My Traitor

by Nicolette Pierce

  * * *

  Ava scanned the darkening blue water, her eyes always tripping back to Brock. He hadn’t said a word after he untied the boat. She thought he would barrage her with questions. But he didn’t. Instead, he sat down, back against the side of the boat and looked out at the water. She wondered what he was thinking, what he might be planning.

  Ava remembered him like this. It was the same before every operation. He sat quietly, pondering, his thoughts lost in a sea of scenarios. He worked through each one, conquered each one, leaving nothing to chance. An escape route was always planned and rehearsed. When action was finally required, it went smoothly. Calculated. If there was a hiccup, Brock had already planned for the detour.

  With his menacing muscular frame and shaved head, he didn’t look like a person who strategized. Too many people, enemy included, were quick to judge by appearance. They’d never underestimate him twice.

  She remembered sitting next to Brock, her head resting against his arm as he worked. Her hand touched his thigh, warm and strong. After a few moments, while his mind was still far away, he would wrap his arm around her, his fingers drifting along her side and hip. They’d sometimes sit like that for hours until his fingers were no longer mindless, his eyes no longer far away, but on her.

  She sighed.

  The fact that he hadn’t foreseen the fated attack must have knocked the wind out of him.

  Ava shook off the urge to sit next to him. He’d probably toss her overboard.

  Instead, she glanced at the navigation system that she barely understood. She at least knew they were heading to the given coordinates and were approximately eight hours away.

  The gas gauge indicated they had plenty of fuel. The man she had rented the tub from said she shouldn’t have any problems. It was a large fuel tank with a separate backup tank specially added. She didn’t question why; she was just thankful for it since there were no sails . . . not that she’d know how to rig them anyway. But she’d become a quick learner if she had to.

  Ava turned the navigation system to autopilot.

  Autocaptain?

  Ugh. They were both going to die at sea from her inept knowledge, forget whatever lay ahead.

  Ava stepped from the cramped cabin, the sun drenching her in warmth. Salty sea wind whipped her hair about her face. She reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear, realizing she’d never had time to brush it. She must look a mess and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. She didn’t dare step too far away from Brock or he might have the boat turned around before she could even locate her brush. And she had been without brushed hair before. Brock has seen her at her worst. There were a lot of those days when they were on the move, far away from civilization, sometimes with minimal gear.

  She could still recall the thick, dry coating covering her mouth and tongue when she was unable to brush her teeth or rinse her mouth; a remembrance from a previous deployment. She had been in a desert town, hiding until she could move safely. What should’ve been hours turned into days.

  Ava eyed Brock’s duffel bag. It was sitting too close to Brock for her to raid, but she knew he’d have mints. His bag was like a Mary Poppins carpet bag. It didn’t look like much, but it always had what you needed.

  Ava tore her eyes away and looked out to the ocean. Land had disappeared an hour ago. She hated this feeling of being isolated, water surrounding her like an enemy troop.

  “Tell me,” Brock said, breaking the silence. “Tell me why you did it.”

  Ava slowly turned toward Brock. His eyes were still locked on the water. “Would you believe me if I told you?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “I’m not going to waste my breath, then.”

  Silence reigned for a few uncomfortable minutes until Brock said, “At least tell me if I was supposed to die too.”

  “No one was supposed to die. If I had done my job right, no one would have.”

  “You admit you were working against us. Who were you taking orders from?” Brock demanded.

  “I never worked against you. But, yes, I was under the command of someone else.”

  “Who?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  Brock stood. “Who?” he growled.

  Ava turned away. Brock was furious again. He wouldn’t listen to her.

  Hearing his thunderous steps coming at her, she dodged, feeling the wisp of air as his arm shot across, missing her by an inch or two. She knew right away that he wasn’t trying to hit her. She also knew that if he caught her, he wouldn’t be gentle either. A soldier—or traitor—in his eyes was neither male nor female. He didn’t give special treatment to anyone. She respected him for that . . . just not right now.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. “Just tell me what happened. Tell me what I’m walking into. You owe me that much.”

  “I don’t owe you anything,” Ava said, but her words lacked conviction.

  Brock caught her with both hands, dragging her close to him. Her eyes transfixed on his mouth as he demanded answers.

  An alarm blared from the cabin, jolting them apart. They both looked to the sound and then to each other. Their eyes locked with a mutual temporary truce before they raced to the wheelhouse.

  “Why is the alarm sounding?” Remy shouted.

  “I don’t know.” Ava searched the console, trying to locate the problem.

  “It’s the gas,” he said, pointing to the gauge. The needle plummeted to E, killing the engine. The low hum of the boat silenced instantly.

  “There must be a leak,” Ava said, squelching the panic racing through her.

  “Now what?” Remy asked, nonplussed. “Do we drift along until we die?”

  “What? Didn’t you already foresee this scenario?” Ava snapped.

  “I thought you were at least capable enough to plan a trap,” Remy shot back. “Or maybe this was your plan all along. Sending me to enemy prison wasn’t enough. Now I’m stuck with you.”

  Ava flinched but was too riled to feel anything but intense irritation. She was not going to respond in kind and fuel his hatred. It was clear he thought of her as the worst kind of monster.

  Ava flipped the switch to the spare tank, thankful once again for the backup. She started the engine and turned the boat around.

  “Where are you going?” Remy asked, his anger dissipating.

  “Back to the dock. We won’t make it roundtrip with only the spare tank.”

  “Were we ever meant to make it back?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered honestly.

  Remy placed his hand on the throttle, bringing the boat to a stop. “Cut the engine.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s time to talk. Honestly. No more bullshit.” He took the key from the ignition, confiscating it. Ava watched as it disappeared into his pocket.

  “You want honest? Fine! How about the fact that I was never a traitor?” Ava barked. She had taken his verbal assaults long enough. “I’m 31D. The traitor was supposedly in your platoon. I was sent to ferret him out. The day of the attack I followed a false lead. So, yes, I screwed up and got everyone killed. That’s something I have to live with, but I’m not a traitor!” Ava spun on her heel. She had to get out of the cabin. It was too cramped and becoming smaller by the second.

  Remy’s hand clamped down on her shoulder. “You’re CID?”

  She shrugged out of his grasp. “I need air.”

  Escaping to the deck, she inhaled the cool ocean breeze.

  The real traitor was going to get away. She felt him slipping through her fingers yet again.

  * * *

  Ava left, the door snapping shut behind her. She said she wasn’t the traitor; that he was among his team. Was it a lie? Remy had never known Ava to lie, but he never really knew her, did he? Everyone was capable of lying when they had something to hide.

  But she said she was 31D, a special agent in the Army Criminal Investigation Command. How could Ava be an investigator and he not know?


  Christ, this was a complete mess. How was he supposed to believe her? One of his men was a traitor? But they were all dead except for David. Was she blaming David for what happened?

  Remy slammed out of the cabin, finding Ava at the bow.

  “You’re lying,” Remy barked. “David is no traitor.”

  She turned to face him, confusion blanketing her. “I never said David.”

  “He’s the only one still alive besides the two of us.”

  “No. There was another who survived, because he left before I did.”

  Remy’s chest constricted. Who wasn’t there? He had read the report and seen the pictures. He never looked too closely at the photos. He couldn’t.

  “French,” she said.

  Remy eyed Ava warily. “French?” he repeated.

  Ava nodded. “Jeremy French.”

  Remy slid a hand over his head. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m very serious.”

  “But he barely made it out of basic.” The only reason Remy had kept him around was his technological edge and his affect on the men. They thought of him as a younger brother. He did some grunt work and could make a decent meal with hardly any provisions. How the hell could he be the traitor? How could he kill the men who looked out for him?

  “He’s changed,” Ava said. “But he’s not the traitor you’re looking for either.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “French made a mistake, but he’s not behind the attack.”

  Dammit! Remy’s head felt as if it was being squeezed in a vise. “Then who is?”

  Ava shrugged. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

  “How do I fit into this?”

  “I don’t know that either. French told me there’s to be a transfer. That’s where we were headed.”

  “Transfer what?”

  “Not what. Who.”

  “Who?” Remy asked but immediately realized it was himself. The stab of betrayal struck him anew. “Why me?”

  “I really don’t know, but I intend to find out,” Ava said. “I’m sorry. I really am. For everything.”

  Remy believed her. For the first time, Remy believed that Ava wasn’t behind the attack. She was a pawn, just like they all were. But that didn’t mean he trusted her. She was still working for someone else.

  “Tell me everything,” Remy said.

  “I don’t even know where to start.”

  “At the beginning.”

  Ava glanced at her watch, worry creased on her brow.

  Remy handed her the keys. “You can tell me on the way.”

  Ava shook her head, her hand grazing her stomach. “We can’t go on the spare tank. We wouldn’t have enough fuel to get back.”

  “Are you sure we’re meant to make it back?”

  “Actually, I have a bad feeling about this whole thing. I knew something like this was going to happen. I just didn’t know it would involve you. My jobs have been getting lighter, easier. It felt like the trust was gone, as if French was turning his attention toward me as a suspect. But I’ve been close so many times. There’s something that I keep missing. That’s why I came for you. French thinks you’re somehow the key.”

  Remy definitely wasn’t a key, just a sap who got blindsided. But if they continued to the transfer spot, they’d be one step forward.

  “Let’s go,” he said. “We’re wasting time.”

  * * *

  Ava and Brock sat in the cabin together, looking out across the water as if they could see their destination on the edge of the earth. Brock had talked her into plowing ahead instead of returning to shore. Actually, he’d just grunted and taken over the boat. She didn’t put up any resistance. Ultimately, it was his fate that lay ahead. He had the right to sail into it on his own.

  “I hope this navigation system is accurate,” she said to break the silence. Brock had been lost in thought, or maybe he just didn’t want to talk to her. “I hate the feeling of being adrift with no land to point the way.”

  He glanced at her but kept silent. Was his skin turning green? He’d always had a dark skin tone, but he seemed to be turning Oscar the Grouch shades.

  “Are you okay?”

  He grunted. She knew that meant he didn’t want to talk and to back off.

  Ava sighed and leaned back into her chair. If the navigation system was correct, they’d arrive in six hours with barely a whiff of gas to propel them farther.

  Unease swept through her. Something about her last encounter with French made her feel as if she was teetering on a wobbly ladder. She should turn the boat around and head for land, even if they had to paddle the entire way. But she knew Brock was in one of his stubborn moods. He wouldn’t listen.

  However, he should hear the entire story of what happened before they parted ways.

  When she would lose him yet again.

  Chapter 8

  Ava cleared her throat. Brock was just going to have to listen to her this one time, then he could go on ignoring her. “I was assigned to your platoon because higher-ups thought someone from your team was selling information on weapon locations and transfer routes. Officer Boyer agreed to the plan, although I don’t think he had much choice.”

  “Jared Boyer?” Remy questioned.

  Ava nodded.

  “Why didn’t he just come to me?”

  “Because it could have been you. He didn’t know, so I was sent in,” she explained. “Just so you know, he never really thought it was you. It was just a precaution.”

  “What did you find?” he asked, annoyance filling his voice.

  “There was definitely someone dirty in the ranks, but I couldn’t figure out who. I didn’t have enough time.”

  “You had plenty of time,” he clipped.

  “We were constantly on the move. Every time we left a place, it was attacked and raided within the week. It wasn’t only our own bases that were hit. Towns and private weapons dealers were marks too.”

  “You must have suspected someone.”

  “At first, you. But I quickly knew you weren’t the one. I briefly looked at David, but he was quickly crossed off the list too.”

  “What made you rule us out?”

  “Honestly, you were a military brat. You grew up military, you breathe it. It’s what you are. It’d take a lot to turn your head. David might not have the background like you, but he’s virtually the same. You both take your duty seriously.”

  He grunted. Ava rolled her eyes. He really needed to stop grunting when she was trying to have a conversation.

  “I ruled out everyone on the list except for French. He was the weakest of the group in terms of size and skill, but he’s smart.”

  “But you said it wasn’t French.”

  “He was acting strange, so I thought it had to be him. That morning I left, I was following French. I found him talking to a local man. When they were done, I confronted French. He told me he suspected that someone was tracking us and leaking information. I didn’t believe him at first, but he had notes on every hit and everyone’s movements. While everyone was overlooking him, he’d heard every conversation. But still, he couldn’t figure it out either. So, he started sneaking out to talk to locals. There had to be a communication point somewhere.”

  “He could’ve been lying to cover his tracks.”

  “At first, I thought so too, but the more we talked, the more he shared. He wasn’t trying to hide anything. He seemed relieved when I told him I was looking for the same person. He was about to peg me as the suspect. He was recording my movements too.”

  “What originally tipped him off about you?”

  Ava sighed. “I did. I must not have been as secretive as I thought. I was communicating with Boyer regularly. French overheard one of my conversations, not knowing it was Boyer on the other line, and he connected the wrong dots.”

  “If it wasn’t you, French, David, or myself, then who was it? Who survived besides us?”

  “According to the reco
rds, no one. But you and French are listed as deceased. There must’ve been a cover-up. Whoever survived has a friend higher up.”

  “How did you know I was alive?”

  “By accident. I was in Vegas. I had just finished a job and remembered you had told me about a gun range you liked. I needed to blow off a little steam and . . . well, it was something you liked.”

  Ava closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment. She had been so confused, so happy and furious when she found Brock alive and well. It was like a knife in her chest to know that he lived and yet hadn’t bothered getting in touch with her. Did their relationship mean nothing to him?

  Brock had changed his name, his life, and he was no longer hers. He completely removed himself and didn’t seem to care. It was only later, when the anger faded, that she had clarity. She understood. By that time, too many years had passed. They were no longer in love. They had both changed. It wasn’t right to go back into history, not when there was no hope of changing the past.

  “Ava?”

  She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “You were there.”

  Ava had recognized him right away, as if her eyes couldn’t see anything else but him. Her world was reborn and shattered in an instant. She left immediately.

  Her hand drifted along her stomach, soothing her. There was a brief time she was happy. Before Brock’s “death” and after. But it was short-lived both times.

  “Why is French calling the shots now?” Brock asked, steering the conversation.

  “He left right after the attack and contacted me a month later. He’s determined to find the attackers and has been able to hack into top-secret networks. I’ve been helping him through the CID, but only when I’m not knee-deep in an investigation. At first, we worked well together. He’d give me a lead, and I’d check it out. But in the last couple of years, he’s changed. He’s growing bitter and hateful. We no longer trust each other, but we have no one else to turn to. I think it’s become personal for him, but I’m not sure. Why else would he continue?”

  “Why do you continue?”