by Ronie Kendig
“Yes,” Téya lied—though it wasn’t a whole lie. David said they would get married. She was his fiancée, of sorts. Besides, she knew the nurse wouldn’t talk to her otherwise. She glanced at David, his wavy black hair framing his handsome face. “He’s sleeping. Is that common with a leg injury?”
“There are his ribs, of course,” the nurse said as she used a stylus to enter his vitals. “But it’s his lung that’s giving him fits. We upped his pain meds so he could rest. He hasn’t slept much since being admitted.”
“Lung?”
The nurse nodded, frowning.
Right. Téya should’ve known about the lung—whatever it was. “Sorry. I just thought he was improving.”
The nurse tidied his blanket as she bobbed her head toward the leg in traction. “His leg is doing better than expected.” With a smile, she lifted her tablet. “I’ll leave you now.”
As she watched the door swing shut, Téya’s fingers found David’s. She lowered herself to the plastic chair beside the bed, her forearms stretched over the gray blanket as she lifted his hand to her cheek. “You’re the best man I’ve ever known….” And yet, she still had doubts that even with all his firm beliefs in God and the Bible that he could forgive what she’d done. He’d overlook her leaving him, probably, but killing children?
Grief-stricken, she pressed his hand to her forehead. I want it back. All of it. Innocence. My life with you…
The tougher side of her, the side that had seen war, fought terrorists, told her to gut it up. Voices outside snagged her attention. She spotted David’s brother coming down the hall. On her feet, Téya squeezed David’s hand one last time. “I will be back.”
With that, she ducked out of the room and headed to the left, sliding on a baseball cap. Three lefts landed her at the elevator. She pushed the button, ear trained on the conversation down the hall.
“Family?”
Téya’s pulse jammed at the words David’s brother spoke.
“I’m the only family here right now.”
“I’m sorry. The young woman said she was family.”
The doors hissed open and Téya lunged at the escape. Inside, she pressed the LL button and then hit DOOR CLOSE. It wasn’t closing. She hit it again as another woman stepped in, punching the basement button.
As the doors closed, a man rushed into the steel trap. At least it wasn’t David’s brother. She jabbed the button again. Just as the two steel panels severed her view, she noted a blur of dark clothing. That was David’s brother.
With a quiet expel of breath, she felt something…strange. Wrong. Heat spilled down her neck. The man who joined her. She glanced back at him. “What floor?”
Dark eyes flicked to hers. “Lobby. Thanks.”
Right. Same floor. He had dark eyes, but the nonchalance in his expression…it seemed forced. Or fake. Something.
Feeling that tingling sensation of danger prickling the back of her neck smacked Téya with a heady dose of realization. You are really stupid. Running from Trace and Boone, the two men most able and willing to protect her sorry self.
When the doors slid open, Téya pressed the button to hold them open and smiled at the man. “Go ahead.”
After a curt nod, he exited and banked left.
She waited a few seconds then stepped into the lobby. A quick glance to her left revealed him standing at the information desk, talking to one of the volunteers. Téya quickly went right and ducked out the side door. With a determined step, she made her way toward the truck she’d hot-wired. Breathing came a little easier as she put one more parking row behind her. More distance between her and the hospital. She used the reflective surfaces of vehicles to verify she was alone. She turned toward the truck and—
Crunch.
A weight clamped onto her shoulder.
Téya swung around, hooking her left arm over his, making it impossible for him to get away as she hauled the heel of her right hand into the side of his neck. He stumbled, disoriented. Unwilling to give him a second to regain his balance and determination, she laced her fingers around his neck and yanked him toward her, pinning him as she thrust her knee into his groin.
With a hard shove, she sent him stumbling backward, giving herself an escape. Sprinted toward her truck.
A shot cracked the quiet day. Sparks flew off the truck. Téya ducked. She knew hot-wiring the truck would give the guy too much time to take her out. She had to do it first—neutralize the target.
Weight plowed into her. Shoved her into the window frame of the door.
Pain exploded along her cheekbone. The man threw her around, slamming her spine against the truck. His forearm jammed against her throat, he brought up a weapon.
Despite her instinct to protect her throat, she stabbed her flatted hand into his side.
He curled in on the spot, responding to the pain and moving his arm.
Knowing he’d correct his mistake quickly, she used his momentary disorientation against him. She drove a hard right hook into his temple.
But he caught it. Blocked and threw an undercut into her stomach.
Shouts echoed in the distance, but no way she’d look away from this guy. He meant to kill her. She wasn’t going to become a body in a morgue. Not like Jessie and Candice.
The thoughts vaulted adrenaline through her veins.
With a growl, she curled her hand into a fist, forefinger knuckle aimed out. She drove it hard into the spot just below where his ribs met. She hit him again. And again. Determined to nail his solar plexus.
He punched her head, knocking her sideways.
Recovered, Téya threw a jab for a liver shot.
The man crumpled with a hideous groan.
Téya threw herself into the truck. Hot-wired it. Slammed it into gear and punched it forward. The door flapped open. She reached for it. Red-hot pain exploded through her side. Struggling against the fire in her side, she tugged the door shut. Shoe against the gas pedal. Pealed through the parking lot. Vaulted onto the street. She narrowly slid through a yellow light. Gunned it for the highway. Had to get back…
She hissed as her hand clamped over the side where sticky warmth oozed out.
Trace is going to kill me.
Annie
Lucketts, Virginia
10 May – 1800 Hours
“Any word on Téya?”
“Negative,” Boone said as he studied printouts Houston created from the data wall they’d taken from Jessie’s apartment.
Annie stood over him, hands braced on her hips. “Aren’t we doing anything to find her?”
“Like what?” Boone flipped a page, his gaze never leaving the information. When she didn’t reply, he finally looked up. Set aside the stapled stack and leaned back, holding his hands out to the side. “She wants to flee, then she flees. I can’t stop her, nor can I predict where she’s going.”
“I can.” Annie crossed over to the dais and tapped a picture.
Boone shook his head. “She wouldn’t be stupid enough to go there.”
“It’s not about stupidity,” Annie said, folding her arms. “It’s about her need to protect someone she cares about.”
Boone nodded to Houston, apparently relaying a silent signal or message because the guy’s fingers flew over the keyboard.
“You protect them by staying away.” Trace entered the room, looking like a swift-moving storm. “That’s how you show your concern for them.” Annie’s heart thumped a little harder. “Is that how it works?”
Trace gave her a look, one she knew all too well. One she’d always hated. “See, to normal people, you show your love and concern by being there, by supporting them through the bad times, by doing everything you can to make sure they aren’t harmed.”
“It’d be nice to live in a normal world,” Trace said, “but we are immersed in one of conflict and combat. You signed on the dotted line, or have you forgotten?”
Blast the man! “Yes, I did. Téya did. But Sam and David didn’t!”
“S
am?” Trace’s expression cut through Annie’s defenses. “Is there something we need to know?”
“You need to know that while we might be soldiers, we’re also women. We fight hard and we don’t give up, but we also don’t abandon those we love.”
“Are you in communication with Sam?”
Annie closed her eyes and snorted. “This has nothing to do with Sam. This is me explaining that Téya had good reason to go to David.”
“No,” Trace said, stalking away. “No reason is good enough to draw more attention and harm to an innocent civilian. And if she’s there, that’s what she’s done.” His expression went dark. “How do you think she’ll live with it if, by visiting him, she gets him killed?”
Annie knew in a black-and-white world like the one Trace and Boone lived in, that hypothetical question made sense. But why couldn’t he see or understand what it was like from their perspective? “Our entire lives were upended. Ripped from us. Again.”
He gave a curt nod. “Noted. But you want to keep living. You want those you love and care about to keep living, right?”
Annie studied the floor, wishing—just for once—Trace would get it. That he’d understand where they were coming from. “We’re not wired like you.”
“Look,” he said, coming closer. “I get it. I know what you’re thinking. Probably what you’re feeling, but if you’re going to make it, if you’re going to survive this very personal attack against you three, then you have to stop thinking with your heart. You have to think strategy.”
When she looked up at the board, she saw Sam’s name. Wondered what he’d say. Probably exactly what Trace said.
“Annie,” he said, his voice low and close. “We aren’t trying to cow you into this. We’re trying to solve the puzzle, stop this from becoming a massacre.”
She bobbed her head, covering her mouth. “I know,” she whispered, feeling raw. “It’s just—”
“Got her!” Houston’s proclamation severed the conversation. “Oh, crap.”
Just like that, Trace was all business. “What? What’ve you got?”
“She’s in trouble…oh man.” Houston clicked a few buttons, and what he found splashed on the full-wall screen.
Grainy footage, a bit hard to take in with the size covering the whole back side of the dais. Téya running across a parking lot. Getting into a scrap with a man. Getting free and hopping in the truck.
“She got away,” Annie said, an acute sense of relief rushing through her body.
“Not quite,” Houston said. “Traffic cams. Look.”
The footage showed Téya in the blue and silver Ford truck cruising along the highway. Then a black sedan racing up behind her.
“When was that?” Trace demanded.
“Right now. Traffic cams are live,” Houston said.
“I want you to erase whatever trail of hers can be found. There can be no record of Téya being there. Got it?”
Houston bobbed his head, his golden-brown nest of curls wagging beneath the fluorescents. “Yep. Got it.”
Hurrying toward the door, Trace called, “Feed that to my phone.” Then he looked toward his buddy. “Boone.”
“Right behind you.”
Annie started for the door to join them.
“No.” Trace stopped at the door, accessing the security panel. “Stay here.” He barked that at her as if she were a dog. Trace met her gaze. “Do we hand them two Zulu members?”
Why did he always have to make sense? And why did he always know what she was thinking?
Before she could respond, give him a piece of her mind, he was out the door.
“Things haven’t changed much between you two, have they?” Boone quipped.
“I’ve changed plenty,” Annie bit back. “It’s him, stuck in his ways, who hasn’t changed.”
Boone chuckled. “Men rarely do.” And he was gone.
Boone
In his Raptor, Boone barreled out of Virginia and headed north. It only took ten minutes to catch up with Trace. Using his Bluetooth, he called him.
“Houston has them passing York now,” Trace said without introduction. “You have eyes on them yet?”
“Not yet. Then again, some of those areas are right through towns and roundabouts, so speed is limited. We should intercept them around Gettysburg.”
“Tire spikes.”
“Too much traffic. Do a PIT maneuver.”
Boone nodded to himself. “Copy that.”
“I’ll do the PIT. You get Téya.”
The hour drive to Gettysburg did nothing but ramp up Boone’s nerves. He verified with Houston that, thanks to traffic and small-town congestion, Téya and her troublemaker were still north of him and Trace. He took an overpass and waited on the southbound on-ramp behind Trace.
“Okay, guys,” Houston said in a distracted voice, no doubt watching the satellite feed. “They’re about two minutes out.”
Trace’s car pulled back onto the road, and Boone followed suit. They took up a lazy speed, watching their rearview mirrors.
A few seconds after they’d merged into the light traffic, Boone saw his dad’s old pickup barreling for all it was worth down 30. Right behind it, a dark sedan. Nerves thrumming, he waited. Waited…as the old Ford grew closer.
“Trace,” Boone said, watching the rearview and noting the swirl of blue and red. “They’ve got company.”
“Copy. I’ll handle him if needed,” Trace said. “Just get her home.”
Grinning, Boone said, “Roger that.”
Téya roared past them just then. Not two seconds later, the black sedan. Immediately, Trace interjected himself and Boone followed. The whorp-whorp of the sirens told them the cop wasn’t happy. But it was for his own good. Boone slowed, pulling even with a red Prius chugging along in the right-hand lane, effectively blocking them. He toed his brake, watching Trace make his move.
Trace pulled his vehicle alongside the black sedan so that his front wheels were aligned with the rear of the guy’s car. Gently, he made contact. Then a sharp turn into the guy’s car.
The black sedan’s tires lost traction. Started to skid.
Trace eased his vehicle to the right, continuing in the direction he’d taken for the pursuit intervention technique.
Swerving around the black sedan, Boone watched it overcorrect. “Idiot.”
The car went airborne. Flipped once…twice.. three times like a freaking gymnast. It slammed with a sickening crunch-thud into a cement construction barrier. The cruiser angled toward the accident, no doubt a higher duty to check for injuries.
With the way the car wrapped around that cement, the cop would need a body bag. Boone accelerated and pulled in behind Téya, flashing his lights. “We’re clear, but the cop probably got my license.”
Téya’s vehicle swerved. She corrected. A few seconds later, she was veering off again.
“I’m on the access road. I’ll be behind you in five. Just make sure she gets home.”
“Roger that… I think something’s wrong with Téya.” Boone scowled as her car almost left the road. He revved the engine and pulled alongside her. He glanced over into the truck and saw blood smeared over her face. Alarm shot through him. Motioning for her to pull over, he relayed the information to Trace.
“I’m coming up on you now.”
Boone followed Téya off the highway and onto a service road. She smartly pulled onto a dusty, rural road before stopping. He rammed his truck into PARK and flung himself out of the truck.
At her door, he yanked it open.
Téya grimaced at him, holding her side.
“What happened?”
“He shot me,” she said, her words thick. “At the hospital.”
“That was two hours ago!”
“Cha-ching! The man can count,” she said, a sheen covering her face. “It’s not bad, but it hurts.”
Trace joined them.
Téya flinched at the sight of Trace. “Here to bawl me out?”
“You don�
��t know the half of it,” Trace said before tapping Boone’s shoulder. “Pack the wound and let’s get moving. It’s getting dark, so we have less chance of being seen. Stick to the speed limit.”
Boone retrieved a first aid kit from his truck and pressed gauze into Téya’s wound before helping her out of the truck. Arm hooked over his shoulder, she stumbled back to his vehicle. Dusk bathed them in an amber glow as they pulled back onto the service road, then the highway, and headed south toward Virginia.
“He was there,” Téya said. “Right there, waiting for me.”
Boone nodded, hearing what she wasn’t saying. They knew enough about her to know where to hit. To predict her moves. “Now you know why Trace said to stay at the bunker.”
“Just had to see him.”
“Was that visual confirmation worth almost dying for?” Boone hated to be tough on her, but she needed to wake up. “Or getting him killed?”
Tears slipped down Téya’s cheeks.
Trace
Fort Belvoir, Virginia
11 May – 1340 Hours
“I’m not surprised you called.”
Trace settled into the seat at the white-draped table, shifting his gaze around the high-class restaurant. “They are right on us. I need help to stop this. To end it.”
General Haym Solomon nodded as the waiter delivered a glass of water then took his order. “And he’ll have the same.”
Trace wasn’t hungry, but there was no use arguing with the general. “Sir—”
“Relax, relax. You’ll ruin your digestion.”
“It’s already ruined. They nearly killed Two.”
Haym scowled. “I thought you had Two.”
He’d stepped right into that. “She’s struggling with the situation. She was very close to an Amish farmer who almost died because of her.”
“Aren’t they all farmers?”
Shoulders deflating, Trace huffed. Why wasn’t the general taking this seriously? “Sir, I’m not sure you understand.”
Haym’s expression hardened. “I understand far more than you can imagine, Colonel.”
Put in his place, Trace lowered his head and chose his next course of conversation. How to impress upon the general that this had to end. They needed a break. More assets. More intelligence behind this.