Her Special Forces

by Sophia Roslyn

  The girl dragged her big toe back and forth on the floor. “Someone else tried first, didn’t they? That was what all the yelling was about, all the stuff about killing. Wasn’t it?”

  Nathan felt heat rush to his cheeks. He was caught, and they both knew it. “Honey, I don’t know if I’m the one…”

  With a very adult glare, she cut him off. “Duh, I like live with a senator and his stupid friends and round-the-clock security. We learn about terrorism, kidnapping, even ransoming in school. Yeah, I’m only eleven—nearly twelve—but I’m not stupid. Even with all the alarms, someone got into our house and took me. Something happened to make the bad guys move me in a hurry. They didn’t seem to be worried until after the phone call.”

  A voice came from behind Gemma, and she jumped.

  Special Agent Cannon patted her shoulder. “Sorry I startled you. Gemma, there are new clothes in your room, if you want to shower and change.”

  She looked down again. “Thank you.”

  “I’m the one who can answer your question. Unofficially, of course—if you promise not to share the information with anyone outside of our little group. Can you honestly promise that?”

  Gemma turned, looked Jack dead square in the eye, nodded. Nathan wanted to applaud her moxie. Good girl.

  “All right then. Yes, there was another team, a first response team. That’s all I can tell you right now. I know you want answers, but I am not at liberty to speak until my supervisor arrives, then we can fill you in. Are you okay with that?”

  She nodded, but her eyes were downcast again. “I understand, it’s okay. I just wish I could tell the people who watch me that I’m okay. Y’know, the staff. They’re like my family.”

  “What about your dad?”

  Her brown-eyed gaze wandered the room, then she just shrugged.

  Jack patted her shoulder. “Okay. I have two girls, one younger than you, one older. I know the drill. Take a shower, fix your hair, change into your new clothes. You’ll feel better.”

  The girl managed a cockeyed grin, wrapped the afghan more snuggly around herself, then left.

  Nate raised an eyebrow. “That’s your explanation? You’re waiting for your supervisor?”

  “Hey, it bought me some time. I didn’t think the kid needed to know about the slaughter.”

  Jack directed his next glance at the patient. “What’s up with Kacey?”

  Nathan pushed a stray strand of hair away from her eye. “Best guess? PTSD.”

  Jack pulled up a chair to the opposite side of the bed. “I wondered. She didn’t look so great the last time we had lunch.”

  “Did you speak to her about it?”

  Shaking his head, Jack smirked. “You worked with her in the field. What do you think?”

  Nathan returned the grin, but only by half. “I was handling it, before this freakin’ excursion came up.”

  “Yeah, I bet you were. Is that why you were so easy to track down? You were handling it?”

  “Fuck off, Cannon.”

  Kacey stirred. “Jack, is that you?” Her voice still cracked. Nathan grabbed the glass of orange juice from her bedside table, angled the end of the straw her way.

  She opened her eyes, took a short sip, then another longer sip. “Thanks.” Her gaze zeroed in on Jack.

  “Yeah, sweet cheeks, it’s me.”

  “Sorry about the helicopter.”

  He gave an exaggerated sigh. “Shit happens. You brought the girl home, and you’ll survive. I’d call that a successful mission.”

  Another swig of orange juice. “Did you get the ten million back?”

  That resulted in a deeper sigh from the special agent in charge, one that wasn’t faked. “No.”

  “Only a somewhat successful mission, then.”

  Jack snorted. “Damn, everyone’s a critic.”

  She nestled against Nathan, closing her eyes again. “Find the leak and you’ll find the money.”

  Both men perked up.

  Cannon found his voice first. “Kace, do you know something we don’t?”

  “Hunch. Just a…” Her words trailed off as she slipped back into drugged sleep.

  Nathan pressed his lips against her temple, enveloped her in his arms. A distinctive humming sound rose from her chest, which did his heart good.

  After Jack shut his gaping mouth, he shook his head before he turned to leave. “Damn. I wouldn’t have believed the pair of you if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. Buddy, you’re so sunk.”

  Yeah, maybe. Would it be such a bad thing?

  …

  Kacey sprinted toward the sound of helicopter rotors, but her legs felt heavy, as if she were slogging through deep sugar sand with diving weights on her ankles. The mechanical heartbeat of the helo usually signaled safety to her, but with every step, her fear grew. But fear of what?

  As her dream deepened, so deepened the hold the sand had on her boots, as it sucked at her calves. Still, she struggled. Soldier on, she thought she heard her father say. Soldier on. Was he here, had he found her? Da? Her memory roiled, a thunderstorm of black, sooty clouds. Da was dead. Dead and cremated. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and all that crap. He kept trying to speak to her, but she couldn’t understand the words. He stood just out of reach, dressed in his flight suit, his Phantom parked behind him on a solid runway, just like the photo on the wall in his study. So, why was she mired in sand? Da?

  Panicked, exhausted, Kacey fell to her hands and knees, the grip of the sand threatening to pull her underground. The whomp-whomp-whomp of the helo blades slowed. Droplets landed on the skin of her face, hands, and forearms, but the water didn’t run off. Instead, the blades slung heavy drops of blood all around, covering more of her skin and uniform with each rotation. Blood. So much freakin’ blood! It crept into her eyes, nose, even her throat, began to choke her. Whose blood? Then, she knew. Omigod, not again, not again!

  The scream built in the depths of her viscera burst upward, tore out of her throat. The sand trapped her—no matter how she flailed, how she struggled, she couldn’t escape. Sudden cold forced her body to shake, her teeth to rattle. The sand morphed into iron straps that confined her, straps she fought. Then the straps softened, slowly transformed into a pair of strong arms that held her. Waves of heat radiated from those arms. The warmth finally sank in, chased away the life-stealing chill.

  That male voice again. Da? But it wasn’t her father who spoke, although the deep, hushed tones could have been his. Calming words, soothing.

  “Nathan?”

  “Hey, baby. Welcome back.”

  “What—?”

  “Bad dreams, sweetheart, bad dreams. You’re okay now.”

  Sweetheart? When did she become sweetheart? She knew she’d heard it before, but her mind seemed all muzzy.

  The words came out, under duress. “But it was so real, I was there, I was back there.”

  “Shh, shh, easy. Where, baby, tell me where.”

  “No! Don’t make me go back!” The shriek cracked apart as her vocal chords couldn’t sustain the sound.

  Her trembling returned, worsened. He grabbed a comforter from the foot of the bed, wrapped it around her as well as he could without shifting too much or disturbing her IV or bandages.

  Nathan kissed her cheek. “It’s all right, Kace. I have you, baby, I have you. Nothing’s gonna happen on my watch.”

  You can’t save me. No one can.

  …

  Why don’t adults believe that kids can think? We have brains, too. Gemma sat next to the open window, folded up in a chair, arms wrapped around her knees. That had been a major gripe since she developed cognitive reasoning. Adults talked down to children, or spoke over and around them. Such was a fact of life. A very annoying fact of life.

  She understood that her rescuers were trying to shield her from the ugliness, but she’d been the one who’d been kidnapped. Didn’t she deserve to know what was going on? Singlehandedly, she’d saved Kacey’s life. Didn’t that gain her any respect
?

  Adults being adults, even those as well trained as the FBI and the men who rescued her, they didn’t pay very close attention to kids when the kids weren’t in the room.

  Thinking Gemma had fallen asleep, the men gathered in the kitchen after dinner. Hearing voices, she tiptoed to the door, opened it just a crack. She couldn’t see anything except the hallway wall, but she could hear just about everything.

  Dr. Taylor. “From the recovered weapons, the Makarovs used a short, copper-jacketed .9 millimeter round, subsonic to pass through the suppressor. By the appearance of the wounds, it looks like the jacket kept the projectile somewhat intact, even more surprising if it passed through the skin of the helo before it plowed through Kacey. If Nate’s estimate of thirty-odd yards is accurate, it shouldn’t have had much velocity left. Since I didn’t find debris in the wound, you may find the mangled round lodged somewhere in the helo’s instrument cluster.

  “I don’t know how, but the bullet missed everything vital, although it ripped up the flesh over her right hip. Blood loss wasn’t as bad as it looked, thanks to the quick pressure bandaging. I gave her a bag of normal saline to be safe, but now she’s able to take fluids on her own. I hooked her up with a broad spectrum antibiotic to fight infection, gave her something for the pain.”

  One of the other men spoke up. “Cannon, how long do you plan to keep the girl under wraps?”

  “Don’t know. Still trying to track down the leak, but our leads are coming up dry. My people killed. All of them. Six of my best. Someone leaked sensitive intel to the kidnappers, set us up, and it was done quickly. Too quickly. Until I—meaning any of us here—can determine how my team was compromised, I’d like to keep the girl here, safely in our care. If no one minds hangin’ out, we’re Gemma’s best bet. I’m sorry the senator needs to remain in the dark—even though he’s a rank sonofabitch, he’s still her father—but we need to find out what happened, including who had the intel to break through the security system at the senator’s home, totally unannounced, to grab the girl in the first place. That really worries me.”

  She recognized Nathan’s voice. “Who knew about the ransom drop?”

  Cannon again. “The agents at the house. The senator. His bodyguard. No one else was in the room, not even any of the household staff. We had it locked down. Or, at least, we thought we did.”

  Nathan again. “And the arrangements for the cash?”

  “The senator and the bank manager. We listened in on everything, have it all recorded. I went over it and over it. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero. Everything in order, everything done by the book.”

  Sounded like the big man, Barracuda. “Well folks, it’s been fun, but I’m bushed. Let’s split up and rotate watch duties, so everyone can catch up on a few hours of sleep.”

  Gemma quietly secured the door before anyone could pass down the hallway, then slid into bed. Great timing—the door opened as one of the men checked on her. It felt good to know that someone cared.

  After the door closed again, she lay on her back for a few minutes, arms behind her head, considered all she’d heard. Finally turning on her side, she snuggled in, but her brain wouldn’t turn off.

  Patient, she waited until later, when the coast was clear, after it sounded like everyone was either in bed or outside making the rounds. Creeping to the kitchen, Gemma took one of the burn phones from the counter, tucked it into her pocket so she wouldn’t drop it. She snuck back into her bedroom, ducked into the closet, pulled the door closed behind her. There was an extra blanket in the closet, which she tented over her and the phone. She checked the phone, got a medium strong signal, hoped it would be enough.

  “Mrs. Bennett? Mamie? Shh, it’s Gemma, but don’t say my name, okay? No, no, don’t cry, it’s okay.” She waited for the half hysterical whimpering to ease off. “Mamie, I’m all right, really. I got away from the kidnappers. A really nice lady is watching out for me. No, I don’t need the FBI or the police, honest. I just didn’t want you to worry.”

  She listened again. “I know, I know, but I couldn’t call any sooner. No, I was not kidnapped by a cyber-stalker—I don’t know who took me.” More blubbering on the other end of the phone. “No, I don’t know when I’ll be home yet. Mamie, you gotta promise me that you won’t tell anyone, not even my father. Well, okay, Mr. Solomon and Miss Halloran, but that’s it. Please promise me, your best, most excellent promise, that you won’t tell. Ya gotta promise. I don’t want anyone to get into trouble.” The housekeeper promised. “Yes, I love you all to pieces, too. Everyone. I’ll call again when I can, but I don’t want you to worry. My friend will look after me. ‘Bye.”

  She thought she heard a little noise before she disconnected, almost like an echo. “Mamie? Mamie? Mrs. Bennett? Are you still there?” No response. The housekeeper had hung up. Gemma deleted the call from the phone’s log.

  When she peeked out of the room, the house was still dark. She quickly and quietly snuck to the kitchen, replaced the phone before whoever had the watch returned to the house. Just as silently, she returned to bed.

  There, that’s better.

  Chapter Nine

  “Nathan, get off me, ya big lug.” Kacey unhooked his arm from around her shoulders, tried to roll him onto his back. When did he get so freakin’ heavy?

  He finally yawned, moved, but only to prop himself up on an elbow. “Good morning, sunshine. Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I need to pee. Desperately.” She tried to wiggle free. “Oww, motherfucker, that hurts.” She pressed a hand against her hip, tried to alleviate the pounding pain.

  “Trash mouth. Let me help you.”

  “Jeez, can I at least go to the bathroom by myself?”

  “I don’t know, can you?”

  She shoved against his naked chest. “Nathan, I’m not kidding. If you don’t move your lazy ass, we’re both going to be soaked and it’s not going to be pretty.”

  “I can find something to use as a bedpan.”

  She snarled. “No, you won’t. Just get the hell out of my way.”

  “You’re hooked up to an IV.”

  Once she’d managed to wiggle to the edge of the mattress without tearing open her bandages, she reached up to the bed post and lifted the IV bag off its impromptu hook. “There, it can come with me. Now, move. I’m not kidding.”

  Nathan rolled to the edge of the bed. “I take it you’re feeling better.”

  “Nathan—”

  “Damn it, woman, I’m moving, I’m moving.”

  He didn’t exactly carry her, but he did escort her to the room’s private bathroom with a firm grip at her elbow. “Do you need help in there?”

  The words came out between clenched teeth. “Great, a pervert. Who knew? No, I don’t need help. What I do need is for you to move out of my freakin’ way.”

  “Cranky pants.”

  He stepped back to allow her to shut him out, but she’d bet the farm that he had his ear plastered to the door, just in case. It was difficult to bend her middle parts, but she managed to reach the bowl just in time. After a long moment, she finally let out a deep sigh. Nothing like a good pee to make one feel like a new person.

  Knuckles tapped the door. “You okay in there?”

  “I am now.” She flushed, turned to the sink, worked at washing her hands without water splashing the IV. “Omifuckinggod!”

  Nathan jerked open the door. “What?”

  Kacey stared at the person reflected back by the mirror. Dark, sooty shadows under her eyes, skin nearly translucent, her hair looked like a hay fluffer had been dragged through it.

  “What do you mean, what? Look at me! Never mind, don’t look at me! I’m hideous.”

  He leaned against the doorframe, wide shoulders taking up space, muscled arms folded across his naked, chiseled chest, workout pants barely hanging from his hips.

  “You look pretty damn good to me. Especially when one considers the alternatives not being so great.”

  “Nathan, be serio
us. I look like a train wreck.” She lifted a section of hair. “Is this dried blood?”

  “Probably. I tried to clean it up some, but my efforts didn’t pan out so well.”

  “Who stripped me down, then dressed me?” She looked down at the oversized gray Property of the U.S. Navy T-shirt that covered her to mid-thigh. She already knew she was commando underneath—which made sense, considering how she was bandaged.

  He raised his hand. “Guilty. That would be me. Doc needed you in something loose so he could check your wounds, change the bandages, make sure you weren’t bleeding again. Anything with a waistband wouldn’t work, not where you were shot.”

  He moved into the bathroom, reached for a towel, hung it around his neck. “First, take this.” He handed her a pain pill and a glass of water, waited until she complied. “Now, if you think you can hang your head over the sink for a few minutes without passing out, I’ll wash your hair.”

  She gazed at his reflection the mirror, behind and to the side of hers. Hope surfaced. “Really?”

  “Yes, really.” He adjusted the taps until the water felt comfortably warm against his wrist. It looked like he was testing the temperature of the formula in an infant’s bottle. “C’mon, you know the head-soaking drill by now. Actually, let me soak your head. I have a plastic cup here.”

  Resting on her elbows, Kacey managed to lean over the sink and still keep the IV hook-up clear, let him pour the warm water over her hair, enjoyed the feeling as it flowed over her filthy scalp. With easy fingers, he worked shampoo into the patches of crusty blood, rinsed away the lather until the water ran clear. Using a travel-sized container of conditioner, he massaged that into her hair, rinsed again.

  He turned off the taps, squeezed the water out of her hair, wrapped the wet strands in the towel while she supported herself with her unencumbered hand against the sink’s edge.

  “There’s my girl. How’s that feel?”

  Cautiously standing upright, she waited until the world stopped spinning, then sighed again. Now would probably be a bad time to remind him that she wasn’t actually his girl. Wasn’t his anything. “Fantastic. Now I need to brush my teeth, then I might feel human again.”