by Zoe Dawson
He reached for the gun and set the muzzle against his forehead.
“Promise me that you’ll stop seeking revenge and live your life.”
She tried to keep emotion from her face. He didn’t understand the love of a parent, the trust you gave them and the inconsolable loss. Darko had eliminated his only family members, estranged from his parents. Alex was his only blood now. But that didn’t mean a thing to Darko. She was bound by blood. She would accomplish this one thing for him. Avenge his death.
“Don’t make me do this. You can make it.”
He shook his head. “You can’t let the Americans take me, Zasha.”
“I know,” she said, resigned to what she had to do. Hatred coiled in her gut for the SEALs who had taken him from her. Now Fast Lane and his whole team had to suffer.
She pulled the trigger, the sound of the gunshot loud in the stairwell.
She choked, tears burning her throat as she struggled with her rage, her grief again, and touched him one last time. She sobbed as she turned away and started climbing the stairs, the sound of heavy boots, pursuing her. She burst out onto the roof and her heart stalled.
The chopper wasn’t there.
But then she heard the whop-whop of the blades, and the small, sleek black chopper came into view. She raced toward it as it landed. A man pulled her inside, and it immediately lifted off. The man turned to her and shouted over the sound of the rotors.
“Where is Darko?”
“He’s gone,” she cried. She swallowed bitter tears and straightened her posture. Now was not the time to mourn. Revenge burned even hotter, and she would see them all pay…she’d see the world pay.
Saint was standing in the hallway of the hospital with his teammates. Aella was farther down the hall on the phone with her boss.
He could see how pissed Fast Lane was that he’d lost Zasha and Darko. They had found his dead body in the stairwell. Zasha had killed him.
The worse part about this was that they wouldn’t get any answers out of her, and once again she became an extremely dangerous HVT. They would hunt her down.
He turned to see a contingent of MPs coming down the hall. One of them walked up to him. “Are you Petty Officer Zachary Bartholomew?”
He frowned. “Yes.”
“Please put your arms behind your back. You are under arrest for violating Article 91 of the Uniformed Code of Military Justice.”
Aella turned when they were putting the cuffs on his wrists. His career was over, his freedom gone. He’d made the decision to violate a direct order from his superior, and he would do it again.
She dropped the phone, her stricken eyes locking on to him. She was shaking her head, but reality couldn’t be changed as they snapped the cuffs on.
Their relationship had just taken a curve ball, and would there be any future with Aella?
17
Fast Lane sat, but what he wanted to do was pace, punch walls, kick someone’s ass, drink. He closed his eyes. Saint was being unjustly accused and even as his commanding officer, he was powerless to stop it. Didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try.
He waited outside the office of Commander Thompson. He glanced down at his watch. His plane back to the States would be leaving shortly. Thompson had to know why Fast Lane had requested the meeting, maybe he was stalling.
“He will see you now, Lieutenant Nixon,” the woman behind the desk said.
He rose and entered the office. Thompson was looking down at a folder, but when he heard the door close, he looked up. Closing the folder, he straightened.
“I know why you’re here, Lieutenant. It will serve no purpose.”
“You’re making a mistake, taking up Navy resources, time and energy for an outcome that will prove Petty Officer Bartholomew innocent of the charges.”
“We can’t ignore violations of the UCMJ,” he said, his expression flat, his tone final. “All discipline must be maintained.”
“There are mitigating circumstances. All you heard was my order for him to stand down, but he was dealing with a situation that was volatile and involved the possible massacre of a Somali village. He should receive a commendation. Not be placed under arrest for disobeying my ill-advised order. If the radio had worked, I would have had more information to make a decision in—”
“None of that matters. I heard what I heard, and his actions proved otherwise. He will be judged and if he is innocent, it will be proved out. You are dismissed.”
Fast Lane clenched his fists wanting to say more.
“You are on the verge of insubordination yourself, Lieutenant. You are dismissed.”
Fast Lane turned and left the office aware that it wouldn’t help Saint for his commanding officer to be brought up on charges of insubordination—one that would have been justified if he had challenged Thompson’s authority. The guy was a first-class dick.
He made his way over to the brig where Saint was being confined before they shipped him back to San Diego. Fast Lane followed the necessary procedures to see him, and he was escorted to a tiny, square room.
When he entered, Saint was seated at a small table. Fast Lane set his cover down on the table and leaned back.
“Sir?”
“I went to Thompson. He refused to budge,” Fast Lane said with disgust.
Saint nodded. He gave no outward reaction, but the kid had to be devastated. He was a dedicated member of Fast Lane’s team. “I understand, sir,” Saint said his voice raw and strained.
“Well, I don’t. He’s wasting the Navy’s time on this stupid charge.” He let out a hard breath. “Have they assigned you a lawyer yet?”
“No. They will appoint someone once I get back to Coronado.”
“When is that?”
“Right after this meeting.” His tone was carefully controlled. There was a long pause, then Saint said, his voice quiet, “I’m sorry about embarrassing you.”
Hit with a surge of guilt for the part he played in this fiasco, he looked away, shaken by Saint’s comment. “You didn’t embarrass me,” he said, leaning forward. “You rescued a hostage, saved six children from a terrible indentured life, took out a problematic warlord, captured an international terrorist and you protected a whole village from massacre. How could that embarrass me? To top it off, you are one of the most gifted corpsmen in the Navy. I’m not embarrassed. I’m fucking proud.”
Saint bent his head and dragged his hand across his eyes, then inhaled raggedly. “That means everything to me, sir. Thank you.”
Fast Lane grabbed his cover and tucked it under his arm as he rose. “I will see you back at Coronado. I want to help with your defense. Hoo-yah.”
“All in, all the time, sir. Hoo-yah!”
After he left Saint, he went back to his quarters and grabbed his pack. His transportation was waiting to take him to the airfield and the plane that would take him home. When he got out of the vehicle onto the tarmac, he stopped short. A procession of pallbearers stood at the back of a hearse that was backed to the belly ramp of Fast Lane’s transport plane.
Hemingway, Pitbull, and Mad Max came and stood beside him. Dragon, 2-Stroke, and Dodger were just ahead of them. Iceman, Preacher, GQ, and Kodiak stood apart, as they would always be Tier 1. Professor stood next to Hemingway with Rock and his team also in attendance. They would be branching off to return to their previous missions, but they had come to see his team off. Slowly, with military precision, they removed the coffin draped in a pristine American flag from the hearse.
Sergeant William Slater was going home.
The sight always riveted him whenever he saw it. The flag was so perfectly clean when war was just the opposite. The white pure, the blue brilliant, and the red true and strong. With care and reverence, the slow march moved toward the ramp, and Fast Lane brought his hand to his brow in a salute.
His teammates didn’t disappoint him. Every man also saluted. It made him miss Saint’s presence even more.
Once the contingent of pallbearers exited the p
lane, Fast Lane and his team started toward it again. Entering, they each gave the coffin a wide enough berth that they didn’t brush against it or disturb it in any way. They took seats against the interior of the walls, orange netting supporting their backs.
There was only one person standing at the coffin, her hand on the sparkling stars, her head bowed and her shoulders shaking.
Solace.
Without thinking, he walked to her and gathered her up in his arms. Her ravaged, startled gaze met his, then she closed her eyes and burrowed against his chest. He supported her while her grief made her weak and vulnerable.
He didn’t know the man or what he was to Solace, but this wasn’t the time for petty human emotions or frailties. This was time to bring a warrior home to rest.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he murmured, the words feeling superficial and hollow, platitudes that only comforted him in the face of his ex-wife’s pain at losing a comrade.
It was hard to look at a coffin and not think about his own close calls or about people he’d lost in the line of duty.
“Five minutes,” an airman shouted to let them know they needed to settle in as the plane was taking off. He released Solace and she looked up at him tears in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said.
She took her seat, and Fast Lane saw that Aella had boarded the plane. He took his seat next to her.
“Hello, Lieutenant.”
“I think we can dispense with the titles, Aella. Call me Ford.”
She nodded. Weariness radiated from her and there were dark circles under her eyes. He wondered how she was handling her capture and the subsequent escape from Omar’s son. He watched her, not the type of man to admit to any kind of weakness, but his own feelings of vulnerability and guilt unearthed a sensitivity to hers. They both played a part in Saint’s arrest. He because he had thought more about Saint’s safety than he had of him as a SEAL. He should have trusted Saint’s and his own judgment, and hers because Saint had refused that direct order to save Aella. First and foremost, it had been about her. Of course, Saint cared about the village, but it wasn’t his main concern.
In the end, Fast Lane could only offer his comfort and presence. He squeezed her hand and said with as much confidence as he could muster, “Everything will be fine.”
They made a brief stop in Dover, Delaware to unload the coffin. It was late and most of the people on the plane were sleeping. As they landed, Solace walked up to him and said with tears in her eyes, “Thank you for saving my life and getting Will out of there.” She bent down and kissed him on the cheek, then cupped it gently, her thumb rubbing along his cheekbone. Her touch galvanized him, making him long for more, making him ache with the memories. “It was good to see you again, Ford. Take care of yourself.”
Then the woman he loved beyond measure walked out of his life for good.
When they landed in DC, Aella prepared to disembark. Her neck was sore from the jostling of the plane with nothing but a flimsy webbing to support her head. She was due at headquarters in the Ariel Rios Federal Building in the NoMa neighborhood of DC. The name, coined from its location north of Massachusetts, was best known for its transportation hub and the home of Union Market, a restored grocery and specialty food hall that was the epicenter of DC’s gourmet scene. She particularly loved the spice shops.
People were mostly dozing, and she had already said her goodbyes to the team, her heart heavy that Saint wasn’t here.
Fast Lane said, “Aella, be well. We will set things straight.”
“I hope so. Zach doesn’t deserve this.”
“I agree. I tried to tell Thompson, but he wouldn’t listen.” He paused and she could tell he was beside himself regarding the charges against one of his men. “Saint measures his life by what is right and honorable.” His expression altered, and there was something almost feral in his eyes. “Don’t give up hope.”
“All in, all the time?” she asked.
“He said that to me before I left. I think he’s found himself a winner.”
She smiled. “Tell that to him.”
“I will.”
“Bye, Lieu—Ford.”
She could only be mildly annoyed at Saint for telling her that it was best she steered clear of him. He was going to be in trouble and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. He had been resigned, and that’s when her guilt took hold. She was responsible for him disobeying orders. She’d been captured by Omar, and she couldn’t believe he hadn’t killed her on the spot. She hadn’t been aware that Zasha wanted her for leverage against Fast Lane, who had Darko. But in the end, the US kept their edict—they didn’t negotiate with terrorists.
If Saint hadn’t put his career at risk for her, she would most likely be dead. The US wasn’t going to make an exception, even in her case.
She caught a cab home to her apartment and when she got to the door, David was sitting on her bench on her porch.
“Hi, Aella.”
“David I…” she said, about to put him off, but then she changed her mind. “Why don’t you come in.”
She unlocked her door and went inside. Setting her keys and her luggage in the foyer, she closed the door.
“I could order us something to eat if you’d like, or rub your shoulders and you can tell me all about your travels.”
“David, have a seat. I need to talk to you.”
“All right,” he settled on her sofa, and she sat across from him on the coffee table. “Before I met you, I was sent to Bosnia undercover to apprehend the man responsible for ATF agent deaths. While there I met someone, who was also assigned to the mission, and we became close.”
“What happened?”
“He’s on the West Coast and well, you know my ambitions for my job.”
“Yes, you were clear and up front about them.”
“We parted ways.” She reached out and took his hands. “He was on this mission and part of the team who rescued me from that warlord.”
“I see. You’ve had a change of heart.”
“Yes, I’m sorry. I would never want to hurt you, but I’ve realized something important. A job is a vocation, love is forever.”
David smiled and said, “I don’t believe in destiny. It’s a concept that is far too convenient—absolves us of free will or assuming any responsibility. And I learned a long time ago that happiness doesn’t always get served up on a silver platter. Sometimes we have to go after it. And sometimes we have to stand and fight for it. You’re smart not to let life pass you by, Aella,” he said, his tone very soft. He rose and headed for the door. “You deserve to be happy,” he said before he left.
She couldn’t agree with him more. And sometimes you have to stand up and fight for it. She pulled out her cell phone and called her brother. He picked up on the second ring.
“Constantine Mikos,” he said, his deep voice familiar and helping to release the knot in her stomach.
“Hey, baby brother. I need a favor.”
There was a smile in his voice. “Anything for my sister.”
She was optimistic about the conversation the next day as she got to her boss’s office. When his assistant ushered her inside, he came around the desk and gave her a big bear hug. “How are you doing?”
“I’m in one piece and safe. Got to be thankful.”
He eyed the bruises on her face and said, “Coffee?”
“Yes, please,” she said with a sigh. He walked over to coffeemaker and set a cup under the spout and pushed buttons. It whooshed and spat out black gold. He brought it over to her and set it in her hands.
He returned to the chair behind his desk. “The director called and wanted me to relay his attagirl for a job well done. Darko Stjepanić might not have been tried in an American court, but he got what was coming to him at the hands of his own partner. That to me is justice.”
“You might think so, but he most likely asked her to pull the trigger. He was looking at some hard time, likely life for his crimes. In the end, he took the easy
way out, the coward.” She took a sip of her coffee, her heart feeling crushed. “Jason, on the other hand, was a hero.”
“He was a damn good agent, and we’ll miss him.” There was a moment of silence between them for their fallen friend. “To business. Of course, after you’ve taken some time to recover from your ordeal, we want to offer you your own team.”
Aella sat up straighter. This is what she’d dreamed about, worked toward, and suddenly it all seemed so hollow. She could give her whole life to this job, at the sacrifice of everything in her life, or she could order her work to fit in with what she wanted.
“I appreciate it and please thank the director for me, but I decline.”
His face fell. “You decline? Are you quitting?”
“No. What I do is vital, and I love my job. I’d like to respectfully request a transfer.”
“You would?” He smiled broadly, looking relieved.
She smiled, confident this was the right course of action. San Diego was where Zach “Saint” Bartholomew was, the man she didn’t want to live without. “Yes, sir.”
“Where?”
“San Diego. I’ll take whatever you have there.”
“Even if it’s a demotion?”
She felt so calm and serene. “Yes.”
“I think we can do better than that.” He picked up the phone and the deal was struck. It just so happened that they had a team leader position opening up and she was a shoo-in. She had to agree with David. She didn’t believe in destiny, but cosmic intervention was another story.
When Saint returned to San Diego, he was processed into the brig but released with confinement orders. He had to check in daily and was not allowed to leave the area. The worst part was that he was prohibited from having any communication with his team. Aella had texted him several times, and he’d responded but he still felt more alone, isolated. That was probably for the best. He didn’t need to bring the whole team down with him.