Kick Fear To The Curb

By SQ Eads

Tinsley ‘Tink’ Belle survived and slowly moved on after a terrifying and brutal attack stole her youth and imprisoned her in a cage of fear. Fifteen years of struggles and still iron bars remained, locking her away from dreams of a normal life. Could she break their hold? Would she finally accept a man’s love and trust him for a future? Or would fear once again creep in and overtake her, destroying them both?Ian O’Connor couldn’t ignore the spark that set him alight at his first meeting with Tinsley Belle. Though a shadow lurked in her sparkling, sky-blue eyes, she was a woman abounding in energy, joy and determination. She drew him like the proverbial moth to a flame. Dare he take a chance on loving her, on planning all his tomorrows with her at his side? Or would the darkness that hounds him wound her, scare her away and destroy all hope for a future together?If they don’t lay aside their fears and trust God for the future, they could lose everything. Matt. 19:26 ..."With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible."

• Language: English
• Publisher: SQ Eads
• Release date: Nov 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005292171

SQ Eads

SQ (Sunny) Eads, an award-winning author, was born and raised in southern Arizona. She received her higher education at Arizona State University in Tempe, Arizona and flew several years with American Airlines. Her love of Arizona and the mountains surrounding the state are evident in many of her novels. Sunny has lived in Arizona, New York, Pennsylvania, New Mexico and Texas. Inspiration for her characters comes from the hero she married, her two lovely daughters and especially her six wonderful grandchildren. Sunny believes that fiction portrays many of life's situations and that good fiction should be entertaining as well as educational, causing laughter and even a few tears. She hopes her readers find peace and joy in the midst of life's journey and eventually come to know the true giver of all life.Sunny is the author of several inspirational novels and her children's storybook, The Adventures of Ricky the Rock Squirrel. All are available at your favorite ebook distributor and also in print.

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Kick Fear to the Curb

Copyright 2019 SQ Eads

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When I am afraid, I will put my trust in You.

Psalms 56:3

by

SQ EADS

Kick Fear To The Curb

Copyright (c) 2020 by SQ Eads

Scripture taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 .by International Bible Society Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the author.

The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any actual place or any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cover Photo: Cover Photo : Shutterstock 365483966

Text on Cover: http://cooltext.com/

Kick Fear to the Curb

When I am afraid, I will put my trust in You.

Psalms 56:3

by

SQ EADS

ONE

The throaty roar of a well-tuned Harley bounced off concrete walls and rolled like echoing thunder throughout the multi-storied parking garage. With a final, deep growl, the rumble faded into silence.

Ian O'Connor wearily swung one long, jean-clad leg over the saddle of the bike, then pulled off his helmet and locked it to the gleaming handlebars. He peeled leather gloves from his hands and tucked them in the pockets of his bomber jacket.

A groan escaped him as he stretched and twisted his neck and shoulders in an effort to relax the tension imprisoning his muscles. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this tired. Exhaustion held him captive in a crushing grip.

His years as a soldier and as a policeman had conditioned his body and brain to function on limited rest, but this wasn’t a simple lack of sleep. No, this was a malaise that went soul deep. He knew the cause – just couldn’t do anything about it. Yet.

Twenty-one months embedded in a vicious gang of arms smugglers ate at a man. Bite by bite it devoured his honorable qualities, then continued chewing away at any remaining tidbits of honesty and morality. Living day in and day out among the grisly inhabitants of Chicago’s underbelly, portraying a character without morals or values, driven by anger, without compassion or conscience, without God, existing in an atmosphere that stripped a man down to his basic sin nature was hell on earth.

The demands of the lifestyle even sucked the spiritual marrow from his bones, leaving the barest trace of hope. Only a final wrap-up of the case would bring respite and recovery.

Lord, bring it on, soon. I can’t quit, but I’m running on fumes.

His old Staff Sergeant's words, "Keep moving O’Connor...you stop, you die!" sounded in his head as he put one foot in front of the other. He placed his size eleven boots on the first step of the up-escalator, all too willing to let the motor driven stairs do the work of hauling his six-foot-two-inch body to its destination.

Stumbling slightly, he cleared the last step, narrowly avoiding a face-plant on the gleaming tile floor. Solid ground felt good after the persistent vibration of his long, bike ride.

He cast a quick look around and instantly spotted the old friend he’d come here to meet.

Alex Belle, tall, clean-cut, a man of authority not easily missed even in a crowd, stood by a table in the second-floor food court of the new mall. Putting eyes on the man that was as close as any brother acted like a jolt of double espresso coursing through his bloodstream. Though two years had flown by since they’d last met for a week of skiing, such was their bond that Ian felt rejuvenated just by the sight of the sandy-haired man with the meticulously trimmed beard and brilliant blue eyes.

Smartly dressed and well groomed, as usual, Alex was a perfect foil for Ian’s current scruffy appearance. Ian grinned as Alex’s left brow arched in wry acknowledgment. Keenly observant, the man didn’t miss Ian’s bewhiskered jaw, his shaggy hair brushing his broad shoulders, the red streaking his dark blue eyes nor the grease smear across the knee of his worn jeans. The great thing was – it didn’t matter. Their connection was soul deep and not dependent on appearances.

The two men slapped palms and laughed before stepping into a man-hug. If asked, neither would admit that the film of moisture suddenly awash in their eyes had anything to do with something as feminine as tears.

Alex pulled back. Man, you are a sight for sore eyes. With a tilt of his head and a more intensive stare he added, Or more correctly, your sore eyes are a sight!

Yeah, yeah, scary, huh?

Alex pointed to a large ceramic mug of black coffee. Maybe this will help. You still drink it boiling and black?

You bet. Don’t mess with perfection. Ian motioned to the heavy mug. And served in real cups. Who does that these days?

No one! The Java Cup over there serves great coffee, but they still put it in those paper things. Can’t con you into taking my job offer if I don’t treat you right, so...I brought my own cups.

You still got it, Lieutenant. Being prepared. That’s something I always appreciated about you. Whether we were in the middle of a jungle or the desert, climbing a mountain or slogging through a swamp, you seemed able to pull from your handy little pack whatever we needed.

Ian collapsed onto a molded plastic chair, slid into a comfortable slouch and stretched out his long legs before taking a sip of the strong, scalding beverage. He glanced around the small town’s newly constructed mall and heaved a contented sigh, secretly praying he wouldn’t fall asleep now that he was immobile for a few minutes. He swung his ocean blue gaze to his friend, and with mischief tugging at his smile he said, Police Chief Alexander Belle! Whoa! Do the men salute you and call you sir?

Alex barked a laugh and choked on his coffee.

Ian dragged his hand across his prickly jaw. I may have to rethink your job offer if it entails addressing you as sir.

Alex cleared his throat enough to speak. I remember having to salute you at one time.

Yeah – for all of a couple months wasn’t it?

This comment brought good memories and laughter from both men. Though in different branches of the military, Ian in the Marines MARSOC and Alex, the Army Rangers, their specially trained units had been paired for numerous missions. The two men had played promotional leapfrog during their deployments. Movements in rank put first one then the other in a superior position. It became one more thread binding them together, strengthening their relationship.

To be honest, Alex, the move out of Chicago is looking better and better all the time. This has got to be the first chance I’ve had to relax in almost two years. I know for sure I don’t have what it takes to live undercover. I’m ready for a complete change of pace.

Alex’s eyes dug deeper into the details of Ian’s scraggly appearance, seeing beyond the over-long dark hair, scruffy beard and blood-shot eyes. He grimaced.

Yeah. You do look like you were ridden hard and put away wet.

Ian laughed, his blue eyes twinkling despite their gritty blur.

Where’d you hear that phrase? Sounds like something a wise old cowboy might have said. You still reading your grandpa’s old westerns?

Yep...great escape from real life. Plus, the good guy always wins. Makes a nice change.

Memories of comrades lost during their war years momentarily yanked the smiles from their faces and dampened the amusement in their eyes.

We both know that isn’t true in our world. Evil is alive and well and wins more times than we’d like.

God tells us ‘Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.’ So, we shouldn’t be surprised.

Ian forcibly shook off the dark veil that could so easily pull him into the past and suck him down to the depths. He was too vulnerable right now, too weary and exhausted. Heaving a sigh, he took another swig of his rapidly cooling brew. Well, from what I can see, I’m not sure you even need a detective in this quiet, peaceful little town. This isn’t a pay-back job is it? You’re not still trying to repay me for pulling your butt out of that terrorist playground, are you?

Alex automatically ran a hand down his shirt front that covered the jagged scar bisecting his chest. He grinned at the man who had saved his life, not once, but three times during their joint ventures in the Middle East.

Why would I do that? I was never in any danger, he teased. "You were just determined to play the hero after watching the Captain America movie."

Ian and Alex locked gazes. Respect and friendship forged in the flames of battle flared between them.

Alex laughed. Remember the shield the guys made for you?

Still got the silly thing in storage, said Ian with a grin. Used to keep it hanging on the wall. Made a great conversation starter.

I’ll bet. Just be glad we didn’t get you the tights, too.

Gunfire suddenly shattered their laughter like a rock through a glass window, and screams pierced their remembrances. The noise intensified and erupted like a geyser from the ground floor and gushed up the open, four-story atrium.

Ian hit the floor with his weapon drawn, followed half a second later by Alex. Both men slid across the polished tile in a crawl that was second nature to them, a move they’d grown accustomed to during their years in combat. This was not their first time to fight side-by-side, shoulder to shoulder.

Ian grimaced as a wad of gum snagged in the dark hairs of his muscular forearm. Memories of more toxic substances he’d crawled through came to mind. What was a little chewing gum, after all? One small glob of DNA or a blood bath of the stuff – he’d take the gum any day.

Broad shoulders touching and bodies staying low, Ian and Alex peered through the ornate wrought iron railing to the floor below. The scene was enough to bring fear coursing through the hearts of two men sworn to protect. Guns in the hands of evil men amidst a crowd of innocent people wasn’t a recipe for a fun, carefree afternoon. Things could go south very fast.

Two masked men, one nervously waving a handgun, backed slowly toward the main doors of the mall. A sizable number of shoppers huddled in groups while others scuttled for safety like terrified crabs. Others scurried away seeking invisibility as they faced a modern nightmare...armed men in a public gathering. Four shots had been fired, which meant there was a real possibility of dead or wounded not visible to Ian and Alex.

Ian darted a look at Alex, who had already called for backup. Alex’s hand flashed seven and Ian knew they couldn’t wait seven minutes for the police to arrive. They needed to act...now. A quick meeting of their eyes was all it took to send them into action.

Ian veered to the left and Alex to the right as they crawled to opposite escalators – the closest way to the street-level entrance.

Help us, Lord. Keep everyone calm.

Panic stirred tempers, muddied clear thinking and inevitably led to an escalation of violence.

Staying low, Ian worked his way around to the escalator. Blast! he mumbled under his breath.

Luck of the draw! He’d drawn the up-escalator. Of course, Alex didn’t have it easy either. He would have to fight the downward moving stairs to keep from being spit out like a bite of rotten fish just to the right of the gunman’s feet. Ian’s battle would be scuttling over metal steps determined to push him back to the second floor...a little like a salmon swimming upstream on a downhill slant.

The masked men began yelling at one another and shouting commands at the people around them. A child screamed for his mama. The crying and mumbling were finally shouted into a dull rumble by the angry voice of the thinner of the gunmen, the one struggling for control of the situation.

Ian pulled on his leather gloves and smoothed the fingers as he reached the edge of the moving stairway. Another careful peek at the scene below revealed the two men now blocking the main entrance from the mall to the street. He could sense their panic and indecision. Things evidently weren’t going as planned.

Facing the crowd, the thin man held a Ruger semi-automatic handgun that he moved slowly, side to side, keeping people at bay – not that anyone was trying to get close. Just the opposite. The shoppers were shuffling back seeking safety in distance.

The larger of the masked men had his arms wrapped around what appeared to be canvas bags – bags like a bank might use. From the tension in his bulging biceps, the bags appeared to be heavy. Gold? Jewels? Ian remembered reading that one million in one-dollar bills weighed a little over a ton, but one million in hundred-dollar bills topped the scale at a measly twenty-two pounds. Of course the bags could hold a mix. Not that it mattered. That was simply the way Ian’s brain worked. His curiosity was piqued. He wanted to know the contents of the bags.

Armed robbery carried a fairly stiff penalty and if the shots fired had injured or killed someone, then the two men below could be facing years in prison. In Ian’s book that brought desperation into play. One positive though...it looked like only one of the men was armed.

Ian’s phone vibrated. Backup 3min. Move now. Can’t wait.

Ian hunkered down midway down the escalator fighting the constant upward motion pushing him toward the top. He darted another look over the wall before proceeding to the first floor. His heart rate jumped as the scene below shifted and a whole new game began playing out before him.

Instead of escaping through the doors to the street, the gunman reached over and grabbed the arm of a nearby woman – a pregnant woman, at that. He must have decided a hostage would insure their safety. Ian knew it certainly made it more difficult to resolve the situation.

Before Ian could do more than blink, a streak of black slipped between the man and the woman. The shadowy figure managed to separate her from the gunman and somehow steer her toward a group of ladies, who in turn absorbed her like an amoeba at feeding time.

Ian couldn’t chance waiting any longer. He launched himself to the bottom of the escalator, hit the floor and rolled into firing position. He ignored the gasps of those who scattered out away from him. Hopefully he’d have a clear shot now.

Then everything changed again. Instead of scuttling away with the woman he’d rescued, the brazen little figure dressed head to toe in black, spun to face the gunman, inadvertently putting himself between the gunman and Ian.

This wasn’t the first time Ian had dealt with would-be Ninjas who spent too much time in front of the TV and not enough in the real world.

Ian figured that Alex probably didn’t have a clear shot any more than he did. They certainly didn’t want any collateral damage.

Lord help.

The gunman suddenly swung his arm and backhanded the little guy, knocking him to the floor.

Ouch! There’s your reality check, kid. Now get out of there. Fast!

Ian tightened his finger on the trigger of his Walther PPQ as he put a bead on the gunman, but...he still couldn’t shoot. There were people outside the doors in his direct line of fire. If his shot missed or went clear through the masked man, an innocent bystander could take a bullet.

Ian watched, desperately seeking a safe opening to take the gunman down. Meanwhile, the kid curled into a defeated ball on the floor. The gunman snarled then leaned over to grab him. In a sudden move, the kid sprang upward. Hard. Like a released spring.

Ian flinched as the kid’s head slammed into the gunman’s face. The gunman screeched and grabbed his masked nose with his free hand. Ian imagined the blow had been hard enough to break bones and loosen teeth. He knew blood had to be soaking the ski mask.

Run, Kid. Get to safety. Now!

But the kid didn’t run. Before the gunman could recover, the kid latched onto the man’s gun with both hands, spun around and sent a powerful side kick into gunman’s knee. The gunman went down screaming, his weapon dropping to the floor. The little Ninja used one foot to send the pistol sliding away from the now injured man.

Money-man, as Ian had mentally dubbed the second, bigger crook, seemed to suddenly burst out of a trance. He looked at his partner screaming curses and writhing on the floor. It was as if he was waiting for the man to get up and resolve their predicament. When that didn’t happen, he dropped the bags that filled his arms.

Then with the power of a runaway train, he roared toward the little figure in black. Murderous intent vibrated through his heavily muscled body.

Now, kid. Go!

Once again the kid wasn’t obeying Ian’s silent commands. Ian quickly checked – the first guy continued to be out of action. He tried to get a bead on the second man. Impossible. His bullet would have to go through the kid first before hitting the perp. So many close bystanders left him and Alex virtually disarmed. They’d been inadvertently neutralized which happened all too frequently in crowded crime scenes.

Almost three times the kid’s size, Money-man closed the distance. This was not going to be pretty. The kid didn’t stand a chance.

Ian couldn’t sit by and watch. He may not be able to shoot, but he could even the odds a bit. He jumped to his feet, holstered his weapon and ran to intercept the attacker. It was like running through thigh-high water, pushing harder and harder and never moving forward. He knew in his heart he wasn’t going to make it in time. The kid was going to go down, but maybe he could stop Money-man from killing the little guy.

Ian was still ten feet away when the two fighters met. From the full frontal attack, Ian figured the big man planned on grabbing his opponent with both arms and squeezing the life out of him, breaking as many bones as possible in the process. Good plan, except...the kid was smart and fast.

With stunning speed the little guy in black slipped under the big man’s outstretched arms, ducked to the side and sent a booted heel straight up into the man’s jaw. The powerful kick working with the man’s forward momentum stopped him cold. Money-man stalled, then crashed backwards like a felled redwood.

Now!

Ian didn’t realize he and Alex had shouted at the same time.

Both perps were on the ground, one out cold, the other still groaning and cursing. Neither appeared to pose much danger at this point.

Ian spun around and quickly snatched up the gunman’s lost weapon before going to secure the downed man himself. A quick pat-down revealed a worn switchblade and a small caliber ankle pistol. Ian wondered why the man hadn’t tried to reach his other weapons. Unusual.

However, upon closer examination, Ian saw two things that probably contributed to the incapacitated gunman. The ankle gun was on the leg with the blown knee and any movement would have been excruciating. Also, the trigger finger on the man’s gun hand was busted or popped out of place. The guy was definitely down for the count.

Ian couldn’t stop the grim smile that curved his mouth. Sorry, Lord, but it feels good to see the lawless tromped.

Alex called an all clear as his men burst through the door. Three teams of paramedics followed right behind them.

The scene was suddenly swarming with the boys in blue, the good guys. Ian felt a funny little hitch in his heart. It was the same feeling he used to get as a kid at the movies when the cavalry topped the hill and galloped to the rescue.

Ian started toward Alex, who was standing next to the kid in black while shouting orders to his men.

YOU! STOP! PUT THE GUN DOWN! NOW!

Instinct pinned Ian in place and sent his gaze in a quick scan looking for further danger. Then he realized the young officer coming his way was focused on him, shouting at him. Why would anyone think he was a criminal?

Then a mental picture of his appearance flashed in his mind. He might not be wearing a mask, but he certainly didn’t look like someone you’d invite home for dinner. Reputable was not a fitting adjective for the Ian O'Connor standing before the officer.

PUT YOUR WEAPONS DOWN!

Ian almost laughed...almost...except for the semi-automatic pointed at his chest.

Keeping his eyes on his captor, Ian very slowly and gently laid the confiscated weapons on the floor and stepped back away from them. He was careful to keep his hands out to his sides, not wanting to give the officer any reason to tighten his grip and intentionally or accidentally pull the trigger.

He could imagine the engraving on his tombstone...SHOT BY MISTAKE. He’d never live that down – IF he were alive to do so. Crazy thoughts spun around his tired brain.

Officer, those aren’t my weapons. I took them off that perp over there.

When the officer didn’t lower his gun, Ian decided he needed to call in the big guns, so to speak.

Could you call the Chief over here, please? We’re friends. He knows me and can clear this up without any shots being fired.

The young officer smirked as he looked Ian up and down. He may as well have said, The Chief doesn’t associate with scum like you except to put them behind bars.

Ian’s phone vibrated and he instinctively started to drop his hand toward his pocket.

"STOP. DON’T MOVE. On your knees and put