Hawk (The Quiet Professionals, Book 2)

by Ronie Kendig

  “I know. And they miss you, too.” She folded her arms on the table and bent forward. “Listen…”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Yeah,” she said, bunching her shoulders. “Ella’s teacher said something to my mom about me taking care of them.”

  He braced himself. “And they said something to you?”

  “They did.”

  “They weren’t happy.”

  “No.”

  “Why can’t they just accept that I can love my kids and still be a soldier?” He grunted. “Sorry to drag you into this.”

  “Drag me into it? I’m their aunt. My sister and I might have had our differences, but those kids mean the world to me. I really gave my parents a piece of my mind at their accusations.”

  It was a salve to the wound her parents inflicted. “Wait. What accusations?”

  Sienna winced. “They called you an absentee father, said you’re injuring the children’s emotional state.”

  “That’s ludicrous!”

  “I know—”

  “It’s my job. I have to work. If I don’t work—”

  “Mitch.” Sienna leaned in to the camera. “You don’t have to defend yourself with me. I calmed my parents down, told them to think about the kids. It worked.”

  “It makes me crazy and mad.”

  “Me, too.”

  At her words, he held her gaze, torn between the fury of his in-laws’ meddling and Sienna’s caring. “Thank you.”

  She nodded with a somber smile. “Hang in there, chief. We’ll be here when you get back.”

  He liked that. Liked the way she dropped the we in that sentence instead of they. Mitch could only hope he was reading it right. “I look forward to seeing you, all of you.”

  Sienna held his gaze for three long, stirring moments. “Me, too.” A slight smile. “Next time, Mitch.”

  “Next time, Sienna.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Camp Marmal, Afghanistan

  18 December—1205 Hours

  What’d you find out?” General Lance Burnett closed his briefcase and punched the locks.

  “He’s not talking,” Watters said as he folded his arms.

  “What’re you going to do?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Always, son.” Lance set the briefcase on the chair by the door and went for his lined jacket on the coatrack. “Bledsoe isn’t the first soldier to have problems like this. Your job is to root out what’s causing it and determine the appropriate disciplinary action. The law affords you room, choices—from extra duties to honorable discharge to other-than-honorable.”

  Watters hunched his shoulders. “I just want to throttle him.”

  “Of course you do. You picked him for a reason. You trust him with your life, but he’s got an Achilles’ heel. We all do, Watters.” Lance grinned at the young captain. “Speaking of—how’s Miss Zarrick?”

  Watters’s gaze darted around, as if searching for an appropriate response.

  Lance chuckled. “You don’t have to answer.” A rap on the door drew his attention to the half window in the door with the open blinds. Russo stood at the door. Lance waved him in.

  “Sir,” Russo saluted.

  “At ease. Got good news for you, Sergeant,” Lance said as he returned to his desk. He lifted a manila envelope and passed it over to the Italian-Latino. “Your promotion came through. Effective immediately.”

  Russo straightened, his eyes widening. “Sir.”

  “You’ll get your official recognition next week, but as of this moment, you’re a warrant officer.” Lance grinned at the guy who’d been a walking storm the last eight months. “How’s it feel, Warrant Officer Russo?”

  Russo skated a glance to Watters then back to Lance. “An honor, sir.”

  “You got that right. Raptor is one of the finest teams out there, and I’m dang proud of you guys.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Lance nodded. “Now, what is it you came in here for?”

  “Two things—with Harrier heading Stateside for some time off with his kids, we’re a man down. I’d like a replacement—”

  “We’re tight on personnel, but I’ll look into it.”

  Russo nodded with tight lips. “I’d also like to ask about the attacks.”

  With a long expel of breath through puffed cheeks, Lance again nodded. “I need you and Watters to give me some time. I’m working on a few things, but—”

  “Sir,” Russo said. “No disrespect, but we were ambushed. No, worse—we were lured into that trap. Our communications are compromised. How can we—?”

  “Stop right there.” Lance tempered his words, careful of the edge creeping into his tone. He held up a hand. “I hear you. Believe you me, I hear you. But just as I trust you to make calls out there, you need to trust the calls I make here. You may not understand what I’m doing or why, but I need that trust.”

  Russo scowled. “Even if it means men die?”

  Watters came to his feet. “Easy, Falcon.”

  “No.” Russo’s expression went hard as granite. “I don’t think so. It’s one thing to ask us to do our job with accurate intel, but to ask us to grope around in hostile territory not knowing what intel is accurate—”

  “I understand your concerns.”

  Fire blazed through Russo’s dark eyes. “Do you? Because last I recall, you sat here in—”

  “Falcon.” Watters stepped forward.

  Heart thudding at the disrespectful tenor of Russo’s words, Lance stared. “You’d be wise to listen to your captain. And to trust me. I can’t tell you what I’m working on just yet, but you can be sure I won’t be sending you out on fool’s errands. Terrorists have taken enough of our boys.”

  Lips tight, he glared at the newly minted WO1 for a few long seconds then threaded his hands through his coat sleeves. “I’d be real careful of the accusations you throw around in your anger and zeal to protect your men. Remember, Russo—they’re my men, too.”

  Lance lifted his briefcase, reminding himself to breathe. “If you gentlemen will excuse me…”

  Mazar-e Sharif, Afghanistan

  19 December—1120 Hours

  Dread coiled in the pit of Fekiria’s stomach as Captain Dean entered the apartment she shared—at least for one more day—with her cousin Zahrah. Had Sergeant Brian told him she was at the club? Had he seen her at the base? She tried to meet the tall captain’s gaze. When she did, he gave her an acknowledging nod and hello but swiftly turned his attention to Zahrah. And his expression changed. Radically. The terse intensity that oozed out of the elite soldier softened as a small smile tugged at his clean-shaven face.

  And though Fekiria hated to admit it, he looked handsome in his dress uniform.

  “What’s happening?” Concern filled Zahrah’s question as she led him to the tan sofa.

  “I have to head out for a week or two.”

  “Or two?” Zahrah’s disappointment couldn’t be hidden, but she weathered the news well, all the same.

  Fekiria worked on layering the baklava, her cousin’s favorite treat, as the two talked and she listened in.

  Zahrah had always been strong. Brave. Fearless. Hands in her lap, she put on that tough exterior. “I will pray for you.”

  Captain Dean smiled. “Thank you.” When he reached over and took Zahrah’s hand, Fekiria ducked. Spread honey over the thin pastry and added another layer.

  Even as Zahrah had lain in the hospital seven months ago with her hair butchered, Captain Dean had been there. Watched over her. Hovered. He wasn’t an emotional person, but having seen him on several occasions, Fekiria noted the tenderness with which he approached her cousin. Zahrah still bore telltale scars of her captivity but none more than the ragged one on her cheekbone that turned bright pink every time she saw Captain Dean.

  Nobody had ever treated Fekiria that way. And probably never would. She had too much fire in her belly.

  “What’s wrong?” Zahrah touched the side of his face. “Y
ou look upset.”

  He nodded. “One of my guys was in a fight.”

  Fekiria’s hands slowed, remembering the incident at the club. Remembering Sergeant Brian.

  “Is he okay?” Zahrah asked.

  “Yeah—busted rib.” He sighed heavily then shrugged. “Can’t figure him out. He’s facing disciplinary action but won’t tell me what happened.” Captain Dean rubbed his fingers over his knuckles, as if kneading dough.

  “Is it that serious?”

  Setting aside the first batch, Fekiria listened closely, her mouth dry. Sergeant Brian was getting in trouble? Because of her. But—he’d kept her secret. Please have kept my secret.

  He nodded, his head dipping a little lower with the admission. “I don’t want to put him out, but…”

  “Put him out?”

  Zahrah’s head snapped up and her brown eyes met Fekiria’s—and only then did Fekiria realize she’d actually spoken the question.

  “Forgive me,” Fekiria said, tucking her chin. She glanced at the baklava, but all she could see was Sergeant Brian’s face. The frightening swiftness of his anger. Especially once the other man punched him. But not nearly as fierce as the expression when the man had made inappropriate advances on her. “It’s not my concern.”

  “So, he’s looking at an other-than-honorable discharge?”

  Captain Dean steepled his fingers. “It’s an option.” He leaned back with a groan. “If he hadn’t gotten into a couple of scraps already, I’d overlook it, but this was at a local place the other night. The owner wants us to cover damages, and two people were hurt.”

  As sticky and thick as the honey on her fingers, guilt spread over Fekiria’s shoulders. Sergeant Brian would lose his career in the Army? Because of me? Her conscience thudded against the guilt.

  At the hookah bar, he had been kind and attentive—in a bold, flirtatious way. But that other man—a shudder rippled through Fekiria at the memory—he’d been creepy. Forceful. When the punches started, she let her selfish fear of being discovered overcome her and slipped out the side door before anyone saw her.

  “Fekiria.” Zahrah sat up then looked back at the captain. “What night was this?”

  “Two nights ago.”

  Zahrah looked back at her. “You were out the other night, right? Did you see anything?”

  “No. Of course not.” The lie stung. He’d defended her. Protected her. And kept his promise. “Mazar-e is not small. There are many bars.”

  Captain Dean sat forward, his sharp eyes narrowed. “I never said it was at a bar.”

  Panic stretched through her breast. She shrugged, her pulse racing. “That is where most of the American soldiers go, is it not?” Another shrug. “That is where I have seen them.” They were still watching her. She lifted her hands. “Sorry. Need to clean up.” She turned her back and held her hands under the hot water, frantic. What if they figured it out?

  They could not. Her plans to go to Kandahar would be ruined.

  And nothing—and no one—would ruin her escape from this city. From her parents.

  MITCH

  I want to ride the Superman!”

  Mitchell Black glanced down at his sandy-haired daughter. At six years old, she was more ready for life and adventure than most teens. He grinned as he met the blue eyes, so like her mother’s. She wasn’t tall enough for the ride, and he knew telling her that would fire up that cauldron in her belly. “Ella, we already talked about this.”

  Her lower lip protruded.

  Mitch felt his heart coil into a thousand knots. He wanted to give her everything. Let her have her way. Walk on the moon, if she wanted. But that wouldn’t develop character. That wouldn’t teach her anything but that she had her daddy wrapped around her little finger. But they were here. On vacation, something he hadn’t managed to pull off since Ellery’s death.

  “We could ask—”

  “Dad,” eight-year-old Noah dragged out the vowel in the name, pleading. “You promised. Just you and me.”

  “He’s my daddy, too!” Ella stamped her foot. “I want to ride Superman!”

  Long, delicate fingers coiled around Ella’s. Tanned legs bent as Sienna Leitner squatted beside his daughter. “Guess what?” Eyes alive, she surreptitiously turned Ella to face her. “I just saw Tweety heading toward the Looney Toons area.”

  Ella’s eyes and mouth widened with a gasp. “Really?”

  Breathing a sigh of relief at the save executed by the kids’ aunt, Mitch felt the knots loosen. Ella had been waiting to see Tweety since they’d arrived two hours ago.

  “Daddy, can I go with Aunt Sienna, please? Please!” Ardent and redirected, Ella would not be dissuaded.

  “I don’t know…” he teased.

  “Oh come on,” Sienna said, her long auburn hair tied back and the tennis visor shading her pretty brown eyes. “You guys can’t be the only ones to have fun. We girls need our own time.” She turned to Ella. “Right?”

  Ella thrust a fist in the air. “Right!”

  “Fine, fine.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I give up. Go.”

  Squealing, Ella danced a jig.

  Mitch caught Sienna’s arm as they turned to leave. “Thanks.”

  She smiled, promised to meet him later, then headed off.

  He watched them go, Ella and her aunt—the woman who had covered for him more times than he could count. She’d been a better friend to him and the kids than their own mother. Ellery hadn’t been a bad person, but she’d been more concerned with her friends and parties. Mitch had struggled to strike a solid balance between being a father and being a soldier. Since Ellery hadn’t held a job for long, he had to maintain an income. That meant time away from the kids. Too often. And her parents had given him no small amount of grief over it.

  But then there was Sienna. Smart, funny, invested in her niece and nephew.

  “Dad!”

  Mitch turned to his son, embarrassed at the minutes he’d spent pondering their aunt. His sister-in-law. “Ready?”

  “Yeah!” Noah raced ahead of him, forcing Mitch to jog to catch up. The thirty-minute line for the roller coaster would’ve been worse if they’d come on a weekend, but he’d managed to swing this time off for the kids.

  As with any amusement park ride, the thrill lasted a few minutes—too short compared to the lengthy time spent in line.

  “Can we do it again?” Noah asked.

  Mitch glanced at his watch. “If the line’s short.”

  With less than fifty people ahead of them, they climbed back into the queue. Adrenaline high and feeling good, Mitch couldn’t believe his son would head into fourth grade this year.

  “You excited about school starting back up?”

  “Am I an alien?” Noah shot back, rolling his eyes.

  Mitch could only smile. He remembered hating school—mostly out of boredom. “I sure hope not, or someone pulled a fast one on me when you were born.”

  As they snaked through the line, Mitch savored every second with his son. The sparkle of the eyes that were his own. The sandy-blond hair that hung loose and swept to the side. He’d wanted Noah to cut his hair, but he left the decision up to Noah. Unfortunately. “I might sneak into your room tonight with a razor.”

  Noah cocked his head. “You promised I could grow it out.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t mean you should look like a girl.”

  Anger flashed through his son’s face, warning Mitch to veer off. “I don’t look like a girl.”

  Ruffling Noah’s hair, he laughed. “You’re right. You don’t. You’re growing into a fine young man.”

  A bell intoned from his phone. Mitch glanced down, expecting a “Where are you?” text from Sienna. Instead, his heart stopped at the message he saw. “AHOD.”

  Mitch wanted to curse. Not now. Not today.

  Anger churned through him. He wanted to punch someone. Throw his phone away. But then he saw the faces of his team. His friends. The buddies who would rely on him, the team medic. “
We have to go.”

  “What?”

  Mitch bent under the cordoned-off rope and moved to the side.

  “There’s only ten people ahead of us.”

  “Sorry, bud.”

  “Dad, no!”

  Mitch was tempted to reprimand his son’s outburst, but something in the kid’s panicked tone concerned him. “We’ll come back another—”

  “Dad, please—You can’t do this.”

  “Son, I have to.” They navigated through the park to meet up with Sienna, Mitch texting as they moved. “You know that.”

  Noah swung around in front of him. “No. You can’t.” Ferocity struck like lightning. “I heard him, Dad. I heard him say they’d take us away if you left us again.”

  The world powered down as if caught in the vacuum of an explosion. “Who? Who said that?” But Mitch knew.

  “Pawpaw.” Noah’s eyes were a mixture of panic and grief. “He told Meemaw that you didn’t spend enough time with us, that your job in the Army was hurting us.”

  The boom of that explosion detonated in Mitch’s chest. He ran a hand along the back of his neck and let out a painful breath. No, no. Will and Carol wouldn’t do that to him. “They were probably just upset about something. I’m sure they didn’t mean it.” He wrapped an arm around Noah’s shoulder. “C’mon. We need to find Ella and Aunt Sienna.” She could tell them if this threat was real.

  When they met up by a snack cart, Mitch’s mind raced.

  “Hey.” Her smile faded into concern. “What’s wrong?”

  “We have to leave.”

  She deflated. And at first, he read it that she wanted to be with him, but in light of Noah’s announcement, he wondered…“You got paged.”

  He held up his phone, watching her eyes. Her body language. Arms folded. She looked away and sighed before turning back and giving him a faint smile. “You go. I’ll stay with the kids.”

  “Can I talk to you?” He stepped to the side, motioning for Noah to stay with Ella. Sienna joined him, frowning as she glanced back at the kids. “Noah told me something. Are your parents planning to take the kids from me?”

  Sienna’s eyebrows rose and she drew back. “Why would they do that?”