Call Sign: Redemption

by Eddy, Patricia D

  I throw the door open without even checking the peephole and lose my words. Trevor stands in the hallway dressed in a pair of dark jeans, a light blue t-shirt that stretches over his sculpted muscles, and a gray and black flannel shirt, unbuttoned. A duffel bag hangs off his shoulder.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He arches a brow. “Is that any way to greet the guy who’s taking you to one of the most dangerous countries in the world?”

  Dammit. Get it together, Dani.

  Flustered, I press my lips together to stop a very unladylike sound—and a few inventive curses—from tumbling out of my mouth. “Well, excuse me,” I say as I step back so he can come in. “I thought we were going to meet at the airport in the morning.”

  “I caught an early flight,” he says. “And since our only plan is ‘don’t let Dani get kidnapped or murdered while she’s interviewing one of the country’s most famous political prisoners,’ I thought we should get on that.”

  “That is the only plan.” I huff out a breath and go back to my lists. “I only asked you to go with me because Lincoln wouldn’t approve my travel if I didn’t have a bodyguard.”

  “Way to make a guy feel…wanted.” He drops his duffel bag and scans the various pieces of paper on the table. After a minute, he nods. “Not a bad packing list. The rest of what we need we can pick up when we get there.”

  I stop with a pack of anti-nausea pills clutched in my hand. “What else do we need?”

  “Weapons.”

  Staring at him like he’s grown a second head, I wait for him to explain. When he doesn’t, I march over to him and poke him in the chest. “Listen to me, Trevor James Moana, I’ve known you more than twenty years. You can’t just give me one-word answers when we’re heading…where we’re heading.”

  His gaze lands on my finger. “Did you just…?”

  “Yes.”

  “Daniella—“

  My heart squeezes, and I back up a step. “No. No. You don’t call me that. Gil was the only one who called me Daniella, and after what you did…”

  Trevor curses under his breath, grabs his duffel, and strides for the door. “I’ll see you at 0500 tomorrow.” Pausing with one foot in the hall, he narrows his eyes at me. “The moment we get on that plane, Dani, you do what I say, when I say, and how I say. That’s the plan. That’s the only way I can keep you safe.”

  The door slams, and I sink down into my chair. This is not how I wanted to start off the trip. At odds with the lethal spy I hired to keep me safe. The man who grew from the overprotective, outrageously handsome boy who stole my heart the day we met and broke it ten years later.

  The man who killed my brother.

  “Way too many complications, Dani.” I drop my head into my hands. “This isn’t going to end well.”

  I toss and turn for hours. This is a mistake. Trusting Trevor with my life isn’t the problem. I know he’ll protect me until his last breath. But all these feelings I have for him and about him, it’s like they’re all trying to spill out at once, and that’s going to make me sloppy. It’ll dull the sharp edge I’ve honed over years of having to forge my own path.

  Sometime after 2:00 a.m., I sink into sleep and immediately find myself trapped in a dream.

  “Give it back!” I lurch forward and try to snatch my lunch bag from the tall eleventh grader holding it over her head. “That’s mine!”

  “Let’s see what the little charity case has today!” Bethany cackles as her friends grab my arms and pull me away from her.

  Tears shine in my eyes, but I squeeze them shut. I can’t cry. Not in front of the mean girl squad at Whispering Pines High School.

  “Peanut butter and jelly. And chocolate milk. That’s baby food.” Bethany pulls open the Ziplock bag, dumps my sandwich on the ground, then stomps on it. When she pours the chocolate milk over the mushy bread, I lose the battle with my tears and start calling her every name I heard the worst of our foster parents say over the years.

  “Hey! Let her go,” a deep voice booms, and then one of the girls holding me drops my arm and runs for the classrooms. “Bethany, stop picking on the freshmen.”

  I turn and have to look up as the one boy in the whole school I don’t want to see me cry stalks over to us and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “You okay, Dani?”

  With a sniffle and a nod, I stare up at my rescuer. Trevor. He’s a junior. On the soccer team. And friends with Austin. He even comes over to our house some afternoons and hangs out. Though never with me. The two of them hole up in Austin’s room playing video games. But when he stays for dinner, he always smiles at me.

  “Oh. Trev,” Bethany says, her voice so much higher than usual. Nicer too.

  “Get lost.” Trevor steps away from me, and the absence of his warmth makes something inside of me twist in pain. But then he holds out his hand. “Come on. I have an extra lunch ticket. It’s pepperoni pizza day.”

  I wake up with tears in my eyes. Trevor bought me pizza every day for a week and ate with me at the juniors’ table. Even now, I don’t know where he got all those tickets. He was trapped in the system, just like Gil and I had been. But unlike us, he was never adopted.

  I sigh as I roll over and pull the pillow against my chest. These are going to be the longest few days of my life.

  Trevor

  Dulles at 5:00 a.m., even on a Saturday, is a madhouse. Concourse A teems with people, most half-asleep. Or at least that’s what it feels like as I’m waiting in line at the security checkpoint. Pretty sure no one in front of me has ever flown before, and even with my security clearance—and guaranteed TSA pre-check—it takes an hour to make my way to a coffee stand four gates from where I’m supposed to meet Dani.

  Adjusting my duffel, I reach into the hidden pocket of my jacket for my phone, run it over the scanner to pay for my Americano, and then lean against the wall to wait for my order and scan the crowd. People watching isn’t a hobby. It’s self-preservation honed over years of covert missions. Eyes, ears, and brain. The three most valuable weapons a spy has.

  A couple at the gate in front of me is headed towards divorce. Each carries years of resentment in their expressions and body language. The three twenty-somethings sitting across from them are high as kites. I caught the stench of weed as they passed. And the woman rushing towards the coffee stand dressed in a pair of simple black linen pants, a muted orange tank, and a matching black jacket…is nervous as hell and trying too hard to hide it.

  After Dani orders a quad-shot almond milk latte, she turns and startles as she sees me. Her cheeks darken slightly. “Sorry, I’m late. Security had to check every single one of my hidey-holes.”

  I stifle my chuckle. “That’s their job, Danisaur.” The childhood nickname slips out before I realize it, and she takes a sharp breath. “What? Did you think I forgot?”

  “I…I didn’t…no. You just haven’t called me that since we were kids.” She rummages in her messenger bag for her wallet, but I lean over and run my phone over the reader until it beeps. That shuts her up until both our coffees are ready on the sideboard. “Trevor? About last night…”

  “It was my fault. I don’t know why I called you Daniella—except that no one’s called me Trevor James Moana since my dad died. Though the whole poking me in the chest thing? Don’t do that again.”

  Dani nods as she takes a sip of coffee, then grimaces as she tries to hoist her backpack onto her shoulder while balancing the steaming cup.

  “Give me that,” I say as I hold out my hand.

  “No. You’re not carrying my—” But I already have the backpack over my shoulder before she can finish the sentence, and she huffs as she rushes to keep up with me. “I’m not helpless, Trevor. I normally make these trips all by myself. Just like a big girl.”

  The sarcasm grates along my spine, and I shoot her a look. “Didn’t say you were. But you hired a pack mule who can fight. So let me do my job.”

  “I didn’t—” Dani groans. “Never mind. You’re no
t going to listen to me anyway.”

  “What gave you that idea?” At the gate, we find two seats, and I ease the pack down next to her before dropping my own bag at my feet. When we’re shoulder to shoulder, I give her arm a little nudge. “I always listened to you, Dani. Always wanted to, anyway.”

  Her sigh is a sound I fell in love with back in high school. It usually meant I’d won the argument. And when back in those days, we had some spectacular ones.

  “This interview, Trevor…it’s going to be the hardest one I’ve ever done. You’re going to have to give me some space here.” She peers up at me with so much emotion churning in her eyes, I want to wrap my arms around her and hold her until all that sadness and uncertainty fades away.

  Too bad I lost that right years ago. So instead, I nod and touch my coffee cup to hers. “I amend what I said last night. Caracas is a shit-show. Has been for years. One wrong turn, and you disappear forever.” Lowering my head so our foreheads are almost touching, I hold her gaze. “You do what I say, when I say it. Whenever we leave the hotel, you are glued to my side. No arguments. But as long as you’re in your room, you should be safe. And I won’t bother you. You won’t even see me unless you want to.”

  Dani relaxes a fraction and stares down at her feet. Small and delicate, clad in a pair of plain black shoes with neatly tied laces. Good soles too, from what little I can see. She’s being smart. She is smart, and I need to stop treating her like she’s still that bullied, out-of-her-element little girl I met all those years ago.

  “Thanks, TJ.”

  The genuine gratitude in her tone, along with the old nickname, stirs memories of that feeling I used to get whenever we’d race for the Pritchard’s kitchen table and I’d pretend to trip on the one loose floorboard and stumble. Just enough to let her win. I felt like fucking Superman those times. Like I could do no wrong in her world.

  I want that feeling again. But Dani Monroe won’t be the one to give it to me. Not after all that’s come between us. She makes that abundantly clear when she pulls a book from her messenger bag, tucks her feet under her, and starts to read.

  I guess we’re done talking. Probably for the best. The last thing I need is to keep reminding myself how much I once loved her and how badly I broke her heart.

  Chapter Six

  Dani

  Fifteen hours of travel later, the plane touches down at Simón Bolivar International Airport. As we head for Customs, I steal glances at Trevor, but he looks everywhere but at me. I have so many memories of him from my childhood, and none of them line up with the silent, stiff man at my side. We barely spoke on the flight. I made a mistake calling him TJ. I could see the pain churning in his eyes.

  After that, I didn’t know how to start up the conversation again. So I read a book, watched one of the in-flight movies, and ignored him. The whole damn time.

  He carries my backpack until we’re forced to get into two different lines to go through Customs. My accreditation through the Washington Post earns me a full ninety minutes stuck in a small, windowless office with two armed officers, and requires multiple phone calls to Lincoln and the Editor-In-Chief, Sarita.

  Trevor must have something magical stamped in his passport, because he sailed right through the line and by the time I emerge, has a steaming cup of coffee ready for me.

  “Car’s ready and waiting,” he says as he hauls my bag over his shoulder once more. “We need to get going. The roads between here and Caracas are dangerous after dark.”

  “I wasn’t planning on them detaining me,” I retort as I rush to keep up with him. He’s a good six inches taller than I am. Always has been. Those long legs can move so much faster than my short ones.

  “One more hour, and you can be rid of me for the night.” His words carry an undercurrent of sadness, and I want to stop him. To tell him I don’t want to be rid of him. But after so many hours sitting next to him, receiving one or two word answers to any question I asked, and seeing him give the flight attendants more consideration than he was giving me have frayed all of my nerves. I just want to get to the hotel and hit the gym. A hard run followed by room service will help.

  Our nondescript white sedan has seen better days, and I peer up at him as he stows our luggage in the back seat. “The Post usually reserves an SUV. Or at least something a little more…reliable.”

  “That’d make us easy marks, Danisaur.” Trevor pointedly stares at me until I buckle myself into the stained front seat of the Chevy Spark. The car smells like stale cigarettes with a hint of sweat. Unsurprising since the humidity runs close to ninety percent this time of year.

  I’ve been in worse. The Land Rovers in Darfur feel like they’re going to come apart every time they hit a bump in the road. Given how many potholes there are, that’s a real possibility. At least the suspension in this car feels solid.

  Trevor merges into a line of traffic leaving the airport, both hands on the wheel, eyes constantly shifting between the road and the rear view mirror.

  I stare out the window at the slowly setting sun. “I wish I had a chance to know this country. Really know it,” I say quietly.

  “With Farías in charge—just like with the last president—this country is no place you should have ever seen.”

  “Too late for that.” Lush trees sway in the gentle breezes, and with no air conditioning, we both have the windows rolled down. It should smell fresh and clean this close to the ocean, but it doesn’t. All I can see are rocks leading down to the sea, some dotted with ramshackle tin buildings that all too often, wash right into the sea, occupants and all. “I came from here, Trevor. I was born here. This country is in my blood, even though I never cared until—“

  “Until what?” His voice softens, and he spares me a quick glance as we approach a long tunnel.

  The well-lit, two-lane road and the plain concrete walls offer little in the way of distraction, so I reach into my bag for my thinking putty. The one I brought with me is pearlescent pink, and I work it between my fingers as I try to figure out how much I want to tell him.

  “Until I started researching this story.” It’s not a lie. It’s just not the whole truth either. “Luis Rojas did a lot of good before he disappeared. The protests he organized were large enough President Farías had to take notice. People were rioting in the streets, demanding better jobs, health care, a true democracy rather than…whatever this is.”

  “A dictatorship wearing a democratic wig,” Trevor replies, and the corners of my lips tug into a smile.

  “Something like that. But after he was jailed, people got scared. He was only one man, but from the few people I managed to talk to when I was still in D.C., he was this larger than life superhero. Always fighting. Always challenging Farías, but doing it in a way that kept him…safe somehow.”

  With a nod, Trevor checks behind us once more, then narrows his eyes. “There’s a car back there matching every lane change I make. The whole time we’ve been in the tunnel.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything. It’s a tunnel. Where are they going to go?” I crane my neck to try to see.

  “They’re accelerating. Roll up your window, Dani. Now.” Slamming his foot down hard on the gas pedal, Trevor pushes the old car to its limit, and I keep watch in the side mirror. It doesn’t take me long to spot the car he’s talking about. It’s almost a twin of this one, only dirtier and with a crack in the windshield. I can’t see who’s behind the wheel, but they’re driving as aggressively as Trevor is, and passing everyone else on the road.

  The temperature in the car climbs with each kilometer, and when we burst out of the tunnel, the sun’s finally set, and Trevor’s words echo in my ears. “The roads between here and Caracas are dangerous after dark.”

  I’m about to ask what he’s planning on doing when he cuts across what’s now four lanes of heavy traffic and takes a left turn, hard. The wheels under me feel like they almost leave the ground, but as I crane my neck to check behind us, I don’t see the other Chevy Spark.

/>   My heart’s racing, and until Trevor tells me I can roll down the window again, I don’t even know if I’m breathing. “We lost them, Dani. We’re okay.” Reaching across the small space, he rests his strong hand over mine and gives it a squeeze. “Another fifteen minutes, and we’ll be safe at the hotel.”

  I nod and let my head fall back against the seat. Working the thinking putty faster and faster, I realize what frightened me. It wasn’t someone potentially chasing us. It wasn’t the possibility we were in danger. I’ve reported from half a dozen war zones in the past few years. I’ve covered everything from rioting in St. Louis to the cartel murders in Mexico. Danger doesn’t scare me.

  Seeing fear in Trevor’s eyes? That scares me more than anything.

  Trevor

  The Hotel Diamonte is a bright, modern space with a view of the El Ávila mountains. Our adjoining rooms are on the fifth floor, and Dani stays by my side as I sweep them both for bugs and cameras. “Clean,” I say as I tuck Wren’s handheld scanner back into my pocket. Second Sight’s tech genius hid the scanner in an electronic, rechargeable lighter. The damn thing’s even approved to be carried on an airplane since it uses a plasma arc instead of actual fuel. The Customs agents didn’t look twice at it.

  Dani relaxes a fraction and sinks down onto the king-sized bed in her room. I’m not ready to leave her. Not by a long shot. Sitting next to her all day…it brought back so many memories.

  She still smells the same—jasmine and vanilla—though with her hair cropped, it’s harder to catch the scent. The humidity has left a gentle sheen to her cheeks, making her almost glow in the light from the bedside lamps.

  I double-check the windows, the closets, and the bathrooms, then hesitate in the doorway between our two rooms. “I have to meet with my local contact. But I need you to promise me you’ll stay put.”

  “If I don’t hit the gym, I won’t be able to focus at all tonight,” she says as she unzips her backpack and pulls out a pair of running shoes followed by her tablet. “After that, it’s nothing but research for the rest of the evening.”