Operation Zulu Redemption--Complete Season 1 (57 page)

Someone behind honked, and Trace’s gaze flipped to the light. Green. He eased through the intersection, pulse thrumming. “Who are you?”

“Please, just drive. I promise it will be worth your time.”

Francesca

Capitol Hill, Washington, DC

08 June – 1618 Hours

In her dress uniform, Frankie closed the gap and met her father in the foyer. She placed a kiss on his cheek, all too aware of the anger emanating off him.

“What are you doing?” he hissed at her.

“My job.” She bristled, hating that he never gave her the benefit of the doubt. Just like her brothers. “You taught me not to simply look the other way because it might be easier.”

“Looking the other way is different than actively working to destroy a man’s life.” He pushed a thick hand through his short, curly hair. “We’ve been here, Francesca. He’s been here. He’s proven his innocence.”

“Has he?”

“Yes! Or haven’t you read the transcripts from the last hearing?”

“Don’t patronize me, Dad. I’m doing my job. I believe Trace was more involved in what happened than he admits.”

“I beg you, Frankie,” he said, catching her arm and holding it tightly. “Don’t do this.”

Confused and surprised at his vehemence, she tugged free.

“There are things you do not know.
Cannot
know.”

“Are you protecting him now?”

“I am protecting the truth. Protecting those who cannot come forward. Protecting scenarios and assets that you will never know about. It’s not just about you, Francesca.” He scowled at her, his bushy eyebrows knotted. “For once in your life, think about someone else besides yourself.”

Frankie shook her head. Why was he so adamantly on Trace’s side? It hurt. A lot. To think that he stood with Trace on this. It was just like all those times growing up, when he took sides with Paolo. Or told her to go play with her Barbies when she wanted to be with her family, doing what they were doing. If he knew the truth about the things she’d seen and done, he’d think differently.

“Your affinity for this soldier is blinding you, Dad.”

“Your determination that he is guilty is blinding you to the truth.”

“Why are you fighting for him so hard? It makes no sense.”

“Because if Trace Weston goes down, he’s not going down alone.”

Frankie frowned. “What does that mean?”

He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Your mother wants you to stop by tomorrow.” And with that, he left her standing in the hall, alone. Confused.

He’s not going down alone
.

What did that mean? It didn’t sound like a threat. It felt more like…fear. Her father had been Trace’s commanding officer. He’d given the order for Trace to go into Misrata. But had her father been in collusion with something else related to Misrata?

A strange, awful feeling spilled down her spine and into her stomach.

Téya

Lucketts, Virginia

8 June – 1800 Hours

Towel-drying her hair after a long workout, Téya entered the bunk room she shared with Annie and Nuala now that the Lorings occupied one and Sam had taken up residence in another. She dressed, donned her boots, and then headed out to the command area.

Annie lay stretched out on the sofa in their lounge area, her face twisted with concern.

“How’s he doing?” Téya asked as she eased onto the arm of an oversized chair.

“Resting,” Annie said wearily and pulled herself off the leather sofa. “Though he won’t admit it, the pain is pretty intense. I can see it on his face. Doctor said he tore the muscles around the bullet wound, swimming to stay afloat. He’ll be out of commission for a while.”

“So, why aren’t you in there with him?”

A crimson blush filled Annie’s face. “I needed to think.”

“And you can’t think in there?”

“He’s a loud breather,” she managed with a weak smile.

“You mean he snores.” Téya laughed. “What are you thinking about?”

Annie breathed long and hard, her shoulders bunched, then slowly released as she sagged deeper into the leather sofa. “I was so angry when I realized Sam was there, in Greece. Then even more angry when I realized he was with us here.”

“You didn’t want him here?”

“It wasn’t that. It was more…” Again, she bunched her shoulders. “It’s hard to sort out. But in Manson, Sam was my lifeline. Safe. Handsome. And good.” She held her hair away from her face. “But here? He’s right in the middle of it like the rest of us. He jumped into that mission without a thought for getting hurt and what that might mean to me.”

“To you?” Téya couldn’t help the surprise she felt. “What about to himself? He was shot. He was pretty much dead.”

“Exactly. And that would’ve been my fault.”

“How?”

“Because he went out there to prove he could. That he’d be fine. Only he wasn’t.”

“You give yourself too much credit,” Téya said with a snicker. “Sam went out there—at least, it seemed to me that he went out there because he had the training. He recognized a need and stepped up to the plate. He’s a warrior. It’s what they do.”

Annie glanced down, lifting her fingers out and checking her nails. Classic avoidance right there. Téya must’ve hit a nerve and had a theory formulating in her head. One that wasn’t very complimentary toward her best friend. But one that held a heaping dose of truth.

“Go on,” Annie said. “Your thoughts are screaming through your face.”

Téya smothered the smile. “I think this is about you protecting yourself.”

“Yes, I don’t want Sam getting hurt—”

“Close,” Téya said, “but not quite on target.
You
don’t want to get hurt.
You
don’t want Sam here to end up hurting you the way Trace did.”

“That’s insane. You don’t even know what happened between me and Trace.”

“You’re right. But I do know something happened.” Téya took her time, knowing this soft spot was very sensitive for Annie. “I know he devastated you, because there was a day not too long before Misrata that you had stars in your eyes and could see no wrong that Trace Weston did.”

“I’m not doing this,” Annie said, pushing to her feet.

“Annie,” Téya came up out of the chair to stop her. “I—”

“No. It’s okay. I just need…space.”

She closed the door to the bunk room and the conversation.

Téya puffed her cheeks and blew out an exasperated breath. She was glad her life was, comparatively uncomplicated. They’d fix this Misrata stuff, find out who killed them and deal with them, then she’d go back to David, if he’d have her, and his simple Amish life. With its 6:00 a.m. early risers to get chores done.

Chores. Here she was running around the world saving lives, fighting. And she’d go back to Bleak Pond to do…chores

“Téya!”

She snapped around, glancing toward the command area. Boone stood waving her over to him. “What’s up?”

He handed the phone to her. “Trace.”

“Where is he?” Téya put the phone to her ear. “Hey.”

“I need you to take the car,” Trace said calmly—right as Boone held up a black key fob.

Car? They wanted her to take the car? She hadn’t been allowed to drive since her last adventure to see David.

“The address will be in the phone by the time you get in the car.”

“And where am I going?”

“Get in the car, plug it in, and head out. Stick to the speed limit.”

Téya gave a nervous laugh, disbelieving all the smoke and mirrors. Then the call disconnected. “Is this legit?”

Something in Boone’s expression made her pause. Made her smile vanish. “What?”

“Go. Now.”

“What’s wrong? Don’t do this—”

“When was the last time Trace asked you to do something like this?”

“Uh…” Her brain blanked. “Never.”

Boone thrust his jaw toward the door. “Exactly. Go.”

The trip took forty-five minutes, delivering her to a business park in Reston and into the empty parking lot of a building still under construction. Uncertainty chugged through her as she parked then climbed out. Glancing around, Téya had a nauseating feeling. Phone in hand, she dialed the bunker.

But a text came through before she could finish.

Third floor.

Téya repeated the words of the text in a mutter then glanced up at the building. “Right,” she whispered and started for the stairs she spied already completed and tucked into one of the main corner supports. Gypsum board, nails, and chunks of wood littered the stairs. As she stepped onto level three, she found a wide open space as big as a Super Walmart. In the opposite corner, Trace sat against a cement barrier. Beside him stood a man. Holding a weapon.

Téya’s hackles went up as she closed the distance between them. She mentally cursed herself for not being more thorough, for not demanding Boone give her a weapon. But she hadn’t expected trouble. The guy wasn’t holding the weapon on Trace, but it was clear Trace was annoyed. Yet… Trace had the know-how to take down this attacker.

She thought of Boone’s expression. His terse behavior. He knew. Boone knew something was wrong.

Lifting his eyes, Trace met her gaze. There was so much in that simple move. His head didn’t move. His body didn’t. Just his eyes. Crowded with wariness. With determination. They were in this together. Somehow.

Téya had fighting skills. So did Trace. He hadn’t used his. So she wouldn’t use hers. She’d wait. Threading her fingers, she came to a stop a yard in front of Trace and the man.

“Your hands,” the man demanded, his words thickened by an accent she couldn’t quite determine.

My hands?
What did he want with her hands? She gave Trace a look and he responded with an imperceptible nod.

“Your hands!” the man shouted now.

Lifting her hands up, she offered them to him, palms up.

He stomped forward, the gun aimed at Trace as he did, a move that pulled Téya up straight, but she saw Trace out of the corner of her eyes give a quick nod.

Scowling, he gripped her left hand and flipped it over. The scowl in his dark features dug deeper as he met her gaze fiercely. Then turned over her other hand. His thumb swiped over the burn mark and the scowl washed away. He smiled and gave a breathy laugh as he stepped back. “Forgive me.” He bent his torso toward her.

Did he just bow to me?

“I had to be certain,” he said as he offered another quasi-bow then holstered the weapon at his hip. He motioned Trace closer. “You may call me Nesim.”

“Why would we call you anything?” Téya finally asked, her disbelief thick in her words.

“It would help since you are going to work with me.”

Trace hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t smiled. Laughed. Nothing.

“Sorry, I don’t work for you,” she said.

“That mark says you work with me,” he countered, tugging down the corner of his shirt. There on his collarbone was a tattoo of the star-crescent. “He marked you.”

Téya folded her arms over her chest, effectively hiding the brand The Turk had given her.

“What do you want, Nesim?” Trace asked. “You’ve gone through a lot of trouble, breaking into my car, bringing me here, having me call her out. You have snipers watching us.”

Fear scraped Téya’s courage, ordering her to search her surroundings. But she couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

“What do you need?” Trace asked.

“I need Téya to come with me.”

“No way—”

“For what?” Trace asked at the same time she refused.

“To find Majid Badem.”

Her mind bungeed. “Who is that?” She slapped her hair away from her face. “You know what? Never mind. I don’t care. I am not helping you.”

Nesim’s confidence never wavered. “But you will, Miss Reiker.”

“Yeah,” she said, her gaze bouncing from Nesim to Trace—why wasn’t he saying anything? “Why would I do that?”

“Unmöglich Festung.”

Warm dread spilled down her spine. She knew with those two simple words, this man had her. She’d do whatever he wanted.

Téya

Reston, Virginia

8 June – 1900 Hours

“How do you know about that?” Téya’s mouth went dry, painful buried memories from the past roaring to the present. “Nobody knows about that.” She tried to swallow. Tried to ignore the probing look from Trace.

“It is not important—”

“It is important!” Téya’s heart hammered. “That…that was buried. Erased from records.” From my life.

“What’s it mean?” Question low and even, Trace locked gazes with her.

She couldn’t breathe. No, no. She couldn’t go back there. Back to her stupid teenage years when she sought affirmation over conviction. Acceptance over morality. Téya turned away and paced, holding her stomach, willing the contents of her breakfast to stay there.
They promised. Vowed it’d be redacted
.

Panic clawed at her, threatened her with tears.
Tears!
She hadn’t cried in she didn’t know how long. She’d survived on adrenaline. On being tough.

She jerked to Nesim. “You can’t know about that. They erased every trace of it.”

“Not every,” he said with a smirk. “We are good at finding what cannot be found, what does not want to be found. Would you like to tell your colonel what we know? Or shall I?”

“Téya.” Trace’s tone warned her he wasn’t going to be patient much longer.

She whipped back to him, angry. But not at him. At this man—Nesim, who’d thrown this massive curveball into her life. Oh that the heavens would open and suck her out of this miserable existence. She just wanted to go back to Bleak Pond. Back to the simplicity of just being David Augsburger’s love interest.

“You don’t need to know this,” Téya said, the growl in her voice evidence of her panic, of her need to protect the one thing she’d never told anyone about. “What does this have to do with anything?”

Nesim’s smile only became more sinister. “Trust me—you do not want me to go forward without your explaining a few things to your colonel.”

“Téya,” Trace said, coming closer and lowering his tone and head. “The analyst who’s been coming after us—he can help us stop her.”

Téya struggled to keep back the tears. Fought the bouncing of her chin. The weakening of her defenses. “I promised I’d never talk about it. I sold my soul to make it go away, Trace.” Tears blurring her vision, she shook her head. “If I open this can…”