by Gail Barrett
Coop and his friends had connected the dots. The terrorists must have smuggled black-market nuclear waste from the former Soviet Union to Latakia, Syria, where the Aegean Alliance picked it up. The U.S. Department of State, aware of the transaction but involved in high-level diplomatic talks with the Syrians, had the satellite images suppressed.
Whether the terrorists had timed the transaction to coincide with the State Department visit, Coop didn’t know. Maybe they’d had a stroke of luck.
Either way, the Aegean Alliance had set sail problem-free, arriving in Los Angeles weeks later to off-load the nuclear waste. The terrorists had then trucked it to this warehouse in Las Vegas, where they were constructing a bomb—using Shaw’s formula.
But they’d run into a couple of glitches along the way—Shaw balking and hiding the flash drive, the three Navy pilots flying over the port. They’d dealt with the first problem by kidnapping Shaw, relying on Zoe to bring them the data before they needed to set off the bomb. They’d solved the second by having the pilots killed.
Which only left one piece missing from the puzzle. The person who’d arranged to give Shaw’s formula to the terrorists. The person who’d had Coop assigned to the surveillance job. The person who’d had the pilots killed to hide his role in this affair.
The person who had connections to the nuclear lab and enough power in the Navy to pull high-level strings.
Captain Ruegg.
Coop’s face burned, the thought of a fellow Naval officer being the traitor ticking him off. And before this was over, he’d make sure Ruegg got his due.
But first he had to rescue Zoe.
Coop kept his gaze locked on the warehouse, his neck rigid with tension, the constant hum of freeway noise chafing his nerves. Minutes ticked by. Sweat pasted his vest to his back.
Without warning, the office door burst open. His adrenaline rising, Coop raised his weapon and took aim. But Zoe’s grandfather raced through the door, his eyes panicked, his white hair billowing around his face.
A man stepped through the door behind him and fired. Shaw fell. Coop didn’t hesitate. He squeezed the trigger and took down the terrorist. Then he scrambled up, whipped out his radio. “Shaw’s shot. One kidnapper’s down. I’m going inside.”
Not waiting for a response, he sprinted down the embankment to the building, then crouched against the wall. Breathless, his heart banging against his chest, he forced himself to listen and wait. But no one came out to investigate. Neither Shaw nor the terrorist moved.
Knowing he had to check, keeping one eye on the door, he darted over to Shaw and felt his wrist. No pulse. Damn. He started to rise, then noticed the flash drive clutched in Shaw’s fist. He pried it loose, shoved it into his pocket, then glanced at the terrorist staring up with vacant eyes. Definitely dead.
He ran back to the side of the building, crunched through the weeds and glass to the Dumpster, and gauged the distance to the window above. He hoisted himself to top of the metal trash bin and peered through the shattered glass.
The window led to a deserted, second-story office. He used the butt of his pistol to knock out the remaining glass, then climbed into the room.
His pulse still sprinting, he crept to the door and peeked out. He was on the second floor, just above the loading docks. Stairs made of steel-bar grating led to the bottom floor.
A deep hush pulsed around him. Nothing shifted in the shadows below. Every sense attuned to his surroundings, he inched down the stairs to the cargo bay and glanced around.
The sound of approaching footsteps caught his ears.
He dove behind a stack of pallets and held his breath. The steps grew closer, louder. He held himself dead still.
A man walked past the pallets, and Coop surged up, rammed the butt of his pistol down on his head. The man slumped, and Coop dragged him behind the pallets, out of sight.
Two kidnappers down. But how many men remained?
Keeping his steps quiet, Coop raced to the wall by the hallway, then peered at the offices leading to the side door. Still nothing. But light spilled out from the two farthest rooms.
Suddenly, a shot rang out.
A soft, feminine cry reached his ears.
Coop’s heart stopped, then bolted to life. White-hot fury blazed inside him, the tenuous leash on his temper gone. No way would he let them harm Zoe.
He ran down the hall to the first office, urgency pounding like a war drum in his veins. He stopped, peeked inside, then darted to the next room and checked again. Still empty.
Only one room left.
Hardly breathing, he padded to the final doorway, then glanced inside. Captain Ruegg lay slumped on the floor, his hands and feet bound, his eyes staring blankly upward, blood pooled behind his head. Executed point-blank.
Coop sucked in the too-stuffy air, his hands trembling with the need to act. Because if anything had happened to Zoe…
Another muted cry shattered the silence—coming from inside the room. But he couldn’t see her from where he stood.
His pistol ready, he drew in a breath to control his adrenaline and crept in.
And then he saw her—and froze. Halabi held her like a shield, his pistol trained on her temple, his forearm choking her throat. Her eyes were wild, terrified, desperate.
Coop’s heart careened to a halt.
“Drop the gun,” Halabi ordered.
Coop didn’t comply. He ran his gaze around the makeshift laboratory—over vats and wires, semi-automatic weapons piled on the tables, oil drums bearing the yellow nuclear sign.
But no one else was in the room. It was him against Halabi.
And if Halabi won, Zoe would die.
He whipped his gaze back to Zoe, steeling himself against the savage blast of fury incinerating his restraint. He had to stay calm, do this right. He couldn’t fail her now.
“I said to drop it,” Halabi repeated.
“Don’t do it.” Zoe gasped. “He’ll kill you. He’ll kill everyone. You have to stop—”
“Shut up!” The terrorist jerked on her throat, making her face red, but his eyes didn’t waver from Coop’s. “Put the weapon down now.”
Coop’s vision hazed, tunneling in on the man who threatened Zoe. Feigning a calmness he didn’t feel, he spread his hands and stooped down, as if to drop his gun. The terrorist’s eyes tracked the move.
Suddenly Zoe lunged, knocking her captor’s arm loose, slipping out of the line of fire. Coop took the shot.
Before Halabi even hit the ground, Coop raced to Zoe, hauled her upright, and whirled her away. He spared a glance at the dead terrorist, then continued with Zoe toward the door.
“How many men are there?” he demanded.
“Three, I think.” Her voice was muffled against his chest.
He paused in the doorway and pulled out his radio. “We’re coming out the back. I’ve got Zoe. I think we got all the men, but do a sweep.”
He crushed her to him, overwhelmed with emotions, and murmured into her hair. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Not willing to break contact for even a second, he half dragged her out the side door. They stepped into the sunshine, and he blinked at the sudden crowd. An FBI helicopter thundered overhead. Police swarmed the surrounding area, along with a SWAT team and the FBI. Dozens of emergency vehicles filled the roads.
Needing privacy, he whisked her away from the building, away from the bodies near the door, away from the site of the terror and fear. Then he stopped, still holding her, and closed his eyes, unable to let her go. He’d nearly lost her. That had been too damned close. The sight of Zoe with a gun to her head would terrify him until the day he died.
“Are you all right?” he finally asked.
Squeezing his waist tighter, she nodded against his chest. “I’m so glad you came.”
“Yeah.” His throat thick with roiling emotions, he tucked her head against his shoulder, moisture burning behind his eyes. He never wanted to let her go.
“Coop.” Her tone
turned urgent, and she lifted her head. “Peter Ruegg. He was the traitor. And my grandfather—”
“He’s dead, too, Zoe. I’m sorry.”
She nodded, her eyes bright with tears, her full lips trembling. “He grabbed the flash drive and ran. I couldn’t stop him.”
“I know.” Still shaking, he pulled her even closer, stroking her hair, her shoulders, her back. Paramedics ran past, carrying stretchers. Police shouted orders into their radios, and a hazmat team pulled up. The helicopter continued circling overhead, the deep reverberation from its rotors vibrating the ground. But Coop’s world centered on the woman he loved, sheltering her soft, warm, live body, unable to loosen his hold.
After an eternity, she shuddered and raised her head. His heart heavy with emotions, he brushed her bottom lip with his thumb, wiped the streaks of tears from her cheeks.
Then a shadow flickered through her eyes, and he knew she’d remembered his lies. She lowered her arms, and her suddenly wounded eyes slid away. “Zoe…”
“Let’s not talk about it, all right? I can’t think right now. I’m too exhausted. Let’s—”
A man wearing an FBI T-shirt strode up and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we need to talk to you both. And, Ms. Wilkinson, they want to take you to the hospital to check you out.”
She stepped farther from Coop and hugged her arms. “All right. I’ll be right there.” The man walked off, and she turned to Coop again. “Look, Coop, I—”
“Go ahead. I’ll catch up with you later. I need to talk to Rider and make sure that we’re squared away.”
Her gaze stayed on his for several heartbeats. And a wealth of yearnings swirled inside him, a profound pang of longing for all that he’d lost. She nodded, turned away.
But then he remembered the flash drive. “Zoe, wait.”
She hesitated, looked back. He pulled the flash drive from his pocket and held it out. “Your grandfather had it. I’m not going to tell anyone I found it. You can do whatever you think is right.”
She took the flash drive, and her voice turned soft. “Thank you, Coop. That means a lot.”
He stayed rooted in place as she walked to the waiting men. And for the first time he noticed the ropes still tied on her wrists, the blood smeared on her shorts and arms.
He closed his eyes. She was so brave. And he’d failed her on every count. He’d deceived her, allowed those kidnappers near her, almost let her die.
He forced himself to turn around and stride away, his throat wedged tight with regrets, guilt and remorse wrenching his chest. She was right to despise him. She deserved a better man than him.
But it was killing him to let her go.
Getting over Zoe had been hell the first time. But that old pain paled to the agony he suffered now.
Three days after he’d last seen her, Coop raced through the desert on his rented Harley, the throttle opened full bore, the engine thundering at top speed. But no ride, no matter how fast, banished the emptiness she’d left inside.
He missed her. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. She plagued his dreams and thoughts. He even suffered from erotic hallucinations. He kept hearing her throaty voice in his head, smelling her scent in the air—tempting him to track her down and plead for another chance.
But he couldn’t do it. No matter how much he longed to hold her, no matter how hollow the void in his life, he had to do what was best for her—and leave her alone.
Trying not to dwell on that thought, he sped down the dusty road toward Pedro’s airstrip, making the desert rush past in a blur. Maybe he couldn’t have Zoe, but he had reconciled part of his past. He’d driven through his old hometown that morning—cruising the empty streets, past the run-down school, through the trailer park where he’d grown up. The town had looked the same but smaller, shabbier, far less formidable. It was just a dusty desert town with no power to hurt him now.
Time had marched on.
So, it seemed, had he.
And now he had one final visit to make before he shipped back to his unit. He neared the entrance to the airstrip and caught sight of Pedro standing beside the flight shack, wearing his familiar coveralls, his hand raised to block the sun. And a sudden warmth curled around Coop’s heart. Damn, but he’d missed that man.
He downshifted, drove past the trailer to the flight shack, then killed the Harley’s engine and got off.
“Well, look what the gato dragged in,” Pedro said. His leathered face wreathed into a smile as he strode toward Coop, his callused grip strong as he clasped his hand.
“Pedro.” A sudden lump lodged in his throat. “It’s good to see you.”
Pedro had never been tall—more wiry than big—but his body seemed frailer now, thinner, and that gave Coop a jolt. Pedro had always seemed indestructible to him, larger than life. But Pedro had to be nearing seventy, and the years had done more than whiten his hair.
“Come on in, have a cerveza,” Pedro said. “I want to hear about that case of yours.”
“And I heard they put you up in a fancy spa. What did you do all day, have facials?”
Pedro laughed, his sun-weathered face wrinkling even more. “Nah, they stuck me in a cabin in the woods, of all the damned things. I was glad to get back here to the desert where I can breathe. Although with the police crawling around and asking questions, I haven’t had much peace.”
Coop followed him into the trailer, shaking his head. Leave it to Pedro to prefer this desolate place. Coop had spent lonely weeks out here watching his sweat drip and he’d nearly lost his mind. He didn’t know how Pedro had withstood it for years.
He slid into the faded bench seat at the tiny table as Pedro pulled out the beer. And he wondered how many times they’d sat together at this table, sharing a beer, talking about planes, while the air conditioner rattled behind them, belching out lukewarm air.
Pedro brought over the bottles, and Coop took a swallow of beer, studying the older man. Pedro’s brown eyes were still sharp, but age spots darkened his hands and face now, more proof of his advancing years.
And a funny, achy feeling unfolded in his chest. It hurt to think of Pedro getting old.
“So let’s hear it,” Pedro prompted.
Coop nodded and filled him in, wrapping up the story on his second beer. “Sorry about the crashed plane,” he added. “That dead-stick landing was rough.”
Pedro waved his hand. “The government’s promised to buy me a new one. I’m thinking of holding out for a Hornet like you fly.”
Coop smiled, the restless need to push the limits rising inside. “They’re amazing machines. The Gs they pull can blow your scalp off.”
Pedro sat back, his eyes glimmering with pride. “If anyone can handle one, it’s you. You’re a good pilot, best I’ve ever seen.”
Coop’s heart rolled at the praise. Pedro had been his role model, a surrogate father, the only man he’d ever wanted to please. And to know that he’d made him proud… He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t find the words.
“So what’s next?” Pedro asked, steering the conversation to safer ground.
He drank his beer, collected his thoughts. “I head back to my carrier squadron in a couple of days. Navy Intelligence wants to talk to me again before I go. They’re still trying to figure out if anyone besides Ruegg was involved.”
“And Zoe?”
His heart thudded. “What about her?”
Pedro shrugged. “None of my business, I guess. But you always felt like a son to me.”
Coop’s throat crowded with emotions. He searched for the proper words, knowing they’d never come close to all he needed to say. “I never told you…I should have. I don’t know what I would have done without you. You changed my life. You know that, right?”
“I know.” Pedro’s voice was subdued. And for a long time, neither spoke. Coop polished off his beer, grateful for this man’s influence on his life.
“I almost got married once,” Pedro said.
C
oop raised his eyebrows. “Yeah? You never told me that.”
Pedro dipped his head. “Lupe. Man, she was something. Funny, warm… But I was too busy chasing my career. I wouldn’t compromise, wouldn’t bend, didn’t want to give anything up. My parents were farmworkers, migrants, and I was determined to make it big.”
His eyes turned sharp. “I’ve always regretted it. That career doesn’t keep me company now. I don’t want you to make the same mistake.”
Coop’s heart squeezed. “It’s not the same.”
“Sure it is.”
He shook his head. “Zoe deserves something different, someone better. She’s brilliant. You should have seen her at work on that flash drive.”
“Did you give her a choice?”
He didn’t have to. He’d seen the hurt his lies had caused.
Not wanting to continue down that track, he rose, took the empty beer bottles to the sink, and picked up the flight bag he’d left behind. “Listen, Pedro. I need to go. I’ve got that appointment with Navy Intelligence this afternoon.”
“Sure.” Pedro rose and led the way outside. Coop stepped off the stoop, then squinted in the sunshine blazing off the desert floor as a turkey vulture soared silently by. And a sudden flashback to Zoe trying to take off in the Cessna made him smile.
He strapped his flight bag on the back of the Harley and straddled the bike, cranking the key to fire it up. He wouldn’t bother with the helmet until he hit the paved roads.
“I’ll come back to visit before I ship out,” he promised.
“You do that.”
They gazed at each other for a moment. A tumbleweed rolled past. The hot wind ruffled his hair. And that dull ache rose to his chest again, the feeling of loss.
“Don’t make my mistake,” Pedro said. “Don’t be an idiota. Stop running away before it’s too late.”
Coop kicked into gear, wheeled the Harley around, pausing at the split rail fence Zoe had knocked down. He glanced back at Pedro. The old man lifted his hand, his sun-beaten figure framed by miles of sand.