Lockdown Read online

  Riley rubbed her hand over the back of her neck as the images flooded her mind once more. The knocking sound at her doorway startled her, and she quickly looked up to see a tall, well-toned man standing casually in her doorway.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” His voice was lazy, a hint of Texas carrying through it.

  She took a deep breath and pushed away the too-familiar images. She guessed by the man’s attire—a navy blue polo and faded jeans—that he was a graduate student. “That’s okay. Can I help you?”

  “I hope so.” A slow smile crossed his face, and a spark of interest flashed in his blue eyes. “I’m looking for Riley Palmetta. Can you tell me where I might find her?”

  “That’s me,” she told him. She noted his surprise, the way his brows lifted and his eyes sharpened.

  He hesitated slightly before crossing the threshold into her office, and Riley suddenly felt like her office was the size of a dollhouse. The broad-shouldered man standing on the other side of her desk simply dwarfed the room. His sandy-colored hair was in need of a trim, and his face would have been more pretty than handsome had it not been for the slashing scar along his jaw.

  “I’m sorry. I thought you would be older.” He extended a hand before offering his name. “I’m Tristan Crowther. Commander Bennett wanted me to set up a meeting with you.”

  Now it was her turn to be surprised. This man in front of her looked nothing like the military types she had grown up around. “You’re one of the SEALs?”

  Tristan nodded. “That’s right, ma’am.”

  “I thought people in the military had to have short hair.”

  “SEALs don’t always want to look like everyone else in the military,” he said with a combination of amusement and ambiguity. “Anyway, we want to get started on the preliminary course outline as soon as possible. Any chance you’re available right now?”

  Riley’s shoulders immediately tensed, and she reached over to check her calendar even though she already knew the answer to his question. It was a stall tactic, she knew, but she hadn’t planned on going to Sedgely Hall until tomorrow. She stared down at the blank page in her Daytimer for a moment before looking back up to Tristan. “My schedule’s clear. I guess we can head over there now.”

  Tristan waved a hand at the stack of binders. “Are those for us?”

  Riley nodded.

  “I can carry them for you.” He scooped up the binders from her desk and turned to face her again. “Is there anything else you need?”

  Her heart was pounding, but she picked up her purse and shook her head. She followed Tristan out of the office and silently prayed for strength.

  2

  Tristan studied the slender woman walking beside him. She appeared to be in her early twenties, and he still couldn’t figure out why she would be in charge of this project. When Amy had described Riley Palmetta as an expert, Tristan had expected to find some retired policewoman or ex-FBI agent with a dozen or more years of experience. This woman looked like she still belonged here on campus as a student.

  Her stride was long and easy as they started across the university grounds, but he sensed her vulnerability and wondered about the cause. She was dressed professionally in a light green tailored button-up and khaki-colored dress pants. Her pale blond hair fell in waves to her shoulders, and the faintest dusting of freckles was visible on her nose.

  In an effort to put her at ease, Tristan asked, “How long have you been working on this project?”

  “Since the beginning,” Riley said as if the response was practiced. “How long have you been with the Navy?”

  “About six years. I enlisted shortly after I returned home from my mission for my church.”

  “That’s right. I understand your whole unit is LDS.” Tristan saw a little smile cross her face and noticed that her shoulders relaxed marginally. “If you want, I’ll write down directions to the nearest chapel. Sacrament meeting starts at ten o’clock.”

  Tristan’s eyebrows lifted. “Are you LDS too?”

  “Born and raised.” Her smile widened, but then she gave a little shrug and turned the conversation back to Tristan. “Where are you from?”

  “I’m a military brat, but I spent a lot of my childhood in San Antonio,” he said, giving his own practiced response. He didn’t like to think about his family . . . or lack thereof. He especially didn’t like to think about his mother, who had spent most of his childhood trying to make admiral while leaving her son in the care of whatever relative was willing to take him.

  Silence fell once more as they walked up the steps leading to Sedgely Hall. When Tristan noticed Riley’s hesitation, he asked, “Are you okay?”

  She took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah. This building just gives me the creeps.”

  “I guess that’s not unusual after what happened.” Tristan’s eyes narrowed fractionally as he shifted the binders in his arms and pulled open the door. “Would it be easier for you if we met somewhere else?”

  Her posture said yes, but her words disagreed. “No, don’t be silly. Everything is already set up in Sedgely.” She took another deep breath and walked inside, but she took only two steps beyond the doorway before turning to wait for Tristan to follow her. Together, they walked down the hall to the SEALs’ office.

  The door was open, and Tristan motioned Riley inside before following her in. It looked like everyone was starting to make themselves at home, and several of the desks were already cluttered with paper and stray pens. Kel was nowhere in sight, but he had obviously claimed the desk on the left end by putting a framed picture of his wife on it. The next workspace was occupied by Seth, who had pushed his chair over to the third desk in the line and was looking over Amy’s shoulder at her computer.

  Tristan looked around for Brent and wasn’t surprised to see that he had taken the workstation on the far side, leaving three desks between his and his wife’s. Even before Amy and Brent were married, both of them had made an effort to keep a professional distance while at work.

  At the desk next to Brent’s, Quinn was cleaning a 9mm pistol and had a handgun lying beside his computer.

  Tristan saw Riley’s gaze settle on the guns. “Don’t worry,” he said softly. “He won’t shoot at anything that can’t shoot back.”

  Riley swallowed hard and nodded as Tristan set the binders on the work table and pulled a chair out for her.

  Kel walked into the room a moment later and extended a hand to Riley. “Good, you’re here,” he said. “Let’s get started.”

  Everyone gathered around the long table in the middle of the room. Kel made introductions, and Tristan noticed that Quinn was clearly as surprised as he had been to see that their “resident expert” was younger than they were. Tristan shot a warning look at Quinn that clearly said, “Don’t mess with her.”

  Quinn raised his dark eyebrows but remained silent.

  Kel had taken the seat at the head of the table, and he motioned to Riley. “Why don’t you give us a rundown on our objectives.”

  Riley nodded and flipped open her binder. “The basics are all outlined in your packets,” she began as she linked her hands together on the table. “Since the tragedy here two years ago, administrators and lawmakers have made several changes in the law to correct the flaws that allowed the gunman to obtain multiple handguns in a short period of time.

  “The course we are creating is intended to address the procedures to be followed when someone slips past the legal system.” Riley flipped to the Objectives page in her binder before continuing. “Basically, we’re trying to enhance the rapid-response procedures that are currently in place for most law enforcement agencies and help first responders react more effectively. One of our objectives is to teach the participants how to quickly enter a building, even if barriers are in place, as they were in the case of the Virginia Tech massacre.”

  Riley looked up and let her eyes sweep over everyone in the room. “The participants will be experienced officers who have agreed
to take this training home with them and share it with their communities. We have three weeks to plan the course, and then we will conduct five weeklong courses with fifteen students per session. Ultimately, the goal is to teach the participants how to minimize casualties in the event of a real campus shooting.”

  “Are we dealing with high school shootings or just college scenarios?” Brent asked from across the table.

  “Both.”

  “What about hostage situations?” Seth asked.

  Riley nodded. “We do want to cover hostage rescue, especially since we can rely on your unit’s expertise in that area. Primarily, though, we need these law enforcement officers to know how to react quickly and effectively when they suspect a gunman has no intention of leaving survivors. Oh, and just so you know, only four women signed up to participate in this course, so I scheduled them all to come to the final training session. I couldn’t get adequate housing until then.”

  Kel jotted something down in his notebook before taking over. “Thank you, Riley. Okay. We’re planning on making this a five-day course, so I want to start by having each of the SEALs create a scenario. Include a psychological profile of the shooter, the proposed law enforcement response, and lockdown procedures. Ideally, we’ll offer instruction each morning and stage a live scenario each afternoon. The last day will be saved for clarifications and conclusions.”

  “This building will be vacant for the summer semester, so you can use any part of it for both instruction and training exercises,” Riley added.

  “I’d like to use the classrooms where the actual shootings took place here,” Kel told them. “It will bring home the seriousness of what we’re dealing with. If these cops are standing in a room where innocent lives were lost, they aren’t likely to ignore what we’re trying to teach them.”

  Across the table, Brent nodded somberly. “I assume you want us to coordinate our ideas through Amy so we don’t duplicate any scenarios.”

  “Exactly,” Kel agreed. “And Riley will be on hand to provide information about the lockdown procedures currently in place. She will also be finalizing the training schedule, registering and checking in participants, and coordinating volunteers for our live scenarios.”

  “Is there any chance we can use the dorms for one of the days?” Tristan asked Riley.

  “I’ll have to check with the university’s administration,” she answered, making a note to herself. “As far as I know, only one floor has been reserved for course participants. I don’t know if enough rooms would be vacant on the other floors to stage a training exercise.”

  “We don’t need vacant rooms,” Quinn chimed in, speaking for the first time since the meeting started. “Let’s make it realistic and do a mock shooting early one morning before our participants have breakfast.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Seth agreed. “Of course, we would have to confiscate everyone’s firearms beforehand. I don’t want to get shot by some overeager cop who doesn’t realize it’s a drill.”

  Kel nodded. “Riley, make a note that participants are not allowed to bring firearms to this course. We’ll have to make accommodations for them to check their guns in with us if they do bring them.”

  “How can you be sure they won’t bring them in anyway?” Riley asked.

  “Amy . . .” Kel started, but she was already scribbling down notes to herself.

  “Metal detectors,” Amy said, nodding. “How many do we need?”

  “Two should do it,” Kel stated. Then he closed his binder. “I think that’s it for now.”

  Tristan pushed back from the table. “Kel,” he said, “I’m going to work on the dorm shooting. Do you mind if I have Riley show me where we’re going to house the course participants?”

  “That’s fine. Just make sure you’re back before PT.”

  Tristan nodded and turned to Riley. “Is that okay with you?”

  “That’s fine.” Riley stood quickly and followed him into the hall. Her pace was brisk as they moved to the door and out into the bright sunshine. When they were several yards away from Sedgely Hall, she slowed her pace and glanced over at Tristan. “What’s PT?”

  “Physical training. Since we were traveling today and didn’t get to work out this morning, Kel planned an afternoon run. It will give us a chance to work off some energy and get more familiar with the campus.”

  “Did you really want to see the dorms, or was that just an excuse for my benefit?” she asked suspiciously.

  Tristan shrugged a shoulder. “Both.”

  She let out a little sigh. “Was it that obvious?”

  “Don’t worry. No one else saw you walk into the building,” Tristan commented with a shake of his head. “And besides, they aren’t going to think any less of you if you admit you don’t like being in there. Everyone has fears.”

  “None of you look like you’re afraid of anything.”

  “You’d be surprised.” Tristan glanced over his shoulder and then lowered his voice as if sharing a secret. “Seth has a pretty healthy fear of public speaking. Amy doesn’t like subways. Brent . . . well, I think he’s just afraid of Amy.”

  Riley relaxed enough to laugh. “What about you? What are you afraid of?”

  “Spiders,” Tristan answered without hesitation.

  “Spiders?” Riley repeated, her eyebrows lifting. “Does that mean if I find a spider in my office, you won’t kill it for me?”

  “I can handle the little household kind, but we came across a bunch of enormous ones in Africa one time. Those little monsters were as big as my hand.” He held up a hand and spread out his fingers. “And talk about ugly—”

  “That’s okay.” Riley laughed. “I get the picture.”

  Tristan smiled at her, and they walked in companionable silence for a minute. As they neared the dorms, Tristan spoke once more. “There’s one thing I don’t understand. If it’s that uncomfortable for you to be in Sedgely Hall, why did you take this job?”

  “I want to make sure it’s done right,” Riley said, and Tristan could see the sincerity in her eyes. “Every time a campus shooting happens, the media digs into the life of the shooter and finds all of the warning signs everyone ignored. In hindsight it’s easy to see what should have been done to stop the shooter before he even started on his rampage, but the victims haven’t seen any of the warning signs. All they see is the gun pointing at them. And they don’t care why he’s shooting—they just care about surviving. We’ve got to get people trained on how to stop these tragedies once they’ve already started—and help as many innocent people survive as possible.”

  Tristan studied her a moment, sensing undercurrents he couldn’t quite identify. “Are you a survivor?”

  Riley’s hesitation was brief, so brief Tristan wondered if he’d imagined it. “Aren’t we all?”

  “In some ways, I guess we are,” he responded quietly.

  3

  “Okay, Amy. Spill it.” Tristan pulled a chair up next to her desk and straddled it.

  “Spill what?” She swiveled in her chair to look at him. His hair was still damp from his shower, and, judging from the time, she guessed he must have come directly back to their office after finishing his run.

  “What’s the deal with Riley?” Tristan clarified. “She seems a bit young to be an expert on procedure, or anything else for that matter, and she can hardly walk into this building without an armed escort.”

  Amy let out a sigh and tried to gather her thoughts. Because of her administrative duties, she had come across the information that Riley Palmetta had been an engineering student at Oswell at the time of the massacre. When she’d approached Kel with the information, he had made it clear that Amy wasn’t to share this information with anyone, not even her husband.

  Though Amy had been expecting these questions about Riley’s qualifications, she hadn’t expected them to come from Tristan. Quinn’s impatience she could have silenced with a well-aimed verbal jab. And she had been prepared to appeal to Seth’s sensitive
side if he had pressed for information. Tristan, on the other hand, she didn’t know how to handle. She hadn’t imagined he would ask.

  Tristan Crowther came across as easygoing, rarely getting ruffled about anything. He also never talked about himself. Amy knew that he referred to himself as a military brat, and his lazy western drawl indicated that he had spent at least part of his childhood in Texas, but that was pretty much all she knew about his past.

  Unable to fall back on Tristan’s personal background, Amy considered the information in his military file. She smiled inwardly. “If I remember correctly,” she told Tristan, “Riley is about twenty-four. Seems to me that by her age, you were already an expert in weapons, explosives, and six different types of warfare. And let’s not forget that you’re fluent in three languages.”

  “That’s different and you know it.” Tristan’s voice was stern, but Amy saw that he was struggling to hide a smile. Then he became serious again. “Riley hasn’t gone through intensive military training, and she obviously doesn’t have any law enforcement background. What’s she doing here?”

  Amy studied him a moment, wondering whether his interest was personal or professional. “Maybe you should ask her these questions.”

  His dark blue eyes flashed with impatience. “I’m asking you.”

  She let out another sigh and relented enough to give him some basics. “She was working on her master’s degree in criminal psychology when the task force was created to look into the tragedy here at Oswell. She had created several models of how to effectively lock down campuses and small towns in emergencies. Her professor was so impressed that he forwarded her models to the right people. She’s been working with the task force ever since.”