Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Emergency Management
    Emergency Management
    Emergency Management
    Ebook304 pages2 hours

    Emergency Management

    By Pen

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    When disaster strikes, local Emergency Management Agencies get busy.

    As they work through emergencies and hazardous situations, Dayle Hartigan and Renata Delgado must also work on managing their feelings for each other.

    When a hostage situation spirals out of control, they realize their passion may require some Emergency Management.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPen
    Release dateJan 27, 2016
    ISBN9781311149039
    Emergency Management
    Author

    Pen

    Pen was bitten by the writing bug at the age of ten. She has been feverishly writing ever since. A native Georgian she lives in the Atlanta area.

    Read more from Pen

    Related to Emergency Management

    Related ebooks

    Romance For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      The Turn

      Aug 14, 2019

      HERE’S a story. In college I entered the spring semester of my freshman year on academic probation. There wasn’t one reason this happened. There were many. I had signed up for a computer science class called Digital Security with no programming knowl

      5 min read

    • Article

      Absolute Best

      Apr 30, 2021

      Absolute Best
      20 min read

    • Article

      The Freshening

      Sep 15, 2018

      My cashier’s black hair was beautiful. Though not unlike mine, it was shinier and thicker, and hung glamorously down to her waist. It looked strong, too, like Christopher Reeve’s in the Superman movies. A strand of Superman’s silvery hair could hold

      21 min read

    • Article

      Reflections

      Feb 1, 2019

      Do you know what’s worse than a hypochondriac? A vindicated hypochondriac. You know it’s going to be bad when your GP gets choked up. No one likes telling a mother she’s got cancer. Doctor Tearful needn’t have worried. I’d been working towards this m

      9 min read

    • Article

      The Missing Limousine

      Sep 28, 2021

      The Missing Limousine
      21 min read

    • Article

      The Leather Coat

      Apr 4, 2024

      The Leather Coat
      6 min read

    • Article

      Prime: She had to possess the secret code.

      Oct 24, 2013

      He had removed the number where he lived, prying off the digits with a simple kitchen knife he got from room service. B-something…523? Numbers were a kind of theology for him, so he was bothered at first they weren’t a more auspicious 001 or 600, at

      12 min read

    • Article

      Sigrid Nunez

      Sep 15, 2017

      During the 1980s, in California, a large number of Cambodian women went to their doctors with the same complaint: they could not see. The women were all war refugees. Before fleeing their homeland, they had witnessed the atrocities for which the Khme

      23 min read

    • Article

      A Few Words to the Graduates

      Jun 11, 2018

      A Few Words to the Graduates
      7 min read

    • Article

      A Year in Reading: Sophia Shalmiyev

      Dec 20, 2019

      Let us begin at the natural home of all the white-men-are-garbage controversies and go right to the crotch area. The post A Year in Reading: Sophia Shalmiyev appeared first on The Millions.

      5 min read

    • Article

      Two Poems

      Sep 1, 2020

      Her arm was in the other roomwhen he arrived—not with her bodystill breathing in the livingroom. In and out of consciousness.And blood of course.But not as much as you might expect.So he retrieved the arm—lifted it into a bag full of herfreezer conte

      2 min read

    • Article

      The July War

      Sep 8, 2020

      In summer, our neighborhood quiets in phases. The quieting begins in May. Schools give their older kids, the seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds, a month off to prepare for the baccalaureate exams. Following a ritual as old as our parents, the students

      21 min read

    • Article

      How Deep This Grief

      Aug 16, 2017

      IAN STANSEL is the author of the novel The Last Cowboys of San Geronimo (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2017) and the short story collection Everybody’s Irish (FiveChapters, 2013), a finalist for the PEN/Robert W. Bingham Prize for Debut Fiction. He teac

      9 min read

    • Article

      A Little About Why

      Jun 1, 2023

      A Little About Why
      15 min read

    • Article

      Whose Life Is It

      Dec 10, 2023

      “What the hell?” Danny jumped up and tore out of the kitchen where he’d been reading his mail and enjoying a quiet lunch with his sister, Elaine. Startled, she looked up from the newspaper. “Danny?” He ran through the foyer, out the front door, and t

      7 min read

    • Article

      Shame Is Ever-Present When You’re Sitting in a Cell

      Oct 23, 2020

      Between a strained relationship with my family and the death of a good friend, I’ve struggled to feel like I’m worth something.

      5 min read

    • Article

      Parakeet

      May 29, 2020

      Parakeet
      11 min read

    • Article

      Hosts

      Jan 27, 2022

      Hosts
      21 min read

    • Article

      In America

      Aug 8, 2019

      In America
      11 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Emergency Management

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Emergency Management - Pen

      Active Shooter

      Chapter 1

      His moment of glory was at hand. He would die for what he believed in. And, oh, how beautiful it would be. To go out in a blaze of glory, a true martyr for the state of Islam.

      He patted the AK-47 semi-automatic weapon in the passenger seat. In addition, he had a Glock, a Sig Sauer P228 and a shotgun in the trunk. His vest was laden with extra ammo for all his hardware: that, combined with the chip on his shoulder made the vest extra heavy.

      He didn’t mind the extra weight. He worked out regularly, even after he’d washed out with the Marines ten years prior. His muscles could carry it.

      He was still bitter about the Marines. He suspected the rejection had nothing to do with his performance. He’d been granted United States citizenship as a child, but still had family in Jordan: He’d visited his grandparents a number of times over the years.

      His parents had once been devout Muslims. He, himself, studied both the Quran and the Bible. He felt they both contained teachings relevant in today’s world. But he realized that, in America, if one didn’t accept the Bible as the true word, one was an outcast. America, for all its talk of acceptance and tolerance, asserted Christianity as the only belief system.

      And yet, many Americans didn’t act as Christians should.

      He had nothing against Christianity. Christians had the right to believe as they chose.

      He had the same right.

      He stared out the windshield of his beloved green 2014 Camaro with the wide silver racing stripes on the hood. He loved his car. But he would sacrifice his car in the name of Islam.

      The strip mall offered the usual fare of all strip malls in America: a coffee shop, an Italian restaurant, a salon. The familiar black and yellow box-shaped Waffle House across the street to the left of the mall, overshadowed by the golden arches of a McDonald’s further down the street.

      He shook his head. Consumerism. Americans were consumed by consumerism.

      He looked to his left as yet another Marine entered the office. His entry made four.

      That was good enough for him.

      The sun glinted off the glass windows of the Marine recruiting office in Marietta as he aimed the AK-47 at them. He didn’t need to see the people within; didn’t care if he killed any of them or not. He was here to send a message. Casualties were irrelevant.

      He pulled the trigger. Bullets strafed the windows, glass shattering. There was screaming, whether from inside the office or out in the parking lot, he didn’t know and didn’t care.

      He saw one body in the office – the interior exposed without the reflection of the sun on the windows – fly back as one of the bullets struck him.

      His message delivered, he tossed the rifle onto the passenger seat, put his muscle car in drive and burned rubber down the street.

      Chapter 2

      He wiped the sweat from his body with the shirt he’d just worked out in. It definitely needed to go in the wash. Both the shirt and his body.

      Dayle Hartigan wasn’t a hunk. He would never be a model. But he was tall and sinewy, sandy hair, blue eyes that sparkled like crystal, and he could make a mean spinach lasagna.

      If he only had time to date.

      He tossed his soiled shirt in his gym bag and took a clean towel from the locker.

      A wet towel hit him in the back of the head.

      Hey! he shouted. He turned to see a woman standing in the men’s gym locker room. He wasn’t surprised.

      You took my treadmill on purpose, Harty.

      Renata Delgado stood no taller than five-foot-three. Her baggy sweatshirt, sopped with sweat, hid a curvaceous body. Her cinnamon-colored skin glistened from her workout, her dark brown hair stringy wet around her shoulders. Standing with hands on hips, brown eyes alight with fire, she looked as though she was ready to go a round. Or maybe two.

      Your name’s not on it, sweetie, Dayle said with feigned sweetness. He hated being called Harty.

      But she knew that.

      She took two steps toward him, her lips pursing, her eyes throwing daggers with pinpoint accuracy.

      The other two men in the locker room – one with a towel wrapped around his waist, the other dressed to begin his workout – took a few steps back.

      Dayle stood his ground.

      You know good and well, she said, enunciating each word venomously, that I like that treadmill because it faces the screen with CNN on it.

      Oh, c’mon, Degas, he said. You have headphones. You don’t need to see the screen to know what’s going on. She hated being called Degas.

      But he knew that.

      She pressed her lips so tightly together they were a thin white line in her face. I swear, Harty. You take my treadmill again and I’ll knock you right off it.

      Over a treadmill? Geez, Degas –

      It’s Delgado, she spat. She turned on her heel and left without waiting for a response.

      The man wrapped in a towel, stepped up to Dayle’s side. Whew! That is one red-hot Latina, he commented. He was a tad shorter than Dayle and a little paunchy. He’d never make it as a model, either, though there was something a little refined about him, even in just a towel.

      Yeah, but she’s got a fine ass, the other man said.

      Dayle snorted. Too bad it’s on her shoulders most of the time. He looked at the man in the towel beside him. He took a step away. C’mon, Gleeson, he said with disgust. Are ya kiddin’ me? Not so close when all’s you got on is a towel, man.

      Chapter 3

      Roger Von Ross, Damage Assessment Coordinator, almost made it out his office door. He fumbled in his pocket until he found the cell phone, ringing to the theme music from the movie, Rocky.

      It had been a long day. The Marietta office of the Cobb County Emergency Management Agency had responded to both a flash flooding incident and a factory fire. He’d been up to his elbows in paperwork. He’d hoped to hit the nearby gym before heading home.

      He looked at the caller ID. Angie Burkholder, Emergency Management Director for Region Seven which included his office. No way he could dismiss the call.

      Standing half-in, half-out of his office, his dark face reflected in the glass cover of a painting on the opposite wall, his back holding the door open, he said, Von Ross.

      He listened. Then dropped his briefcase as he shouted, What? When? He grabbed his briefcase, pushed open his office door and flipped on a light switch. Do you know what happened?

      He made his way to his desk and tapped the space bar on his computer. The screen came to life: it was never turned off.

      He quickly scanned the list of available personnel even as the Director filled him in with the details.

      He swore under his breath as the scenario was described to him. I’ll get my people on it right away.

      Chapter 4

      Dayle almost made it home.

      His was a serene drive in a quiet neighborhood outside Marietta. The tree-lined street was the stuff of dreams: homes with substantial lush yards and adequate spacing between, flower gardens, huge old oak trees providing ample shade in the summer, albeit a threat in the winter months. But no one would dream of cutting any of them down.

      Just a few more blocks and he’d be able to pull into the drive of his parents’ stately Victorian he’d inherited when his father passed a few years prior. The fountain in front didn’t work, but it was on his to-do list.

      The Star Wars theme echoed in his car.

      He glanced at the dash-mounted cell phone. Von Ross’s image was on the screen. He put the phone on speaker.

      What’ve we got, sir?

      Active shooter, Von Ross clipped.

      Dayle tapped his brakes in anticipation of making a U-turn. Where? When Von Ross told him he slammed on his brakes in the middle of the street. Are you serious?

      That’s right, Dayle. The Marine Recruiting Center.

      When?

      About twenty minutes ago.

      Was anyone injured?

      Briefing at the scene, Hartigan. I got other folks to call.

      Dayle disconnected the call. He finished the U-turn and headed back the way he’d come.

      Dayle felt a cold sweat on his forehead. Who would dare attack a Marine Recruiting Center?

      Chapter 5

      Renata Delgado almost made it to her date.

      She had just pulled her Thunderbird into a parking spot at the upscale restaurant on Delk Road. She had one high-heeled foot on the pavement and one still inside the car.

      When she saw the caller ID on her cell phone, she pulled her foot back into the car and closed the door. She buckled up even as she answered the call.

      Yes, sir?

      Situation, Delgado. Von Ross was short and clipped. Get to the Marine Recruiting Center. Right away.

      Yes, sir, she said, but he had already disconnected.

      She didn’t take it personally. He had other calls to make and she’d learned long ago how moot it was to ask questions. She’d learn what was going on when she got there.

      She started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. No need to call the guy she was going to meet. She hadn’t been that excited about the date anyway.

      Chapter 6

      Dayle groaned. It figures, he muttered. He parked his Toyota Camry several yards from the Recruitment Center. Surrounded by yellow Crime Scene tape, the office was already swarming with police officers and forensic analysts gathering evidence.

      He spotted Von Ross off to the side speaking with a man in uniform. A Colonel from what Dayle could tell from a distance: the man’s uniform was weighted with ribbons and medals.

      He also spotted Delgado, the source of his consternation. Renata stood a distance from the other two men deep in conversation.

      As Dayle got out of his car, Gleeson pulled up alongside him in his beat up two-toned Honda Civic. He waited for Gleeson to get out of the car so they could approach the scene together.

      Doncha hate it when we get here before the forensic guys get done? Gleeson grumbled as he got out of his car.

      Dayle shrugged. You know the director thinks it looks good if we’re here early.

      Is the director here? he asked.

      Not yet. Just Von Ross. And, of course, Miss Degas.

      Gleeson grunted as he dragged out his 35mm digital camera and slung it around his neck. Yeah, well, we look like a buncha carrion waiting to feed on the scraps.

      We are a buncha carrion waiting to feed on the scraps, Dayle quipped. Why d’ya think we’re at the bottom of the food chain, man.

      Gleeson chuckled as he and Dayle approached the scene. The only ones lower than us is the clean up crew.

      "I said we were at the bottom, Dayle amended. I didn’t say we were the bottom."

      Speaking o’bottoms, Gleeson said as they walked up behind Delgado.

      She wore a dusty rose dress that hugged her curvaceous frame, straps hanging down off her shoulders. Dayle had to agree with the guy in the gym, at least silently: she did have one fine ass.

      Hot date? He quipped as he stood beside her.

      She snapped her head around. What took you so long?

      I was on my way home. He looked her up and down. Looks like you were on your way to meet Cassanova.

      None o’your business.

      Yep. Fine ass. Right up there on her shoulders.

      He glanced around. Gleeson had made the smart move. He was several feet away from them, snapping photos of the exterior of the building even as the forensic team collected evidence.

      So what kind of guy would shoot up a Marine Recruiting Center? Dayle asked.

      A mentally unbalanced one, Renata said as though it was obvious.

      Hey, I’m just trying to make conversation here. Kill a little time until we can get inside and do our jobs.

      Yeah, well conversations with you are more like murdering time.

      What is your problem, Delgado? Huh? You’ve had a chip on your shoulder ever since you transferred here six months ago.

      She looked at him aghast. I don’t have a chip on my shoulder!

      Then what do you call it? You’ve given everybody you’ve met a nasty attitude. Even me!

      Oh, whassa matta? she cooed. Your fragile little male ego can’t handle it if a woman isn’t groveling at your feet?

      Oh, please, he spat. How about a little common courtesy for the people you work with? What’s wrong with a little ‘Hey, how ya doin’?’ on occasion?

      Hey! Von Ross’s voice commanded their attention. They turned to look at him only a few feet away. You see that man back there, he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, that I’m trying to have a conversation with? He didn’t wait for an answer. That’s Colonel Stratton. His son was one of the Marines killed here today. So how about showing a little respect?

      Dayle glanced at the Colonel. The man stood staring into the demolished recruiting center. Sorry, Roger, he mumbled.

      Sorry, Renata mumbled.

      You think the two of you can get along long enough to do your jobs?

      Yes, sir, Renata answered.

      Dayle glanced at her. It was obvious he had his doubts. Yes, sir. His response was more to meet Roger’s expectations.

      Look. Roger stepped closer and lowered his voice. This is a tough one. Why don’t you two get a cup of coffee or, better yet, go get some dinner. He waved toward the strip mall which contained a Starbucks, and to the Waffle House across from the strip mall. Just don’t go too far. I want you both on this as soon as the FBI forensic team is done.

      Roger? Dayle said as the man turned to walk away. Von Ross looked back at him. Do they have any idea who did this?

      Von Ross looked at him for a moment

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1