BRAINRUSH 02 - The Enemy of My Enemy Read Online Free PDF Page B

session, and win free drinks and T-shirts by participating in trivia contests after each sporting event. It was during one of those contests that Jake had discovered the magnitude of his new talents.
    He now sat with his friends in a secluded second-floor booth overlooking the main bar. He leaned his arm over the balcony, losing himself in the crowd below. The family dinner patrons had thinned out, replaced by soccer fans anxious to see USA versus England in the FIFA World Cup. Baby back ribs and Caesar salads gave way to chips, salsa, and pitchers of beer. Jake caught a whiff of chili cheese fries as they floated past on a server’s tray. Large flat-screen TVs positioned throughout the space were tuned to the pre-game show. The twenty-five-foot bar was packed two deep. Classic rock ’n’ roll played beneath the din of laughter and boisterous conversation.
    Francesca nudged closer to him. She looped her arm through his and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back and returned his attention to the group.
    Tony sat across from Jake. The spread of his shoulders took up two spaces in the six-person booth. He wore a Yankees baseball cap turned backward over closely cropped hair. He was a member of the LAPD SWAT team, but Jake knew that underneath the crusty exterior, Tony was a dedicated family man who would do anything to help a buddy. Tony had used his experience as a former Special Forces sergeant to help rescue Jake after terrorists kidnapped him.
    “So how’re ya really feelin’?” Tony asked, his dark eyes trained on Jake. His New York accent peeked through as it usually did when he was concerned or agitated.
    Jake’s best friend, Marshall, sat next to Tony. His fingers froze in front of the table’s touch screen as he looked up, waiting for Jake’s reply.
    Jake blew out a long sigh. He’d already told them he felt fine, and in most respects, that was true. The dizziness was gone, the cuts and bruises on his feet had been treated, and the son-of-a-bitch terrorist was dead. Yes, he’d had a minor heart attack, but it could happen to anybody, right? “Look, guys. The doctor gave me a clean bill of health. I just need to take it easy for a couple days, that’s all.”
    “According to Web MD, you’re anything but okay,” Marshall said, swinging the display around so everyone could see it. Though there was never a lack of women who showed an interest in his boyish features, Marshall’s genius was with computers, not the opposite sex—a point that Jake and Tony often ribbed him about. Marshall tapped the computer screen. “There’s no such thing as a minor heart attack.”
    Jake smiled to himself. Leave it to Marshall to cut to the chase. But Jake had prepared himself for this line of questioning. Within an hour of leaving the emergency room, he’d memorized volumes of medical information regarding myocardial infarctions and coronary heart disease.
    “You’re right,” Jake said, “and I’m not trying to shrug it off. But mine was caused by a coronary artery spasm rather than coronary artery disease. The doctors ran me through the mill—EKG, treadmill, stress echocardiography, you name it.” He rubbed at the bandage covering the entry wound on his neck where the doctor had inserted a catheter. “I even had an angiogram. All clear.”
    “A spasm, huh?” Tony asked.
    “Yeah, kind of a freak thing.”
    “So what’s to keep it from happenin’ again?”
    “Simple.” Jake’s crooked smile was back in place. “A good first step would be to keep terrorists away from my plane.” He clinked his near-empty mug against Tony’s and downed the rest of his beer.
    Jake could tell from the expression on Tony’s face that he wasn’t buying it, but after a glance at Francesca, Tony dropped it. At least for now. He pasted a grin on his face, returned the toast, and chugged his drink.
    Thanks, buddy.
    “I just need to slow down a bit. That’s all,” Jake said, thinking there was more truth in that statement than