Warrior Without A Cause. Nancy Gideon
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all she could think of was the tenderness in his touch. I won’t let anyone hurt you. She believed him and for the first time in over a month, the crushing panic was gone from inside her chest. I won’t let anyone hurt you. Funny how such a simple claim from a near stranger could release her fears.
But Jack wasn’t going to be there to protect her once she left his forest retreat, so she’d better listen and learn how to do it for herself.
“Never assume every opponent is going to respond the same way to a kick or a punch. Some you can drop, some will just shake it off and keep coming. Winning involves timing, speed, coordination and technique but none of those mean anything if you don’t keep fighting. When it’s time to fight, go at it one hundred and ten percent. You do whatever is necessary until your opponent is neutralized. Once you commit to fighting back, use surprise. React quickly when your opponent doesn’t expect it and do it with force. No hesitation. Be prepared to hit and keep on hitting until your opponent is no longer a threat. Then break off. That’s the difference between reasonable and excessive force. Be alert, decisive and aggressive. SEALs call that the warrior mind-set. Be aware of your surroundings. Be ready to act when you need to and be ready to commit that hundred and ten percent.”
She’d started to nod when she saw the blur of his right hook coming. And surprisingly, instinctively, her hand was there to deflect it. In the same motion, her right jabbed out to connect solidly with his chin. It wasn’t a hard pop or a damaging one. It didn’t stagger him or even cause him to flinch. But she’d made contact. Quickly, decisively and with aggression.
Jack grinned. “That’s what I’m talking about. Ready to mix it up some more?”
“Bring it on, Chaney.”
As they sat at the war room table eating a delicious meal laid out by the silent and nearly invisible Constanza, Jack continued to instruct and Tessa listened. Still flushed with the accomplishment of landing her first blow, she allowed herself the illusion of being one of his capable trainees preparing to do battle. In a way, she was. The men who’d framed and murdered her father were still out there and they’d made it clear they weren’t going to accept her interference quietly.
“There are four levels of readiness,” Jack was saying as he forked rice and beans into a warm tortilla. “Most people wander around in the white level, totally oblivious to what’s going on around them. It’s in this unaware comfort zone that people are the most vulnerable and when they’ll most likely be attacked.”
Tessa could see herself entering her apartment, as white as the rice on the table, seeing warning signs all around her yet clueless as to the danger. She’d been vulnerable, a victim.
“Every average citizen needs to increase their awareness to the yellow level. This isn’t a state of paranoia. It’s a state of preparedness. Awareness is a tremendously powerful tool that uses all your senses. You take the time to notice your surroundings so you can foresee potential problems. Watch people for verbal cues and body language. Learn the names of the security people who work in your building and make sure they know you. Know where the alarm buttons are, where the exits are, just like on an airplane. When you’re going someplace new, plan your transportation routes in advance. Walk closer to the street than to alleys and doorways. Ask yourself, if you were an attacker, where would you hide? Carry your body confidently. Walk or stand erect in a way that conveys assertiveness. When you pass someone, look them in the eye. Let them know you see them but maintain your personal space of at least two arm lengths. That’s your safety zone.”
It made sense. Tessa nodded. She’d been a victim. She’d walked right into a situation, blindly, trustingly. She understood the analogy. When you’re on an airplane that’s going down, it’s too late to look in the seat back flyer to locate exits and safety equipment. She rolled another tortilla and munched thoughtfully, passing a piece of the delicately spiced chicken down to Tinker.
“Once you’re in the yellow zone, proceeding with caution, and you know something isn’t right, that something bad might happen, you slip into the orange level of readiness. At this point, you know some action is necessary on your part. You either have to get away from the situation or be prepared to confront it. Moving quickly and decisively from yellow to orange is vital to your personal safety and self-defense. You have to be prepared to weigh your options and make your move. Be ready to jump into red if necessary. That’s where you hit first, where you do whatever you need to do, and do it immediately, for your safety or the protection of your loved ones.”
She felt a twinge of remorse. Too late. She’d been too slow to action, to even suspect. She could hear the muted voices in her father’s office, behind his closed door, but she still hadn’t reacted with more than puzzlement. Then the shot. She’d been paralyzed for how long, for how many vital seconds, while the perpetrator escaped?
Jack was studying her, his features impassive. Did he see her guilt, her grief? He could have said something to lessen her sense of blame but he didn’t. There was no way to do that now. She’d buried her father. But she wasn’t about to let her mother bury her. Instead of telling her to forgive herself, Jack explained away her culpability with a simple statement.
“We live in a passive society. We depend on other people to protect us. We see ourselves as having no control over our surroundings. We’re victims before the fact, accidents waiting to happen. But it doesn’t have to happen if you’re ready for it. Be prepared to fight. Be prepared to get in that first punch. Once you let your opponent take control, you’re in trouble. If you let them take you away from the initial point of attack, statistics show you only have a three percent chance of survival. Don’t give them that control. Be ready. Don’t hesitate. Be proud and indignant. They can’t do this to you. The strong and aggressive survive, Tessa. I didn’t make up those rules but you’d better learn to follow them.”
And she would.
Peripherally, she realized he’d called her by her first name. She wondered if he’d meant to or if he was unaware of it. Going from Ms. D’Angelo to Tessa put them on a new level of intimacy, and because of it, she found herself saying, “He hurt me, Jack. He surprised me and hurt me in my own home. I never saw it coming and I couldn’t get away. He wanted to scare me and he did. He terrorized me for I don’t know how long. I’d come around and think he was gone and then I’d hear him and see those creased trousers. And he’d hit me…”
She felt it all over again, the terror, the pain, the awful feeling of having no control. Coldness shuddered out from her belly, radiating outward to chill her heart, to freeze her blood, to immobilize her muscles.
And then Jack’s big, warm hand settled firmly over hers. His expression was intense, his features inscrutable. He didn’t try to tell her it would be all right. He didn’t try to tell her to let it go. He made her face it, head-on, right back into the hell of that night.
“What was he doing there, Tessa? What did he want?”
She blinked up at him through the glaze of her tears, trying to focus on what he was asking. “What was he doing?”
“The police report said it was a robbery. Was anything missing?”
“No.” Her tone steadied. “It wasn’t a robbery.”
“Then what was he doing there? Why did he stay after you walked in on him? Tessa, did he do anything else to you?” Though his tone didn’t actually change, it was suddenly infused with a harsh grittiness. The voice of a truly dangerous man.
“He was in my room.” She could hear the sounds from the bedroom, the sounds of drawers being opened and shut. The shuffle of papers, the sounds of her belongings being tossed carelessly to the floor. “He was looking for something.”
“What? What did he think you had?”
The fear fell away before a new cool logic. “Evidence. Evidence against him or his boss. Whatever my father was planning to use to indict them.”
“Did your father usually send files home with you?”
“I took things home with me all the time.