The Fidelity World_Fated

by Amy Briggs

  Almost every night, I woke up in a panic, hearing the sound of the explosion. It had happened for me in slow motion; I saw the terrorists bring in the box and set it in the middle of the room where the women I was segregated with were. I knew something bad was going to happen, and thank God my flight attendant emergency training kicked in. I gathered as many people as I could to huddle behind a couch we flipped over quickly. Just thinking about it still makes my ears ring.

  Shortly after that, some Americans, some kind of special forces team, rushed in and helped us escape. I frantically told them about Rayne and they were able to save her, but she had a long recovery too. When we talked, she seemed cheerful and excitedly invited me to come stay with her for a few days.

  As hard as it was to leave my house for anything but work, I thought it would help to spend some time not working, and not holed up at home. I didn’t want to feel the way I did, and I hoped it wasn’t a mistake.

  Chapter 2

  Colin

  We returned from our mission over a week ago, and I was already anxious to get back out in the field. I loved my job. I was born to serve my country, and with the current international climate, working in counterterrorism was better than I could have dreamed of. I helped destroy terrorism one mission at a time, and even if I couldn’t talk about what I really did all day long, out in the scorching desert, I knew it was God’s work. It didn’t matter to me that we’d be gone for long periods of time, to the most dangerous corners of the world. I was saving American lives, and I was ready to get back to it.

  “Yo man, want to get out for some drinks tonight? My sister has a friend coming to visit and thought it would be nice to get out. We could use it too.” Chase Jackson, my fellow soldier and friend, leaned over his desk in my direction.

  “Hmm, that could be cool.” I thought it over. “Beats sitting around here waiting for our next mission. When are you heading out?”

  “I think she gets here this afternoon, so maybe late happy hour, like seven?” he replied.

  “That sounds good. Who is this friend of hers? Is she a flight attendant too?” I asked. I had met Rayne, Chase’s sister a few times. She was pretty cool. Her boyfriend though... He was obviously special forces, and when he was around, he just studied everyone like a hawk and didn’t really engage much. He wasn’t especially friendly, not like Rayne always was. Typical of special forces guys though; they were really only tight with their team.

  “Yeah. In fact, this is the flight attendant that was kidnapped with her in Egypt,” he replied solemnly.

  “No shit. Did she make out alright?” I’d heard some of the stories about their rescue around the base, but what officially happened was top secret. What was on the news was only a snippet of the full story, of course, it always was. That’s how National Security works. You can’t just go around telling your enemies what you’re up to.

  “I have no idea, actually. I’m guessing she is. She’s coming for the week or something and Rayne said they could use a night out. That is the extent of my intel,” he chuckled.

  “Alright, yeah, I’m down. I’m getting antsy anyway. A few drinks and a night out wouldn’t kill me,” I replied. I didn’t really get out that much, which was fine with me. I was about serving my country, doing my job, and not much else. While we weren’t special forces, we were often deployed with them, or near them, in parallel missions to assist in the intel gathering and such needed to defeat the enemy at hand, whoever that may be. So, we could have to leave at a moment’s notice as well, and it kept us from laying down too many roots. I never felt like I was missing out though.

  Some of the guys in my circle had found wives to come home to, but I didn’t see how that made any sense. Leaving someone behind that would worry about you, or that you would worry about yourself. I’d heard too many stories of wives running around on their men while they were deployed, and I had heard just as many stories of guys coming back different people. This didn’t just apply to the men; I’d seen some of our female soldiers get themselves into some jams too. I never thought I changed much from mission to mission, but I didn’t have to answer to anyone but me. I had no one to impress socially, and I liked it that way.

  “Look, I don’t know exactly what happened to this chick, or why she’s coming to Ft. Hood for a vacation, but I suspect she’s got some issues, so let’s not lay it on too thick tonight, alright cowboy?” Chase pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows in my direction.

  “Are you implying that I’m some kind of a ladies man, Jackson? Because if you are, you’d be right,” I laughed heartily. While I was never looking to settle down, I did enjoy the company of the ladies from time to time, and never had an issue finding one when I wanted to. I was always honest in my intentions though, and never led anyone on. My mother didn’t raise me to be a douchebag; I just didn’t see any point in settling down.

  “Yeah, something like that,” he chuckled. “Just don’t be a dick, okay?” He gave me the side eye again, and went back to his computer.

  “Yes sir,” I barked, getting back to my analysis as well.

  We were investigating some douchebags over in Qatar, but had come up empty on intel all day, so when it was finally quitting time for the day, I was relieved. On most days, I would go home, crack open a beer, and study. I had been learning Arabic so I wouldn’t keep needing a translator, and learning a new language in your thirties was harder than training for a marathon. I spent the greater part of most evenings over the last few months listening to audio programs constantly, to train my brain to translate. It was an exhausting endeavor, but ultimately made me better at my job, and I figured that when I retired, a CIA job might present itself, allowing me to continue serving my country after my prime.

  “You want to meet us there? I’m going to go home and change and shit,” Chase asked as we walked out to our cars.

  “Yeah, sounds good to me. Just let me know when you’re headed out,” I replied.

  Giving each other a half salute, we parted ways. When I got home, I grabbed a beer from the fridge and stood in the small kitchen, leaning against the cool tile counter. That first sip was always the most refreshing, and I felt my body temperature decrease slightly, relaxing me. The Texas sun was hot, and while I was hardly out in it for very long, it could wear you down fast.

  I was born and raised in Texas, and my parents had a ranch about an hour away from the base. I didn’t go home as often as I should, but I thought of it often. Growing up, we had to bail hay, work the fields, you name it. In the hot Texas sun. I grinned to myself, just realizing that the places I traveled for my country were also hot and dry. It must have been in my blood. I took another long sip of my beer before making my way back to the bedroom to get ready.

  I had bought myself a small ranch house near the base, and while it had more bedrooms than I needed, I liked having the space. I had a huge bathroom off of my bedroom, and I’d turned one bedroom into an office where I studied and sometimes worked, and the other into a spare bedroom that was never used. Visitors didn’t tend to come, I wasn’t here much, and truth be told, there was no one to come visit me really. The only friends I had, I’d met in the service, and even those guys were all over the world. Chase was the only person I ever hung out with since being here, and that was fine by me. I’d always been a bit of a quiet guy. An observer.

  My mom thought I’d become a writer, which always made me laugh, but if I thought real hard about it, she was on to something. I loved reading, and always took a ridiculous amount of notes studying or in classes. In most of my classes, I was the only one writing the whole time. It’s how I retained information. If I wrote it down, I’d almost never forget it. As I emptied my pockets on the counter in the bathroom, a crumpled up yellow scrap of paper was among the change and other bits of paper. I unfolded it, scanning over it. Sarah Kennedy. That’s all it said. That was her name. I wrote it down when Chase had said it earlier that day and must have stuffed the sticky note into my pocket. As I set it down, so
mething told me I’d likely never forget it.

  Jacinda

  It was perfect timing. I’d just ended what was probably my eight hundredth bad relationship, if you could even call it that, and enough was enough. As I cruised along the stretch of highway that led to Red Springs, Nebraska, I took in the fresh air, letting it out on a deep breath. I was already feeling more relaxed, even though I didn’t know exactly what I was getting myself into. The warm air of June filled my lungs, and I checked my navigation system to find I still had about an hour left in my drive.

  Inheriting a house and a bunch of property seemed like a win for anyone in my situation. A twenty-eight year old renter, living in the city, but the house had some bad juju for me. My grandmother, my father’s mother, had passed away, and left me this house. I didn’t know her. In fact, I’d never met her, or even given much thought to her in many years. Because of the bad blood between her and my father, I’d never tried, nor aspired, to establish a relationship with her. My mother and father were high school sweethearts. They were in young and in love, the whole nine yards, and found themselves pregnant, with me. While only eighteen and seventeen, they decided to keep me.

  My dad dropped out of high school to get a job, support my mother, and start a family with her. How he told the story was, that it was never even a question. They were going to be a family, and had planned to get married and have children anyway; it was obviously God’s plan that they start earlier than they intended. My father’s mother was old-fashioned, and thought that I should be given up for adoption, and that my mother should be sent away to have me in secret. I surmise that she was embarrassed, although my father would never say that to me. He simply said that she was set in her ways, so he and my mother moved to the city, where I was born raised.

  The tragic part of the story though, is that my mother died giving birth to me. Even at twenty-eight, I have days where I feel responsible for that. Obviously I didn’t do it, and my rational brain knows that, but never getting to know my mother has always haunted me. My father raised me himself, taking a job in a factory, since he had not finished his formal education. He once told me that he’d hoped to be a teacher when he was younger, but never went back to school. I didn’t realize the gravity of what he gave up for me, until he passed away two years prior to me inheriting this damned house.

  My knuckles gripped the steering wheel as my chest tightened at the memory of him telling me all of this, when he knew he was dying. He’d gotten cancer, from working in that same factory he went to, day in and day out, for almost thirty years. He got cancer doing a job I’m certain he didn’t love, just so he could take care of me. I’d chosen a career I loved, which paid absolute shit, because he wanted me to have what he didn’t. I was a teacher. An art teacher, whose program was constantly on the chopping block. Thankfully, I’d been offered my contract to come back in the fall, so I’d have a job at the end of the summer. That didn’t change the guilt that clung to me like a thick fog.

  I was the last surviving relative in line to inherit the house, as I understood it from the lawyer I spoke with. It had taken them awhile to find me, and the house had been sitting vacant for quite some time. My father was named in the Will, but since he’d passed, it had been left to me. To my surprise, I had been named in the Will as the beneficiary, should my father not be alive. I huffed with indignation as I spied a sign that indicated my destination was looming.

  The pictures I was sent showed a large farmhouse, on five acres, that had been left to Mother Nature over the years, and clearly needed some work. I had the entire summer to fix it up, which is what I intended to do, before putting it on the market, and closing up that chapter; for me and my dad both. He rarely mentioned my grandmother, or growing up in that house. As much as I tried to fight it, I was curious to see where he’d spent his childhood days. I suppose, technically, he grew up in the city, since he was practically a kid when he had me, but I couldn’t evade the desire to see where he’d come from.

  It had only been a year since my father had passed away, and the emotions were still fresh. It felt as though it were still a gaping wound in my heart, and I was going to use this summer project to heal my wounds, and to get closure for my dad. I had been driving for a couple of hours, almost to my destination in Red Springs, when I decided to make a pit stop before I got to the house. Who even knew if the plumbing was working, after all, and I wasn’t about that outdoor life.

  Portia

  Sitting at the computer, I forced myself to blink a few times, eliminating the dryness staring had caused after hours of reading over my new case file. Contrary to what most people think, as an FBI agent, my boss doesn’t drop a big file on my desk and tell me I’ve got a new case. He emails it to me and then we chat later, once I’ve reviewed it. My position entailed investigating current government cases in other branches of federal law enforcement. It definitely wasn’t my dream job, or why I joined the FBI in the first place. I wanted to fight actual crime; run my own investigations. Instead, I was sent to check in on investigations that were taking too long, where something seemed unusual, or if another agency needed assistance. The latter was generally the case.

  This time, I was being sent to check in on an undercover agent for the DEA, Davidson Kelso. He’d been working on a case involving drug runners, and had already been undercover for six months to infiltrate the operation.Now, the DEA didn’t have enough manpower to stay on top of a case that not only seemed cold, but had been going on for what they deemed too long. In Texas, the DEA was busy. Between drug smuggling, human trafficking on the border, and gun running, they were up to their eyeballs in criminals, and needed the extra manpower. Government agencies, particularly law enforcement, were almost always hiring; people were always moving from one section or branch to another, looking for the sweetest assignments.

  I’d been at this particular station and doing this job for almost five years when the Kelso case came to me. It was a pretty straightforward gig. I’d track him for a few days, then make my presence known to him, so we could meet up and I could get a better of idea of where the case was going. I’d either offer the FBI’s assistance in moving it along if it seemed feasible, or I’d report back and get further instructions from my superiors. Simple and easy.

  The rare occasion did happen, every now and again, where an agent was so deep undercover that they had no way out, and a case was cold. Bad intel, or simply the head of the illegal activity changed the plan; anything could happen.

  Generally speaking, undercover operatives from any of the federal branches had enough experience to get themselves out of a jam, so if things were going south, they were either turning crooked - which was always a possibility - or they didn’t have the support they needed from their superiors. With watchdog groups always on the lookout for any opportunity to drag the feds through the mud, in the media or otherwise, much of the top brass had dictated that we’d all help each other out in an effort to keep patriotism and crime fighting the mission. So, we did whatever we had to in order to support other units; or agents, for that matter.

  As I read over the case, I continued to go back to Kelso’s picture. There were no two ways about it. He was ridiculously good-looking. Not just for a cop, he was just hot. He was tall, and had a smile that gave me just a touch of that “boy next door crush” feeling. Obviously, I shook it off. I was a professional, and as a female agent, no matter what anyone says about equality, I always felt like I had to be one step ahead everyone else just to stand even.

  From my perspective, there wasn’t anything unusual about the case, other than the fact that it had gone on for a long time. Kelso had been brought in as a local expert who knew the ins and outs of the desert, and was able to ingratiate himself with the bosses running drugs across the border and through the southwest. Typically, this would have been a customs and border patrol operation, but since they were also extremely busy, the DEA stepped in and took over this particular case. There was supposed to have been a huge shipmen
t of drugs coming through about four weeks prior, and it never happened. Well, it was never reported to have happened, based on Kelso’s reports I was provided with.

  In his reports, he indicated that the shipment didn’t come from Mexico as planned, and he was still working to determine when it would come. Four weeks was a long time to stay undercover and close to these scum bags when there was nothing going on. That’s exactly the type of scenario that causes a man to accidentally befriend the bad guys. When there’s no crime going on, and you’re working them to build or maintain rapport, it’s easy to forget that your job is to send them all to jail. Particularly when you’re working alone.

  I ran my hands through my cropped blonde hair, and stopped to massage my neck briefly. I’d been sitting at that desk for hours, putting together my plan so I could present it to my boss before heading out to the field. While it was a cut-and-dried case on paper, I had the distinct feeling there was more to it. I couldn’t put my finger on it, and I squinted at his picture one more time before shutting the file down. “Well, let’s see what you’re up to, Davidson Kelso,” I muttered to myself before heading home for the day.

  Also by Amy Briggs

  The Brotherhood of District 23

  Fired Up (Book 1)

  Fully Involved (Book 2)

  Controlled Burn (Book 3)

  The Complete Brotherhood of District 23

  The Brotherhood of District 23 Coloring Book

  Standalone Novels

  Hot & Cold

  (co-written with Mikey Lee; a Brotherhood of District 23/Sin Series Crossover)