continued to pull on her father’s arm, and she wrapped her arms around his chest and felt blood. It only made her squeeze harder.

“Let go!” the man said. He had an accent. She tried to place it, but stopped thinking as another man came up and pulled on her dad’s other arm. She was not going to win this fight. She screamed for help.

That was when she saw a gun under the car to the right. It had to be her dad’s. She let go of her dad, aimed, and shot.

“Bitch!”

She saw one of them try to hit her, but she ducked down behind her dad’s broad shoulders, and he missed. That was when she heard the yelling. Lots of yelling.

People were coming.

The terrorists must have heard it too because they gave up trying to kidnap her dad, and ran back to the van. She didn’t care if they got away. There was too much blood. Just too much blood.