Defenseless (3 page)

Charlie

“I
understand, but I felt the mission was compromised. I couldn’t return to Afghanistan without being made,” I explain to my boss for the third time. Debriefs are the worst. The conference room is large, but I feel so small. I’m forced to go over every single angle, all the things I did right . . . and wrong. Of course, they tend to point out my errors more than anything. But I’m good. I’m damn good, and they know it.

“Charlie, there’s a great deal of intelligence collected, but what about where the leader is hiding? That was your mission. You were supposed to relay the location of Al Mazir, report any suspected terrorists he was working with, and get the hell home.” He flips through the very thick file I handed them. “I figured you would’ve gotten what you went for after the first six months, not over two years. Instead, you come home, continue working and saying you’re close by tracking him, but in essence you’re in the same damn spot.” Thomas looks up with disappointment.

If there’s anything I hate, it’s that look. One from not fulfilling the job I was sent to do. Did I get the info? No. But not for lack of trying. I spent over a year in that camp trying to gain access to the files I needed. I had to keep an injured American’s location quiet because the mission comes first. I knew he had a wife and child who thought he was dead. My job was bigger than either him or me, though, so I did the best I could to keep him from dying, and then got us both the hell out of there. I sacrificed a lot and was so deep undercover that I started to miss check-ins, code words, and went somewhat off the rails. But I embodied Fahima Salib. I was
her
in every way, all to get what I needed—answers.

Some of the other members of the terrorist ring were becoming suspicious. I started to notice hushed voices when I came around. It became more difficult for me to move among the groups, and I wasn’t sure anymore how close I could get. I figured they were meeting in other locations to discuss strategy; the safe house where they held Aaron was no longer their meet up.

“I gathered a lot more information than your other op did. Let’s remember that I also managed to find an American hostage who was presumed dead, collected files no one else could, and managed to gain more intel in the last year than anyone else who has boots on ground there.” My frustration grows, mostly at myself. Thomas would have a better chance of cutting my tongue out before I admit that, though.

“Your father would be—”

“Don’t even say it, Tom. You don’t get to talk about him.”

“I want you to take a few weeks off.”

My jaw would drop if I weren’t trained so well. “I’m sorry, I thought I heard you say
weeks
.”

He stands, pushing the papers on the desk so they align. “I did.”

I leap out of my chair. “I can’t. You can’t be serious. I’m one of the best you have. You can’t let Al Mazir get weeks ahead of me.”

“You’re off his case. You need to take some time to get your head on straight. The operation went on too long. I should have taken you off when you got back with the hostage you found.” Tom strides out of the office, leaving me stunned.

He’s been my supervisor for five years, and I’ve never once been removed from a case. I know everything there is to know about Mazir. No one in this office could pick up where I left off. I have deep-seated contacts. This is a mistake. It has to be.

I rush after him but stop short.

“Hey, Charlie.” Vanessa stands before me, twisting her hands. I wish people would use the training we went through. I read her body language and the little nuances tell me she’s nervous.

“What can I do for you?” I look past her to see if Tom is at his desk. If he refuses to listen, I’ll go above his head.

She places her hand on my arm to bring my attention back to her. “I just wanted to say I’m really sorry about your dad. I know it’s been a while, but we haven’t had a chance to talk since it all happened.”

“Thanks.”

I don’t do small talk or fake empathy. My father was the most brilliant mind that ever worked for the CIA. He was an asset to this country, a patriot through and through. He gave his time, love, and devotion to this agency. Then he was brutally murdered and left for dead at the hands of Al Mazir. There’s no one in the entire world who wants Mazir more than I do.

“I know you still have a few more things to do with the debrief, but I’d like to go over the case file and really pick your brain.”

“Why?”

“Oh.” She shifts again. “Didn’t Tom tell you? I’m the new op on the case.”

I close my eyes and count to five to calm myself.

1. He wouldn’t.
   
2. He couldn’t.
   
3. Would he?
   
4. He did. Motherfucker . . . he did.
   
5. I need a vacation.
   

I look back at Vanessa, who now appears as if she’s gloating. “I can’t talk now. I need to just think, okay?”

She nods. “Sure thing.” Her smile grows before she walks off in the other direction.

Tom isn’t at his desk, my co-workers refuse to make eye contact, and my mind won’t stop spinning. None of this makes any sense. I’ve seen people do way worse than not gather one small piece of information and still be left on the case. Even though this “small” thing is really a large gaping hole, but that’s beside the point. I’ve invested so much time. I know the area, the locals, the entire backstory, and with the help of the ground operative there, I’m so close to figuring out where Mazir is. My asset has been guiding me, which has allowed me to monitor Mazir’s movements. The only thing I can think of is this is either personal or the agency doesn’t want me to uncover something.

Director Asher and I are going to have a meeting. There’s no way in hell I’ll just go quietly into the dark. My gut tells me there’s way more to this than meets the eye.

The phone rings at my desk.

“Hello,” I say, still trying to wrap my mind around being pulled from a case.

“Charlie?” I recognize the voice instantly. Mark Dixon. As if this day couldn’t get any more complicated.

“Hello, Mark. What can I possibly do for you?” I smile despite my shit mood. He and I had spent the entire flight home talking. He’s funny, sexy as hell, but more than that, he makes me feel alive—something I haven’t felt a lot since I lost my father. I worked with Mark for a week when we got back from Aaron’s rescue but it yielded nothing. Then I had to leave for Dubai to track an informant, and things returned to life as usual. We met a few times, but since then it hasn’t been anything regular.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to, princess.”

Good mood gone. “You want your balls in a vice? Call me princess again and see how fast I get to Virginia Beach and you lose them.”

“You just want to touch my balls,” he retorts. “Besides, maybe that’s my plan. Get you here.”

“If you had any.” I smirk.

I picture him leaning back in his chair, longish blonde hair pushed back, scruff painting his face, and his green eyes filled with mischief. Mark Dixon would bring any woman to her knees. Good thing I’m not just any woman. I think about the last time I saw him. It was when he came to DC with Aaron to talk. It’s not normal protocol, but after all Aaron went through, it was important. My handler urged me to help him through it, since no one else really could. It was really the first time I’ve ever had guilt over a mission.

“Anytime you want to play with my balls, you just call me.”

“Why did you call me?” I try to bring the conversation back on point. I have no idea what he could need.

He pauses. “We need your help.”

That had to take a lot for him to admit. “How so?”

“Another shipment of ammo was sent to Africa this time. It’s . . . well, missing. I personally set up that transport. I double-checked it. And some of my guys aren’t checking in on another op. Someone is still fucking with us, and I can’t seem to uncover it. Aaron made mention of something, and I thought of you.”

“I’m sure you think of me more than I think of you.”

He laughs. “Doubtful. I’m always on your mind.”

“Anyway,” I draw the word out. “What are you thinking?”

On the flight back with Aaron, I had overheard them speculating. There were too many variables that all seemed to lead back to the head of the company. Jackson Cole was a good man from what I observed, but red flags were everywhere.

First, they had issues in Afghanistan, which led to Aaron going there in the first place. Everyone but him was killed when his convoy was attacked. Then, when Jackson and Mark went to assess the incident, they were shot at. Jackson sustained life-threatening injuries and was flown out immediately. However, after following a few leads, nothing ended anywhere solid. Everyone checked out, so we let it go.

“Aaron mentioned a name,” he says cryptically. “Jackson wants this shit to stop. And to be honest, I do too. It doesn’t make sense, though. I’ve used all my contacts in the FBI and they say everyone within the company is clear. Nothing has surfaced or been suspicious. So, that leads me to think it’s someone outside my inner circle.”

It’s definitely a possibility, but what name would Aaron know? “Maybe, but why Cole Security Forces?”

“Why not? We’re all former SEALs, we’ve all killed, and we’ve all been involved at one time or another with taking out terrorists. Plus, we still do. We protect bases and take missions that others are too scared to accept. I mean, you can tell me where you’re confused on why they wouldn’t want to stop us.” His deep voice only grows deeper in his anger.

Before I can say anything, Tom walks by. “I gotta go. I’ll call soon.” I disconnect the call and run to save my career.

My phone has been ringing non-stop. My brother and mother won’t leave me alone. We all knew what my father did. He recruited me when he noticed I had a knack for the business. Now, it seems to be the excuse used for every mishap in our lives. Dominic didn’t get into the college he wanted because Dad was a spy and refused to move. Mom didn’t get the head of the last charity she was involved in because Dad was a spy and it wouldn’t look right. I’m not married because Dad was a spy and scared men away, which is totally untrue. It’s because the men I’ve dated are idiots.

Dad was a good man and a good father, despite his absences. At a young age, I had the feeling he was doing something great when he was away. To most girls, I’m sure that’s an impossible idea. I knew, though. I always felt as if he was protecting us. By the time I was old enough to realize what he actually did, he was recruiting me.

I love my job. I love my life. I sure as hell don’t need a man to try to bring me down a notch. Being a female in this industry isn’t easy. I’m always looked at as lesser than the men, so I make sure to work twice as hard.

“What, Mother?” I groan into the receiver.

“If you answered the damn phone when I called the first ten times, I wouldn’t need to keep calling,” my mother practically whispers. Her voice never raises an octave. She would’ve been a kick ass spy.

“I didn’t want to talk.”

“Clearly.”

“Yet, you keep calling.” I tap my foot. There are very few people in the world who can scare me. She’s one of them. However, I still instigate fights with her. My mother is somehow able to twist me into believing everyone else is wrong, even if there is photographic evidence that proves otherwise. It’s the most amazing thing to watch, but never fun to be on the receiving end of.

She sighs and I picture her running her hand through her onyx hair. “Don’t test me.” She pauses. “I’m hosting a gala in memory of your father. You’re to be there this time. I don’t care if the president orders you to Timbuktu, you’re coming. It’s important our place in the community doesn’t falter.”

“When?”

My father’s cover still has to be kept for appearance’s sake. My mother’s really the strongest woman I know. Having to carry on the façade for our entire lives wasn’t easy, but she did it with a smile. I’m sure my father paid heavily for it privately, yet her place by his side never waivered. My brother and I grew up with more love than two kids could ask for. We were happy, considering our father did a lot of things we may never know about.

“In two weeks. And Charisma?” She and my brother are the only people alive that are allowed to call me by my name.

“Yes, Mother?”

“Bring a date. No one likes to see you walking around and drinking alone. It makes you look like it’s by choice. Don’t make me second-guess not setting up that arranged marriage,” she says and then disconnects the call.

I swear there are times I contemplate making an anonymous tip to Homeland Security that she’s a terrorist. However, I’m sure she’d find a way to swear I defected against my country.

The loss of my father did a number on her, no matter what she shows. She loved him more than anything. He left a void in all our lives, but my mother—I can only imagine. I’m still amazed by the fact my father had it all. A wife, children, plus the job he lived for. I, on the other hand, can’t seem to manage any of it.

My phone pings. It’s one of my most favorite people in the world, my brother Dominic.

Dom: You’re going to this stupid thing. I’m not going to keep pulling your weight.