by Ronie Kendig
Her hold took on more strength. Trace walked to the secret door, accessed it, then let the general, who did the same with his two charges, guiding them down the ever-sloping tunnel to the cement steps. Once they’d descended, Trace edged along the others, his hooded woman hesitating and gripping tighter when her steps grew uncertain.
He punched in the code. The steel groaned as the door hissed inward. Trace waited as the four entered the room. Zulu stood around, watching, curious. Concerned.
Trace motioned them away, mouthing “out of sight,” as he moved his hooded charge toward the briefing room, the most confined space and the only one with a door. The woman missed the first step and tripped into him, face-planting against his side. She yelped, clenched her fingers in his shirt, and gave a nervous laugh.
Once inside, Trace secured the door, turned, and folded his arms over his chest. Nodded to the general, who looked like a mad scientist, anxious to reveal his exciting experiment. And this was an experiment, though not exciting. More like threatening. Had he made yet another mistake?
Haym pulled off the first hood. Then the second. Each shock more incredible than the first. When the last hood came off, Trace tensed. Came unglued. “You son of a—what is she doing here?”
Annie
Lucketts, Virginia
18 June – 1015 Hours EST
At the roar of Trace’s voice, Annie stalked back toward the briefing room, Téya and Nuala at her side.
“You are risking their lives, their existence! How could you even think this was okay?” Trace shouted at General Solomon.
But Annie couldn’t tear her gaze from the couple standing calm and unaffected—the Lorings. What were they doing here? Why was Trace so upset over them returning? Did they need more protection?
“Who’s the other woman?” Nuala whispered, pointing to the woman with her back to them.
“Let’s find out,” Annie said. But when she took the first step, the woman turned, and Annie froze. “No…”
Téya bumped into her. Glanced at her. Then to the room.
Nuala gasped. “That’s—”
“Francesca Solomon.” So, she didn’t die. Annie hadn’t wanted to ask. Even seeing the woman now, she wasn’t sure what to feel after all the woman had done to expose Zulu and decimate Trace.
“Please,” General Solomon said. “Hear us out.” He waved Annie, Téya, and Nuala into the room. “All of you.”
“No.” Trace swung around, stilling when he saw them there. His shoulders slumped and he pinched the pressure point between his eyes.
Annie gave Francesca Solomon a hard glare as she moved into the room and took a seat. She wasn’t wearing a uniform today. Instead, Francesca wore a pair of capri jeans and a cream-colored sweater that accented her olive complexion and curves. Truth be told, Francesca looked as annoyed as Annie felt at seeing her.
“First, I must beg your forgiveness,” Haym said. “Francesca did not know she was coming, but I felt—for reasons I will soon explain—that she needed to be here.” With that, he directed her into a chair. “And well, I think the rest should be explained by these two.” Now, he sat down.
Trace folded his arms over his chest. His brow knitted tight. His jaw muscle bouncing. Ticked off.
“First,” Sharlene Loring said as she took a step forward and reached up to her brunette crop. She tugged, and the hair fell away, revealing a mop of blond hair. “My name is Elizabeth Olmedo.” She motioned to her right, where Carl Loring stood. “And this is my partner, Amato Aznar. We’re with the CIA. We apologize for the deception, but it was necessary.”
Stomach roiling, Annie braced herself. “Necessary for what?”
“To gain your confidence,” Amato said, “but also in the hopes that our story, the potential of a witness to Misrata, would bring Berg Ballenger into the open.”
“That didn’t happen, though,” Nuala said, then drew in on herself. “Did it? I mean—he gave us the shaft in Dover.”
“Unfortunately,” Elizabeth said, “no, it didn’t.”
“Because you weren’t really there the night we hit the warehouse,” Annie said. “Your names weren’t on the list of the occupants. He knows that because he was there.”
“You’re right. We weren’t, but you shouldn’t have known that,” Elizabeth said. “The agency back-filed all records pertaining to those in the warehouse. We’d like to know how you were aware that our names weren’t there.”
“Don’t answer,” Trace said without moving.
Startled by his response, Annie glanced at him then back to the operatives. “I don’t understand—if you weren’t there, why would you fake your names? He’d know that. Right? Is he the one you’re after? Is he somehow involved—is that how he knew to go to the warehouse?”
“No, whoever gave him the info on the warehouse is who we’re after,” Elizabeth said. “As far as we’re concerned, Ballenger is nothing more than a grieving widower.”
Téya snorted. “One who has had five years to nurture that grief to become a violent vigilante.”
“Possibly, but we aren’t convinced.”
“He set us up in Dover,” Nuala said.
“We hoped our names on the map would get him curious enough to investigate, to tip his hand—and that’s another reason for the gala. We need Berg Ballenger. Need to talk to him.”
That was dangerous information, and the CIA didn’t openly cooperate with rogue organizations like theirs, which made Annie more uncomfortable and irritated with this whole setup. “Why are you telling us this?” Her head hurt, thinking of the implications. “Why is Zulu being read in on this? Why now, after you’d effectively stepped out of our attention?”
“The gala,” Téya muttered quietly. “This is about the gala.” She turned to their commander. “You were in on this.”
“It was my idea,” Trace began, “but not my idea to bring in the CIA or her.”
Annie took a bit of perverse pleasure in the way Trace referred to Solomon’s beautiful daughter. And that curl in his lip only added to the meaning and her pleasure.
“That’s right,” Amato said. “Since time is short, we’ll just lay it all out. We have scheduled a weapons cache of high value on the black market to be destroyed. Rumor will only be started once the gala is in play.”
“Why the gala?” Nuala asked. “I mean—there will be innocent people there. Why put their lives in danger?”
“It is our only opportunity to have all the players on one chessboard, so to speak,” Amato said. “We have five suspects as to who may have been the leader of this weapons-stealing ring. We’ve invited all five.”
“Wait,” Annie said sitting forward in her chair. “You know who’s behind it?”
“Suspicions only,” Amato said, glancing at his partner, “and only because of recent activity—including connections with Ballenger. That and clearance levels—what we’re destroying isn’t readily known, so that limits who could get their hands on that information.”
“The shooting—that’s the recent activity you’re talking about,” Francesca said. “The person who shot me is on that list?”
“You weren’t the only person shot that day,” Téya said evenly, drawing attention to Annie.
Annie glared at the general’s daughter. She really had no business joining this conversation or being in the bunker. She’d put them all, especially Trace, through so much. But the fact she’d kept their identities out of the hearing was the only thing saving her from a tongue-lashing.
“We believe the shooter is named,” Amato said. “Which is why it’s important for you to be there.”
“You?” Téya moved her hands to her hips. “Who?”
“Zulu,” Trace said.
“I’m sorry,” Téya said, with an exasperated sigh, “then why is she here again?”
General Solomon straightened. “Because she is going to work with you.”
“Isn’t she medically fragile right now?” Téya asked. “Bullet in, bullet out. I’d
call that fragile. Commander, you made us train with Quade till our eyes were bleeding, and you’re going to let a soggy recruit in?”
“I’m fine.” A nervous expression flared through Francesca’s expression as she glanced at her father then Trace.
“Never said I was letting her in.”
Francesca
She deserved this. That much she knew. But it still didn’t make it any easier to swallow the bitter pill of resentment this team doled out in bulk. Frankie ignored the nagging pain in her side, ignored the anger at her father for luring her into this mess. She’d never have come if she’d known this would involve Trace Weston.
Guilt also came in bulk this morning, with the operatives making it very clear Frankie had been wrong all along in her assumption about the colonel. Regret coiled around her stomach and squeezed hard. Imagine if she’d succeeded.
Well, she had, actually. They’d stripped him of rank. She’d heard that news floating around work. The blame for that rested on her shoulders.
Frankie rubbed the knot at the base of her neck as the agents talked and gave her the opportunity to avoid looking into the eyes of spite and hatred.
“But then,” Trace said, “I’m not in charge anymore.”
Frankie didn’t miss the way the Zulu team reacted to his words. Or the daggers they shot in her direction.
“Later,” Frankie’s father said, shifting awkwardly as the tension roiled through the room. Another relationship her actions had poisoned. “For now, I need you to go with me on this, Weston.”
“Fine,” Trace said. “But we will talk after this.”
“Mr. Weston,” Ms. Olmedo said, interrupting the tension, “your team has been to hell and back in the days since the bombing. You went in as instructed, located the weapons, set the charges. You executed your orders with precision and stealth. I think we all know, including Miss Solomon, that you were not guilty in the murder of those twenty-two civilians. We need to move beyond that. Put our adult hats on.”
Trace straightened. “How do you know so much about that?”
Elizabeth said nothing but stared down Trace, who glanced to the general. A silent conversation vibrated between their heated expressions. Then Trace’s brows rose, wrinkling his forehead. “Them? Our orders came from them?”
“The intel came from us,” Amato said. “But it was corrupted or sabotaged. Olmedo and I are here because we need to get these weapons stopped. Batsakis has made a fortune on stolen U.S. military weapons, but they’re always one step ahead. This time, we want to be ahead. We want to know who got in the middle of the mission.”
“So, this is about Berg Ballenger?” Annie asked, her head spinning. So much happening. So many tensions emanating through the room. “Was he the sniper who hit Francesca and me?”
“Remember,” Téya, the one woman in this room Frankie would not want to have a confrontation with, said with no small amount of sarcasm, “he’s just a grieving widower.”
“Then why do we care about him?” Annie asked, trying to keep up with the reasoning.
Elizabeth nodded. “Ultimately, someone fed Ballenger that information about the warehouse. We do not believe it was coincidence that he moved the orphans there that night. Someone knew your team was there to destroy the weapons. We believe they wanted you out of the way so they could get the weapons to Batsakis, who paid them a hefty sum. It’s our theory that they intended to kill Ballenger that night as well so they could cover their tracks. We want them to find out about this gala so they’ll show up.”
“Kill him and the kids but leave the team alone?”
“Oh,” Amato said with a dark laugh. “They had no intention of leaving Zulu alone. We have evidence that a response unit had been dispatched to the area—before the explosion.”
Weston straightened, his tactical shirt pulling taut as he balled his hands into fists. “They targeted us?”
“If you hadn’t extracted Zulu and hidden them—they would all be dead right now.”
Surprise spiraled through Frankie. She watched the news impact Weston, and once more, she saw the depth of concern the man had for his team. His dedication to them. She’d been wrong.
“You said the rumor would be started once the gala is in play?” Trace said, his hands on his trim waist.
Amato nodded. “Yes, we’ll get it circulated. Miss Solomon will be the person who’ll mention it.”
Once more, she watched Weston’s reaction. His green eyes rammed into hers. She expected to see a hint of glee that she might end up dead. Instead, more of that concern.
“Is that a good idea?” he asked Amato.
“It’s the best we have.”
“I’m capable,” Frankie said, hating the way they talked around her. She felt her father at her side and met his concerned gaze. Yeah, she wasn’t going to play into his fears.
“What about Zulu?” Weston had completely ignored her. Again.
“They’ll mingle,” Amato said.
“No way,” Trace snapped.
“I understand your reticence, but—”
“I don’t think you do.”
“You’re not the only leader to lose soldiers in the field, Colonel Weston.”
“Mister Weston. And I don’t care who you’ve lost. I care about not losing these three.”
“You won’t lose them,” Olmedo said. “We have more than twenty operatives who will be in attendance, along with a SWAT team on standby.”
“If they are seen—”
“We’ll know,” Téya said. “We’ll know if someone recognizes us.”
Weston grew more agitated. “Batsakis knows Annie—he kidnapped her when we were in Greece!”
They were in Greece? When was that?
“Annie will be in the task force room with us,” Olmedo said. “You can guide us.”
“I’m not hiding in a room while my team is out there in the open.”
“He can be my escort,” Frankie said. Her heart beat hard as Weston’s gaze snapped to hers. “My date.”
“Won’t Trace be too recognizable?” Téya asked. “Whoever is selling the weapons will probably know that he’s been stripped of rank.”
“Which is why he’s running private security. We all know the colonel is a man of action. He’s not a desk jockey,” Frankie said, bolstered by her idea. “After the shooting”—she looked to her father—“my father wasn’t comfortable with me attending alone—”
“No. Two is right. Trace is too easily recognized. He needs to be in the command center with Aznar and Olmedo. Frankie, you’ll be down with the others.”
Téya’s hazel eyes held hers. “Nuala will be on the rooftop with her sniper rifle monitoring your every move.”
Was it a promise? Or a threat?
Annie
Reston Town Center, Reston, Virginia
July 4 – 1900 Hours
“Okay, just like we practiced.” It’d been two weeks since that day in the bunker when the Lorings revealed themselves as CIA operatives. Since Francesca Solomon entered their lives and bunker…and stayed. Tension high and resentment higher, Annie and her sisters had done their best to steer clear of the troublemaker.
Annie stepped out of the hotel lobby and into the warm, Northern Virginia air. Lights sprinkled through the trees abutting the One and Two Fountain Square buildings threw a romantic aura over the cozy setting. Mercury Fountain, whose water danced in the glistening lights, made the area feel more festive for the celebration that wasn’t really a celebration but a dupe. A fake to lure murderers into the open.
This is it. The night Zulu would break free of the chains tethering them to the past.
Annie’s heels clicked on the pavement as she headed toward the tented pavilion, feeling the throb of loud music against her chest. She caught her reflection in the window of Clyde’s, a restaurant. The navy satin gown would’ve cost more than a month’s salary—if she had a salary. Or a job.
“Looking good, One,” came Trace’s firm, calm voice through
the small device embedded in her ear. He monitored the event from the third-floor room in the Hyatt Regency. “Two, your position is good.”
Annie furtively swung around until she spotted Téya by the fountain on the other side of Market Street. Their gazes met then moved on, unwilling to draw attention or give away that they knew each other. Tonight, the only people who should recognize Zulu would be the team behind this trap. And the ones trying to kill Zulu. “Six, how’s your view?” Trace asked quietly.
“Flying high. Should have a great view of the fireworks down on the Mall.”
“Not exactly how I wanted to spend the Fourth of July,” Téya muttered.
Annie’s favorite celebration included a very handsome Navy SEAL. And when this night was over, she’d go back and get her life on track with Sam. If he’d forgive her. She wasn’t sure, not after the way he’d handled her, pushed back and called her on her feelings for Trace.
But getting shot, sitting on that bench, Annie’s biggest regret was not seeing sooner how much she loved Sam. Thinking of dying without him knowing how important he was to her…
Annie floated around the other suits filing into the pavilion. Smiled at the plastic-fest of trophy wives and girlfriends.
Sam and Jeff would be out at the lake watching the biggest fireworks celebration in Washington. She ached to be there with Sam. Laughing with Jeff and his wife. Eating sandwiches from the Green Dot.
“Nice setup, but it doesn’t have anything on Manson,” came teasing, husky words.
Annie froze, her eyes widening as she swirled around to find Sam before her. She opened her mouth to ask what he was doing there, but her mind got log-jammed with the million other questions. How did he know? He was wearing a suit. Heavenly days, he looked good. Smelled good.
He smirked at her. “Speechless for once, eh? Glad I have that effect on you.” He took her hand, stepped back and let his rich, brown eyes take her in. He lingered a little too long on her curves.
“Hey, sailor,” she said with a tease in her voice. “Eyes up here.”
Sam slid his arm around her waist, inching closer.
“What are you doing here?”