Hawk (The Quiet Professionals, Book 2) (26 page)

Why can’t you give yourself to him?

He was a good man.

American.

Even she must admit they couldn’t
all
be bad. Not if she wanted and demanded the same respect from the Americans regarding her own people, who were just as affected by the Taliban and terrorists scarring her country.

He was charming.

Yes, perhaps too charming
.

And his green eyes.

Fekiria stilled. No, Captain Ripley had gray eyes. Who…who had green—? Her heart jolted as she made the match between the green eyes and their owner: Sergeant Brian.

“What is his name?”

Fekiria blinked as she looked up from the table where she had been looking over Sheevah’s writing. “What?”

“You’ve been sitting there staring at the page, but you haven’t been reading it.” Mitra sat across from Fekiria. Mitra’s hooked nose added an exotic flare to her features. “So, I am left to imagine there is a man who has captured your attention.” Elbows on the table, she leaned in with a mischievous grin. “Yes?”

“You know Zahrah always said you were a bad influence because you had more mischief in your eyes than I did.”

Laughing hard, Mitra threw her head back. “I do not think it is possible to outdo you!” She patted her arm. “Now, no success diverting me. What is his name?”

Fekiria knew she could not mention Sergeant Brian. It was foolish that she had even thought of him when she’d never see him again anyway.

Unless Zahrah married Captain Dean. Then Sergeant Brian might come to their wedding. Still, she’d stick with the less scandalous story. “His name is Captain Ripley, but it’s not what you think. He’s my flight advisor, and he likes me.”

“Is he handsome?”

“He is…easy to look at, yes.”

“And is he smart? Rich?”

“Smart, yes. Rich—he’s an American soldier.”

Mitra’s mouth fell open. “No. That is not possible.”

“Exactly. It’s not possible.”

Wide brown eyes stretched in disbelief, then Mitra drew back, apparently weighing the conversation. “Does he like you—I mean, like that?”

“He does. Maybe too much. He is not quiet about his feelings.”

“But you don’t like him?”

After setting aside the papers, Fekiria moved from the table and started organizing the books on the shelves. “I don’t
not
like him.”

“Then what is the problem? Is he old?”

“No. Well, not like Habib. Captain Ripley is only in his thirties, I think.”

“So, what
is
the problem?”

And again—her mind betrayed her. She saw him. The
other
American soldier who had a fast smile and an intensity that drew her like gravity to earth. Which was ridiculous because they had not seen each other since he went to prison for her. Since she made him angry and he ordered her out of the prison and his life. He would not speak to her again, let alone make good on the innuendos in his words and actions.

“There is another man?”

The words came from right behind her, startling Fekiria. She realized she stood staring at the bookcase. “No.” Because there wasn’t. Sergeant Brian would not want her. Would not speak to her. They wouldn’t see each other again. “It’s just that Captain Brian is too perfect.”

Mitra blinked and shook her head.

“You know?”

“I think so, but—”

“What?”

“Is that some kind of nickname? Captain Brian?”

Her heart tripped. “I didn’t say that.”

“You did.” Mitra lifted a basket of dirty clothes. “You said, ‘Captain Brian is too perfect.’ ”

She did? This time, Fekiria blinked. “You must have heard me wrong.” Had she mixed Captain Ripley’s rank with Sergeant Brian’s name? She must be more careful. “I…I should go.”

Mitra came closer, a hand on hers. “I am sorry if I pushed.” With a slight head tilt she smiled. “You are as my sister, and that is why I am nosy about your love life.”

Fekiria’s laugh came out hollow. “Love life? I have none!”

“But—”

Shouts in the courtyard startled them both.

Mitra spun, her expression slamming down from fun and light to deathly serious. She raced to the hall, only to collide with an older woman. “Belourine!”

“They are coming. Baktash saw their car. He’s slowing them.”

With a strangled yelp, Mitra darted to the rear door. “Fekiria, come quickly!”

A moment’s hesitation and worried look to the older woman churned Fekiria’s stomach into a thick knot of dread. Belourine moved faster than a woman her age and size should be able to. At the shelf with the schoolbooks, she released a tassel at the side. A thick tapestry whooshed from the sides, covering the shelves and board.

“Go!” Belourine said, noticing her standing there. “Help her at once!”

Fekiria shoved herself forward, her pulse sputtering. In the dark rear hall that led to the bathroom, she hurried after her friend. “What is happening?”

“Hurry, girls.” Mitra herded the girls down a dark hall. She slipped into the bathroom, and then one by one the girls entered.

They would not fit in there! “Mitra,” Fekiria said as she stepped toward the bathroom.

To her shock, a corner of the bathroom floor had lifted, the tiles vertical to her. Mitra held the trapdoor, helping the little ones into the space. Sheevah seemed to vanish right into the floor.

“Come.” Mitra waved Fekiria closer. “They will take any girl found here.”

“Who?”

“The Taliban!”

Fekiria’s heart pounded. “I told you this was dangerous! You put—”

“Shut up! In! Now!” Fire sparked in Mitra’s eyes as she gripped Fekiria’s shoulder and guided her down the wood steps.

Sand or dirt crunched beneath her feet. She had to squat to fit into the cramped space. Whimpers and yelps sounded as she stumbled over one girl after another to find a space. “Here,” Sheevah’s soft, steady voice came as cold fingers wrapped around Fekiria’s and drew her to the left. No sooner had she touched the dampness of a stone wall than darkness clapped them in tight.

At first, Fekiria strained to make out shapes, forms. Desperate to make eye contact with her friend, to find reassurance.
I’m an ANA soldier! A pilot—surely they won’t harm me
.

But she knew the truth. Knew the Taliban would take great pleasure in making an example of a woman who dared take a man’s role. And these girls…she could not imagine what horrible things men like that would do to such beautiful, innocent children.

Beside her, she noticed the trembling of Sheevah. Though the girl had been a strength when Fekiria had fumbled, now she, too, sat fully aware of the horrors that could swallow them up. In a move to comfort the girl and offer reassurance that she would do everything she could to protect them, Fekiria put her arm around her.

Sheevah shoved her face against Fekiria’s shoulder and shuddered.

The minutes fell like anvils against her thudding heart. Each creak, each thud, each distant voice snatched her breath. Reminded her of the tenuous line they walked as women in a country where some men sought power and domination.

Above them came the unmistakable sound of voices. The clopping of feet. What if they walked over the trapdoor? Would they notice a variation in the sounds on the floor? If she and the girls were discovered, they could throw in a grenade or IED and there would be nothing to bury. Nothing to hold against them.

Her heart ricocheted off her panicked thoughts.

Sheevah pressed harder against her, as if trying to escape the fear through Fekiria’s embrace. Fekiria tightened her hold on the girl. She should give her reassurance. Tell her everything would be okay. But that was rarely the truth.

Dirt dribbled down on their heads.

She ducked, burrowing her face against Sheevah’s hijab. What surprised her was that where she had expected to smell a homeless girl, she smelled lavender soap. Fekiria closed her eyes, thinking of all Mitra had done for these girls.

And what good will it do if these girls die here?

Bagram Airfield, Afghanistan

3 February—1320 Hours

“The world is some kind of messed up, Granddad.”

Wizened, creased eyes smiled back through the grainy iPad stream. “Only if you let it be, Brian.”

Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he glanced at the dirt floor. “I’m not sure how to change it. I’ve never felt so powerless.”

“I think you have,” Granddad said. “You just don’t want to remember—because that feeling is a terrifying one.”

Brian grunted. “Right between the eyes again.” He hated to admit how right his granddad was, but truth was—he’d take a wide mile around those memories. Why was he even here anymore? What good was he when he couldn’t save his own team members?

“Listen, I’ll be praying for you. I reckon there are things you can’t tell me, but God knows them. I’ll have fireside chats with Him every morning and ask Him to show you, to protect you, to give you wisdom.”

Brian nodded. “I’m not…not exactly religious, Granddad.”

“Good. Neither am I.”

Looking up through his brow, he frowned. How was that? Granddad was one of the most religious guys Brian knew. His mom had been the same until Dad went to prison. Then her life crumbled. And so did she, right into the grave.

“God isn’t about religion and performance. He’s about relationship. Talk to Him. He’s waiting for you to do that. I thought that would’ve gotten in your thick skull back when we took ya to Sunday school.”

“Slow learner, I guess,” Brian said with a smirk. Nana and Granddad had taken him to Sunday school every week he lived with them after his mom’s death, but there was so much he’d had to work through that church, which was always too quiet, left his thoughts and guilt screaming. And what did God have to do with some terrorist hack dismantling the U.S. military’s super-secure computers? Compromising communications?

Forcing me to watch one of my team members die when I could’ve stopped it
.

He’d obeyed the command.

The one that wasn’t legit.

The one that cost Davis and Parker their lives.

Brian closed his eyes. Pinched the bridge of his nose. When he’d first hit the base, he thought getting back to Raptor would solve everything. Then he found out he wouldn’t be reuniting with them. He missed those guys. Missed the connection. But he wasn’t sure about that anymore. To be fair, he wasn’t sure about anything. He was just fed up.

“I’m sending you some verses,” Granddad said. “Promise me you’ll read them each night. Can you do that?”

Religion. A fake Band-Aid on wounds that didn’t heal.

“If I can promise to get up early and talk to God on your behalf, the least you can do is promise to read a few words each morning, too. Can you do that?”

“Of course he can, Jack,” Nana’s sweet voice called from somewhere in the background and brightened Brian’s mood.

“Okay,” he said, knowing Granddad would not let up.

“Need you to hurry home, son. This Mustang is hurting for a good drive again.”

Brian smiled. “Hooah.” And felt the smile warm him. Maybe it was time to go home. Weird—when was the last time he thought of anywhere as home? But yeah. He was ready for something different. Was it worth it? Was any of it?

His phone chirruped.

“That’s the verses.”

“Don’t waste time, do you?” Brian snickered as he glanced at the screen. Sure enough, his granddad had sent two verses. He scanned them, his heart thumping on the second one:

“Though youths grow weary and tired, and vigorous young men stumble badly, yet those who wait for the Lord will gain new strength; they will mount up with wings like eagles, they will run and not get tired, they will walk and not become weary.”

Wouldn’t that be nice? To not become weary?

Too late.

“Bledsoe!”

At the shout of his name, Brian sat straight on his cot and looked over his shoulder.

A specialist stood at the tent opening and thumbed over his shoulder. “Command wants you.”

With a two-fingered salute, Brian shifted his attention back to the iPad. “I have to go.”

“Okay, son. Take care. I’m praying for you, and know this—God’s with you every step you take. He gives His angels charge over you!”

“Yessir.” He wasn’t sure he believed all that, but it sure made him smile to hear his granddad say it. “Thank you, sir. Bye.” After stowing his iPad, Brian grabbed his gear and weapon. Weapon slung over his shoulder, he tried to shake the depression that had clung to him.

The mess with the terrorist, watching Davis die, and whatever was happening with the system/communications…

“You sure move slow for a Special Forces operator.”

Brian pivoted, stunned to find himself staring at— “Captain,” he breathed. “What…?” No way he was here for Brian. Had to be a coincidence. “Everything okay?”

“No, actually, it’s not.” Hands on his tac belt, Captain Watters shook his head. “I need my communications specialist back.”

Brian’s heart kick-started. “Seriously?”

With a one-shouldered shrug, the captain said, “Unless you want to recommend a replacement.”

Hesitation killed. But things were so messed up. Brian just wasn’t sure what he wanted and didn’t want anymore. What mattered. “No, sir.”