The Fugitive's Secret Child

by Geri Krotow

  A flash of anger made her composure disintegrate. “Let’s get something straight. I owe you no explanations for any of my choices. You’re the one who died, the one who chose to remain dead! You gave me no choice in the matter. So don’t come waltzing back into my life and think you can start throwing your judgment around.” She might not be the perfect mother, but Jake was the perfect little boy. Happy and healthy, which was all that mattered to her most days. He was growing up with a good dose of appreciation for hard work, too. Trina had scrimped and saved over the past five years for their new home in a top school district. The sprawling farmhouse and surrounding property gave Jake room to explore. It was going to be the best place to raise him through high school.

  No, she’d said nothing wrong. Rob needed to get a grip on where their boundaries were, ASAP. Or risk another excoriating verbal attack.

  Maybe she was the one who needed to be certain of her boundaries.

  * * *

  Trina’s words were more bracing than menthol lotion hitting his skin right after he’d shaved his deployment beard. Because they rang all too true.

  Her words sounded harsh, but were an accurate assessment of what had happened. He’d been declared dead, found and brought back to a functioning human being, then he sought Trina out and seen her with what he now knew was his child, but at the time he hadn’t made the connection. And he’d chosen what he thought was the noble path—to allow Trina and her family to go forward without the complication of him showing up again.

  He hadn’t questioned his motives for walking away, always chalked them up to duty. But had they been deeper?

  “My country needed me for the CIA back then, too. I can’t go into specifics, and won’t, not on our way back into ROC territory. But there are some things you’re not aware of that I’ll eventually tell you.”

  “Oh, goody.” She deadpanned her reply, and he couldn’t stifle his grin.

  “I knew I could count on you to keep things light before we get into the thick of this op.”

  “Trust me, it’s not on purpose.” She leaned forward in her seat. “Enough of our history—it’s time to earn our paychecks. There’s the building the truck trailer is supposed to be parked near. Up there through the trees, do you see it?” She pointed at the long shipping container, the same kind used on cargo ships and trains. They were driven all over the eastern seaboard, pulled by powerful diesel engine rigs that exchanged one standard module for another with ease.

  He nodded. “I sure do. Are you ready for this, Trina?”

  “Damn straight.”

  He parked the car and they got out; the forest floor was blanketed with dry leaves. It was peak fire season as no rain had fallen for over two months, highly unusual for the past century but typical of the warming weather patterns.

  “Ready.” She put on her earpiece under a US Marshal ball cap and tested to ensure she and Rob were synced.

  “We’re good to go.” He handed her the rental ring of two keys and a fob, and his fingers brushed her upturned palm. It zapped a zinger of attraction straight to his dick. Exactly what he didn’t need for this operation to be a success.

  “Above all else, stay low and safe. Wait for my signal to come out and help me with the girls. Do not under any circumstance reveal yourself before then. Are we clear?”

  “Crystal.” She met his eyes, and he knew he read her perfectly. She was prepared for whatever this faction of ROC threw at them.

  “So that puts you right about here.” He motioned toward a group of low bushes at the edge of the clearing. Only twenty-five yards ahead was a corrugated metal building, similar to the one where he’d been held captive.

  Trina didn’t respond verbally as she crouched low and prepared a tiny hideout area in the deciduous shrubs. Forsythia, he thought, that had passed its bloom a few months ago and was now a tangled mass of vining branches, the mint-green leaves starting to shrivel in the drought.

  “You can take a clipping of it if you’d like.” Rob couldn’t help noticing how much she adored the local flora.

  “I’m good, thanks. Don’t forget to call in when you need me.” On her haunches and posed like a mean badger, Trina was ready to strike anything that came her way. He’d best remember that.

  Rob headed for the building that looked like the one from which he’d barely escaped with his life only two days ago, wondering where his common sense had fled. He trusted Claudia’s intelligence that told him about the risks, and on paper it looked like a fairly methodical takedown for human traffickers. At all costs he had to act as if he knew what he was doing, in the likely event he ran into Vasin or even Ivanov.

  The air was heavier than yesterday, the bright, hot sun giving way to heavy, thunderous clouds. They’d be lucky to rescue the girls before it rained down buckets.

  * * *

  It was difficult to watch Rob walk away and out of sight. Logically Trina knew that he had to; the trailer where the girls were being held was around the other side of the building. And she had to stay here—she was his backup if things got ugly before they got the young women safely out.

  She checked her surroundings repeatedly as she’d been trained. It was second nature to her. A crack of a twig and she spotted a herd of deer; rustling in the leaves helped her identify a groundhog. The forest was a cacophony of animal noises, from the constant chatter of squirrels to birdsong that swelled as the day grew longer. The heat had refused to let up, and her T-shirt and pants were stuck to places she didn’t want to think about. Her shower in her new house’s master bedroom was tiny but would be pure bliss once she finally got back to Silver Valley. Home.

  Jake. Thinking of home immediately brought him to mind, and she could almost smell the sweet scent of his hair after he’d played out in the sun. Soon, son, soon. I’ll be home before you know it.

  If all went as planned, she could be home tonight.

  Nothing from Rob either on her earpiece or via text. It’d only been a few minutes; she wasn’t supposed to check in until after fifteen.

  At ten minutes, her calves needed a stretch, and she did so by doing forward bends, straightening and moving her knees in long, slow movements. As always she was careful to remain as quiet as possible. Just in case.

  The sound of a door opening had her crouching back down, and she watched as Vasin walked out of the storage facility as if it were any other day and he was any other man looking for sunshine. He had a cigarette in one hand and a semiautomatic rifle in the other, its strap slung over his shoulder. As if he were a Russian soldier and not the hardened criminal that he was. It was beyond frustrating to be unable to do anything in the moment. Her fingers twitched as if they wanted to cuff him on the spot. If she spoke into her comms unit, she’d risk being heard. She didn’t want to text Rob as her movements, even hidden in the brush, could be detected by Vasin. As she observed, he walked around, taking a smoke break. He’d eluded capture yesterday, and she realized that it was almost certain that Ivanov was in the facility, too. Vasin wouldn’t come out of that building slinging such a powerful weapon unless there was something, or someone, inside to protect.

  A shout from the open door, in Russian. Vasin answered in a guttural low stream of words Trina had no chance of translating. She’d been studying conversational Russian over the past two years as ROC became more of an issue for her job, but Vasin was too far away to catch the actual words. From his body language, he was annoyed at being bothered but went back into the building after smashing his cigarette with his heel. Even ROC heeded the fire season warnings.

  As soon as the slam of the door cracked through the otherwise silent area, Trina noticed movement to her far right, alongside the edge of the forest clearing. Two men, not in uniform, walking in slow steps around a parking area for ATVs and small commercial trailers. Two of the three ATVs from yesterday were there; she’d memorized their license plates. Satisfaction curled in her
belly, knowing that one was still missing because she and Rob had stolen it and left it on the side of the road, in the woods.

  Trina heard a shout in Russian directly behind her and she flattened to the ground on her belly, her heartbeat reaching into her throat. Please don’t see me. She longed for her P-8 flying days, when she’d be able to watch an op like this from thousands of feet above. Her pistol was in her hand, the safety off.

  The sound of footsteps grew closer, and she held her breath in the dense bush, knowing that if the interlopers saw her booted feet she was dead.

  Jake. Her baby.

  When she thought she couldn’t take one more second without oxygen, two bulky men walked within feet of her, past her hiding location and toward the building. As soon as their footsteps were out of earshot she carefully retrieved her phone and texted Rob. He had to know that they were far outnumbered, at least until backup arrived.

  As she tapped in her message, she’d never felt more torn between mission and personal needs. Namely, Jake’s needs as a young boy. Rob was right. Jake deserved a mother who could be there for him 100 percent. What the hell was she doing out here?

  It’s the operational exhaustion talking.

  It wasn’t uncommon to think you never wanted to do a mission again when faced with danger. Trina shook her head, slightly. She had to knock off the negative thoughts. She and Rob were a good team and would do what they needed to do. What came afterward for them wasn’t her concern. Right.

  * * *

  At least four men with AR-15s circling perimeter. Vasin appeared with AR-15 during a smoke break. Someone inside bldg called him back in. Too far away to make out words.

  Rob read Trina’s text, and a shot of fear cleared his mind of anything but figuring out how to get the young women out of the eighteen-wheeler trailer four hundred yards in front of him. It was parked behind the building he suspected Ivanov was in, half of it shoved back into the woods. At least there was some shade on it. But the cries of the women still reached his ears, as did the reprimands the lone guard gave them. ROC had stationed the skinny bastard at the open back of the trailer. Rob had watched two pairs of women be allowed down the ramp and out into the woods, the guard ordering them in Russian to “hurry up and piss” in front of him. They were beyond sobbing, but he heard the women cry out as they stepped, barefoot, onto the dry, heat-baked pine needles. It was so typical of ROC to have these women totally at their mercy. The lack of shoes was deliberate, as was the refusal to allow them the use of a normal bathroom facility. Nothing would be left to chance, not when the Russian crime ring was getting tens of thousands of dollars per woman.

  Another text came in, this one from Claudia.

  FBI within ten minutes

  Ten minutes. He had ten minutes to neutralize the guard and then take on the trolls that Trina had reported. If they were very lucky, they’d handle it all without anyone in the building finding out until it was too late. The FBI would take care of the rest—take out Vasin and whomever he was protecting in the warehouse building.

  As the minutes passed, he shot off a text to Trina. She didn’t reply right away, but depending upon where the guards were, she might not be able to. That didn’t stop the heavy creep of fear from sliding across his gut and up his spine. Stay here. Stay with the mission. His combat mantras usually helped, but he’d figured out that in the brief thirty-six hours since he’d come face-to-face with Trina again, nothing in his life could be classified as “usual.”

  He watched the trailer guard harass the latest pair of girls as they scurried to relieve themselves in the forest. The guard was speaking loudly and Rob’s Russian was very good, so he heard the guard tell the girls that their first taste of American opportunity was going to come in the shape of his anatomy. Rob allowed the initial flash of anger to fuel his dedication to duty as he assessed how to take the guard down. A clean shot would be easy, but then there wouldn’t be a suspect to question. The more junior the ROC member was, like this guard, the easier it was for them to be turned. They weren’t hardened like Vasin and certainly not Ivanov, who had the power of the entire ROC behind him. No, this guard would have to be restrained, quickly and quietly enough to not alert Vasin. Rob had to keep the guard alive.

  But the perimeter guards were another problem. Trina couldn’t be expected to take out four guards. It was too dangerous. As the minutes ticked down and he still didn’t hear back from her, he was going to have to make a decision: Complete the mission or save Trina.

  * * *

  Trina watched from the safety of a low tree branch as the other two men circled around toward her location. Would she be as lucky this time, that they’d be chatting away about tits and ass enough to overlook her as the previous guards had? Her Russian wasn’t perfect but she kept it proficient enough to use as needed in the field. She’d arrested several ROC members and had always been grateful for the language ability.

  Crouched in the low branches of a bushy tree in a Pocono campground was never how she’d anticipated using her skill. But it was reassuring to know what the guards were talking about.

  Single guard on unhitched 18-wheeler trailer full of girls. They go out in 2s to use forest as toilet. I have to take out guard, get captives into forest. You move them to safer ground and wait for backup.

  She read Rob’s text again and knew that if these bad guys walking around her heard one sound from the trailer they’d be over there in a flash. Rob was a former SEAL, and CIA operative. He was an organized crime thug’s worst nightmare. But even with Rob’s capabilities, she didn’t like the odds.

  It was going to be up to her. She deliberately did not respond to Rob right away. She’d rather be able to tell him she’d neutralized her area. Four guards. It was a matter of which two she’d take out first.

  As the two men drew closer, she heard the dreaded words. Thank God for her Russian training. “What the hell is that?”

  “What?”

  “There, under the bush, idiot.” The one guard lowered his voice, realizing they weren’t alone. Trina watched as they neared the bush, the one in front motioning for the other to follow at a distance. They zeroed in on her boots, only two or three yards away.

  “Come out of there.” The guard spoke in excellent English, his rifle pointed at the bush.

  Trina knew it was now or never.

  She jumped down from the low tree branch she’d climbed. A quick hit to one guard’s head with her pistol had him unconscious on the ground. She was ready for the second man when he turned around, searching for her. Trina made short work of aiming her pistol and shooting in defense at his shoulder. He dropped to his knees, his screams echoing around her. She grabbed his AR-15 by yanking its strap over his head as he crashed to the ground.

  The noise alerted the other two men, and they ran at her. They were only yards away. One stopped and aimed his rifle at her. Trina acted on operational instinct as she grabbed the first man’s AR-15 from the ground and ran for the back of the building. She flung the extra weapon into the brush as she ran, ensuring the other two men wouldn’t find it easily. As shots hit the ground around her feet, she zigzagged until she heard the pounding steps behind her. A man emerged in front of her, and she prepared to take him out until she recognized it was Rob. He motioned with one swift up-and-down swipe of his left hand for her to hit the deck. She complied, and within a split second the sound of two bullets whizzing overhead was followed by two quick oomphs and thuds as her pursuers hit the ground. Rob had taken them out.

  She was back on her knees, getting up as Rob’s hand closed around her upper arm and pulled her to a standing position. His eyes blazed from the adrenaline, and she knew hers did, too.

  “You okay? Any more?” He looked her over.

  “Okay. We got them all, except Vasin and whoever he’s guarding in there. One’s unconscious, and I shot the other in the shoulder. The trailer guard?”

&
nbsp; Rob nodded. “Got him. Tied up to a tree, out of sight. Our backup team will find him. Come on. We’ve got to get the girls out of here.”

  She followed him, noticing that his stiff posture wasn’t as pronounced as it had been yesterday or even a few hours ago. Like her, Rob thrived on the thrill of a mission’s execution. Although Trina preferred to bring in fugitives. She’d never fired her weapon as a marshal before.

  They ran around the back of the building, and it reminded her of casing the other building. Had it only been yesterday? She felt a decade older.

  As they drew around to the other side, she looked for the trailer, anxious to help the young women to safety.

  Rob halted, and she almost smashed into his back.

  “Holy hell.” Rob’s words, low and meant for her only, alerted her to the sight in front of them.

  “This what you came here for, Marshal Lopez? Robert Bristol?” Vasin underscored the ROC’s power by using her name. He’d known she was at the other hideout, probably from the camera feed, and ROC intelligence had tracked her identity. She didn’t have time to worry about it as Vasin waved his rifle at the trailer, holding one of the girls by her hair. She whimpered as Vasin tugged on her locks. He spat on the ground.

  Trina swallowed and stepped out from behind Rob. “No. I came for you. Backup is on the way, and you’re never going to survive it. Come in with me now or take your chances with dozens of trained SWAT team members.” She didn’t want to reveal the FBI’s presence. It wasn’t Vasin’s business.

  Vasin laughed. “You mean like Robert told us yesterday? Your backup didn’t get me then. Why now?” He continued to reply with profanity in Russian, and she smiled.

  “No, unfortunately I’m not one to do that to myself. Take my orders or else.” She stared at him, speaking in Russian.

  “So the US marshal knows Russian? Then you understand.” He repeated his previous sentiment, this time in colloquial Russian.