Nemat returned with a girl in a stained and torn red dress. Uncovered dark hair swung around her shoulders and she appraised everyone in the room with one sweep of dark eyes much too world-weary to belong to a girl her age. Unlike her sister-in-law, she wasn’t shy. She strode right over to Zina and lifted her chin in a gesture of defiance. “I don’t want to be married,” she said in Pashto. “I want to go to school.”
“You will,” Zina replied in the same language, her face lit up with delight.
Oh, now there was a shot…
Phoebe lifted her camera. Snap.
Tehani’s gaze shifted to the camera and in that instant, she looked so very young and vulnerable. “Are you taking my picture?”
“I am,” Phoebe said, also in Pashto. “Is that okay?”
“I don’t know. What are you going to do with it?”
“Show it to other girls like you who are in bad situations so they don’t give up hope, so that maybe they will speak up for themselves.”
Tehani thought about it for a moment, then a brilliant smile crossed her face. “I like that.”
“I thought maybe you would.”
“I want to help other girls like me.” She again turned to Zina. “Can we leave tonight?”
“Tomorrow morning. Your brother has agreed to host us for the night.”
She nodded and focused on Phoebe again. “What about my husband? Will you tell other people about his crimes? About the bombs?”
“Shh,” Nemat scolded, his easy brotherly smile dissolving into an expression of real fear. “I told you not to speak of that.”
Phoebe glanced over at Zina, who sank her teeth into her lower lip and even though she stayed silent, she didn’t need to voice her worry. Her expression said it all.
Crap. This conversation was going nowhere good. Phoebe knelt down to the girl’s level. “What bombs, Tehani?”
“Lots of bombs, but—”
“We will not speak of this anymore,” Nemat declared, his voice rising with panic.
Tehani frowned at her brother. “I will so speak of it. Zakir died trying to warn the American soldiers. He told me it was very important.”
Heart pounding high in her throat, Phoebe set down her camera and focused all of her attention on the little girl. “Who is Zakir?”
“I don’t know for sure. I think he was American. He helped me escape, but he might be dead now.”
“Shh!” Nemat said. “Tehani, enough. We do not speak of it. Do you want your aunt and baby cousin to be killed? Do you want me to be killed? After we’ve protected you?”
“No, I’m sorry.” Her eyes filled with tears as she shook her head. “I only wanted to help. I don’t want anyone else to die.” She turned her pleading gaze to Phoebe. “My husband used to strap bombs to us. Sometimes they were active, but most of the time they were not. We never knew for sure, but when he tired of one of us, he’d send us somewhere and blow us up. He still has other wives.”
Phoebe wanted to reach out and hug the girl, comfort her, but wasn’t sure enough of the local customs and didn’t dare overstep her boundaries. At least not until Tehani was safe at the shelter in Kabul. Then all bets were off.
“You did help,” she assured. “Just by telling us about it, you helped.”
“I think we had better leave tonight,” Zina said in English and Phoebe nodded. As dangerous as it was to be out in the mountains at night, from the sounds of things, it was a hell of a lot more dangerous to stay in this village any longer than they had to.
It didn’t take long to pack Tehani’s things. She had little more than two dresses and a few head scarves, one of which she used to cover her hair. She also carried a stained folder that she refused to part with, as well as the vest she’d been wearing when she made her escape. Someone had removed the explosive material, but still the sight of the vest was like a kick in the stomach, leaving Phoebe breathless as she photographed it.
Zina tried to talk Nemat and his wife into joining them, but he steadfastly refused.
“My wife is pregnant. She cannot make such a journey. I will not allow it.”
Nemat’s wife merely averted her gaze and said nothing, offered no opinion of her own, but Phoebe caught the glimpse of longing in her expression before she dipped her head.
As they said their good-byes, pity swelled in Phoebe’s heart for the young woman, who really wasn’t all that much older than Tehani. Maybe eighteen and already married with a baby and another on the way.
She didn’t speak again until they were headed out of the village with their police escorts and Tehani hiding underneath the chadari Zina had donned.
“It’s a vicious, never-ending cycle, isn’t it?” she asked in English. “That poor girl is pregnant again and she’s barely an adult herself.”
Zina gave a heavy sigh that moved her shoulders. “You can’t save everyone, Phoebe.”
But that didn’t stop her from wanting to try. Her fingers tightened on her horse’s reins, the old leather creaking in her grip. “Who is Tehani’s husband?”
Zina’s head turned, but because of the chadari, her expression was unreadable. “She won’t say and I don’t want to know. Neither should you. That kind of information will do nothing but put us and the shelter at risk.”
Phoebe nodded. She knew that. But dammit, she hated this feeling of utter impotence. “If he’s as powerful as I think he is, people need to know he’s dangerous.”
“These villagers already know.”
“But what about the rest of the world?”
“If it doesn’t affect them directly, most people won’t care. You know that. It’s human nature.”
As they crested the hill by the ancient tank where the dog was still tied, Phoebe brought her horse to a halt and glanced back at the little village. None of this sat right with her and, gut churning, she took out her camera.
Snap. Snap. Snap.
That old cliché about a picture being worth a thousand words was absolutely true. The awe-inspiring power of a photo was one of the reasons Phoebe had given up her career muckraking for a tabloid, where she’d been on the fast track after writing a controversial piece about one of the country’s war heroes. Her marriage had been falling apart at the time, but that didn’t matter because Phoebe was finally getting the attention she thought she’d deserved. Never mind that her article launched an investigation and vilified a man who hadn’t deserved it.
The thought sent a familiar stab of guilt through her and as she tucked her camera away, she pulled out the magazine cover she kept in her bag as a reminder of why she’d turned to photography in the first place. A reminder of Kathryn Anderson, the ambitious, heartless journalist she used to be, and why she’d separated herself from that person by going back to her maiden name and adopting her middle name as her first.
She ran her fingers over the crinkled print of Seth Harlan kneeling at the grave of one of his fallen men. He looked…haunted. Alone. And she’d done that to him, had turned the world against him with her words.
The first time she’d seen the cover, it had been like having a duct-tape blindfold ripped off suddenly—painful, disorienting, frightening. She’d gone home that day, had taken a hard look at herself in the mirror, and hadn’t liked what she’d seen at all. She’d called and quit her job right then and somewhere along the way, she’d found her true calling.
Pictures could make people change their minds. Make them laugh. Cry. And, yes, even care when they normally wouldn’t.
She looked up from the magazine cover and watched as the last rays of sunlight played over the village. Zina was probably right. The world didn’t care about Tehani or girls like her, but Phoebe could change that, couldn’t she?
All it would take is the right photo.
And she knew better than anyone the power of photography.
Chapter Four
Key West, Florida
Someone was in his house.
Seth dropped his bag just inside the door and the thunk
of the duffel hitting tile echoed through the room. A fresh surge of adrenaline jolted him out of the zombielike daze he’d been functioning in since the training mission ended. The team had made it out of the swamp just as darkness fell and then it had been another hour’s drive to the hotel in Miami where everyone was staying. He could have gotten a room for the night instead of making the three-hour drive home to Key West—but no. He’d wanted to be home, had needed the comfort of his own space.
Except someone was in his house. How was that possible? In deference to his constant state of paranoia, he’d bought the best home security equipment on the market, and the panel on the wall beside the door was lit up green. All systems go.
He scanned the interior, picking out the familiar dark shapes of the dining table, couch, chairs, TV, piano…
There.
A shadow blotted out the square of pale light thrown across the floor from the patio doors. Not inside the house, then. Out by the pool.
Seth crouched and found his weapon in his bag, never taking his eyes off the shadow. His heart hammered, but his hand stayed steady as he edged across the living room toward the sliding glass doors. The shadow passed by again and he made out the silhouette of a man pacing across the patio.
He lifted his weapon and yanked open the door, setting off the alarm he’d reset upon entering the house. “Get the fuck out of here or I will shoot you.”
The man paused, then slowly lifted his hands, locked his fingers behind his head, and turned around. Greer Wilde, his best friend Jude’s oldest brother, met his gaze evenly with bloodshot eyes. “I’m unarmed.”
“Holy fuck, Greer.” Exhaling hard, he lowered his weapon. “I thought you had more sense than to sneak into a psychotic man’s house.”
“You’re not any more psychotic than I am,” Greer said, dropping his hands to his sides.
Seth grunted and strode inside to turn off the wailing alarm.
Having lived with PTSD for two years, he’d spotted the signs of it in Greer at Jude’s wedding two weeks ago. He’d offered to be the guy’s sounding board should he need to vent—no judgment, no questions asked. Greer had since called him only once after a particularly bad nightmare, but had clammed up as soon as he’d calmed down enough to think straight. Honestly, Seth hadn’t expected to hear from the former Army Ranger again after that last call.
Seth motioned him inside and went to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. “I doubt you came all the way to Key West to talk about a nightmare.”
“No,” Greer said. “No more nightmares. I’m good now.”
“Bullshit. You look like hell. When was the last time you slept?”
Greer release a long breath and rubbed a hand over his face. “Going on thirty-six hours now.”
“Jesus Christ.” Seth had been reaching for a set of mugs in the cupboard by the fridge, but stopped short and went for the cell phone in his pocket instead. “That’s it. I’m calling Jude and telling him what’s going on with you. Your brothers will get you the help you need since you’re too stubborn to get it yourself.”
“No. Fuck, don’t do that,” Greer said. “I swear I haven’t had any more nightmares. I’ve just been too busy to sleep.”
“Busy doing what?”
Greer said nothing more for a solid five seconds. Then, with an exhausted curse, he muttered, “You have no idea how many laws I’m breaking right now. I’m here because I need you to put me in touch with Gabe Bristow. I know he’s somewhere in Florida and I need to speak to him. Tonight.”
“Isn’t your brother friends with him? Why not just get his number from—”
“Because Vaughn’s in the hospital and even if he wasn’t, I couldn’t talk to him about this. I shouldn’t be talking to you about this, but I need HORNET’s help. One of my men is in trouble and the government’s not doing a damn thing to help him. It was a fully deniable op.”
Fully deniable.
A black op.
Seth groaned. “Do your brothers know you’re still active duty?”
“No, they don’t, and they don’t need to.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t want to be around when they find out.” The shit was really going to hit the fan when Greer’s brothers discovered he was still drawing paychecks from Uncle Sam, and Seth sure as hell did not want to get in the middle of that brewing Wilde family feud. “I don’t get it. Why lie to them?”
Greer’s jaw tightened. “Can you put me in touch with Bristow or not?”
“Yeah, I can. Hang on.” He scrolled through his contacts until he found Gabe’s number, then passed the phone over the counter.
Greer punched the number into his own cell and without another word, he left, ghosting across the patio and vaulting over the six-foot fence surrounding the backyard.
Seth stared after him.
Damn fence was too easily breached. Why hadn’t he considered that before?
Motion sensors, he decided. He’d top the fence with motion sensors at his first opportunity.
The coffeemaker beeped as it finished brewing, reminding him he’d started a pot. He fixed himself a mug heavy on the sugar for that extra jolt of stay-awake. Hell, might as well pour a 5-hour Energy shot in there, too. He sipped, testing the concoction. It kind of tasted like super-sweet grape-flavored day-old coffee sludge, but it worked. He’d rather be a jittery mess than risk closing his eyes.
Yeah, he’d called Greer out on not sleeping. Didn’t mean he had to take his own advice.
He grabbed his laptop from where he’d left it plugged in on the kitchen counter, and carried it and his cup to the patio because he sure as fuck wasn’t going to feel safe inside the house when he knew the backyard was open to attack. In the moonless night, the water in his pool was as dark and uninviting as the swamp had been. Somewhere nearby, a guitar strummed out a lively song.
He chose one of the poolside loungers and fired up his laptop, settling in for his nightly routine of taking other insomniacs to the cleaners playing poker. Countless sleepless nights had morphed the man who’d never gambled in his life into a poker shark, and he fell easily into the rhythms of the game. Time passed. He lost himself in the cards on the screen until his cell phone rang, startling him into knocking his mug over. The cold dregs of coffee spilled across the table and he swore as he mopped it up with a towel left from his last swim, the closest thing handy.
But hey, he had to give himself credit for not jumping out of his skin at the unexpected sound.
Progress.
Another ring. He tossed the now-wet towel in the outdoor hamper on his way inside, then eyed the phone as it jittered across the kitchen counter. His father used to say nothing good ever came from a phone call after midnight, which was why his curfew growing up had been 11:55 p.m. and not a second later. His father never wanted to get an after-midnight call.
Dad had gotten one, though. An after-midnight call that happened to come in the middle of the day, in the form of a visit by uniformed Marines, telling him his only son was a prisoner of war.
Nope. Seth shut down that thought almost before it completely formed. Not going there. Not thinking of the fear and pain he’d caused. Not thinking of the fear and pain he’d endured. Nope. Nope. Nope. He was past all that now. Progress, remember?
Because of the whole after-midnight thing, he considered ignoring the phone. But he wasn’t his father with children to worry about, and he wasn’t a coward who hid from bad news. A neurotic, traumatized mess? All right, he’d cop to that. Coward? No fucking way.
Gabe’s name showed on the caller ID. He thumbed the answer button.
“Hello?” Shit, he really needed to start talking more often, even if it was just to himself. His voice sounded like he’d swallowed a box of nails and washed it down with a glass of sand.
“Harlan,” Gabe said—no, more like demanded. The tone reminded Seth of a drill sergeant, took him back to the good old days in basic training. Jesus, he’d been such an idealistic, arrogant sucker back then, with no inkling of
how fucked up his life was about to become.
How he wished he could go back.
He sucked in a breath. “Yeah, I’m here.” So this was it, the ax falling on his fledgling career as a private military contractor. Except…why did Gabe wait until almost 3:00 a.m. to call? Didn’t make sense unless he was about to get chewed out for giving away Gabe’s private cell phone number.
“I’m sending a helo to you. Get on it and get your ass back to Miami a-sap.”
Wait. What? This didn’t sound like a firing. “Sir?”
“We have an op.”
Holy shit. They weren’t sending his ass packing? “Uh, thank you, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir,” Gabe said for what had to be the thousandth time during their short acquaintance. “And if you thank anyone, it should be Quinn. He went to bat for you—again. You’re still on probation as far as I’m concerned and I still have doubts about your ability to function in combat, especially now.”
While that wasn’t a ringing endorsement, it was better than he’d expected, and he swallowed the urge to thank Gabe again. “Does this have something to do with Greer Wilde?”
“Yeah.” He paused and in that heavy moment of silence, it seemed the world held its breath. Seth sure as hell did. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what was coming next. Gabe wasn’t usually the hesitating type, and when he spoke again, his tone was as gentle as Seth had ever heard it. “We’re going to Afghanistan.”
Oh, fuck no.
The words plowed into him like a high-speed train and the phone nearly fell from his numb fingers. He shook his head even though Gabe couldn’t see him. Probably a good thing Gabe couldn’t see him, because he wasn’t holding it together. A lump the size of a tank swelled in his throat, solid and choking, as a tremble worked down his back, the icy claws of real fear digging into his spine. You can’t fucking ask this of me, he wanted to scream.
Instead, the only sound that came from his throat was a croaked, “Afghanistan?” It was the first time he’d spoken the country’s name aloud in two years, and it scraped across his vocal cords.
Honor Reclaimed Page 3