by Zoe Dawson
Then he pressed his lips to the top of her head. “We’ve got this, babe,” he reminded her. “Just keep north.” He took off his watch and slipped it on her wrist, then pressed a set of binoculars into her palm.
With a rub of Uba’s head, he started jogging away from them. Aella turned to the kids. “We stay together. No wandering. I’m looking at you, Uba.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she murmured, still disgruntled about her dolly and the croc. Aella thought her heart would burst out of her throat when she saw that fearless child try to keep what was hers. Aella understood her battle and her need to fight. Everything had been taken from Uba, and in her six-year-old brain, it was better to drown than lose something else she loved dearly.
She completely got it as she put the binoculars to her eyes and watched Saint move further away from her position. Complications aside, a terrible ache swelled up inside her, and she knew it down to her heart to her soul. And it was a devastating feeling. She clenched her jaw, the ache intensifying. He crouched out of sight. She caught up with him when he smeared mud over his face, clumps of grasses shoved down the back of his shirt, hiding his golden hair. He glanced back and although she knew he couldn’t see them, it was comforting. Still crouched, he moved forward, and she lost him completely.
She took a breath, trying with all her might to skirt a reality she’d been skirting for a long time. Somewhere between Bosnia and here, she’d fallen in love with Zach “Saint” Bartholomew. She felt guilty about David back in the States, but he’d been nothing but a distraction to assuage the loneliness that had swamped her after Saint had left her at Walter Reed without bringing them up, what they had together, or the complications that had driven him to make that decision. She had given him a reason to leave. She knew and he knew it.
Admitting that to herself made her tremble with an odd kind of alarm. She didn’t know when it had happened. She couldn’t look back at one definitive moment. It was as if it had been there all along—like some great dormant creature suppressed by her commitment to her solitary life. It stemmed from her Army brat days, never in one place for long, never got to have all the milestones that children and teenagers get to have made her strong inside, but it was more than that. It was fear of commitment, settling down in one place and giving everything to get it all.
She had given up so much to follow her dad where he needed to be, she wasn’t sure she could let go of what she needed in her life. Torn between Saint and her ambitions, warring with different needs, love coloring it all. How had this happened?
“Let’s move, ladies. We’re taking you home.” She searched the stretch of land between the edge of the forest and the area they were going to enter. It bolstered her that Saint was out there, looking over them, giving them safe passage. Nothing moved except tall grasses swaying in the wind. She glanced at his watch on her wrist, heavy, like her heart. His pistol was tucked into her waistband, and she had her MMA abilities.
Unfamiliar territory didn’t bother her—a forest was a forest, forget the location. True she was more comfortable in the urban jungle tracking down predators than she was here trying to escape them. It was her job to bring Darko Stjepanić to justice and she hadn’t forgotten about that. She had just been waylaid.
There was Zasha Vasiliev to consider with her vendetta against Fast Lane, but Zasha had a hidden agenda. That made it more dangerous, because she’d constructed it with no inhibitions, without restraint, and that usually brought out the dark side in people. Aella had to wonder if the woman even had a bright side…ever. Yet if they didn’t finish this, they ran the risk of her getting away with her plans, Darko right along with her.
She wanted Zasha’s secret house of cards to fall.
She wanted Darko to pay for all that he had done…the murders, the gun running, the global terror, his support of Zasha that allowed her to run rampant.
She led the girls through the thickness of the trees. The rainy season here had been generous and even though the sun was out, it looked like rain was massing again in the distance. All of this sure made her aware of creature comforts. At home, she would so enjoy curling up on her couch and having a cup of tea when it was stormy.
She kept her vigilance as she moved, looking back at the girls, making sure they were still all following, no one lagging. Uba walked along without any problem. She was used to covering large distances. Her people were herders and they walked far afield for forage for their animals.
They sure had a hard lot in life, but these children were bright, energetic and had been well taken care of before Omar had kidnapped them from their village. Their families had no recourse, no government agency who would track them down, arrest and try the people responsible like there was in the US. She worked for her own government and chafed at the oppression this country had to endure. It hurt her heart that most of the people Somalis saw were the US military.
Although, Saint had made an impression on them all. Along with their hardworking families, they wouldn’t soon forget the Navy SEAL who had brought them all back home.
By the time the sun was high in the sky, Aella was looking for a good place to rest, eat some of their fish and berries and rehydrate.
As she folded down to the ground, she could hardly believe that it was only yesterday Saint had saved her from humiliation, violation, and death several times.
Several minutes after she’d stopped, Saint materialized out of the trees.
“It’s clear up ahead,” he said. “How is everyone doing?”
“We’re doing good, making good progress.”
He nodded. “There’s a makeshift bridge up ahead where we can safely cross the river. He found a dirt patch on the ground. With a stick he drew a wavy line. “This is the river, and the bridge is here.” He drew some scratches. “All we need to do is continue north.”
“I can hear a but in your voice.”
“The girls’ village is most likely here, the base not far from there. We will be leaving the trees and entering a savannah. There is no cover.”
“Should we wait until nightfall?”
He shook his head, then looked up at the gray skies that were obscuring the blue. “It’s going to storm again, which will keep choppers grounded. I say we rest here for an hour, try to get some sleep, then make a run for the village. I can carry Uba so that we can move fast.” He slid his hand down her arm. “We can stay the night at the village, then hightail it for the military base and contact Fast Lane and the brass that we’re safe. Get you a ride out of here and back to the States.”
She stiffened, white-hot anger blooming in her. Her voice low and shaking, she snapped, “I’m not going back to the States until my job is done here.”
His eyes darkened and he frowned, all his SEAL intimidation coming out at once. “Your job is done here, Aella. Leave Darko and Zasha to us.”
With an abrupt move she rose, and Saint followed her up. They squared off. “Zasha is culpable, but it’s Darko we really want. He was the one who murdered my partner, those agents in the US, and smuggled in those guns. The ATF isn’t going to shy away just because the military says they have dibs on him.” She walked away, needing some distance as emotions, memories, pain, and guilt beat at her. Something dropped off her chin. When had she started crying?
“Aella!”
She kept walking, the frenzy in her chest making her tremble, the anger and the tears mixing into explosive proportions.
“Babe, damn it! Wait!”
Saint caught her by the arm and hauled her up short, and she jerked her arm free and turned to face him.
He looked ready for a fight, and she was going to give him one.
He grabbed her arm and steered her away from the girls who were watching them avidly and anxiously. “You might not have a choice, Aella. The ATF might not have a choice.” His jaw was set with determination. “We’re all just foot soldiers who do what we’re told. The ATF needs to stand down here. Darko and Zasha are out of your jurisdiction and your league. Yo
u’re going home. Get used to that idea.”
Jerking her arm free again. “They killed my partner. I’m not going to tuck my tail between my legs and let them win.”
He released his breath in an exasperated sigh. “No one is going to win here. You’ve already suffered enough. Haven’t you?”
Folding her arms in a defensive stance, she stared across the meadow, her voice strained. “Not as much as Jason.” Bitterness laced her words.
His voice and face softened, and she wasn’t sure she could handle his sympathy right now.
“I know what it’s like to lose team members, Aella. It hurts and it’s difficult not to try to blame yourself. But you aren’t equipped to handle Zasha and Darko. Leave it to us…to me. Trust us to get it done.”
She clenched and unclenched her jaw. He was right. She had already acknowledged the fact that those two terrorists were out of her league, beyond the scope of her job now. But she couldn’t let go of the bitterness. She closed her eyes, then said, with deadly quiet, “I can’t. I can’t go home and face Jason’s wife until I make sure the man who was responsible for his murder, for so many agents’ deaths, is brought to justice or dead.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he drew a deep breath. “It’s short-sighted. Just like coming here to Somalia.” The look that appeared in Saint’s eyes was enough to strip steel. “What were you thinking? This is one of the most dangerous countries on the planet. They hate Americans. Americans died here, shot down, dragged through the streets!” When she turned away from him, he whipped her back. He got in her face, his voice echoing across the meadow “I could have lost you!” He stared at her, the muscles in his jaw hardening. A flock of white birds took off from the trees.
Uba started crying. He swore and pinched the bridge of his nose. There was no finishing this conversation as Aella raced for the little girl. Falling to her knees, she scooped the child against her and rocked her gently, her arms tight. “It’s all right, sweetie.”
Uba buried her face in her neck. “I don’t like the yelling,” she whispered, her voice watery.
“Is everything all right?” Yasmiin asked, the other girls’ gazes ping-ponging between her and Saint. He stood with his head bowed, his hands on his hips.
Her tears continued to fall. “Yes. We’re having a heated argument. That’s all.”
“About what? Us?”
“No. It’s about me. He wants me to give up and go home.”
“That would be wise. You’d be safe then?”
“Safer, yes. What I do for a job is dangerous, Yasmiin.” She reached out and squeezed Aella’s arm, her face soft with sympathy.
“Any place has to be safer than here in our country.”
Saint walked over and her stomach dropped away to nothing. He swiped his hand over Uba’s head. “Sorry for raising my voice,” he said. His expression was bitter when he looked at Aella, deep remorse in those heavenly eyes, his voice harsh. “Rest here. I’ll do a perimeter check.”
Something gave way around her heart, and she shivered. Feeling almost too raw to speak, she nodded. This mission had been harder than anything she’d ever taken on. She was determined, reckless in her pursuit of Darko, but it hadn’t become a vendetta until Jason. She hadn’t known the other agents. They were just pictures in her file, lives snuffed out by a ruthless man.
But Jason…Jason was her partner. It was personal. She’d had dinner with him and his wife, heard him talk about having kids and how much he adored his wife. It was clear from the few times she’d met Vona that she was head-over-heels for him. Getting angry felt better than feeling vulnerable.
Her eyes filled up. A feeling of desolation washed through her, and she smoothed her hand over Uba’s hair, comforting herself as she comforted the upset child.
She was an emotional mess, with so much anger churning up inside her, that she needed to set it all aside to focus on the task at hand.
Realizing she would be useless to Saint if she didn’t get herself together, she released Uba, drying the little girl’s tears with her thumbs. “You all right, baby?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “I want my mommy and daddy,” she said, her voice subdued.
“Soon,” Aella promised.
That seemed to buck her up and the six of them went to sleep while Aella watched over them, knowing that Saint was out there somewhere, hurting as bad as she was. Bringing up her knees, she rested her forehead against the tops of them, shaking with so many pent-up feelings that she couldn’t untangle the mess. She fought for something—anything—to override the rage, the self-directed anger, that awful, sinking, churning sensation from Saint’s words. Had her determined, one track mind gotten Jason killed?
Drawing up an image of Saint in her mind, she closed her eyes and hung on to that like a lifeline.
An hour later he was back, and they woke the kids. By this time, her anger was banked, a hard ball in her chest. They stuck to the trees. A funny numbness settled in, and nothing really registered. Not the surroundings, not her weary footfalls. Not the mountains turning purple as the sun dipped lower into the horizon.
The sky was blackened out by the clouds by the time they reached the bridge and quickly clamored over it to the other side. Then it was back into the cover of the trees. They saw no one or heard anything but the rumble of thunder and flash of lightning.
Hidden behind clouds, the sun started to set, the rain coming down hard, and making each muddy step a challenge. Aella could smell the river at her back but kept going. Sodden, cold and miserable, Saint’s plan had been sound. It would take a powerful light to see them in this storm, even out in the open. Finally, the trees thinned.
The rain had eased up a little, yet the sky was still dark, clouds hovering in a hard stall, ready to unleash again. They broke out into a scrubby landscape, nothing but open savannah ahead of them.
He crouched and everyone ducked down with him. “Get ready,” Saint said as he bent down and reseated Uba into his arms. He gave the open area one more searching glance, then said, “Go!”
Breaking out of the trees, they didn’t slow down. They could see a clearing in the distance and headed for it, rushing across the wet ground. They ran for what seemed like a long time, the girls keeping up with them admirably. Trees rose up around them again, the river was close. Then Saint stopped suddenly, his gaze moving around the area. Passing Uba to Aella, he stepped in front of them, weapon at the ready.
Aella hated when he got like that, a current of awareness running through him.
“Someone is coming.”
Through the patter of rain, Aella detected the faint bleating of goats, then a man and the herd materialized out of the watery distance. As he got closer, he saw them and stopped in his tracks. Aella thought the man was responding to Saint’s semi-automatic weapon, but suddenly the man fell to his knees.
Uba struggled against her hold, and she set her down. The man shouted to the sky and opened his arms. Uba, her voice a joyous screech, yelled something in her native tongue as her little legs pumped.
She reached the man and launched herself at him as he enveloped her into his arms, his sobs harsh as they tore at her heart.
Yasmiin said softly, “It’s her grandfather. We are home.”
Uba’s grandfather wouldn’t let her go as she rode his shoulders on their way to the village. His weathered face was all smiles, but he didn’t speak English. Yasmiin translated for them and his appreciation for saving his granddaughter from a terrible fate was effusive. As they got to the small village, not more than fifteen houses built out of stones and weathered wood. A woman spied them while she was hanging wet clothes. She paused, peered, then raced to a weepy Yasmiin. One by one, the children’s parents came forward and claimed their children. They were invited to many family’s homes to dine, but the grandfather insisted that there would be a celebration, and everyone would participate.
Aella didn’t miss the ravages of war with the destroyed homes and piles of rocks here and there.
They were taken to a house and invited inside, the place lit up inside by solar power lamps. There were two beds and a place to wash. It was heaven.
“You go first,” he offered. It was the first time he’d spoken directly to her since he’d shouted at her in the meadow.
One of the children’s mothers had provided her with a clean change of clothes, and Saint didn’t have to tell her twice. She shucked out of the filthy garments, washed her hair and body with the clean, tepid water and fragrant goat milk soap.
Fifteen minutes later she was dressed in the clean clothes, and it was his turn. In deference to her privacy, he’d stepped out of the house, the argument standing between them, stark and cold. His words still burned her brain. I could have lost you.
He’d left the hospital, left her to pick up the pieces of her heart and suddenly, she resented him for that. No discussion, just a decision to make it easy on both of them. He’d never pushed her for more.
She headed for the door and as soon as she stepped out into the warm night, two women drew her aside, murmuring in their language and taking on the task of taming her hair. Saint watched her with tormented eyes, then ducked back inside presumably to wash up.
She endured their ministrations, then thanked them. She went back into the house. She needed to talk to him...she just wished she knew what that was. It didn’t matter. They were all complicated conversations.
When she cleared the doorway, she stopped, greeted by the sight of his exposed back, defined by hard ridges of muscles across his broad shoulders and up his torso. The solar light turned his deeply tanned skin to a glazed bronze. The strong angle of his jaw was accentuated by a stubble of beard, the burnished skin across his cheekbones drawn smooth.