Operation Zulu Redemption: Hazardous Duty - Part 3 (7 page)

The mood had shifted among the team, weighted by exhaustion. Dim lights provided a serene atmosphere in the cabin of a hired private jet ferrying them back to Virginia. The Lorings were tucked away at the back, resting. Trace had opted for the quicker route rather than the predictable one. He wanted the Lorings on U.S. soil as soon as possible. Boone couldn’t blame him, especially now that there was a chance Misrata could get laid to rest with a healthy dose of truth.

Across and one group up from the Squid the girls sat, mostly quiet. On second thought—Téya and Noodle were in animated conversation. Annie sat with her hands in her lap, looking down. Boone could see from his seat that every now and then her gaze slid toward the Squid. Now. Wasn’t that interesting that she wasn’t sitting
with
him. Wasn’t talking
to
him. She’d given them grief over not being able to talk to the guy and now that he was here, she wouldn’t give him the time of day.

Renewed focus surrounded Zulu and propelled them to action. Along with that came a new level of tension and agitation, partially laid at the feet of Téya Reiker for her unwilling connection to The Turk. Having that type of breathing down your neck was the equivalent of a nuke’s skin-melting fire. Especially with the fury rolling off Trace.

Trace dropped into the chair across from Boone and ran his hand along his closely shorn hair with a heavy sigh.

“Things a’right?” Boone asked as the plane seemed to level off to make its trek back to the States.

Shaking his head, Trace leaned back against the headrest. “Couldn’t be worse.”

Boone adjusted in the chair. Concern knotted his shoulder muscles. He knew things had gone a bit crazy with Téya making contact again with The Turk. And with the addition of the Squid. But Trace. . .he’d been a storm brewing since they started packing up. “Something I don’t know about?”

After another long sigh, Trace leaned closer, his elbow resting on the arm of the seat and his hand hovering near his mouth. “They’re launching another hearing about Misrata.”

“What?” Boone angled toward Trace and kept his voice down, so the others didn’t hear them. “Why would they open that thing up again? There’s nothing to prove.”

Trace shrugged. “I’ve been ordered to stand down. Cease all operations.”

Boone went still and eyed the man he considered both a friend and a confidant. Shutting down Zulu now. . . “We must be getting close.”

Jaw out, Trace gave a slow nod. “That’s one way of looking at it.”

“Do the girls know?”

“No, and they won’t. We’re making progress, but we need to speed things up.” Trace stretched his neck. “We need to get the Lorings back to the bunker and get every mote of dust out of their brains about Misrata.”

“Still don’t get why they weren’t listed among the survivors.”

“There was a lot wrong with the information provided,” Trace countered.

“True.” Boone nodded, lips pursed as he seemed to think through things. He sighed and met Trace’s gaze. “Kinda strange, the way The Turk sent Mr. Loring to Téya, don’t you think?”

“Definitely. She’s going to answer for that,” Trace said, a warning in his words.

“Think The Turk will be a problem?”

“
I’m
going to be a problem. She broke the rules. She stepped outside to do what she wanted. She put everyone in jeopardy,” Trace said.

“And if she hadn’t, we wouldn’t have found Loring.”

After shooting him a look, Trace pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m getting too old for this stuff, Boone-Dawg. I feel like I’m trying to corral second-graders.”

Up the aisle a bit, the Squid scooted across the seat. Angled around to face Annie. He said something softly to her, and she slowly met his gaze. She seemed to be considering something. Maybe he’d asked a question. Or commented on something. Her expression seemed pained, what with her knotted eyebrows and tormented eyes. That’s when she finally shook her head and looked away.

“What about the Squid?” Boone asked as the Squid sat straight and pushed his gaze out the night-darkened window. “Annie didn’t give him the reception he expected.”

“She never does,” Trace muttered.

“What’s that about anyway?” Boone muttered. “Why’s she ignoring him?”

“Annie compartmentalizes. She’s an ace at it, which is why she’s good at ops.” Closing his eyes, Trace leaned back against the white leather seat. “He stepped into the wrong box, and she can’t cope with him being in this part of her world.”

“So, what? They’re over?”

Without a word, Trace pushed out of his seat. Away from the Squid. Away from the girls who sat two seating groups up from Boone. Away from Boone and this conversation.

It didn’t take a genius to see the pleasure Trace took in Annie’s cold shoulder toward the SEAL. But Boone struggled to figure out why his buddy didn’t make the move he so clearly wanted to make. To fix that bridge he’d wrecked five years ago.

Maybe that’s what perturbed Annie, too. Not so much the compartmentalization but the fact that with Squid back in the picture, the chances were rickety that she could figure things out with Trace. Even now, her gaze trailed Trace to the rear of the plane.

They’d set the girls loose on an unsuspecting populace five years ago, and each of them had found a romantic interest at one time or another—well, all except Noodle. The pretty little thing didn’t lack for looks or sweetness, so he wasn’t sure why she stayed single. Maybe the men she met were afraid of the siren who could slay with looks and a Remington 700. Boone found himself grinning. Noodle’s pale blue eyes came to his and something in his chest knocked funny.

Annie saw Trace stalk to the back of the plane and hurried after him, careful to slide by Sam without looking. She hated herself. Hated being
right here
with him and wanting nothing more than to jump out the nearest emergency exit. He confused her. Mixed her up too much by being on this mission.

With his back to her, Trace stood at the small galley fridge guzzling a bottle of water. He lowered the bottle and met her gaze, lowering it the rest of the way slowly.

In her periphery, she could still see Sam, so she took a step forward, though it put her almost toe-to-toe with Trace. “
What
is he doing here?” she demanded.

After swallowing the rest of the water, Trace tossed the bottle in a small trash bag, his gaze never leaving hers. “I needed him where I could see and control him.”

“What does that mean?”

“That he plastered your name and likeness all over the Internet. He ran your fingerprints through databases.”

“Fingerprints? Where’d he get those?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Trace said, hooking his hands on a thin counter behind him. “He had them, and we couldn’t afford you popping back up on the grid when you’re supposed to be dead.”

“But here?”

Trace said nothing, just gave her that look. The one that said he didn’t have a regret. That he made the right decision.

“Just like Albuquerque.”

He flinched.

“This is just like that because you think it’s the right thing.”

Remaining tight-lipped, he didn’t move.

Annie scooted in till she stood wedged between him and the counter. “Trace, I can’t do this. I can’t operate with him here.”

“Fine.”

She breathed a little easier.

“I’ll send him to max-sec.”

“
Prison?
Are you serious?”

Again, he went tight-lipped.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Sending him away, where I can’t speak to him.”

“I want him where he can’t do any more harm to you or the others. It’s not just about you, Annie.”

She leaned in, her heart thundering. “Isn’t it, Trace?”

“What does that mean?”

“You brought him here because you knew I wouldn’t like it. You wanted him to see that. To see me blow him off.”

“I wanted his hands out of the fire. Do you realize, have any idea, what his hunting you almost did to this entire team? Do you know what it’s done to me?”

“To you?” She scoffed. “You did this because you couldn’t have me, so you didn’t want him to have me.”

“It was five years ago, Annie. I got over it.”

“Yeah?” she said, her lungs squeezing tight. “Well, I haven’t.”

Trace went still, his green eyes probing hers.

The heat rushed through Annie’s face, disbelieving she’d said that out loud.

His frown deepened, digging a deep groove between his eyes. That look is what darkened the intensity around his eyes. What had drawn her in. . .every time. She could smell him. Smell the woodsy scent that mingled with the smell that was uniquely Trace.

His hand came to her cheek, smelling of antiseptic soap—probably from the onboard bathrooms. Despite calloused fingers, his touch was light. Soft as he traced his thumb along her jaw.

Annie felt her body responding to his touch as it had all those years ago. The tremor in her chest strangled the hope of a steady breath.

He leaned closer, his gaze on her mouth.

Breath backed into her throat.

“Need something, Squid?” Trace said, his breath skidding across her cheek, then he eased away.

Annie jerked, realizing Trace was actually looking over her shoulder. She glanced that way and froze. Darkening what served as a doorway, Sam stood there, a wicked storm brewing in his expression. When she moved backward, she bumped the counter, so she sidestepped and turned. “Sam.”

His upper lip curled. “This how you keep her loyalty, Colonel?”

Trace moved toward Sam, and Annie planted her hands against Trace’s abs. “Trace, don’t.”

Eyes on Sam, Trace touched Annie’s shoulder. “It’s okay.” Trace almost looked ambivalent. He moved past Sam, every taut second it took him to move past him filled with crackling tension.

Fists balled, Sam gave her commander a look that could kill.

Annie breathed a cold, painful breath as Trace returned to his seat. Then slapped Sam’s gut. “
What
was that
?
Do you really have a death wish?”

This time, Sam seemed ambivalent. “Talking to me now?”

Fingers to her forehead, Annie slumped against the wall of cabinets. “Sam. . .I’m sorry.”

“For what?” He stepped into the clogged space. Arms folded he looked much larger than she remembered. “For lying to me for four years? For faking your attraction to me? Or for attacking me in Greece?”

“That’s not fair.”

He smirked. “You’re right. It’s not. None of it. But here we are.”

Heart aching, Annie lowered her head. It was too much to take in. Too much to process. That he was here. That she had a lot of truth-catching-up to do.

Sam edged in closer, his hands catching her arms and holding her in place. He peered down at her with those rich, dark eyes of his. The last few days had to have been rough on him because his five o’clock shadow looked closer to midnight now. “Just tell me what happened between us was real.”

“Sam. . .”

“Just tell me that, and we can sort out the rest later.”

“Ye—” The word caught in her throat, forcing her to swallow.

“Hesitating? Seriously?”

“Sam, there’s a lot happening. A lot of deadly things.”

“Yeah, I know. My car was rammed off the road. I was there the night—shortly after a heavy make-out session with you, if I remember correctly—that a sniper tried to take our heads off. I
get
stress. I
get
combat.” His eyes darkened. “I don’t get your reticence about us. Was I just convenient?”

Annie stepped back, flaring her nostrils. “Don’t do this to me.” She set her jaw. “Give me time, Sam. I can’t sort through anything right now. I haven’t had time to think, and being sarcastic about us doesn’t help.”

“But you want to work it out?”

“Yes.” Annie blinked, not at his smile that ensued but at the doubts that lingered in her mind.
I think so.

Being an introvert always put her on the outside of conversations and goings-on. But it also left Nuala very intuitive and perceptive of others’ feelings. Rarely did people ask what she thought—not that she’d volunteer her inner workings because she’d never forgive herself for hurting someone, and she’d die inside a little if she was wrong and humiliated herself. They viewed her as quiet, maybe even demure. Thankfully, at least one person in this underground bunker saw her strength. It wasn’t the six-pack abs or bulging bicep strength, but one at the center of her being. A strength that wouldn’t let her quit or give up. It challenged her and pushed her to do better,
be
better.

Maybe if she’d been better or stronger Boone might’ve chosen her instead of Keeley.

Which wasn’t a fair thought. Because Keeley had everything Nuala didn’t—confidence, humor, an outgoing personality, and. . .Boone.

An old, familiar ache wormed through Nuala’s chest.

Stop.

He’d made his choice. And they were a happy couple. Everyone involved with Zulu knew that. Though it went against regs, nobody opposed them dating. It was a tough gig. Much like it must be for Carl and Sharlene Loring, who sat at the table with Téya. Their single-digit kiddos were on the floor of the lounge area, watching TV. The little girl multitasked between the cartoon and the coloring pages Houston had printed out and turned over to her with his array of colored pens. How did two people work in a missionary setting with two children and come out of it happy?

But. . .were they happy? Nuala eyed the two. Mrs. Loring had brown hair and matching brown eyes. Her husband had a Swiss appearance with his blond hair and blue eyes. Tall and lanky, he was taller than his wife even when seated. Right next to each other. And yet, his hands were on the table.

Though Mrs. Loring looked distressed, Mr. Loring offered no sympathy. Nuala wouldn’t deal with that. She needed a man who would devote time and concern for her. Understand her idiosyncrasies and fears, then offer encouragement. Strength.

Boone often did that.

Stop. It!

Nuala shifted in her seat suddenly, drawing the attention of the Lorings and Téya, who sat at the other end. With a fake smile plastered on her face, Nuala met their curious gazes. “Anyone want a glass of water or tea?”

“Water, please.” Mrs. Loring gave a relieved smile.

“Look,” Mr. Loring said, not taking his gaze from Téya and Trace. “I’m telling you, Chandler and Hollister are a waste of time.”

“How’s that?” Trace seemed agitated. And not necessarily about the Lorings. Or maybe it was.

Nuala wasn’t sure she trusted her assessments right now since her emotions were too tangled up in the nightmares and the events in the Roma slums. Though she had the same combat medic skills Téya had—they all did, in fact; it was part of their training—Nuala had never put them to use to extract a bullet and sew up someone. Especially not a notorious assassin who’d put their lives in jeopardy.

“Ballenger,” Mr. Loring said. “You need to talk to Berg Ballenger.”

Nuala poured two glasses of ice water, her attention trained on the conversation.

Téya gave a soft laugh. “We met with him in Paris. He blamed HOMe. He basically said Chandler and Hollister were trying to kill him.”

Loring shook his head and looked at his wife. “Those ladies don’t have it in them to hire a hit man, but I wouldn’t blame them if they had.”

A commotion to the side drew everyone’s attention and silence. The eight-year-old girl and her brother were arguing under their breath. The girl, Cora, seemed distressed and insistent upon something Charles refused. He caught her hand and whispered something quite harshly to her.

Nuala slid her gaze to the parents, who watched but hadn’t moved.

Why isn’t the mother going to her children
?

Just then, Sharlene Loring rose from her chair and went to the lounge area. She squatted with her back to Nuala and the others. Quiet words were spoken, then Sharlene returned with a weary smile. “They are tired of being on the run, of not having their own space.”

Back at the table, Nuala handed Mrs. Loring the water, then slid into her own chair.

Trace’s arms were folded. “Back to Ballenger,” he said. “Why wouldn’t you blame HOMe if they wanted to hurt him?”

Mr. Loring nodded to his wife, who gave him a reticent look. “Go on,” he said. “Tell them.”

She hesitated again.

Trace leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. “Mrs. Loring, I promise we are only after the truth here.”

“It’s disconcerting,” she admitted, “with the way you’re keeping us here. Won’t allow us to go outside.”

“My superiors are working on setting up a home for you and your children as we speak,” Trace said. “You will all be safe. You can start over. But we also need whatever you can give us to settle what happened in Misrata.”

She swallowed and gave Nuala a smile, then Téya. Took a sip of water. Set the glass down. Turned it. Then let her hands rest back in her lap. “It was Berg.”

Trace—and in fact, all of Zulu—blinked. “What was Berg?”

“He’s the one who told Miss Hollister about the warehouse.” Sharlene tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gave a shaky smile. “I’d been out walking in the small garden outside the building we were being evicted from. When I came back in, I heard them arguing. He told her he’d found a place for us to go till the new permits came through for the other building. But she said she wouldn’t move us to a rundown warehouse in what was basically the slums. He told her there wasn’t a choice and reassured her it was safe.”

Téya and Trace shared a long, meaningful look.

Expression taut, Trace got that knotted-up look that clouded his handsome features when he wasn’t happy. Nuala could practically smell the fury burning through him. “You’re sure? You are absolutely sure Ballenger is the one who sent you there?”

“I am,” Mrs. Loring said.

“I need to make some calls,” Trace said as he pushed out of his chair. “I’ll find out about your house, but I’m sure we’re going to have more questions.”

The Lorings gave a mute nod before moving to join their children.

Nuala and Téya huddled by Houston’s work station. “That was interesting,” Nuala said.

“Right?” Téya chewed her lower lip. “But it sure explains a lot.”

Though she had her own ideas, Nuala wanted to hear what her friend was thinking. “Like?”

“Like why the man disappeared after Misrata. Like why I got the snot beat out of me in Denver.” Téya’s nostrils flared. “And why The Turk was there in Paris. It wasn’t an accident. He was after Ballenger, saw me, and then I became a soft target.”

“Maybe not so soft,” Nuala said. “But I have a question.”

Téya eyed her.

“Why aren’t the Lorings acting like parents?”

“What?”

Nuala stole a peek at the family, noting that once again the Lorings were sitting apart from the children and talking in hushed tones. “For two people who are supposed to be very loving, why don’t they touch?”

Téya frowned. “Not everyone is a softie like you.”

The words stung but Nuala buried it, as she always did. “They just don’t seem keyed into each other. They seem. . .separate.”

“They’ve been through a lot, maybe that’s what you’re seeing.”

Nuala gave a halfhearted, one-shouldered shrug. “Maybe.” She hated thinking the worst of people, and it was true. The Lorings had been through a lot, having endured Misrata years ago. “They’ve been hiding all this time?” Her gaze struck the children. That didn’t make sense.

Téya nodded, a frown creeping into her tawny features. “What now?”

The tone, the expression, even her stance bespoke Téya’s irritation. Téya wanted her to let it go. And she would. “Nothing.” But . . .

Boone sprinted through the warehouse, his face pale.

Heart in her throat, Nuala rushed after him. “What’s wrong?”

But he said nothing, only sprinted out and up the darkened steps out of the bunker. Nuala turned, searching for an answer.

“Houston,” Téya barked as she stalked toward him. “What happened?”

The geek lowered his head, his mouth set in a grim line. “The hospital called. Something’s wrong. Keeley’s vitals are all dropping. Her organs are shutting down.”

Nuala felt a bitter, metallic taste in her mouth. “But. . .but she was better.” This couldn’t happen. It’d shatter Boone. “They were just waiting for her to wake up.”

“And now,” Houston said softly, gently, “she may never wake up.”