by Ronie Kendig
A familiar form strode toward her, and Frankie quickly closed the open files on her laptop as he slid into the seat across from her. “Varden.”
“A bit of unfortunate luck with Caliguari, I hear.” The beady eyes reminded her of dials on a laser scope, adjusting, calculating for a precise hit.
“So it seems.” No way would she let him know how much this mess affected her.
“I think we hit a sweet spot if that drew Weston out.”
Keeping her face neutral, she processed his belief that the colonel was behind the hit on Sam Caliguari.
“Did you talk to Caliguari before they took him?”
Frankie turned the silver fashion ring on her thumb as she considered the man. She’d been a fool years ago to find Varden attractive. It wasn’t his looks—tall, dark, not-so-handsome. It was his power that had drawn her like a moth to the flame. And telling him what Sam said wouldn’t compromise anything. At least, she didn’t think so.
“You’re wondering if you can trust me,” Varden said, leaning on the table with his forearms.
“We were all trained to ask that question, often and repeatedly with every target and asset,” Frankie said.
“You have to imagine I know more than you.”
“You’d like me to imagine that.” Frankie shifted in her seat, pushing into the neutral space he was already invading. “But you came to me, Varden. You sent me after Sam.” Why? What had he hoped to accomplish with that? “Why didn’t you go yourself?”
“The man I work for is too powerful and in too delicate a situation to dirty his hands.”
“Ha.” Frankie scoffed and dropped back against her seat. “Lazy answer. And a lie.”
Those black eyes probed her. His lips went flat and his brows tugged together.
Good. About time she’d managed to tick him off. He’d done that to her more than once in the years they worked together.
“What do you want?” Varden asked.
Frankie’s heart flipped. “Me?” She closed her laptop and folded her arms over it. “Me? I don’t want anything except the truth about what happened in Misrata. You knew that the day you had me shut down and turned out.”
Varden glanced to the side as a bubble of laughter erupted near the coffee bar. He was annoyed to say the least—with the noise, with her. Maybe even with Misrata. Or Trace Weston. “I can guide you to the information, but I can’t give it to you.”
Well, that was juicy. “Why?” She had the good sense and insatiable nature to question everything.
“I have another name for you.”
Frankie arched an eyebrow and huffed. “You gave me Sam, and he knew nothing.”
“He knows more than he realizes.”
“Doesn’t matter now, does it?”
“Find Boone Ramage.” He tapped the table. “Find him and you find a tenable trail that will lead you right back to Weston and this mess.”
“Are you—” Frankie bit down on the tongue-lashing she wanted to unleash. She’d had Boone on her radar since day one. “He’s a dead end, Varden. I’ve tried—”
“Seems to me you talked to a good-looking EMT in Lucketts.”
Unease slithered through Frankie’s belly. She should know better than to be surprised by anything Varden said or did. But she suddenly felt like she had strings attached to her arms and legs and should start talking to a cricket.
“D’you catch his name?”
She hadn’t. At the time, it hadn’t been important.
Varden winked. “See you around, beautiful.”
As he strutted out of the coffee shop, Frankie grew sick to her stomach. Varden had said her father shut down her life, but she wondered now if the culprit behind all that was in fact Varden and his overlord. She also knew in that instant that they’d been following her, tapping her phones, and had probably bugged her apartment, too.
She had this crazy, uncontrollable urge to take a stainless steel pad and scrub her body down in a hot shower. They’d tagged her. Somehow they tagged her and were monitoring her every move.
Annie
Salamina, Greece
2 June – 0115 Hours EEST
Annie cursed herself for not thinking to wrap her feet in something protective before escaping the storage area. Forest litter and debris dug into her soles as she pushed up the slope. Though not a steep grade, after the night’s adventures, the hill was enough to sap the remnants of her strength. But she’d been hiking for well over fifteen minutes. Pressed against a trunk, she took a breather and glanced back through the trees.
She’d blown a propane tank and it’d lit up the night like Fourth of July in Manson. When the tank detonated, ladies had screamed and rushed in all directions. Annie seized that chaos and sprinted around the terrace, clinging to the javelin-shaped shrubs and ornamental hedges to get out of sight. At most, she knew she’d only have a handful of minutes before they realized she’d escaped.
Though the fire still raged and spread to one level of the home, the flames looked small. Like a hearth fire instead of a blaze. She regretted that it had done so much damage to the property. That hadn’t been her intention.
Distant but strange, a sound filtered through the trees, tickling her awareness. Leaves rustled. The fingers of the branches seemingly brushing the sound closer. And then it hit her—dogs. Barking. Howling.
Hauling in a panicked breath, Annie shoved onward. Where the heck did they get dogs? Twigs and rocks pocked the soft pads of her feet. She plunged through the trees, catching the trunks and using them to propel her onward. Though she ran and pushed herself, she wanted to collapse. Give up. The fight for her life had taken a ridiculous turn. In the mountains…in Greece…barefoot.
Only you, Annie. Only you.
If she could find a creek or small river or lake, she might lose the dogs. But the chances of that were slim. What other recourse did she have? She’d seen the impressive snouts of tracking dogs work in Iraq and Afghanistan with the military working dogs. She’d seen a gorgeous Belgian Malinois catch the scent of explosives buried a couple of feet deep and save an entire unit. How was she supposed to evade the nose that knows?
Legs weak, she stumbled. Pitched forward into the grass and rocks. Just want to sit…for a minute. She slumped against the ground, breathing hard, her pulse whooshing across her eardrums.
Keep going. She had to keep going.
Annie pushed herself up.
A bark trumpeted success. He was close! Too close.
Tripping over a gnarly root system, Annie whimpered. Pushing up on all fours, she glanced over her shoulder. Saw something moving through the dark shadows. Dogs. They were right on her.
On her feet again, she ran. Dodged fallen trees. Avoided root systems. Rocks that threatened to snap her ankle.
But she heard them. Heard the dogs’ barking and snapping. She looked back. Saw them. Springers. Labs.
Panic stole her breath.
A dog flew from the side, a blur of glowing eyes and fangs. She scrabbled backward, terror ripping through her as the powerful jaws dived at her.
A blaze of fire and torment tore through Annie’s right ankle. She cried out and kicked at the dog, whose thousand pounds of jaw pressure crunched against her flesh and dug into her bone. Hot tears streaked down her face, the agony numbing her brain, shutting her down.
Annie fell backward, clamping her teeth against a primal scream. Her fingers fell against something cold and hard. She glanced through tear-blurred eyes and spotted a hefty rock.
Bite intact, the dog growled and jerked.
Tearing the muscle more.
But the beast wasn’t trying to eat her. His mission was to take her down until his master arrived. Sorry. Not waiting.
She brought the rock down against the dog’s snout.
He yelped but didn’t release.
Tenacious bugger. She hit him again. This time, she must’ve nailed him right. He yelped and broke away. Annie jerked her mangled foot toward her, grinding her teeth against
the agony.
To her surprise, the dogs broke off. Sprinted away from her.
She didn’t know what happened, but she was glad for it. Glad for the relief. Reaching down to the hem of her navy-blue dress, she searched for a frayed section. Caught one. And tore. Ripped a length off. Adrenaline must be thick in her blood right now, because she almost couldn’t feel what had to be agonizing pain in her ankle.
Bending over, she wrapped the silk fabric around her leg a few times. Growling through the pain, she tied the ends, the final cinch exploding a searing pain. Her stomach heaved, bile rising against the torment.
Though she worked to calm her body, resist the bile, it surged. Annie threw herself to the side and retched.
Swiping her mouth with the back of her bloodied hand, Annie whimpered. God, I have nothing left. Please, I need… “Trace,” she whispered.
The thought of him—powerful, confident him—filled her mind. Nine years her senior, he’d had this magnetism that had drawn her right out of boot camp. She’d seen him at Bagram over the months he worked with Special Forces Command. She’d watched him as he hung out at the USO with his buddies. Laughing. But when he wasn’t, he was intense. Handsome.
Reminded Annie of her older brother, who’d paid the ultimate sacrifice for his country the year before she joined.
But that was then. This was now. Trace…he’d cut her heart out and served it up with a fresh batch of loyalty to their country.
She dug her fingers into the ground, forcing herself to muster the strength and courage to work around the pain and fatigue, to get on her feet and get moving, to prove to Trace she didn’t need him. She would seriously be talking to him about hazardous duty pay.
Using the tree, she dragged herself up onto her feet, unable to put pressure on her right ankle. Testing it only threatened her waves of sickening bile.
The resonant sound of an inbound chopper stilled her. Drew her gaze to the sky. She couldn’t see past the canopy, and she could only pray they couldn’t see her. She’d need to hide. Find shelter for the rest of the night.
Téya
Athens, Greece
2 June – 0255 Hours EEST
Téya slipped into the hotel room, glancing around. A single lamp on a sofa table cast warm light over the space. Houston’s computers hummed quietly, spotlighted by a swing-arm lamp. Odd that he wasn’t sleeping near his systems the way he normally did.
And that Trace and Boone weren’t around.
“It’s too quiet,” Noodle whispered, exhaustion dripping through her words.
Téya lifted her weapon and motioned Noodle toward the room they’d shared with Annie while she went to the men’s suite. The door stood ajar and the room dark, empty. Then light skidded out between the bottom of the door and the carpet.
The door opened.
Téya snapped the weapon up.
Houston stepped out, straightening his shirt. When he looked up, he let out a strangled cry that sounded like someone wringing a cat’s neck.
“Houston,” Téya breathed, lowering the gun. “Where is everyone?”
He shook a finger at the weapon. “Those things kill people, you know.” Houston moved past her back to the main room. “And the others are trying to find Annie.”
“Annie?” Stuffing the gun in the holster at the small of her back, Téya followed him. “What happened?”
He grabbed a bag of M&M’s Salty and Sweet from the desk and dropped into his chair. “They took her right out from under Trace’s nose.”
Téya’s irritation at his tone grated on her. “You really need to grow some respect for our commander.”
“Sorry.” He popped some pieces into his mouth and chewed. “He’s my boss, not my commander. And he was seriously ticked. Of course, things went downhill when they brought the Navy SEAL here.” Houston shook his head, his springy curls catching the light. “I tried to tell them that was a bad idea, but do you think they listen to me?”
Nuala joined them. “What SEAL?”
“The SEAL, the one Annie hooked up with. You know—Sam Cal-something.”
Téya widened her eyes, glancing at Noodle. Things had really turned upside down since they’d entered the slums.
“And the commander wasn’t happy that you weren’t back.”
“We weren’t happy,” Noodle said as she took a seat beside Houston and reached for his bag of Salty & Sweet mix.
Houston paused, mid-chew, to watch her, and Téya couldn’t help but notice a bit of awe in his expression.
“How long has Annie been missing?”
Houston grinned as he took back his bag, dumped out a handful, then held out the bag for Noodle to have more. Again with a goofy grin.
“Houston.” Téya’s exhaustion brought out the worst in her. She snapped her fingers. “Annie.”
Houston blinked. “Right.” Shifted in his chair. “What?” His face had gone crimson, but he still managed to steal another look at Nuala.
“You realize she can take your head off from a mile away with a single shot, right?” Téya couldn’t resist teasing the geek.
Houston frowned at Téya. “You know that’s not funny, threatening people with sniper shots to the head just because I can appreciate beauty.”
“Appreciate is one thing, dear geek,” Téya said as she leaned over his shoulder. “Going full-out fan-boy is another. Now.” She squeezed his shoulder. “Annie?”
“Annie’s been missing since 1730 hours,” he said, all business and glaring at her. “About an hour ago, an explosion at the same estate made the news. Trace, Boone, and the SEAL are headed out to meet up with a contact who is going to chopper them in and see if they can find Annie.” His nostrils flared. “Anything else, Your Highness?”
Amused, Téya met Nuala’s smile with one of her own. “That’s perfect, Houston. Now, we have no problem.”
“Except that you’re lame.”
Téya frowned at him.
“That joke. It’s lame. I hear it all the time. It’s old. Burnt to a crisp.”
Nuala stood, bent toward Houston, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “G’night, Houston.”
“Okay, now that was just…unfair.”
Nuala stood over him. “Why?”
“You’re mocking me. That kiss meant nothing to you.”
“Oh, you’re wrong,” Noodle said. “It was done with my sincerest thanks.”
Hanging his head dramatically, he waved them away. “Go, go. ‘You mock my pain.’ ”
Noodle laughed as she backstepped toward their suite. “‘Life is pain, Highness.’”
Houston’s face lit up. “Be still my beating heart—a woman who knows the classics.”
Téya groaned. She was missing something but she didn’t want to know what. “Noodle, let’s go to bed. We need an early start.”
“Yeah,” Houston said, his expression suddenly very serious. “Where exactly are you going? I’ve got orders.” His jaw went slack. “Trace is going to kill me.” He lifted the phone. Dialed. “Two and Six arrived safe.” Houston nodded. “Will do.” He hung up. “Commander says to stay put till they get back.”
Téya saluted and entered the suite, closing the door behind them.
“Just let me get three hours,” Nuala said as she dropped on the bed.
With a smile, Téya stretched out on the other full-size mattress, grateful Nuala knew there wasn’t a prayer Téya intended to stay put. As she stretched her arm over her face to cover her eyes, she caught sight of the burn. When they got stateside, she’d go to a doctor, see if they could clean up the skin so it wasn’t so obviously a brand.
Like a predator, sleep dug its long, sharp talons into her mind and dragged Téya from consciousness. Images of fires and children and the slums and burning pain in her hand, then staring at the business end of The Turk’s weapon, his brown-green eyes glinting in dark satisfaction that he’d found her. And now, now he’d kill her.
He touched her shoulder.
Téya grabbed it, twis
ted the wrist and swung her opposite arm up and over, pinning them.
“Ow!”
Téya blinked, the bedroom coming into focus and the nightmares slipping away, as she found herself holding Houston’s arm. She shoved him away, furious. “Why are you in here?”
Rubbing his arm, Houston scowled. “You have issues, Two.”
“My name is Téya. Why are you in our room?”
He cast a glance toward Noodle, who was still asleep.
“You sick dog,” Téya snarled, imagining him watching them in their sleep.
“Oh, grow up,” Houston said. “She cried out in her sleep. I… I got worried.”
Téya swung her legs over the edge of the bed and glanced at the digital clock. 5:58. She was so not a morning person, but waking up and finding the geek hovering over her—“Go.” She stomped as she caught his shoulders and pushed him from the room. “Out. Now.”
“Okay, okay. Relax. I just wanted to make sure you two were okay.”
“She’s a sniper, remember?”
“Right,” Houston said.
Téya closed the door and turned.
Noodle sat perched on the edge of her bed. “I had a nightmare again, didn’t I?”
“I think Peeping Houston just wanted to watch you sleep.”
A small smile tugged Noodle’s face, clearly not believing it.
“Shower up. I need one, too, and I want to be out of here in fifteen.”
Noodle complied without another word, her countenance haunted. Though there was no cure, Téya wished she could get hold of something that would heal Noodle’s mind. It was one thing to deal with drama when you had created most of it yourself. It was another to watch a woman as sweet and gentle in nature get ripped apart from the inside out by something out of her control.
Twelve minutes later, hair still wet and tied back, Téya strode into the main area. “How’re the commander and Boone doing?”
“In the air. And grumpy. No sign of her yet.”
“We’re heading down to the cafeteria,” Téya said, noting Houston was distracted with the mission at hand. “Need anything?”
“Nah, I’m good,” he said, as he adjusted something then glanced at a monitor.