by Ronie Kendig
Sal scowled at her. Backed up a step. Then another. “Zero nine hundred,” he said in a clipped manner. And then he was gone.
She let out a breath weighted by deception and fear. If he ever learned the truth, what would he do? He already held Vida’s death against her. He hadn’t forgiven her for that sin. If he found out about Mila, forgiveness wouldn’t even be in his vocabulary. Only murder.
Kandahar Airfield, Afghanistan
30 March—1840 Hours
Sal stalked out of her tent, hating that he’d lied to her. She’d show up tomorrow and find out there was no all-hands. But he’d needed to see her. Something had possessed him to go to her bunk. What he had in mind once he got there, he didn’t have a clue. But being trapped in that tunnel unlocked something in him.
Weakness.
No. No, he was too familiar with weakness.
Desperation.
Could be. He was desperate to quell the storm in his gut. To douse the fire. Seeing her again, being around her—kissing her. He snorted and shook his head. He’d blame that on the painkillers, but they hadn’t given him anything strong enough to justify that level of stupidity.
What pushed him to Cassie?
Habit. Having her around—had it tricked his mind into falling into old habits established back at Fort Huachuca while stationed there for training? He’d work then find her and they’d go out. Catch a meal. Maybe a movie. A hotel room.
Sal rubbed the back of his neck as he sat in a lone chair by the old Boardwalk. A real class act.
She named her niece Mila.
Had she driven a dagger through his heart, it would not have hurt as much. Scratching at his beard, he told himself it didn’t matter. They weren’t together anymore. He didn’t want anything to do with Cassandra Walker ever again.
And yet, he’d been shackled to her on this mission. To find the one who killed Burnett and dozens of others. A mission he couldn’t accomplish to save his life. They were missing something monumental. And it was his job to figure out what. And he’d gotten exactly nowhere.
His near-death experience and Burnett was gone. Dean was off liaising, working from the top down to find this sicko. The team had next to nothing on this moron who’d attacked the security protocols of the military computers. That put everything at risk and vulnerable to repeated attacks.
Failing. Again.
Why exactly did God have him on this earth? To screw up? Make others look good? To aid the Angel of Death?
Light glinted off steel. Sal blinked at the Ka-Bar in his hand, unaware of drawing it from the sheath. He leaned forward swiping his thumb over the blade. He tightened his fist around the handle and placed it on his bicep.
“Hey, got a minute?”
Sal jolted and jerked the knife away. Held it low, out of sight as he met the probing gaze of Hawk. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?” Sal taunted as he slid the knife back into its sheath.
“Nah, I got hours still.” Hawk slapped his shoulder. “What about you, old man? Shouldn’t you retire?”
With a laugh, Sal shook his head. He only had two years on Hawk. But retiring sounded better and better every day. “How’s your girlfriend?”
“Fiery, gorgeous, mouthy, puts me in my place.” Hawk grinned. “Perfect.”
“About time someone put a leash on you.”
“What about you?”
Sal frowned beneath the lone stadium light a couple of yards away. “What?”
“You and Walker.”
Sal snorted again. “I thought you had something serious to talk about.”
“Very serious.” Hawk’s gaze burned through Sal’s attempt to casually blow off the intrusion into his personal life. “You’ve been different since she showed up.”
That was true in more ways than the one Hawk implied.
“She has power over you.”
“You’re crazy.” Was he an open book?
“You avoid her. You won’t confront her—I’ve never seen you do that. You’re in my face all the time. Do the same to everyone. But not this chick.” Hawk leaned against a post and crossed his legs at the ankle. “What’s she got over you?”
“It’s not your concern.”
“Wrong,” Hawk said, but then he crouched with his back to the post. “Her presence has altered the way the game is played.” He spread his hands. “Look, I’m not here to cause trouble, but I think this needs to be in the open.”
“Leave it alone.”
“What happened?”
Relentless had to be Hawk’s middle name. And unless Sal gave the guy something to chew on, he wouldn’t let up. “How about the biggest, juiciest steak of reality, served up cold and heartless?” Just the way Cassie had served it up.
Hawk finally had nothing to say.
“She killed my girlfriend.” Sal hated himself for saying those words. They weren’t entirely true.
“Seriously?” Hawk punched to his feet then slowed. “No, no that’s not true. I can see it on your face.”
“I said leave it alone.”
“I will—when you come clean.”
Sal huffed. “Cassie worked at Huachuca. We met. Went out. Things got… heavy.” He gritted his teeth, the images of those nights blazing through his visual cortex. “When my girlfriend—”
“Girlfriend? I thought—”
“When Vida PCSed there,” Sal pushed on, unwilling to address any more questions, “Cassie got jealous. Used her spheres of influence to have Vida transferred to Helmand, knowing it was the most dangerous province. That more American lives were lost there than anywhere else. Vida was killed within a week.”
“Dude.”
Sal glanced down. “Cass sent her there to get rid of her. Permanently.” His chest heaved with the volatility of saying those words.
“Dude, that’s messed up.”
The words vindicated Sal’s feelings.
“But you were dating them both? At the same time?”
“I broke up—” Sal bit off his words. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to justify himself to anyone, especially not Hawk. “Is there a real reason you’re here?”
Hawk nodded. Straightened and took a step back. “Thought I’d stop you from carving up your life.” He nodded to Sal’s right. “And your arm.”
Sal stood.
A shadow shifted behind Hawk, freezing Sal. He took a step forward.
Hawk held up his hands. “Hey. I’m not—”
“Shh,” Sal hissed, scowling as he tried to see through the two buildings that held the shadow. “Someone’s there.”
Hawk turned.
A figure slipped beneath a singular beam of light. He wasn’t in uniform. No buzz cut. Sal sprinted across the foot-hardened path. Damp, rank air of the alley permeated his senses. He tore through it. Skidded to a stop as he scanned the road. Searched for the man.
“What’d you see?” Hawk panted as he caught up.
“A man watching us.” Sal turned a circle, watching the corners and shadows. He’d seen him. Right here. “I swear, he was right—”
Hawk pointed. “There!”
Sal took off in that direction. Not toward the center of the base but toward the perimeter. Heck no. He wasn’t letting this guy get away. The bruises and aches from the cave-in slowed him, but not too much.
The guy scrabbled over a cement barricade.
Sal sped up, using his momentum to sail over the obstacle like a hurdle. The move gave him an advantage. The man was only a couple of feet away. Sal spotted the hull of an MRAP that had eaten an IED. He jumped to the side. Toed the steel hull. And launched into the air.
He sprang forward. Drew back his fist. Slammed it into the back of the man’s head. Landed on him. His teeth clacked as he landed hard.
The man groaned beneath him. Pushed onto his hands and knees. Then collapsed. Unconscious.
Breathing with a heady sense of vindication and triumph, he stared with a crooked smile at the man. Then grinned and turned. “Hey, Haw—”
/> Sal froze.
Hawk lay on the ground. A dark stain spreading over his chest.
CHAPTER 14
Kandahar Airfield, Afghanistan
30 March—1945 Hours
Hawk!”
Sal lunged toward his fallen friend. He skidded on his knees across the dirt. “Hawk! Hawk, talk to me.”
But there was nothing. No response. No movement.
Sal pressed three fingers to Hawk’s thick, sweaty neck and waited, his gaze on the still-unconscious intruder.
Hawk was alive. His pulse was steady. So was the blood flow. But the heart rhythm could change at any second.
He tugged out his sat phone and dialed up Dean.
“It’s late—”
“Hawk’s down. Someone shot him.”
“Where?”
Rocks spat at him. Dirt peppered his cheeks.
Shots! Someone was shooting at him. Sal threw himself to the ground. Snagged Hawk’s drag strap on his tac pants. Keeping as low a profile as possible in the vehicle graveyard, he scooted backward, tugging a limp Hawk with him.
A squawking noise snagged his attention.
The phone!
Sal snatched it from the ground and pressed it to his ear then gave his location. He got Hawk to safety then glanced up in time to see the intruder stumbling to his feet.
“Hey!” Sal shoved forward.
Bullets sliced through the air. Pinged off the hull of the vehicles. He leapt backward, out of visual range. He tugged his weapon from his leg holster. Took aim at the fleeing intruder. And fired.
The thwat hit his ears the same time he saw the guy pitch into the dirt.
But the bugger climbed back up.
Sal tightened his lips. “Stupid—” Maybe if he was fast enough. If he dove ahead, like an obstacle course, beating the bullets. He was not letting this guy get away. They’d already lost a witness, an enemy combatant to a spook’s skills. He was not losing this guy. Though Sal had no idea what this man wanted or what he’d done, the guy clearly didn’t want anyone to ask those questions.
Sal again lurched from the protection of the truck. Fire trailed across his arm. “Augh!” He dropped back, cursing and banging the ground.
Fine. Want to play dirty? Sal lined up the weapon again. He didn’t want the guy dead. But he couldn’t let him get away. He fired in his right leg.
Scaling the wall, the guy howled in pain now. But didn’t stop.
Realigning his sights, Sal eased back the trigger again. Hit the back of the man’s left thigh.
The intruder lost his grip. Dropped.
Roaring engines and shouts joined the fray. Sal turned his attention to Hawk. His buddy lay with his eyes open, brow knotted in pain.
“Falcon!” came a shout from behind and to his left.
“Here,” he said, peering out, perpendicular to where the sniper hid. Just beyond the hull, Sal spotted Dean striding toward them. “Down! Stay down!”
Dean immediately complied, as did the two MPs with him.
“Shooter—north wall. Stop him!”
With a nod, Dean and the MPs ran in that direction. A hollowness swept through Sal, realizing they were alone again. But more vehicles pulled up—and one eased right up to the MRAP. Two soldiers hopped out and rushed over, one wielding a med kit, the other a stretcher.
“Stay low!” Sal said, shifting backward. “There’s a shooter.” He knelt beside Hawk, whose eyes were hooded in pain. A sheen of sweat made him look sickly. “Hang in there. Help’s here now.”
With a smirk, Hawk slowly blinked. “I’m thinking this is your way of getting out of coming clean about Walker.”
“Thinking’s not your strong suit.” Sal smiled. “Stick to looking pretty.”
The medics had the driver bring up the armored vehicle on the other side, effectively blocking them from the shooter The four of them ushered Hawk out of the hot zone and into the rear of the MRAP.
With his buddy secure and getting the best possible help, Sal focused on the intruder. Needed to help Dean take care of this scum. He pivoted.
Two MPs scurried back toward them, running in a bent posture to protect themselves and the prisoner held between them from more shots.
Dean trotted up and slowed next to Sal. “He has a few extra holes in him.”
Sal nodded.
“I’m guessing that’s not from the sniper.”
“He had a partner, whose job was to make sure he got out alive and unharmed.”
“One out of two ain’t bad.” Dean nodded toward the ambulance rushing away. “How’s Hawk?”
“Bullet wound to the chest. Lost a good amount of blood, but I think he’ll make it.”
“Means he’s out of commission.”
“Don’t tell him that.”
Kandahar Airfield, Afghanistan
31 March—0915 Hours
She could handle a lot of things. Being made a fool of was not one of them.
Cassie stood at Brie Hastings’s desk, humiliated as she held the phone to her ear. “Seriously? There’s no meeting?”
“Sorry,” Brie’s voice came through the line. “Even if there was, it would’ve been canceled after last night.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh.” Brie’s voice held levity. “I thought you would know. There was another incident on the base. Falcon and Hawk were involved—Hawk was shot.”
“Are you serious?” She sounded like a glitching MP3. “How is he? Is Sal okay? Who shot him?”
“They don’t know. Falcon saw someone lurking around the base and gave chase. They pinned him down at the northern perimeter, but the guy had a buddy working with him and started shooting our guys.”
Stunned at the news, Cassie nodded. Another attack. Sal—Sal was in danger. Again. Of course he went after the intruder. He had warrior in his blood. Protector. When she’d first met him, first saw his thick biceps and quick smile, she’d been smitten. Until he told her he was Special Forces. They didn’t just toe the line of danger—they crossed it and demanded it respond. Not because they were bloodthirsty but because they were sheepdogs.
“Okay… thanks.” She had to see Sal. Had to verify with her own eyes that he wasn’t hurt. “I–I’d better see how things are.”
“You mean how Falcon is doing?” Brie had a knowing smile in her voice.
“He won’t even talk to me.”
“Give it time.”
“Yeah.” There wasn’t enough time in the universe to change things between Sal and her. He’d made that perfectly clear. “Thanks, Brie. Bye.” In a daze, she wandered back to her cubicle. She rounded the corner—and a blur of brown collided with her. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t—”
Hands cupped her shoulders. Her gaze collided with warm brown eyes—eyes that more than once warmed Cassie to her toes.
“Sal.”
Determination etched through his dark brows, he shifted her to the right and kept moving. Without a single word.
She watched as his broad shoulders receded down the hall. Hated herself for not ripping the bars from between them. Time to muster up. “How’s Hawk?”
Sal paused and shifted toward her. “Recovering.”
“And you?”
A ripple of confusion wormed through his dark brow. His stare rammed her pulse into a solid right cross against her breastbone. “Me? I’m fine.”
Acute relief rushed over her shoulders like warm butter. “Good.” Seconds thudded off the clock as he stood unmoving. Say something! “Oh, that AHOD—the one you told me about last night?—got canceled.”
His expression flickered as his lips parted.
No, she wouldn’t give him a chance to drive another dagger into her heart. “I just thought I’d mention it. In case you didn’t know,” she said, her voice unnaturally calm and soft. Deliberate. “I wouldn’t want you to show up and look stupid when you find out there isn’t one. That’d be cruel.”
His expression went wonky-weird. Like he felt bad. Like he’d wanted to apo
logize. As they held each other’s gazes, a smile worked its way up from her heart to her lips.
He turned and left.
So did her smile. “Right. Give it time,” Cassie whispered, repeating Brie’s admonishment. If they couldn’t withstand a two-minute conversation, they’d never be able to talk through real problems. The ones that kept them bound in tight boxes of hatred and resentment.
Back at her desk, she pushed her mind into work. Into figuring out what was going on with the entirely-too-accurate attacks. When she’d had lunch with Kiew, a revelation coursed through her. But she needed to be sure.
Cassie powered up her agency-issued laptop and coded in. She scanned the documents. Spent hours poring over them. Verifying information. As she stared at the Venn diagram she’d scrawled across three taped-together pieces of paper, the wretched truth stared back, mocking. They are using me!
How could I have been so stupid? She shoved her hands through her hair and gripped her head. History had a way of repeating itself, especially bad history, no matter how hard she tried to change its course.
The agency knew she’d stayed with Kiew Tang in China a decade ago on a high school exchange program. They knew they had been fast friends, and they were using her to get to Kiew. They expected her to betray her friend.
Ripping up the pages, she made her way to the shredder. No satisfaction came in watching the blades shred the paper. They couldn’t shred the truth. But there was some psychological satisfaction in watching the machine eat the painful facts. Her realization called everything into question, right down to her very worth. She’d wanted to believe this assignment had been given to her on merit. On her success with other missions. But it wasn’t. Things were clear to her now. The timeliness too convenient.
By the time lunch rolled around, the only appetite she had was one for physical activity. Frustration pushed her out of the chair. She headed over to the showers, changed into PT clothes, and worked out in the makeshift gym until her limbs ached like her insides. She had this glorious idea of how things would work here—she’d show her mettle and through it or in conjunction with that accomplishment, win back Sal. Live happily ever after.
Ha. Just call me Pinocchio. She’d lied to herself as much as apparently her superiors had.