Deadly Aim (Bad Karma Special Ops Book 2)

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Deadly Aim (Bad Karma Special Ops Book 2) Page 17

by Tracy Brody


  “Instead of leaving them at your door, I saw him putting them in the back when I was coming in from walking the dogs, but he left before I could flag him down. Later that evening, Pickles and Charlie were barking longer than usual.” Marcela rolled her eyes. “When I looked out the window, the guy was back, trying again. I felt bad he didn’t know you weren’t here, so I went out to break the news.”

  “Are you sure he was looking for me?”

  “He gave your last name, and he was, uh—” Marcela hesitated as if searching for the right word—“ticked that you weren’t here. Anyway, he asked if I had your new address or phone number, but I didn’t have my phone on me and figured any guy that had your address surely would have your number. You mean you never got them?”

  “No.” Could someone have sent them as a good-luck-on-the-new-assignment gesture? “Did the delivery van have the florist’s name on it?”

  “No. Which is why I thought they were from him at first. Until I got a look and saw he wasn’t your type. He was too old and not even close to swoon-worthy. Sorry. Now I feel bad you didn’t get them.”

  “Don’t.” But Kristie’s nerves jangled. Maybe it was legit, or perhaps someone noticed her place was unoccupied and attempted to break in. It wouldn’t be the first time lowlifes targeted military members who were away. “In fact, if he or anyone comes around looking for me, don’t give them my contact information, but ask for theirs. You can tell them you’ll forward it to me, and I’ll get in touch.”

  Even though she tried to sound casual, Marcela eyed her with a hint of wariness.

  “Sure, though I’m really curious now. And disappointed it wasn’t some wonderful guy sending you flowers and falling for you.”

  Kristie smiled but didn’t divulge any details on dating Mack. Marcela was a sweetheart, but she lived with her military-officer boyfriend. Best to keep mum on the subject of her complicated love life, so she shifted the conversation to safer topics while they cleared out the rest of her fridge.

  “I’d better run and get ready for work. I’ll miss you.” Marcela hugged her, then picked up the bags of food. “Thanks for the groceries.”

  “Do you need help with those?”

  “I’ve got them. I’ll let you get back to work. Good luck with everything. I’ll let you know if any more mysterious flower deliveries show up.”

  “Please do.” In a few hours, she and her possessions would be gone if anyone had nefarious intentions.

  Kristie locked the knob and deadbolted the front door—she’d already tripled-checked the back door.

  After she loaded the cleaning supplies in her car, she stood staring at the house. It didn’t look right without the American flag mounted by the front door. She couldn’t remember a time when it hadn’t flown there. Half her neighbors flew their flag daily. After Eric’s death, even the neighbors who didn’t usually display the flag except for holidays had small flags lining their curb.

  Goodbye, house.

  It wasn’t as hard to leave now that it was empty. She had her memories, some packed in the boxes that the movers had driven off with two hours ago, and she would leave behind the sad ones with the questions Marcela had raised. Her life was moving forward in a new direction.

  Once she got to know the area, she’d find a permanent home in Fayetteville. Though being across the street from Mack did have advantages, like making it easy for her to see him most nights, she needed to line up an apartment soon and get out from underfoot at the Lundgrens’.

  First, she had a few hard goodbyes to say to friends here.

  Thirty

  Mack cracked open Amber’s bedroom door and peeked in. The bedside lamp was off, her book lay on the nightstand, and the displaced covers assured him she wasn’t faking sleep this time.

  Next, he checked on Darcy. She didn’t stir when he stepped into the room to pick Bun-Bun off the floor. He tucked Darcy’s favorite stuffed rabbit in beside her.

  He studied her long lashes and the freckles dusting her nose. Today, when she’d asked if Kristie might help her and Amber practice jumping rope, it boosted his hopes of them having a future together. His girls had to accept any woman he brought into his life—because it meant she’d be in their lives. Their acceptance was vital, so today was a good sign.

  He closed the door and turned out the hall light. Though he ached to tell Kristie about Darcy wanting to see her, they still had to work out how she’d spend time with him and the girls so that it wouldn’t raise red flags. Before he flicked on his bedroom light, the message-indicator light on his phone blinked from the nightstand where he’d plugged it in.

  Swiping on the screen, there was a voicemail and missed call notification from Kristie. Even though she was having dinner with friends from her old unit and staying with one tonight, she’d made an effort to call him. Another good sign.

  He dialed in for the voicemail. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he caught a glimpse of his enthusiastic smile in the mirror. This is the way a relationship was supposed to be. When you missed the other person even when they were only gone a day or two. When the mere idea of hearing their voice gave you an endorphin rush that pushed problems out of your mind.

  “Mack, I’m on my way back from Savannah. I know you have the girls, but I need to talk to you. Tonight. I’m about, uh, thirty minutes out. I’ll text you when I get there.”

  The breathless edge to her voice negated the brief jump in his pulse at hearing she was on her way back early and wanted to see him. He touched the screen to play the message again and listened closely.

  Definitely an oh-shit call.

  She’d be back in ten to fifteen minutes. Better to wait and talk face-to-face rather than call her while she was driving since she sounded rattled.

  While he brushed his teeth, different scenarios ran through his mind—none of them good—though most were as likely as the French winning a war on their own. How could anyone in Savannah know about them? What were the chances a MEDEVAC slot suddenly opened up, and she was staying? Or going? Would she do that? Leave for her dream job rather than stick around and give them a shot?

  By the time he saw the headlights swing in, followed by the brake lights, he’d backed away from the ledge. He gave her a chance to cut the engine before he ambled across the street. When she opened the car door, the interior light showed boxes in the back seat, quickly dispelling his she’s-not-staying-at-Bragg scenario.

  She looked right at him when she got out.

  “Need help with those boxes?”

  “Just leave them.” She closed the door but didn’t move toward him.

  “Want to come over to my house to—”

  “No. I need to talk to Ray, too. Come on.”

  Without giving him a chance to give her a hug or a kiss or ask what was up, she headed to the front door. Mack followed, an uneasy feeling seeping out of his bones and into his limbs.

  Both Ray and Stephanie greeted them inside. Their wary expressions told him they’d gotten a call, too.

  “I need to use the bathroom.” Kristie dropped her purse on the sofa. In the brightly lit room, her skin was nearly the color of the light-gray walls.

  “We’ll be in the kitchen. Take your time,” Stephanie said.

  Mack locked eyes with Ray. “Any idea what’s up?” he asked once Kristie was out of earshot.

  “No,” Stephanie answered. “She called about half an hour ago, saying she was on her way and needed to talk to Ray when she got in, then hung up.”

  Droplets of water glistened on Kristie’s face and along her hairline when she joined them and plopped onto a chair at the table. Her color was a little better. For a second, the possibility she was pregnant flashed across his mind. Only they’d stayed careful, used protection. Besides, if that were the case, she wouldn’t be telling Ray about it.

  “Anyone want coffee?” Stephanie offered.

  “I’ll wait.” Mack was wired enough already. Besides, a stiff drink might be needed instead.

  “Ju
st ice water,” Kristie said.

  Stephanie inserted a pod into the coffee machine, then set glasses of water on the table.

  Kristie’s hand trembled when she lifted the glass to her lips and took several small sips, then let out a shaky breath. “After packing up the house, I went over to Paul and Deb Wilson’s for dinner with several of the other guys and their wives. While there, William Kerns told Paul to give me the four-one-one on what happened with Josué, the pilot I flew with on that mission.” Kristie cut her gaze to Stephanie, clearly trying not to give away classified information.

  This had to do with Colombia? The hair on Mack’s arms stood at attention.

  “Not long after we left, Josué went MIA. Didn’t show up or answer calls or return messages.”

  Ray shifted in his seat, leaning in with narrowed eyes.

  “Then, about a week ago, the police identified his body.”

  Mack’s oh-shit sensation erupted into full-on “Oh, fuck.”

  “Along with the bodies of his wife and two children.” Kristie’s voice broke, and she wiped away a tear.

  Stephanie gasped and sat up straight, her eyes wide. She placed a hand over Kristie’s. “What? How?” she sputtered. “Someone from your unit in Savannah?”

  “Colombia,” Ray interjected. “They think it was cartel related?”

  That was beyond obvious, but he was probably digging for something.

  Kristie nodded vigorously. “In addition to the gunshots to the head, there were signs Josué was tortured.”

  Stephanie shivered. Despite all his years of service and the horrors he’d seen, even Mack shuddered at what he envisioned the family had been through—before being executed.

  “It’s not your fault.” The twitch in Ray’s cheek aligned with the sick feeling in Mack’s core. The Colombian pilot and his family were dead because of Bad Karma’s mission to rescue the judge’s daughter. It was their fault. And the sick bastard that Herrera was, he could target everyone on the team and their families.

  He had to stop himself from bolting across the street to check on his girls and lock the front door. And grab his weapon and several extra magazines.

  “Was he involved with the cartel or …?” Stephanie stopped midsentence and stared at her husband.

  “Payback.” Ray used the voice no one dared contradict. “Herrera has cops and military on his payroll. No doubt, he could get the Colombian pilot’s name.”

  Stephanie retrieved the mug filled with tea, setting it and the sugar bowl in front of Kristie. “Chamomile. It’s calming. Drink it.”

  Kristie wrapped both hands around the mug and gripped it tightly. “His report would have my name. Or Josué could have given it. I doubt they could have gotten a copy of my report, but it didn’t mention any of your names.”

  “Yeah, but he’s not—”

  “I’m not finished,” Kristie cut Ray off. “The back-door deadbolt at my house in Savannah wasn’t locked. Nothing was missing or out of place, so I told myself I overlooked it in my rush to get up here, but …” She sighed. “That was before I knew about Josué. But even before that, my neighbor said a flower delivery person was at my house not long after I came here.”

  The grumble emanating from Ray lasted longer than Mack’s. Faking a delivery to divert suspicion—classic move. If Kristie had still been living there, they could have kidnapped or tortured or killed her. Or all three.

  “After what I heard from Paul and William tonight, I called my neighbor. Best she can remember, it would have been shortly after Josué went missing.”

  The imaginary punch hit Mack harder than a real one.

  “I asked her specifics about the delivery guy. The driver was Latino and spoke English with an accent. Late thirties. Average height. On the beefy side. She thinks he drove a dark-gray or black SUV. No name of the florist or delivery company on it. And … she told the guy I’d moved here.”

  “Shit.” Mack hadn’t even gotten a second of relief that they’d dodged a bullet because she’d relocated.

  “She had no way of knowing not to say anything.” Defeat laced Kristie’s voice.

  “Sounds like it could be the same SUV that followed you that night. But if you haven’t seen him since he followed you to the apartment complex, maybe they gave up. Went back to Colombia,” Mack offered, though it didn’t sound like Herrera’s MO.

  “There was one time since …”

  Mack fought to keep from going ballistic at this bomb drop. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “Because it wasn’t Sheehan driving. It also happened the day you met Rochelle about the summer schedule, and I didn’t want to dump that on you.”

  “Sorry.” He gave a begrudging nod, encouraging her to continue.

  “I was flying nights, and on my way in, an SUV pulled out from a side street near the airfield. It was two soldiers. Or at least two men in camouflage.”

  “What do you mean?” Ray asked, eyebrows furrowed, his battle face on.

  “I remember thinking the driver’s hair exceeded regulation length. Wrote it off that they might be in a Special Ops unit, but …” She hesitated. “I’d gotten in the left-turn lane, and they went right. I did a U-turn to go toward the airfield, and on the way, I passed what looked like the same SUV. Like they’d done a U-turn, too.”

  “I don’t like it,” Ray said, flat out.

  Neither did Mack. Why hadn’t she told him at some point? Okay, don’t obsess about it. It was in the past; they couldn’t change it. They had to deal with things now.

  “Is the GPS off on your phone?” Ray asked.

  “For everything but navigation apps.”

  “Good. We can’t rule out that they planted a tracker or followed you here. We’ll take your car to the shop tomorrow and use the bug detector to check it.”

  “I hooked one up because of Sheehan,” Mack reminded Ray.

  “I’ve been careful. Watching out and changing routes, but you’re right. I can’t stay here and put you at risk. I’m going to check into a hotel.”

  “Probably best.” Ray turned to Stephanie. “Pack an overnight bag for you and Alexis. Go to a hotel with Kristie tonight. Use our credit card in case they found anything with her number on it. Tomorrow you can pack to go to your parents, or better yet, start making college visits until we get ahead of this.”

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know …” Kristie said to Stephanie.

  “Of course. You couldn’t know.” Stephanie turned to Ray. “Emergency safety and communication protocols?”

  He nodded, and Stephanie calmly got up to tell Alexis to pack.

  “We’ll need your keys to stash your car someplace for the night, then check it for trackers tomorrow,” Mack said.

  “Airport?” Ray suggested.

  “Perfect. Good mislead if they did plant a tracker.” Mack took the keys, Kristie dug out of her purse.

  Rochelle would be going ape-shit crazy right now. Considering how close the cartel got to Kristie on more than one occasion, she was holding it together like a pro. Compassionate. Empathetic. Cool under pressure. There was so much to love about this woman. “Hey, you’re going to have the whole Bad Karma team on this. These guys don’t have a chance.”

  Kristie’s attempt at a smile garnered a score of about a three for effort, not even close to reaching her troubled eyes. “I need to grab a few things.”

  Mack slipped a hand around her arm before she could leave the kitchen. “We’ll get through this,” he promised.

  She squeezed his hand but didn’t say a thing.

  Thirty-One

  Kristie startled at the two solid raps on the hotel room door. Alexis stopped mid-sentence and waited. Two identical raps followed like a code. Stephanie strode to the door, peeking through the peephole before opening the door for Ray.

  “Hey, beautiful.” He kissed his wife.

  “What’s the plan?” she asked without preamble.

  “I filled in Colonel Mahinis last night. We’ve got a meetin
g. Kristie, I want you to come with me. Stephanie, you and Alexis can stay here or do whatever. Steer clear of the house until I learn what Intel digs up.”

  “Church okay?”

  “Yeah. But watch your six.”

  “Aye, aye, Chief,” Stephanie quipped.

  “I’ll call you when I know more.”

  Kristie pocketed her hotel key as Ray checked the hallway, then escorted her to the stairway.

  “Went by the airport and dropped Mack off to get your car from the long-term lot, and he’s taking it to post. We’ve got equipment to make sure there’s no bugs or trackers.” He checked the parking lot before opening the door. Ray’s untucked polo didn’t quite camouflage the bulge created by the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

  He kept up the serious security protocol by checking the rearview and side-view mirrors and taking an indirect route. Before yesterday, she would have called it overkill. Today, she skipped chitchat to scan every car and driver.

  She had to produce her ID even though Ray vouched for her at the guarded access point to the protected area of the post used by the Special Ops teams. Until today, she’d only seen it from the air.

  Ray pulled into the nearly empty lot in front of a nondescript brick building. She didn’t see her car, but the black Toyota SUV he parked next to had to be Tony’s.

  Ray swiped his Common Access Card, then held the door for her. Inside the building, she produced her ID again, and he signed her in at the reception desk.

  The wall to the side was filled with the faces and names of fallen operators. It struck her like a chisel, carving off another piece of her heart. Eric’s name was on a memorial wall at 1st Ranger Battalion’s Headquarters at Hunter Airfield in Savannah. Here, she scanned the most recent additions, swallowing the sorrow the sight inspired. She did not want to see names added that she’d recognize.

  Rather than linger, Ray led her through another door into a hallway lined with closed doors bearing the names of senior officers. He stopped at a windowless door marked with a number.

 

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