by Zoe Dawson
“Including Ford Nixon?”
2-Stroke looked at him and Fast Lane nodded. “Da,” 2-Stroke said.
They all heard the almost imperceptible sob and when her voice came back through the radio, it was watery. “Take pictures and bring them with you. You have the coordinates.”
2-Stroke immediately said, “Could you repeat them, ma’am, for accuracy?”
She rattled them off. “Come to see me the moment you arrive.”
2-Stroke smiled and signed off. He went to hand the radio back to Fast Lane and he shook his head. “You keep the radio. You and Dragon head to those coordinates and sit on Zasha and Darko. See if you can find out what they’re up to. The rest of us will take the SUV and go to assist Saint. Any questions?”
“You just want us to watch them, not take kill shots if they present themselves?”
“Not until I say so. I want to know what they’re doing there and who they’re working for. Even Darko doesn’t have that big an interest in Somalia. I believe someone else is the puppet master. Wait for my orders before doing anything. Now get humping. It’ll take you some time to get there on foot. I expect regular reports.” He turned to the guys. “Pony up some of your MREs and ammo for them.”
While the guys were doing that, Fast Lane took one last look at TOC. Soon, he thought. We’ll get you all home very soon. It bothered him that he hadn’t been able to find Rose’s or Solace’s bodies. He wondered if anyone had escaped this massacre.
Once Dragon and 2-Stroke headed off in the other direction, the rest of them piled into the SUV.
Pitbull came up to him. “This isn’t on you, Fast Lane.”
He shook his head. “It’s on Zasha and Darko and whoever is pulling the strings. I’m just one of her many targets. She may not live long enough to regret what she’s done here.”
He nodded. “You okay, man? You’ve been off since we got here.”
He sighed. “My ex-wife Solace Mitchell was one of the casualties. She’s a pilot for the SOARS group.”
Pitbull gripped his shoulder and said, “I’m sorry for your loss, Ford. Truly. I can see she still meant a lot to you.”
His eyes burned and he shoved back the emotion. There was no time for him to grieve, and he wasn’t sure he ever would see an end to that grief. “Thank you. Let’s get moving. Saint needs us.”
“Copy that.”
They piled into the SUV with Pitbull driving. There were still many hours before the sun came up. He wanted to be off the road and heading across country to the military base at Baidoa. There were many more miles for them to go before they could rest.
After about fifteen minutes of driving, the vehicle lurched and there was a terrible explosion. Pitbull wrestled with the steering wheel and nearly missed hitting a tree as it came to an abrupt stop. For a moment, everyone inside was stunned.
Pitbull woke up with a cry as Fast Lane said, “What is it?”
“My leg,” he gasped, his lips compressing into a hard line.
Fast Lane got out of the vehicle and came around to the driver’s side. The door was shredded. He pried it open and saw the blood. Bending down, he inspected the wound.
“How bad, mate?” Dodger asked.
“Bad enough,” Fast Lane said as he noted the short gash in Pitbull’s leg. He couldn’t tell if it was deep. He turned to find Hemingway already ripping out his first aid kit. Moving out of the way, he let the kid get in there.
Fast Lane waited while Hemingway ripped his pant leg and tended to the gash. Pulling out a thread and needle and topical analgesic, Hemingway made quick work of sewing it up. Pitbull leaned back in the seat, remaining still, his face a bit white. Finally, Hemingway bandaged it up. “You’re all set, Pit.” He pulled out a packet. “Here are some antibiotics.” Pitbull dry swallowed them and nodded.
“You good?” Fast Lane asked.
“Ready to rock and roll, LT,” Pitbull said, sliding out of the driver’s seat.
Dodger was on the ground inspecting the damage. When he rose, the look on the man’s face said it all. “The axle’s toast, mate.”
“Dammit,” Mad Max said. “Looks like we’re walking.”
Warsame Omar frowned at the open door to his father’s current location of operations. He had been to the city, to the presidential palace. The current government, soon to be the past government, was putting up a hell of a fight.
Weary with the waiting, he had come back here to get some rest. He was also cleared to finally take the dark-eyed beauty he had coveted ever since he’d laid eyes on her days ago. The American agent didn’t like his attention, but he didn’t care. Even though she was one of the fiercest fighters he had ever seen, she would be nothing once his father got done with her.
He entered and latched the door behind him. Walking down the hall, he stopped at the open door to the room where they had kept the prisoners. He ran forward and called out, but no one came.
The room was empty and his Yasmiin, his bride, was gone. He growled, his fists clenching.
He ran out of the room toward his father’s quarters, but tripped over something, falling hard to the floor, skinning his hands and knees. He scrambled to his feet only to find that what had tripped him was a body. One of the dead guards. He’d forgotten the man’s name.
Despair and fear in his gut, he got to his father’s open door and the man who lay at the threshold. Another dead guard. Cold dread snaked up his spine. He entered and called out in grief and anger. “Father!”
This was the man who had fought to power, kept Warsame free from hunger and thirst and had provided for all his needs so that he’d never had to suffer the inevitable fate of many of his countrymen.
Axmed Omar, his father was on his back on the floor, a knife in his chest and a bullet hole in his forehead. He closed his father’s eyes and went screaming out into the compound. Rousing several men, he discovered that the school bus that had been parked there was also gone.
Whomever had killed his father and taken his bride was going to pay with their lives. The will of Allah would be satisfied.
His father had been a feared and revered warlord. Warsame’s legacy.
He would make his father proud if Allah willed it.
Chief Warrant Officer Solace Mitchell peered through the foliage that draped their hiding place. She, Rose Sinema, two Somali soldiers, Cumar and Tahiil and her seriously wounded crewmate, Sergeant Will Slater hid in to avoid the Bosnian kill squad that had been dogging them so close, she could almost feel their breaths on her neck.
She was trained in escape and evade, and it had served her well so far.
She was aware that the Bosnians had killed everyone on base and now they were after any and all survivors. She didn’t know what this was about, but she could only guess it had to do with Al-Shabaab and their followers. There were several of Al-Shabaab’s terrorists with the Bosnians.
Rose crouched next to her. “We should keep moving.”
“I’m not sure if they’re herding us in the direction they want us to go.”
“Maybe, but I’ve been counting on you being smarter than they are, and so far, you’re doing a great job. Thanks for saving my life, by the way.”
Rose had been pinned down after exiting the main center. They were going to have a beer together in the officer’s area when all hell had broken loose. Solace had just left her quarters when the shelling began. Together they had taken shelter in the rubble and then run once they had discovered her crewmate and the two Somalis.
“You’re welcome.”
Keeping low, thankful for the abundance of the vegetation on this side of the river, she knelt beside Will. He was sweating profusely and the makeshift bandage on his abdomen was soaked in his blood. Her heart sank.
He looked up at her with the knowledge of his death in his eyes. He reached for her hand and clenched it tight. “Tell my mom I fought well. Can you do that for me, ma’am?”
Tears filled her eyes. He was so young and had such a promising career ahead of him. “
It’s Solace, not ma’am, and you’ll tell her yourself when you’ve recovered.”
He laughed softly. “Okay.”
She looked around, her stomach clenching hard.
“Where are Cumar and Tahiil?”
“They left shortly after we got here,” Will said. “They know if they are found with Americans, they’ll be executed on the spot. They have the advantage of blending in.”
She couldn’t really blame them, but now they were grounded. Will couldn’t walk and neither she nor Rose could carry him. She got to her feet and smiled at him. “Try to get some sleep.”
She made her way back to Rose, gave her Will’s status and that their two Somali friends had abandoned them.
Rose took the news in stride. She was a consummate professional.
Her stomach growled and Solace rubbed it. Rose glanced over at her. “I wish we’d had time for some dinner before we got hit. I’m starving too.”
“What will happen with the SEALs? There’s no exfil for them.”
“They’re on their own like we are. We can only hope they realize what is happening and get to safety.”
“Are you kidding? Fast Lane is my ex-husband, and I can guarantee you he never runs to safety. If there is danger, bullets flying, bombs exploding and people in harm’s way, he will be running toward it, not away from it.”
“What was I thinking? They’re SEALs. You’re completely right.” Rose gave her a winky-wink look. “So that gorgeous hunk of man is your ex?”
“Yes. That bastard does look good.”
“I’m guessing he was amazing in bed.”
“Really, Rose. We’re being chased down by a group of murderous Bosnians and terrorists who will most decidedly rape us before they kill us, and you want to know if he was good in bed?”
Rose grinned. “I was trying to get your mind off our plight. And…um…yeah. Was he?”
“The best I ever had. I have dreams about how he would fuck me. Raw, powerful, and I swear, he could go all night.”
“Damn…you bitch.”
Solace laughed. “Got your mind in the gutter instead of on the monsters that are after us.”
“Yes.” She fanned herself. “You bitch.”
After another twenty minutes of tense watching, Solace walked back to Will. Her stomach sank as she knelt down and touched his forehead. He opened his eyes. They were glassy and his breathing was labored. “Tell her,” he said as he grasped her collar tightly, then he exhaled, slipping into death. She closed her eyes, swallowing back the pain of losing him. But there was nothing either of them could have done for him. His wound was mortal.
Rose came over, her features fixed in an urgent expression. “Solace—” She looked down at Will and sighed softly. “I’m sorry, but we’ve got to go. Now.”
She rose and pushed her grief aside. Moving in different patterns would give them a fighting chance. Both of them were at least armed with a pistol. She could only hear the rush of water, but she knew they were out there hunting them.
“We only have one chance,” Solace said, regret at leaving Will heavy on her.
“Prayer?”
“It couldn’t hurt, but no. We head for the closest Somalia military base.”
5
“Where exactly are we going?” Aella asked, everything feeling so surreal, especially since now she felt safe, safe with Zach.
He slid his weapon down and came to the front of the bus. Crouching down, he pulled a map out of the inside of his vest. “We’ll rendezvous with Fast Lane and the team, then head north to the closest Somali military base…Baidoa, maybe. We have no idea what’s been overrun.”
“That base is close to our village,” Yasmiin piped up from the back.
“We could deliver the girls back to their families,” Aella said.
He nodded. “That sounds like a good plan. We’ll see what Fast Lane says when we meet up with the team.” He tucked the map back inside his vest. “Keep following this road.”
The road was so dark, only the headlights illuminating how rough and dusty it was. “How did you find me?” she asked, giving him a brief glance.
“GPS, guesswork, and blind luck,” he said. He reached out and clasped her forearm. This close to him, his touch made her body jump with memory.
“Did guesswork lead to those cuts and bruises on your face?”
His brows knit tightly. “Yeah,” he sighed. “We found your last location and it was booby trapped. We were caught somewhat by surprise.”
“Is that where blind luck came into play?”
“That and the fact that I found you at all.” His voice dropped a gruff octave and her heart tightened as his sultry blue gaze slid to hers.
“Are you okay? You’ve got some cuts and bruises of your own.”
She nodded, but she wasn’t. Not with Saint so close to her. “He made me fight…for my virtue. I held my own until the last bout. He gave me no time to rest and an unending number of fresh, young opponents. I lost.”
Was Saint’s being here, being the one to rescue her some twist of fate?
“Is that why you were in his rooms? He was claiming his prize.”
“He wishes. No, I was there to sink that knife in his chest and get these girls out of his clutches. He had intentions of marrying them off to his people. Yasmiin was promised to his son.”
“That son of bitch,” Saint said below his breath. “The little one can’t be more than six.”
“She is six. But Omar didn’t care. She would have been enslaved as a child bride as soon as she was breeding age.” She swerved to miss a pothole, and when Saint lost his balance, she grabbed onto his vest, then righted the bus. “Breeding sons to fight and maintain his empire was all he cared about.” She gave him a concerned look, wondering at the amount of blood on his neck and on his collar.
“And you? What was he going to do with you after—”
“Probably kill me.” She had to interrupt him. The reality of what Omar planned made her sick and the thought of it made her hands clasp the wheel tighter. A strange, heavy feeling unfolded in her chest, making her suddenly restless. “I don’t know for sure. But I was determined he wasn’t going to get the chance.” She tried to relax her hands and shoulders and will away the heaviness inside her. She didn’t know why she felt suddenly so exposed. Especially when Saint made her feel so safe.
And now there was a complication between them… She rolled her eyes at the thought. More than one, but a new wrinkle. David was in the picture. Rock solid, steady, dependable, a man who was flexible not only in his career, but in his life. He was up for adventure, and she was sure that if she had to pick up and leave DC, he would go with her.
He had assuaged her broken heart. It had been awful, so emotionally devastating when Saint left her at Walter Reed, especially when she wanted to call him back. But that was her heart talking, her head was more pragmatic.
There had been at least a thousand times when she’d wanted to call him, even after she’d met David. That urge never went away. But she consoled herself with the knowledge that she had done the right thing.
But here he was, fighting, risking his life to find her, to rescue her.
“You’re one of the strongest women I have ever met,” he said, his gaze was level and reassuring.
What they had shared in Bosnia was a fling. It’s what she had thought at the time. But now, months later, she realized that she had kept her own feelings buried. They had become intimate. She didn’t know how it had affected Saint, but it had left her feeling oddly exposed again. She didn’t have a clue how she was going to handle it—not a clue.
All she knew was that she wanted Zasha and Darko in custody or dead. Those were the two choices, because they had been the masterminds of this coup, or definitely had been part of the planning. She should have seen it more clearly, but she’d been caught up in apprehending them.
“One? Not the strongest?”
A glint appeared, and the lines around his eyes creased a
s a smile worked one corner of his mouth. “My mom was pretty tough. Still is. With four kids including one hell-raising son, she had her hands full.”
Aella gave him a wry look. “Okay, I can defer to your mom. I’ve seen you in action.”
That glint in his eyes intensifying, he chuckled. “You sure have, and it was all kinds of fun.”
Aella gave him a narrow, chastising look. “You better behave. We aren’t exactly on a date.”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he gave her a slow, lazy grin. He reached behind her, his arm dropping onto her shoulders. The warmth and weight of that touch set off such a commotion in her middle, it was hard to catch her breath, and she shivered.
He tightened his grip, hugging her to him. If he kept this up, he would have to drive.
Man, he was so warm, safe, and solid. She eased in a deep breath. He removed his arm but set his hand on the silver handhold that was close to her thigh. Aella focused on driving, breathing in and out, a new rush of heat surging through her. More than anything, she wanted to stop the bus and turn into his arms. Just for a moment.
He mesmerized her, along with that sizzle that was always present when he was near or far from her. She recognized that sensation she had experienced in Bosnia—one she hadn’t had since, not with any man.
He rose from his knees, heaving a sigh. “I’m going to check our six. Doesn’t look like anyone is following.”
He gave her one dark look, and her pulse pumped a little faster in her throat.
He ran his finger along her forearm. “Keep to the road,” he said huskily.
That single soft touch only made her want more. She smiled up at him. “I will.”
With her heart pounding, she watched in the rearview as he walked to the back of the bus.
With all the willpower she possessed, chastising herself for being stupid, she focused on the road, checking the mirrors on either side for any telltale headlights, but there was nothing but a pitch-black nothingness behind them.
She worked at trying to disconnect from the unsatisfied ache lying thick and heavy in her. But she couldn’t disconnect. No matter how hard she tried. She gripped the wheel, feeling shaky and out of control—not a good state of mind when the lives of six kids, hers and the man who had rescued them hanging in the balance. Her insides crawling with emptiness, she pushed those feelings aside.