The_Secret Soldier

by Jennifer Morey

“If you did, you did plenty wrong. Those kills weren’t sanctioned, McQueen. Some people will see that as murder.”

  Cullen turned his back to Sabine to hide his crumbling hope.

  “You crossed the line. I’m going to initiate administrative action to have you discharged from the army.”

  Defeat made him drop his head. This could end everything he’d worked for, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. “I’m asking you to reconsider.”

  “There’s nothing to reconsider. I’ve made my decision. You’re finished, McQueen.”

  Birch disconnected before Cullen could protest.

  He stood holding the phone to his ear awhile longer, unable to believe this happened. His commander didn’t have to initiate administrative action against him. Birch couldn’t court martial him as a reservist, but he did have a choice over whether or not to take administrative action. And he had made that choice. Cullen’s Black Ops went deeper than even Birch knew, and that came as too much of a blow to his pride.

  Hanging the handset back on its base, Cullen was glad his back was turned and Sabine couldn’t see the depth of his angst. Losing his company was one thing, but losing his reputation with the army was unthinkable. There was no honor in a dismissal like the one Birch threatened. No integrity. How could he look back on this when he was an old man and not have regrets?

  He turned then. Sabine stood with her arms folded protectively in front of her, her beautiful green eyes round and wide with concern and sympathy.

  Letting her kiss him that first time had started all this. If he would have just stopped it, if he hadn’t made love to her, maybe he wouldn’t have felt compelled to come to her after hearing about her attack. And if he hadn’t made love to her, he wouldn’t have been caught kissing her in the middle of the street. He was so angry for losing control of his self-discipline. He should have known better. He should have seen this coming and stopped it.

  Chapter 10

  Another breaking news report sounded from the television. The corner of the screen filled with the face shot of Cullen.

  He moved into the living room as the anchorwoman summarized what she’d said in previous reports. Then she started into the new information that must have been gathered through the morning. “Margaret Schlepp, a neighbor of Luc and Penny McQueen, has confirmed the identity of the man who rescued Sabine O’Clery from Afghanistan. Cullen McQueen is a reservist with the U.S. Army Special Operations Command in Fort Bragg, North Carolina, and he’s anything but ordinary. His uncle, Luc McQueen, a well-respected retired army commander, has declined to comment on the heroic efforts of his nephew, but his neighbor had plenty to say.” The screen showed an old woman standing on her front porch.

  “I always thought it was strange the way they talked so proud of Luc’s nephew when all they said he did was run a security temp agency somewhere in Virginia,” Margaret Schlepp said, squinting under the Montana sun and showing missing front teeth. “SCS or something like that.”

  The woman had no idea of the damage she’d just done, Cullen thought, his spirits sinking to a new low. The name of his company was on the news. It was all over now. They knew who he was.

  “The more we learn about this man, the better it gets,” the anchorwoman quipped, smiling.

  Sickened, he watched the screen fill with a view of his company in Alexandria, Virginia. The camera zoomed in on SCS’s redbrick exterior and darkly tinted windows.

  “With no advertisements describing its operation, no phone listings or evidence of a customer base, SCS appears to be much more than a simple temp agency. In fact, that seems to be the cover that hides its true purpose. Workers from neighboring businesses say they aren’t familiar with the company or its founder and sole owner, Cullen McQueen. Few reported seeing employees enter and exit the building and couldn’t identify McQueen as one of them. The SCS Agency is so secretive that it was difficult learning what the acronym stood for. Security Consulting Services sounds like a temp agency, but it’s much more than that.”

  A video of Cullen’s secretary waving away a cameraman and a reporter who followed her toward the entrance to SCS played on the television.

  “Ms. Frank,” a reporter called, “did your employer orchestrate the rescue mission that saved Sabine O’Clery’s life?”

  “No comment,” Odelia answered harshly as she marched away.

  “Did O’Clery’s father hire your company to rescue her?”

  Odelia opened the front door of SCS and disappeared inside.

  The screen showed the anchorwoman again. “Odelia Frank might seem like an ordinary secretary to someone who walks through the bulletproof doors of SCS, but her background dispels any doubt as to the character of the company. Former J-3 Operations captain with the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Ms. Frank still holds her Top Secret security clearance and is an expert markswoman. This from an interview with her ex-husband.” The screen went to a picture of a man sitting lazily on his living room couch, gloating as he revealed his ex-wife’s expertise. A few minutes later, the screen switched back to a smiling anchorwoman. “With a secretary like that, there’s little doubt the SCS Agency is capable of carrying out a rescue mission. We’ll update you as we get more.”

  The anchorwoman turned to her coanchor, still smiling. “It seems Ms. O’Clery has caught herself quite a man.”

  “Yes, it does, Mary,” the newsman beside her said. Then the man led the broadcast into the weather.

  The telephone rang again. Sabine went to answer it on the third ring. When she hung up, Cullen knew it was a reporter calling. They had her phone number now.

  He moved to the front window and watched the chaos building in front of Sabine’s bookstore. The sight increased the weight of his situation. He was beginning to understand how his father had felt when his life had begun to crumble.

  The telephone rang yet again.

  Sabine answered and he heard the strain in her voice.

  “I know. We just saw it.” There was silence while she listened. “A reporter caught us when we got home after dinner last night.” Pause. “Yes.” Pause. “No.” Pause. “I don’t know.” A longer pause. “All right.”

  Sabine hung up. “My father wants us to come to my mother’s house. He said he can secure us from the media there. He can help us.”

  Realizing he did need help, probably for the first time in his life, Cullen sighed as he continued to look down at the growing throng in front of Sabine’s bookstore. His career with the army appeared to be over. His company could lose the covert government support it needed to exist. He couldn’t imagine what his life was going to be like without the things he’d worked so hard to achieve. Lost in all this was the impact such a company had on the fight against terrorism. American dignity. Freedom. Humanity. Everything that mattered most to him.

  “All we need to do is get there.”

  Cullen turned. Holding a duffel bag in one hand and the keys to her Jeep in the other, she looked wary of him.

  Walking toward her, he reached for the keys in her hand. “I’ll drive.”

  She gave him the keys.

  Downstairs, Cullen swung the back door open and marched outside. Three reporters were on him in an instant.

  “Mr. McQueen, can you tell us why you’re here?”

  “Do you suspect Sabine’s attack is related to her kidnapping in Afghanistan?”

  “Do you have any plans to marry the woman you rescued?”

  Cameras pinged and snapped all around him. He grabbed the nearest one and yanked it to the ground, shattering it into pieces.

  “Hey, you’re going to pay for that!”

  He leaned over the cameraman. “Make me.”

  “Cullen.” Sabine’s fingers curled over his biceps. “Let’s go.”

  The cameraman’s eyes were wide and he stepped back. Cullen sent each of the others a threatening glance before he moved out of Sabine’s reach and climbed behind the wheel of the Jeep. When she closed the door on her side, he sprayed gravel driving awa
y.

  Sabine moved to the dining room window of her mother’s cabin. Through the large pane of glass, clouds painted the sky a gloomy gray, matching her mood. Last night the news had flourished with images of Cullen destroying the reporter’s camera, followed by his menacing “Make me” comment. Rather than painting him as a dangerous character who operated outside the law, they embellished the he-man quality of his reaction, making references to his size and fearlessness. It was all so ridiculous, particularly in light of the fact that they were crucifying a man’s livelihood.

  She never thought she’d be happy her father had access to men who could keep the reporters at bay. But this morning a helicopter had landed in the clearing near her mother’s cabin and six men had filed out. They were now camped at the end of the driveway. Mercenaries were guarding them, and she was glad about that. Who would have thought?

  Turning her head, she spotted Cullen sitting in a plaid living room chair, his body slouched against the back, eyes hard and looking right at her. She could almost hear his thoughts beaming across the room at her. If only he hadn’t been stranded with her on a Greek island. If only he hadn’t made love with her. If only he hadn’t kissed her in London.

  If only, if only.

  Her father sat on the couch. He’d just finished talking on a radio with one of his men down at the end of the driveway. Her mother waited in the kitchen for another kettle of water to boil for tea. They were all waiting for Cullen’s secretary to call.

  Sighing, impatient and feeling trapped, Sabine moved to the couch and sat beside her father. He looked at her in surprise as he clipped his phone to his belt. From the chair, Cullen brooded.

  He looked lazy slouched the way he was, legs spread, arms on the rests. Only his eyes moved, but she could feel the energy from them. His cell phone rang. He answered it as he stood, tall and big in dark blue jeans and a white button-up shirt. Sabine listened to him go into the sunroom next to the dining area.

  “It’s worse than I thought,” her father said from beside her.

  She turned to look at him, wondering what he meant. “Excuse me?”

  “You and Cullen.”

  Realizing he’d been sitting there taking mental notes of her and Cullen’s behavior, Sabine felt her guard go up. “It’s a little soon for a father-daughter talk.” She couldn’t even imagine them having one.

  “I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” he said anyway. “I’m not a blind man. He’s on his way to making the same mistake I made with your mother.”

  She really didn’t want to have this conversation with him. But she said, “He blames me for what’s happening.”

  “He doesn’t blame you. He’s angry with himself for allowing it to happen in the first place. I just hope he comes to his senses before it’s too late.”

  Sabine studied her father’s profile and grew uncomfortable. Did he think Cullen felt that much for her? “Is he going to lose his company because of me?”

  He turned to see her. “Whatever happens, it isn’t your fault.”

  “Is he going to lose it?” she persisted.

  “Maybe. He could also lose his position with the army.”

  She’d only caught Cullen’s side of the conversation when he’d gotten the call from his commander. “But he rescued me. I would have been slaughtered if it hadn’t been for him.”

  “Unfortunately, that won’t matter. Cullen is a weapon. The army can’t afford to have a guy with his background running rogue missions in unstable countries like Afghanistan. It’s a huge political risk.”

  Sabine was beginning to understand the magnitude of what Cullen had risked to free her. “It isn’t fair.”

  “It might seem that way now.”

  She angled her head in question.

  “Cullen needs to decide what he wants out of life. Is it Special Ops and casual relationships, or is it more than that? This whole thing is going to force him to make up his mind. I just hope he makes the right decision.”

  “He’ll never give up his career.”

  “Losing his company the way it’s structured won’t take that away from him. Neither will losing his position with the army. He might have to start over with a new company, maybe change his business strategy. Instead of dangerous clandestine missions, he can move over to infrastructure security. He can teach governments and big businesses how to protect themselves against terror attacks. Or he could move into an intelligence role rather than an operative one and send other men just like him on the secret missions. He can do that from anywhere. He might travel a lot, but he could live wherever he wants.”

  “What kind of company is he losing?”

  Noah chuckled. “Even I don’t know that.”

  She searched his eyes to see if he was telling the truth.

  “Cullen works through the government, Sabine. You don’t have to question his integrity. But it would be infinitely more damaging to him if the identities of his contacts were revealed. That’s why he couldn’t risk saying anything to you. He has other people to protect. Think of the media surrounding your rescue.”

  Her heart splintered under the weight of warmth. Not only was her father talking to her without reservation, but also he was revealing things about Cullen that confirmed what she’d known from the first time he’d held her.

  “How do you know all that?”

  “I don’t know much. I only know how the system works. And I know Cullen. He’ll sacrifice what he has with the army reserves to protect the people who make his company possible.”

  And that was the very thing that would drive him away from her. Losing something like that. His honor along with it. She turned to stare at the fireplace. “Roaring Creek isn’t enough of an adrenaline rush for him.”

  “It wasn’t for me, either,” Noah said from beside her. “But now I’m an old man and I know what a stupid mistake it was believing that.”

  “I just spoke with my secretary,” another voice interrupted.

  Sabine looked up to her right, where Cullen stood at the end of the couch. His face was dark with anger. How much had he heard of her conversation with Noah?

  “Odie was able to ID the men in the photo from Samuel’s field book.” He looked directly at Sabine through a heavy pause. “One is Casey Lowe, a supply helicopter pilot Aden hired. The other is a Polish gems dealer who frequently buys smuggled emeralds in Peshawar and sells them to a Colombian miner, who passes them off as his.”

  Sabine stood and approached Cullen. “Then what are we still doing here? We have to go see Aden, and this time make him tell the truth.”

  Cullen put his hands on her arms, stopping her from passing him. “I’ll take care of Aden. You’ll stay where I think you’ll be safest.”

  She sent him a warning look he wouldn’t miss. If he thought he could just tuck her away somewhere…“And where might that be?”

  “With me.”

  After boldly landing the helicopter in a hotel parking lot in south Denver, Noah’s pilot waited for Sabine and Cullen to get far enough away before lifting off and flying back toward the mountains. Cullen carried his rucksack and her duffel bag and, beneath stares from everyone who saw the helicopter land and take off, led her to a bus stop not far from there. On the bus, Cullen forced her into the window seat of the first row. The whispers began. A young woman in her early twenties moved up the aisle and extended a notebook to Sabine.

  “Can I have your autograph?”

  Sabine smiled at her and took the pen she offered along with the notebook. She scrawled her name, then handed it back. The young woman didn’t take them from her.

  “Can I have yours, too?” she asked, looking at Cullen with unbridled awe.

  Cullen took the notebook and pen from Sabine and thrust it toward the young woman without signing. She timidly took it from him and turned away. Sabine signed two more autographs but no one else asked Cullen for his. The look on his face was enough of a warning.

  Cullen pulled her out of the seat at the next stop. T
hey walked down 14th Street in downtown Denver and stopped close to the performing arts center. He was looking at a tall building to his left.

  “Why are we here?” she asked, since he wasn’t going to volunteer the information.

  “Aden lives in that building. Brooks Tower.”

  She looked at the building, the upper floors visible from here. “Are we going to see him now?”

  “Not yet.”

  Cullen took her hand and tugged her across the street. A doorman opened the door of Hotel Teatro, and Sabine found herself inside an old luxury hotel. Straight ahead, the lobby stretched to two elevators. Through a wide doorway to the left, Cullen led her to the front desk. He paid for a room, ignoring the attendant’s curious looks at both of them. The man said nothing and gave them a card key.

  Sabine stepped into the elevator ahead of Cullen, the door closing on a view of two bellmen’s smiling faces. Following Cullen out of the elevator, she stopped with him at a room door. She entered ahead of him, pausing in the narrow hallway to admire the spacious bathroom with large square tiles and a rain-style showerhead. Moving the rest of the way down the hall, she emerged into the bedroom. To her right, a dark wood desk separated an armoire and entertainment center. The room wasn’t big, but it was elegant. To her left, a single bed was centered on the opposite wall. King-size—but there was only one bed.

  She sent an accusatory look at Cullen. He ignored her, dropping his rucksack on the bed and removing a pair of binoculars.

  “There’s only one bed,” she said.

  He went to the window with the binoculars. “It was all they had left on this side of the building.” He drew the heavy curtains open and lifted the binoculars.

  “We aren’t sharing a bed,” she said.

  “I’m not sleeping on the floor.”

  Her heart skittered faster. “Well, neither am I.”

  He lowered the binoculars and twisted to look at her. “Then we’ll sleep on the same bed.”

  Despite her trepidation, a responding flutter tickled her. Needing a diversion, she kicked off her shoes and opened the entertainment center doors to turn on the television.