Zone of Action (In the Zone)

by Cathy Skendrovich

  Their gazes met. Big mistake. At this distance he could see her unblemished skin, the tiny mole at the side of her mouth. He caught the faint fragrance of flowers, probably from whatever she bathed in. He wanted to lean in and bury his nose in her hair, take a deep, cleansing breath. Swallowing that idiotic urge, he concentrated on her face and tried not to notice her dark eyelashes, or those delicate brows, which were crinkled. In a frown. Her usual expression around him.

  “That bastard.” Her angry tone dispelled the trance he’d been in. He wasn’t sure if she was talking about Brett or the punk. Either way, he let go of her and stepped back.

  “Get the first aid kit and put some shoes on.” He spoke with more gruffness than warranted. Taking a deep breath, he added, “You can’t reach the wound very well on your own. Let me help you.”

  “I can manage it,” she grumbled.

  He’d expected her surly response but was taken aback when she actually did what he told her, padding up the stairs without any more argument. Maybe she was starting to see that she didn’t have to be the Lone Ranger all the time. Coming directly under attack had a way of clearing the field of extraneous arguments.

  Thank you, Brett, even if you’re still an asshole…

  She reappeared, wearing some cutesy little slippers with roses printed all over them and carrying the supplies he’d asked for. The dainty footwear was at odds with her language and strength, yet they told him more about her than any confidential dossier. She set the supplies on the end table beside the lamp.

  He took the cotton ball, soaked it in the hydrogen peroxide she’d supplied. He smiled slightly at the bottle. Most people used this because it didn’t burn like alcohol. Apparently even a tough-as-nails wonder woman had her weaknesses.

  “Stand still.” Holding her arm loosely with one hand, he wielded the drenched cotton ball and tried not to pay attention to her warm breath blowing on his face as she watched his every move. She wasn’t about to turn away and blindly trust him. He could accept that. It was the fact that he found her little breaths erotic that bothered him. He’d never been this turned on by so many little behaviors before, behaviors that should have gone unnoticed. He was being a horn dog, and that didn’t fit his M.O.

  Her hiss of indrawn breath snagged his attention.

  “I’m sorry,” he apologized, shooting a glance at her. She’d caught her bottom lip between her teeth, her gaze riveted on the deceptively small wound. He stared at her plump lips for several counts before he realized what he was doing and refocused on the wound.

  Grabbing up the nonstick pad she’d provided, he tore it open with his teeth before offering it to her. “Press this on it and I’ll get the roll.”

  She nodded, but he waited a moment longer, studying her face, with her loose dark hair framing it. His eyes were drawn once more to that little beauty mark beside her mouth, and the vision of him kissing it rocked through him.

  He dropped his gaze, forcing that intimate thought from his mind as he wound the rolled gauze around her arm a few times before securing it with bandage tape.

  At last finished, he stepped back, releasing the breath he’d held. As he did so, he quirked one eyebrow and said calmly, “This proves Brett’s a cog in a much bigger wheel. Any ideas who might be calling the shots? And why?”

  She shook her head, covering the bandage with one hand. “Not off the top of my head. I’ve been removed from all of this for a while now. I’d have to do some research.” She speared him with her sharp, green gaze. “That’s what you want me to do.”

  She shoved Cam’s pillow aside on the couch and sat down. She’d come to the conclusion he’d wanted her to. Not only did Cam want to know who his former friend was working for, he also wanted to know why. What would make a career soldier go to the dark side?

  “You did know him the best.” Raising a finger, he corrected himself. “The most intimately. You knew his habits, his idiosyncrasies. You guessed something was wrong when none of us noticed. What tuned you in that wasn’t right?” He sat on the other end of the couch, resting his arm along its back. She raised her head, and he could almost see the gears spinning in her brain.

  “Hearing him sell troop placement, for starters.”

  Her sarcastic tone wasn’t lost on Cam, but he needed her to go deeper into her memory. He leaned forward. “What about before that? Was there anything that made you suspicious?” There had to be a clue. A wayward comment, possibly a news sequence he paid more attention to. Cam fisted his hands to contain his frustration.

  “You want the truth?” Her eyes shone in the room’s light, almost like…unshed tears? That bothered Cam. He hadn’t known Audrey very long at all, but he’d bet she didn’t show her emotions very often. He wanted to back off this line of questioning. Bringing a strong woman to tears wasn’t his goal, especially this woman. He opened his mouth to tell her to shelve it all until the morning, but she continued.

  “We weren’t having sex anymore. I figured he had another woman. I was getting ready to move out. Every time I asked if everything was okay, he’d give me some lame-ass response, like he was under a lot of pressure at work. Or he’d tell me to butt the hell out.”

  Talk about feeling like the biggest ass on earth. That wasn’t at all what he’d expected her to say, but maybe he should have. Didn’t they say the significant other was always the first to know? And now she’d had to admit it to him aloud.

  “I’m sorry, Audrey—”

  She shook her head, blinking rapidly. “It’s the truth. I never realized he was committing treason until I overheard him, and even then, I only listened because I thought I’d find out who he was cheating on me with. I’d rather he’d been a cheater.”

  Her words were spoken lowly. She’d really cared for Brett. At one time he’d spoken about her like she was “the one.” But then something happened. Something that changed everything. And now he and Audrey were left to pick up the pieces.

  Her voice cut across his musings. “What about you? Did he say anything noteworthy when he cracked your head open?”

  “He didn’t crack my head open…exactly,” Cam was quick to point out, somewhat glad for the change of subject.

  She smiled for the first time, really smiled, and he was gut-punched by the transformation to her face. She glowed like a sunflower in the heat of summer. He concealed his stunned reaction behind an awkward cough, amazed at the poetic turn of his thoughts. Romantic similes had no place among the four-letter descriptors he and most soldiers favored. However, she transcended the ordinary.

  “Tomato, tomahto. The bottom line is, you’re suspicious of the attack of those soldiers on post, and I am, too. The timing is too coincidental. You already told me you don’t believe in coincidences. I’m inclined to agree. Maybe this attack was planned. Maybe he was the point man to get this strike going.”

  Here it was, the perfect moment to revisit the Easter egg scenario. He tread softly. Sitting forward, he reached for one of her hands. Startled, she began to pull away and then abruptly stopped. He took too much enjoyment from the feel of her hand in his. He gazed into her eyes. “And maybe he had the specifics of this attack on his computer, flash drive, or papers that he’d left somewhere safe. Somewhere no one would look. Could Brett have left that something with you and sent this goon to get it?”

  She frowned, brow crinkling as she pulled her hand from his loose grip. He wished she hadn’t and then wondered why the hell he felt that way in the first place. He’d only just met the woman. But, damn, he liked what he knew and saw of her already. She was independent, intelligent, and easy on the eyes. On the heels of that observation came the idea that he had no business thinking those thoughts.

  “That all sounds plausible. It would make sense he wouldn’t come here himself, since he made such a scene at the court martial. Then again, maybe the group he’s working with activated my home invader. I wish I could give y
ou a better answer. I’ve racked my brain. I couldn’t sleep, so I’ve been trying to figure out when and what Brett could have left with me. I even searched my purse and jackets. Nothing. He really wasn’t here much. I spent more time up in Washington with him. If he left something with me, I don’t know where, or what, it could be.” She met his gaze with an apologetic look.

  At least he had her considering the possibility. He wouldn’t give up on the scenario. It made the most sense. His mind wandered. Why hadn’t she fallen asleep? Fear? He didn’t think she was afraid of her ex. So far Audrey had only exuded total self-confidence.

  Did his presence in her house disturb her?

  Thinking about her thinking about him was dangerous. And foolhardy. Especially after what just transpired. Wanting to hold her hand while breathing in her perfume like a dying man was unprofessional. He’d been telling himself that a lot today. He needed to remember why he was here and forget about the male-female attraction thing. Treat her like a fellow soldier and just ruck up and keep himself at arm’s reach. He could do it.

  Chapter Eight

  Cam woke up early the next morning, even though they hadn’t gotten to bed until close to three, after securing the rear door window the best they could. He never slept in. It was the curse of the soldier. He didn’t expect Audrey would be too much farther behind him, so he folded his sheets, stacking them on the arm of the sofa with his pillow before heading into the downstairs bathroom.

  He changed into his civvies of jeans and a T-shirt from the duffel he’d brought in last night, strapping on his gun and holster before rinsing off his face in cold water. He looked at his reflection, trying not to relive the events of the evening before, when he’d cleaned the wound on Audrey’s arm. Her body had hummed with nerves and outrage at the violation of her safe space, her home. He’d felt the tremors where he’d touched her. She hadn’t given a damn about her injury. She’d remained a soldier, no matter her civilian life, and that turned him on. Strong women always had.

  He shook his head. Those were thoughts that he couldn’t allow himself to entertain. He was first and foremost an agent with a job to do, which was keep the civilian safe and find the SOB who was taking out good soldiers before their prime.

  He slipped out the front door and crossed the street. He wanted to check in with Linder, let him know that Audrey was on board with helping them, as well as see if there was any new information on the slaying of those soldiers. His heart ached for their families, their mothers, their dads, their loved ones. It brought all his memories of Jimenez back. He hated reliving how he’d failed one of his team. His stomach tightened, and his heart pounded in his chest at the memory. At least Jimenez had died doing what he loved. Those young soldiers from the base hadn’t even gotten out of the gate.

  He stopped on the other side of the road and looked back at Audrey’s town house, gauging where the home invader might have hunkered down and waited. Moving into the trees, he checked again. He didn’t hold out much hope of finding anything. Terrorists were good at fieldstripping any evidence of their presence.

  The ground was dry. He couldn’t discern any footprints, but he walked along the side of the road anyway. There weren’t any tire marks, nothing that might point to an accomplice. Things had probably shaken down pretty much the way the kid told the cops. But none of it explained the handcuffs on the door earlier. Had that been solely to scare Audrey, allowing Brett to take off, or had he hung around in the trees here, watching to see what happened?

  Either way, he’d escaped detection and was probably back with his “people,” whoever the hell they were. Hiring the kid hadn’t been a smart move. Don’t send a kid to do a man’s job. The wannabe terrorist hadn’t expected Cam to be there. It just spotlighted how naïve the kid had been. At least he hadn’t gotten what he came for, whatever the hell that was. It gave Cam and Audrey a chance to figure out whatever that thing was.

  Cam kicked at the dirt with his boot and looked up and down the street. Empty. He slipped back into the shadow of the trees. With the early morning fog twining through the pines and the darkness they provided, he was relatively safe from any ambush. He didn’t expect anyone to be hanging around here. Yet.

  Checking the time, he called Linder, who picked up on the third ring.

  “Catch the bastard?” His CWO never minced words.

  “No, though we had some action last night.” Ignoring the various connotations of “action” that came to mind, Cam described what happened the night before, ending with, “The good news is, Jenkins is on board with helping us find Gates.”

  Linder snorted on his end. “Guess we should be thankful for small favors. Counter-terrorism suspects several cells who could all be responsible.” He rattled off the acronyms of several known cells, while Cam shouldered his phone and wrote them down. He signed off by promising to run them by his resident expert.

  Pocketing his phone and notepad, Cam looked up and spied Audrey standing on her front porch, obviously searching for him. He stepped out of the shadows of the trees, looking both directions down the empty road before striding across it. She noticed him as soon as he moved. Her whole body tensed like a hunting dog catching the scent of its prey, only to relax when she realized it was him. Again, the out-of-place smile crept to his lips.

  He spoke as soon as he reached her side of the street. “You shouldn’t be out here. You’re a sitting duck. At least I have my gun.” He stopped on the lowest step, turning sideways to show his gun holstered at the small of his back before looking up at her.

  She was clad all in black, which emphasized her creamy skin. He’d always been a sucker for the contrast of dark hair and a pale complexion on a woman. Same with her swan’s neck and breasts that filled out the fitted shirt nicely. The ones that were currently at his eye level.

  “A sniper would pick you off before you pulled your weapon from behind you, Special Agent.”

  Her voice brought his gaze back to her face. Her lips, actually. Until her words registered. They were back to his official title. He sighed. Just when he thought he was making headway with her trust issues. But when their eyes met, hers warmed to the green of a summer meadow, belying the formal address, and relief washed through him, relief he had no business feeling.

  “I’ve got news about the base shooting,” he blurted, moving past her to push open the front door. They really needed to stop having conversations out in the open, especially after last night. A little frown appeared between her brows, but she preceded him, leaving a trail of that flowery scent he’d caught last night when he was near her.

  He shut the front door and leaned his back against it. He wished she wouldn’t clasp her hands behind her back the way she did or rock up and down on her heels with nervous energy. He was too aware of her as it was, and all her movements only made him more so.

  “Well? Are you going to tell me more, or shall I guess?”

  That brought his attention around. “Our counter-terrorism team has narrowed the attack down to the GUWP—the Global Unification for World Peace—or an ISIS sleeper cell, or—”

  “Not ISIS.” She shook her head. He cocked his. Her eyes took on a faraway look, that little wrinkle deepening between them. His pulse rate spiked. He was watching a human computer sputter to life. He could almost see her shuffling through her mental Rolodex of known terror cells, terror groups.

  “Why not ISIS?” he prodded gently.

  Her gaze came back to him. “ISIS isn’t ready to strike us from within yet. Yes, they have sleeper cells here in the U.S., but they’re not in a position to attack. They’re still growing their numbers, and mostly abroad. Besides, Brett wouldn’t side with them.”

  “He sold troop placement info, Audrey. Brett’s lost his patriotism, his loyalty. Those go to the highest bidder now. Who better than ISIS would want that intel?”

  She shook her head. “Brett’s a traitor to his country. I’m not di
sputing that. But he fought ISIS in the Sandbox. He saw what happened to soldiers over there. Hell, Harris, he saved a fellow soldier’s life when he was there. Brett’s a scumbag, but he wouldn’t align himself with them.”

  Cam stared at Audrey. The rest of her words buzzed like a fly in his ears. She knew about that incident. He was the soldier she was referring to. He was the one Brett saved. He was the one who could never forget the old Brett. The one who lived in his memory as a savior and a friend.

  And more recently, a traitor.

  She didn’t know it was him she was talking about, and he wasn’t about to tell her. Not now. He was still mourning the loss of a buddy, a fellow soldier he’d looked up to. He was still coming to terms with the fact that the man who’d saved him, the man who’d shielded his body from certain death with his own, had also been the one to send troops on a death march halfway around the world with his intel-selling.

  No, he couldn’t tell her and face who-knew-what type of response. He needed her cooperation, and Audrey might very well clam up once she knew. She might view his past friendship as a weakness, though he could throw her own relationship with Brett back at her. But neither of those scenarios would help them work together. He would just have to keep his mouth shut.

  …

  Cam was acting strange. He’d looked like he was going to continue arguing about ISIS, and then he shut down. She frowned. His face was blank, his gaze inward. What was he thinking?

  As she studied him, she noticed how wide his shoulders were. Nearly the breadth of the doorway. His gray T-shirt clung to those shoulders, delineating every muscle, emphasizing pecs the Incredible Hulk would crave. His arms were tanned and corded with muscle, covered with just a smattering of sexy dark hair. The jeans fit him like he was a Calvin Klein model, although he’d rocked his CID uniform nearly as well. His strong thighs stretched the faded denim fabric.

  She imagined Cam Harris would look good in a burlap sack.