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was a fleeting commodity. Here today. Gone tomorrow. Love remained eternal, like a diamond buried in the sand, or more appropriately, adorning her finger. But diamond or not, when her man returned this evening, she intended to greet him in a new pair of Manolo Blahniks. Only the shoes. Not by coincidence, both her daughters were headed for sleepovers after school.
    She pulled into the Fashion Valley Mall’s parking garage on Friars Road and realized she couldn’t remember her drive down here. Weird. She had tons on her mind, but having no memory of the thirty minute trip frightened her a little. Had she run any red lights? She hoped not. At least no one had honked at her, she would’ve remembered that. This wasn’t New York. Honking your horn around here was practically an act of war.
    Nicole looked at the dashboard clock: 7:47 am. Perfect. She’d have time for Starbucks before Nordstrom opened. Got to have it.
     
    ***
     
    USMC Gunnery Sergeant Christopher “Big Kid” Kiddrich slid out of his Jeep Cherokee and stretched. Just under six feet tall, he looked like an aging surfer because he was an aging surfer. Cropped blond hair. Blue eyes. Broad shoulders. Not quite buff, but definitely not flabby. He worked at Miramar as an MP. He liked his job and had his sights on the San Diego PD after retiring. Who said forty was too old to become a street cop?
    He also looked forward to the Nordstrom shoe sale, but for a completely different reason. Simply put, he loved looking at women—not in a perverted or stalking way—he just liked them. All of them. Short or tall, big or thin, he just liked watching them. The way they walked. The way they dressed. The way they cocked their heads when considering a purchase. Their interaction with each other. Everything. Nothing boiled his blood more than the idea of a woman being abused. Women were to be cherished, not mistreated.
    He’d just locked his Cherokee and started toward the pedestrian bridge linking the parking structure to Nordstrom when a stunning beauty drove by. More than stunning. Gorgeous. Nice wheels too. He slowed his pace as she pulled into a parking stall. Incredible. She looked like Angelina Jolie. It couldn’t be her, but the similarities were striking. Mesmerized, he watched her slide out and use her remote to lock her SUV. It chirped once in confirmation.
    He turned his head toward the roar of an engine and frowned—the dumb-ass. This was a friggin’ parking garage.
    A white van sped by, its passenger-side mirror missed his arm by inches. What a jerk.
    The van screeched to a stop behind the woman’s Escalade. Two Hispanic men in dark clothes jumped out the rear doors and rushed toward her. Before she had time to react, the bigger of the two grabbed her.
    Without conscious thought, Big Kid sprinted toward them.
    The smaller man pulled a handgun from his under his Windbreaker.
    Big Kid dived for cover between two parked cars just as the gun boomed.
    The bullet skipped off the concrete and plowed into his left shoulder. Shit!
    Throughout the structure, car alarms blared from the handgun’s concussion. The woman’s screaming and electronic howls echoed eerie desperation.
    Big Kid ignored the fire in his shoulder and lifted his head just enough to peer through the parked car’s windows. The bigger man clamped his hand over her mouth and dragged her toward the rear of the van.
    The gunman hadn’t advanced.
    He watched in admiration as she drove the back of her head into her assailant’s nose and stomped down on his foot.
    She jerked free and bolted toward him.
    The gunman cursed in Spanish and took off in pursuit.
    Big Kid needed to time his move precisely. With a wrecked shoulder, he couldn’t do much, but at least he could help her escape. The problem was staying alive, and he didn’t like his odds. If he only had his Beretta. He could end this with two quick head shots. Big Kid had many faults, but cowardice wasn’t one of them. He’d never be able to