Master Sergeant Barnes was dark-haired and blue-eyed, hot-headed and ambitious, and at times he was confused for Luke, considering he had the same long dark hair tied back in a ponytail, the same broad shoulders, and the same height of six feet. Unlike Luke, though, Rex was grandstanding, as he usually did. He still hadn’t learned the art of shutting his damn trap and keeping it shut in front of anyone in charge.
“It sounds to me as if you’re challenging an order, Master Sergeant,” said Colonel Raymond Powers. “Is there a problem here that I don’t know about? Because last I heard, how this works is the orders come down from the White House, and you don’t question them. It’s not up to you to be the judge and jury and decide which assholes you shoot. The order comes down for your mission, I outline it, and you shut the fuck up and follow it. We don’t get to question what falls under national security and what doesn’t. You’re a grunt. You pick up the gun and shoot who we tell you to.”
Colonel Powers was the shortest member of the team, in his fifties, a retired operator on his third wife. He was standing at the end of the boardroom table in the command center where they were being briefed, wearing green fatigues and the same pissed-off, unsmiling expression he always had. “Sergeant Major, you need a minute with your team to see they have their heads screwed on straight?” he snapped at Jess Parker, the team leader.
Jess was perched on the end of the table instead of sitting in a seat, and he still hadn’t shaved since arriving back stateside three days earlier. His bushy reddish hair was shoulder-length, but his beard and mustache gave him a hillbilly biker look that wouldn’t have made him seem out of place on America’s Most Wanted. Added to that was the tattoo on his forearm, a skull and crossbones emblazoned with the words “Death before dishonor”—something that would’ve been frowned on in the regular military but was good for their unit.
The 77th Operational Delta, known as the Wardogs, were a special forces team that didn’t really exist, reporting directly to the White House, which was both good and bad. It had started because of the war on terror, but, as of late, they had been more focused on protecting the dirty side of business.
“Nope, we’re good to go,” Jess said. “Seems Barnes has forgotten his manners and how he’s supposed to be seen and not heard, just like the child he is, in the presence of his commanding officers. Not to worry. He’s figuring it out now that we’re back stateside. Isn’t that right?”
Jess gave everything to Rex, who only lifted his hands arrogantly and didn’t say another word. There was just something about Jess, who’d run their team for six years. He garnered all their respect unconditionally, and he knew how to shut each of them down, take the heat, and keep them all alive.
“So you’ll be wheels up in two hours. That will be all,” the colonel said before striding out of the secure room on the base at Fort Bragg.
Luke swiveled in the old black leather chair, taking in the now closed door, before turning back toward Sergeant First Class Matthew Newman, sitting across from him in a white T-shirt and khakis. The newbie, at twenty-five, was eager to impress. He was from Nebraska, with hazel eyes and nice, silky, long dirty blond hair and a smile that could sweet-talk the pants off any woman. He could’ve passed for a surfer, Luke thought, and he always had a different woman on his arm. His eyes could flash with teasing one minute and be filled with the kind of look that would have any sane man running the other way the next.
“I’m with Rex on this one,” Matthew said. “This isn’t sitting too right, Jess, that someone could use my DNA to fabricate a crime scene while I’m on the other side of the world. Definitely leaves me with a cold chill.”
“This is what you signed up for,” Jess said. “You’re a grunt. You’re not paid to think. You follow orders, end of story. The Harris Group is one of the leading genetics companies, responsible for cutting-edge medical research that saves lives.” He took in each one of them.
From the other end of the table, Shaun Grant, Sergeant First Class, pitched in. “Doesn’t it seem odd to you that we’re being asked to go in and shut down this situation before it becomes known to the public? Seems as if more and more, we’re becoming hired thugs.” His black hair was close cropped, and he had dark skin and dark eyes, the biggest member of the team, at six foot two and likely three hundred pounds of solid muscle. His conference room chair seemed too small for his big frame. To Luke, Shaun was the one they all looked to, who had their backs and was always first through the door.
“So let me get this straight,” Rex started again. “We’re flying to Switzerland to capture a whistleblower, an executive at a private genetics lab funded by every government worldwide, which is stockpiling DNA from private citizens for all kinds of nefarious means in the name of research and development. He’s exposed them for working with the CIA and other countries to manipulate DNA evidence and engineer crime scenes, and he’s also exposed our government and the Harris Group for selling their technology to the highest bidder.
“But because he’s stepped on the wrong toes and just because our government can, we’re supposed to be okay with capturing this poor schmuck? He’s the one being screwed here, in my opinion. We’re going to toss him away in a hole forever, no trial, no nothing, because he sounded the alarm? This technology could result in any one of us being locked up forever on charges for a crime we didn’t commit. Sounds to me like we’re on the wrong side of this one.”
Luke had long past realized that an order was an order. He’d lost track of the number of missions that had strayed into the corporate world that the government had its hands in. The wrong side was the wrong side, but the lines had started to blur.
“It’s not up to us to question it,” Jess said, looking around at them. “You know that. We take the order, and you do your job. You don’t get an opinion. Are we clear here, or does anyone else have something to get off his chest before we’re wheels up?”
To Luke, the five-member team were like his brothers. His family back in Livingston would likely have a serious fit if they knew what really went on behind the scenes in their government, if they knew about the kinds of assholes he was protecting.
“No, fine,” Shaun said in his deep voice. “My mama always raised me to believe that honesty is the best policy, but scheming and dishonesty seem to be what we’re defending now. Makes perfect sense to me.” He was dressed in fatigues and a tan T-shirt. When he swiveled around in his chair, Luke sensed he seemed moodier than usual.
“Great, so now that we’re all clear, remember this isn’t a sanctioned military operation,” Jess said. “We’re going in as civilians. Know that this isn’t sitting right with me, either, but we don’t get to pick and choose our missions. We follow orders. That’s what we signed on for. You’ll need your suits for this one. Speaking of, Luke, how was your brother’s wedding? How’s your family?”
Luke could just make out Jess’s blue eyes as the man lifted the shades he’d worn inside, something the colonel also never busted him for. But then, they were Jess’s team, and they operated under an anonymity that Luke had once appreciated. The things they did wouldn’t sit right with members of the regular army.
“He’s married, but I’m not sure he buys into it, considering he’s still stuck on the fact that our dad ditched us as kids,” Luke said. “I didn’t know it still bothered him, even though it fucked us all around. But hey, he did it. He’s adopting the little girl, too, and I heard before leaving yesterday that he’s going to be a baby daddy. Charlotte’s preggers.”
“Marcus is married, adopting that kid, and now about to be a father? Good for him. I’m happy for him,” Rex said, jumping in, all smiles. “Has to make your mom happy.”
Luke just took in his team, who’d met his family only a handful of times but knew everything about them and then some. They all knew more about each other and their issues, their secrets, than their own families knew.
Then everyone was up and started to the door, ready to hit their lockers and grab their bags
, their guns, everything they’d need.
“Luke, got a second?” Jess added before he could leave.
“Sure,” he said, realizing it was only him and Jess left in the conference room.
“Just wanted to give you a heads-up that the lead you asked Sienna to follow up on, the one about Raymond O’Connell, turned up nothing. Yes, Sienna was under the impression that I knew about the request. When she mentioned it to me, I knew the man had to be your dad, and I thought, ‘Now, what the hell is Luke doing?’ So now I’m asking, why are you having Sienna Parker, our CIA agent, look for your dad?”
In that moment, Luke wanted nothing more than to pull Sienna aside and ask her what the hell she was doing.
“You’ve known me a long time,” Luke said. “Fine, here it is. There’s just something about the fact that my father up and walked away from his family eighteen years ago that’s never sat right with me. We never heard from him again, and from what I’ve figured out, he vanished into thin air. Now, who does that? We have the resources, so yeah, I’ve been doing some homework. You going to bust me for that?”
Jess glanced over to the door and back to him, but he didn’t say anything for another second. “Cut the crap, Luke. You can’t have Sienna doing personal investigating for you. Your dad evidently doesn’t want to be found—but then again, there could be another option.”
“You mean that he could be dead?” Luke said. That was the thing he’d thought of over and over. If his father had disappeared and walked away, he was either dead or didn’t want to be found. “If he’s dead, how is it that I can’t find anything on him? The more I dig, the more holes I find.”
Jess ran his hand over his chin. “Well, then maybe you have your answer.” He started to the door before turning back to him. “Luke, if you keep digging, the answers you find may not be the ones you want. Oh, and one more thing,” Jess said, his hand on the door. “Consider this your birthday present, me coming to you. Sienna’s doing you this favor, but then she came to me. You may want to ask yourself, what is she up to?”
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She thought her nightmare was over....
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—“The focus on a woman taken was a very classic ideal because it was set in a military arena. YOU have to read these books, but make sure that you have e box of tissues because you will need them.”
Faybe
In VANISHED, Abby has married the man of her dreams. He rescued her, and he’s the father of her child. Everything should be perfect, but she begins to relive her nightmare from when she was taken… and one night she disappears, leaving her children alone in the dead of night, her husband on a military ship halfway around the world.
* * *
But when Eric arrives home and the search begins, there are two disturbing questions: Was someone in the house? And how is it possible for Abby to simply vanish?
* * *
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Vanished Chapter 1
“Push. Come on, baby. You can do this.” Eric was behind Abby on the hospital bed so she could lean against him. Her hands gripped his with a strength most men didn’t have. She was damp and sweaty, and she was exhausted from being in labor all night, more than twelve hours.
“Almost there, Abby. Just give me one more push.” The military doctor, Chase Hargrove, was a young, round-faced man of medium height and build with light curly hair. He glanced at Eric and lifted the baby, setting him on Abby’s stomach. “Here he is, your boy.” Chase grinned, flashing two dimples, and stood up, glancing at Abby through his round, fashionable glasses. “How are you doing, Abby?”
“I’m okay.” She set her hand on the baby’s back, trying not to nudge her IV. She watched the baby, and Eric leaned down and kissed her forehead, brushing back the long blond hair that was tangled and stuck to her skin. She gazed up at him with heavenly blue eyes that appeared tired and a little glassy. Exhaustion—it had to be.
“You did good, baby. You okay?” he asked. His arm was around her, and she leaned against him. Her knees were still up as the doctor finished delivering the placenta. She lifted her hand from the baby and rubbed her forehead, pressing her cheek into Eric’s chest.
“I’m just tired. Can you take the baby?” She had lifted her hands as if the baby lying on her was a burden. She sounded off, too, Eric thought, or maybe she was just tired and he was reading too much into it.
The doctor glanced up but didn’t seem concerned. A nurse set a blanket over the baby and wiped off most of the blood, and Eric lifted him as another nurse set a white cotton hat on his head. Eric stood up, and Abby lay back down, the head of the bed raised as high as it could go, as a nurse started to check her vitals.
“We’re going to get you moved and settled pretty quickly. You should be able to go home at the end of the day,” the doctor said.
Eric held his newborn baby, so tiny, in the crook of his arm. He flicked his gaze away from his quiet son, who had yet to make a peep. He had round cheeks and a pink face with a tiny button nose just like his mama’s. His eyes were still closed. Eric smiled until he noticed Abby looking away, appearing uninterested in what the doctor was saying. Eric added, “How about some sleep first? With Rachel at home, we risk a very happy two-year-old climbing all over Mommy. I don’t think Abby is anxious to get back just yet.”
“It’s all right, Eric. I just need some sleep,” she said from where she lay, turning her head toward him.
It had been ten days since Eric stepped off the destroyer in homeport, met by his very pregnant wife, Abby, and their two-year-old plump little girl, Rachel, whom he had delivered after rescuing Abby in the middle of nowhere in the Persian Gulf. She had escaped her abductor, Seyed Hossein, the man who’d bought her, kept her, and abused her until, one night, she escaped. She had been eight months pregnant. Abby was a human trafficking success story. Of the women who disappeared in Europe, most were never found again, but Eric had found her and saved her, and she was now his wife.
Rachel had dark hair and olive skin, and she didn’t resemble Eric at all, with only hints of Abby. She was the only reminder of what Abby had survived, and Eric loved the precious little girl as if she were his very own.
Eric cuddled his son, a light-haired baby who fit in the crook of his arm. He glanced down at Abby, and her eyes were closed. The baby was settled and seemed so comfortable, as if he knew his daddy would always keep him safe. His tiny hand rested over his eyes, and he started to work his lips.
Eric was about to wake Abby when the doctor said, “No, let her sleep. The baby’s good. We’ll send him into the nursery, and the nurses can give him a supplement of formula if he needs it.”
There was a tap on the door, and a nurse poked her head in. “Captain Hamilton, there are people out here to see you.”
Eric started to the door because he knew who was out there. “Well, let me go show off my son,” he said, heading to meet his old friend Joe, who was his current XO, and his wife, Mary-Margaret.
She could smell the blood, the antiseptic, and hear voices: deep, low, close whispers. She told herself to pretend to be asleep, to concentrate, to keep breathing in and out, nice and easy. She relaxed her eyelids. She couldn’t let them see she was awake. The floor squeaked with footsteps, and the door closed. She heard someone walking away just outside the door, but she also knew someone was sti
ll there, waiting quietly in the corner. She felt as if she had suddenly been thrown into the middle of a cat-and-mouse game, and she could feel the room, the locked door, the stiff mattress she lay on. She was so cold, and, try as she might, she couldn’t stop the chill that racked her body. She trembled.
A hand touched her, and she jumped. Her eyes flew open, and she gasped at the dark-haired woman standing over her. Who was she? Where was she? She winced as she sat up. The woman’s hand was still on her shoulder, and she took in the small, box-like hospital room. It was dim, though the curtains were open.
“Are you okay?” the woman asked. She was wearing a pink scrub top, and Abby stared at the V cut of the neck and wondered why the woman hadn’t covered herself. She had pale bare arms, too, and she took Abby’s wrist and glanced at her watch. Abby stared at the door—a locked door, or was it?
The door opened, and Eric, her tall, dark-haired husband with vibrant brown eyes, entered and frowned. “Abby, you’re awake,” he said. “I just showed off our son to Joe and Mary-Margaret. They’re here now, and they wanted to come in and see you, but I thought you were sleeping.” He glanced down at the tiny baby in his arms. Eric was so happy, as if he was staring at the most precious thing ever. He was so strong, her husband, her man. He was out of uniform, wearing blue jeans and a snug black T-shirt that showed off the finest biceps, triceps, and six-pack abs, as well as the rock-hard chest that had always comforted her.
#5--The Commitment--O’Connells Page 5