Rescuing Melissa (ALPHA TEAM: Guardian Hostage Rescue Specialists)
1. Contracts
ONE
Contracts
MELISSA
Melissa Patterson’s tenth wedding anniversary should have been a happy occasion, a milestone of marital bliss, not this soul-shattering death. She stood in her kitchen, gripping the stack of papers, and held back the tears as she stared at the top page.
Two simple scratches of ink were all it had taken to negate ten long years of marital terror.
Ten years ago, she’d been the proverbial blushing bride. The fairytale wedding had been the social event of the season—a perfect start to her first day in hell.
The divorce had been her lawyer’s idea as if she could separate herself from Scott Patterson’s name. The world believed she’d been complicit in his crimes. Her lawyer said she deserved to be free.
Her shaky hand had scrawled a much less elegant mark than her husband’s. Even on death row, Scott lost none of his confidence. The elegance of his signature mocked her hurried scratches, precise and controlled like the killer inside. What had gone through his mind as he’d penned his name? She’d never know, and he’d die with his arrogance fully intact. Maybe then, she’d be free.
Melissa scrubbed the tears from her cheeks, glanced at the dirty dishes on the counter, the dried food needing to be scraped, and the silverware cluttering the sink. She made the conscious decision to leave the mess for later. Scott would have never allowed such a thing, but this wasn’t his house, and she didn’t need to obey his rules.
Not anymore.
A run would clear her mind. Melissa tossed the divorce papers onto the counter next to the dirty dishes and went to change into her running gear. Her pink and purple barefoot running shoes didn’t match the blue and yellow of her outfit. Not that it mattered. She had long since abandoned the need to maintain a perfect appearance. Scott’s punishments were no longer something to fear, and after today, he would be gone for good. Her greatest fear was whether his harsh voice would still whisper admonishments in her head after his death. He’d done it from prison for three years, and she had no reason to believe that would change.
She yanked her hair into a lopsided scrunchy, and could almost hear Scott scolding her sloppiness. Gritting her teeth, she silenced his reprimand with a yank on her messy bun. Melissa grabbed her keys and locked the front door.
On the front porch, the headline of the morning newspaper screamed the top news:
Stay of Execution Denied for Fairytale Killer
She sent the paper flying off her front porch with a swift kick, where it splashed in a muddy puddle on the lawn, then placed the key under the mat.
Gray clouds threatened. Maybe the rain would wash away the memories, drown out Scott’s incessant nattering in her head, or cleanse the ache in her heart. A storm would be a perfect match for her mood.
A 10K run should do the trick.
Two kilometers in, the acidic burn of a fast-paced run heated her muscles. Her chest expanded, pulling in air with every third strike of her foot. She’d taken up running during Scott’s trial, a long-drawn-out process lasting more than a year. Beating up her body had been precisely the therapy she had needed to endure the media circus imposed on her life. Every day of that year was a living hell. The two years with him on death row had been only a little better.
By the halfway mark, her legs ached, and her breathing deepened. Endorphins flooded her body. With the famous runner’s high achieved, she relaxed into her stride.
Overhead, the gloomy sky darkened and dumped rain. One kilometer left. She welcomed the fat drops. The musty smell of the downpour invigorated her, even as the rain soaked her clothes. A thunderclap sounded overhead, a sharp sound, followed by a low, throaty rumble she felt more than heard.
Hail followed the thunder. A glance at the darkening clouds rewarded her with a bolt of lightning shattering the sky. The answering thunderclap followed a second later. The lightning was closer than was safe. She needed to get out of the weather.
The moist air ahead of the storm gave way to cooler temperatures, chilling her to the bone—time to find shelter. Lightning crackled through the air, striking a tree across the park. Smoke spiraled into the sky as the tree sizzled.
Pea-sized pellets rained down from the heavily laden sky. Lightning flashed, syncing to the beat of a memory—blinding pain when Scott struck with his belt. PTSD, the therapist said. It would fade with time, he said. Her therapist said a lot of things Melissa didn’t believe.
Five bolts of lightning struck in quick succession. Resounding peals of thunder followed. It reminded her of thewhooshthat preceded the strike of Scott’s belt. Her heart skipped a beat, and the massive blast had her tripping over her feet.
Ten years of her life wasted. She screamed her frustration into the clouds and ran as the force of Mother Nature answered her cry.
The jogging path met with a road a quarter-mile down where the neighborhood park ended. She needed to get to one of the businesses on Main Street, where she could wait out the storm. Time to pick up the pace.
The sky took on a greenish cast. Clouds dipped low, roiling as the storm whipped them to a froth. The wind beat at her. Hail slammed into her, first from the right, then the left. It lashed out, as if unsure how to best launch its attack on her delicate flesh. Her heart rate spiked, not from running, but from the sickening hue cast in the sky. Tornados, while rare, weren’t unheard of in the small town of Fort Walton.
Melissa had never seen a tornado and didn’t want to start now.
She quickened her pace, muscles protesting, and lungs burning. The storm raged, building around her as if feeding off her turbulent emotions. Like Scott had done too many times to count, the storm lashed out at her, furious and raw, beating her until her skin stung. She stumbled, afraid for her safety, and angry she’d been foolish enough to go running during a storm.
She turned onto the sidewalk that edged the tree-lined Main Street. Down the road, through the sheets of driving rain, a coffee shop’s “Open”sign flashed a welcome beacon. She ducked her head and sprinted for safety.
Electricity filled the air. The tiny hairs on her arms lifted. A flash of molten light burned to her left. Her skin tingled. A concussive force slammed into her as she ran.
She tumbled from the sidewalk into the street, arms and legs spinning in a wild tangle of limbs. Before her head hit the blacktop, twin headlights of a black SUV blazed in her eyes. The screech of tires had Melissa cringing for an impact that never came. Her vision dimmed, and she lost her fight to stay conscious.