by Ronie Kendig
“Heath.” Her voice chased him.
He hesitated at the juncture that led to the elevators as he met her soft gaze.
“The man Robert loved is the man whose character got him where he was. Not the career he chose or the uniform he wore—or doesn’t wear.” That tone again, the one that slipped past his barriers—like a slick coating on a sour pill that made it go down easier—forced him to listen. “No matter what you do or where you go, your character is what will always make your uncle proud.”
“Claire, he’s not even conscious. When he’s awake, the doctors aren’t sure if he’s lucid. He believes I’m a soldier, an elite soldier. That’s what he remembers.” His throat thickened. “I’m not that man anymore.”
Lackland AFB
San Antonio, Texas
“It’s not personal.”
“Bull!” Heath’s temples throbbed as he faced off with Jibril.
When a uniformed presence made itself known shifting into his periphery, Heath lowered his voice so the MP would leave off. “You and I both know this is very personal. Two days ago, this was my gig. The PAO asked for me. I agreed. Now, everyone’s going?”
“Heath, please—it’s not—”
“Don’t lie to me, Jibril.” Heath cocked his head. “We’re too good of friends to go there.”
Jibril held his gaze but didn’t look away. Silence hung rank and rancid between them as they stood on the tarmac, the C-130 engines ramping up with a whinnying screech. The jumbo plane would ferry them halfway across the world so Heath could begin the speaking engagements.
Heath glanced down at the crate that held Trinity. Just like his partner, he felt caged by the TBI. Would he ever be free? What was this, some enormous lesson on trust? Is that what this is, God? Because I think I already wrote the book on this with the surgery.
Jibril broke the silence after a jet roared into the sky from another runway. “It makes sense, Ghost. This is the first mission for the organization. I was coming anyway, and it’s logical to bring Timbrel and Aspen. We all need to feel this out. Their dogs aren’t coming though.”
Pulse whooshing through his ears, Heath reared up. “This. Isn’t. About. The. Dogs.” If only it were. It wouldn’t feel like such a colossal ambush. He took long, deep breaths, trying to calm himself, head off the thumping that warned of a migraine. “It’s about me.” He poked a finger against his own chest. “You don’t think I can handle this. I’m not a cripple.”
Calm and ever serene, Jibril said, “No.”
Swallowing hard, Heath felt like a heel. The man before him was missing a limb. Before his prosthesis, he’d been a “cripple.”
“But you are diagnosed with TBI. And I have a responsibility— especially with regard to insurance and protecting the organization—to make sure you arrive alive and return in the same condition.”
“This is bunk.” Heath wanted to spit. “Would you be sending all of us if it was Hogan?”
Hesitation provided the answer.
“I don’t believe this.” He spun around.
“Please, Ghost—”
“Whatever. Forget it.” Heath raked a hand through his short crop. Despite the affront, despite the intense feeling of failure, of not having his friend believe in him, Heath held his anger in check. Anger would only ignite the TBI. It’d inflame an already tense situation. And what if he got so upset he blacked out? Yeah, that would help.
A car rolled to a stop near the private jet waiting.
“Heath, please. Understand my situation—”
“I do.” Man, he hated to admit that. Because admitting it tanked the frustration. Tanked the anger. And right now he wanted to be angry. As much as he didn’t want to face it, as much as it angered him to almost be called a liability … Heath understood the position this put his friend in.
Time to suck it up. To look at the flip side of this coin. “Thanks.”
Mouth agape, Jibril blinked. “For what?”
“For believing in me. I know you wouldn’t let me go, you wouldn’t put ABA at risk if you didn’t believe in me.” Swallowing his pride, Heath sighed. “Thank you.”
Two thuds stamped through the air.
Heath glanced at the car where Hogan and Courtland waited. Aspen wore guilt like a neon chador. Hogan on the other hand held her ground. She must’ve had the world handed to her and didn’t care who she ran over getting to the top. Spoiled brat.
“I’ll meet you on board,” he said to Jibril, then headed up the ramp into the plane. He made his way past the cargo hold stacked with equipment. Techs anchored the pallets with straps.
Getting out of the Army, he thought he’d escaped the looks of pity and actions that bespoke hesitation and concern about his ability to perform his duties. So much for that idea. The truth was spelled out on the three faces of the other ABA members: They didn’t trust him to do his job. They expected him to fail.
Heath entered the small cabin area and stuffed himself into one of the seats. After fastening his belt, he pressed the back of his skull into the headrest with his eyes closed. God just wouldn’t give him a break. Strip the beret from him. Strip the chaplaincy from his hands. Strip the respect for him from his own team. Anything was better than facing the team he had already failed. Failed with a capital F.
Because that’s what it boiled down to, wasn’t it? If they already felt they had to protect him, then they’d hover over him on the trip. Nobody would be productive. Everyone would be stressed. Especially him.
Why had he agreed to this again?
Oh yeah. Because he thought he could bury the past. Be of help to others.
Hard to do when failure is your middle name.
“Commit your actions to the Lord, and your plans will succeed.“
Heath groaned. “I tried that. It didn’t work!” He’d made plans. God shut them down. Where was the verse for that?
“We can make our plans, but the Lord determines our steps.“
Frustration tangled his retort. Heath pinched the bridge of his nose, letting the agitation and—yes, he had to admit—hurt leech out. He groaned again. Enough with the verse tug-of-war, God.
Cool air swirled around him as a light floral perfume intermingled with the treated air. “It was concern that pushed us to talk to Jibril.”
Heath shifted but said nothing to Aspen. At least she sounded contrite.
“Heath, look at me.”
Jaw clenched, he rolled his head to the right and met clear blue eyes.
Dull lights from the cabin ceiling bathed Aspen’s porcelain features in a somber glow, adding to the look already in her gaze. “I lost a brother over there.” White-blond curls tumbled around her face as a gust of wind carried into the small seating area. “Please understand that I didn’t want to lose anyone else. That’s the only reason I went along with Timbrel.”
Heath leaned forward, anger roiling through his body like an undammed river. “You don’t control who is lost and who isn’t.”
Unfazed, she remained stoic. “Perhaps, but there’s safety in numbers.” “
Bigger numbers also mean easier targets. Easier to find.”
Aspen sighed. “We care. Is that a crime?”
“No, it’s not.” He adjusted in the seat so he faced her. “But I need you guys to trust me. I wouldn’t go over there if I thought I’d put anyone in danger.” The words tugged at his conscience. He hadn’t even considered anyone else when Jibril mentioned the speaking gig. He’d been so anxious to have a purpose for existing, to bail on boredom and leap headfirst into the action. “Don’t say your going is about concern for me. Tell me you wouldn’t like to take a look around and maybe find out what happened to your brother.”
Her face flushed.
“So, don’t put this off on me, okay? I’m healing.”
Then why was his vision graying? What was the hollow roar in his ears? Heath dropped against the seat as the world went black.
Five
Bagram AFB, Afghanistan
Look him in the face. Tell him the truth. It would hurt for the first few seconds.
Darci nodded to the MP guarding the door, and he turned the knob to General Lance Burnett’s office. The door swung open to reveal the stuffy interior. Salt-and-pepper hair highlighted by the overhead lamp, the general looked up from his desk. She snapped a salute.
He acknowledged with one of his own. “Kintz! Why do you look like someone killed your cat?”
“I hate cats, sir.”
He let out a booming laugh and motioned to the steel chair in front of his metal desk as she heard a click from behind and knew they were alone. “What do you have?”
Seated, Darci let out a long breath. “Nothing, sir.” The words were bitter and sour at the same time. She hated bringing back nothing. Hated the very taste of failure.
The wheels on his chair squeaked as he leaned back. “Not what I’d hoped to hear.”
She wasn’t sure what was more painful—her father who would never let her into his heart because she was a reminder of the wife he’d lost, or the general she would never be able to please after a near failure on one of the biggest missions of her career.
Darci put on her confident facade. “I know, sir. I’ll have more for you after our next run. We’ve only been out there a few days, and that netted me about six hours to reconnoiter alone.”
General Burnett stared at her for several long minutes, then narrowed his blue eyes as he dropped forward in his chair. He moved to the small portable fridge that sat beneath a table and pulled out a Dr Pepper. Imported straight from the factory in Waco by his wife, Marilyn. The tiny carbonation combustion hissed through the room. He took a slurp as he turned—his eyes hitting hers. “I’d share, but these are pure gold.”
“Of course, sir.”
Can cradled in his hands, he sat on the chair beside her. Took another sip, then set the burgundy can on his desk. Clasping his hands together, he took a breath and let it out. “Darci, I need to ask a question.”
Oh boy. Here it comes.
“And I want the truth.” His blue eyes probed hers. He’d always seen to the truth of things. Which worried her. Especially now. “Is this mission, this location, too … close?”
Her nerves fidgeted under his scrutiny. “Sir?”
“Darci,” he said, his warning clear: Don’t play dumb.
Darci swallowed and darted a glance to his soda. She sure had a lot in common with that sweating can. “No, sir. It’s fine.”
He roughed a hand over his jaw. Youth clung to his chiseled features—angled jaw, slightly hooked nose that was masculine and strong. Gray streaks in his hair hinted at his midfifties age.
With a growl, he plucked his soda from the desk and returned to his chair. “Look, fine. I won’t bring up the past—”
“Thank you, sir.”
He hesitated, then plowed on. “But if you don’t get me something, I’ve got to yank you and send you home. Bring in someone who can find what we’re looking for.”
She wet her lips. “I—”
“Lieutenant.”
Pulled up straight by his use of her rank and his “general” voice, Darci stilled.
“This area has seen unprecedented violence in the last few months, and yet we can’t figure out where they’re coming from. The Chinese are here setting up that mine, and while I’m ticked so much I can’t see straight that US research efforts regarding the ores in those mountains on behalf of the Afghans are lost and sold to the Chinese, I need this wave of violence over. Stabilization is the key. We can’t do that if we can’t find these terrorists.” His battle-worn face hardened. “Am I clear?”
Defeat clung to her like the sand out here that seeped into every pore. But she’d brought this on herself. Now she had to fix it. “Sir, yes, sir.” She wouldn’t look down. She’d withstood much worse interrogations. She’d been beaten within an inch of her life by a man she thought she’d fallen in love with.
But General Burnett … he’d plucked her from the mind-numbing boredom of analyzing reports back at DIA. Chosen her for her ability to see what others missed, for her ability to speak Mandarin as fluently as she spoke English. He’d believed in her and recruited her into the covert field she now worked. He’d mentored her, invested his best in her training.
And she’d let him down.
Again.
“I’ll find something, sir.” If it took her last, dying breath.
Smile lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes. “I know you will, Darci. You’re just like your father. That’s why I put you on this.” He studied her for a minute, then nodded. “That’s all.”
Weighted by the disappointment in his expression, Darci rose. “Thank you, sir.” Why on earth were her eyes stinging? She blinked and rolled her eyes, trying to ward off the tears.
“Darci.”
Door open, she stopped. Bolstered her courage. Glanced back. “Yes, sir?”
“You look tired. Take a couple of days off. Check out the entertainment tonight? Might do you some good.”
“Thank you, sir, but the geology team heads out in the morning.”
He scribbled something on a notepad, called in his MP, handed him the slip of paper, then grinned at Darci as the young specialist slipped past her. “Not anymore. Departure delayed due to activity in the area.”
Entertainment was the last thing she wanted. “Yes, sir.”
“Lieutenant.” He scowled. “That’s an order.”
Irritation skidded through her. “Understood, sir.” Was he trying to butter her up? Soften his blow? Or was he trying to tell her something by ordering her to the entertainment show tonight?
“You okay, ma’am?”
Darci jerked her head to the side, surprised to find another specialist in place. “Fine.”
Just fine. He’d grounded her. Again.
She strode from the building, muscles tense, mind buzzing. Why did it feel like her entire career was on the line? She had to ramp things up. Quit playing it safe. She’d avoided a couple of opportunities while in the mountains with the geology team, afraid of being discovered. Well, she’d connived her way out of many a situation. She’d been gifted with a quick mind and tongue. But she hadn’t completed her mission—yet.
Her boots crunched on the dirt road between Command and the mess hall. She’d grab a bite for dinner, then head over to the field for the entertainment. She’d be there in body but not in mind—she’d be tracking routes and exploring possibilities.
Movement collided with the clap of a bark, pulling Darci up short as a large dog bolted into her path. It jumped and pegged Darci with its front paws—almost knocking the breath and life from her—then dropped back and barked twice. Alarm died down as Darci stared at the dog. Tail wagging, the canine seemed to have something on its mind.
“Hey”—Darci craned her neck to the side and peered at the dog’s underside—“girl. What’s up?” She bent toward her, noticing the tattoo on the left ear. Darci jerked back up. MWD. Which meant no petting. “So, you’re not just a stray.”
The dog sat on its haunches, pink tongue dangling out the side of her mouth. Gorgeous coloring, rippling with power and yet restraint. On all fours again, she backed up, prancing and tossing her head as she barked. Wagged her tail. As if she recognized—
Darci sucked in a hard breath. This couldn’t be happening … She leaned closer to make out the dog’s identification numbers.
It was him—her.
Darci took a step back, feeling the heat and nausea of fear spiral through her veins.
The dog tensed.
I am dead meat.
A beast of a Mine Resistant Ambush Protected vehicle towed a Humvee, severing Heath’s visual cue seconds after seeing Trinity’s spine go rigid. He slapped the MRAP and scurried down its line. “Move!” Between the two, Heath saw a lithe woman bend toward Trinity. “No! Don’t touch her.” The brakes of the larger vehicle ground, suffocating his words. Heath tightened his lips. If Trinity saw her as a threat—<
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He hit the back of the MRAP again and rushed through the two steel hulks, his gaze locked on the woman and his partner. “Trinity, out!”
He doubted she could hear him with the noise of the compound, but he had to try. He threw himself over the hitch and beelined toward her.
The woman took a step back.
“No, don’t move!” Heath slid to a stop, his boots stirring dust plumes. “Trinity, out!”
His girl stood down and trotted to his side. He eyed the woman as he clipped Trinity back under his control. “Sorry.” He straightened, holding the lead taut so there was no give for her to take off again. “She broke behavior. That’s unusual for her. Sorry.”
Pretty almond-shaped eyes stared back. What was that? Fear? No, not fear. Sluggish movements. Dazed eyes. Open mouth, as if words hung frozen. Shock? What…?
Heath scanned her body to make sure Trinity hadn’t bitten her. The woman wore black tactical pants like his, and that gray-on-black North Face jacket wasn’t military issue. Long, black, silky hair pulled away from her face. Pink lips. Attractive—very. But no wounds as far as he could tell. And no words.
Heath signaled for Trinity to heel. “Did she hurt you?”
As if he’d thrown a bucket of water over her, she hauled in a breath. “What?”
A protective instinct rose within him. He touched her elbow. “Hey, you okay?” Man, if Trinity shook her up this bad—what was she doing out here in a combat zone? Who was she? Civilian?
She shook her head again and pulled away. “Fine.” Her gaze flicked to Trinity. “She … she seemed to want to play.”
“Yeah, sorry about that.” He looked back the way he’d come. “Can’t believe she did that. She never breaks behavior like that.” She was trained not to. This could spell out a disaster, especially on a base where there was constant action and threats. “We need to work on proofing. I guess she’s out of practice.”
“Aren’t we all?”
Her words caught him by surprise, considering her toned physique and confidence that surged to the front all of a sudden. At her transformation, he didn’t believe for a second she was out of practice. But he was. He stopped his hand midair—subconsciously reaching for the scars that had shaken the confidence he’d once had in approaching women. “Maybe so.”