The Edge of Trust: Team Edge (19 page)

Something had to give soon.  The what and when were the issues.  And at the end of it all, the truth. 

A few minutes later, they turned left at a light and soon they were at the base.  Dillon stopped at the gate, dimmed the headlights and flashed an ID. 

The soldier at the gate saluted and waved them through. 

After parking in a spot away from the main buildings, Dillon turned off the lights and killed the engine. 

“I’ll be back in fifteen or twenty minutes, tops.  Stay here.”

She nodded.  Where, exactly, did he think she’d go?  For a swim?  Stretching as much as the inside of the car would allow, she turned sideways and rested her feet on Dillon’s seat.  Then she locked the doors, closed her eyes, and tried to relax.  What she really wanted was sleep, but that wasn’t going to happen, not yet, so she sat back and waited. 

And wondered what else she didn’t know about her brother and the man she’d married. 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Dillon crept through the inky blackness to an off limits, darkened building toward the back of the base.  He worked his way around to the rear of the building and checked the door. 

Locked.  A locked door on a base full of Navy SEALs seemed ironic as hell and he managed a small grin despite the evening’s events.  Checking over his shoulder to make sure no one had spotted him, he picked the lock and slipped inside. 

As quickly as he could, he grabbed a duffel bag off a nearby table and emptied it, then looked around for the supplies he would need for this mission.  He was just reaching for two hand-held radios when the hairs on the back of his neck twitched. 

Someone was behind him.

He heard the distinct chambering of a semi-auto and froze. 

Great.  Now he was going to have to disarm some green sailor, or worse--go up against another SEAL.

He turned around slowly with his hands up.

And yep, there it was, the barrel of a nine-millimeter pointed dead on center mass. 

Hands held high, standing as still as a stalled car, he didn’t so much as blink.

“Caldwell?  What the hell are you doing here?  Damn, man, I almost put a bullet in your chest.”  The man’s voice was friendly.  And familiar.  Even though his face was in the shadows, Dillon knew that voice.  Aaron Chance--a comrade in arms. 

As Aaron holstered his gun Dillon grumbled, “Don’t you know better than to pull a gun on a friendly?” 

“Yeah, yeah.  Like you were acting all friendly like.  So, what are you doing here, and what’s with the stealth?”  Seeing the open bag, ready for supplies, a light dawned.  “Or maybe I don’t want to know.”

“It’s not official.” 

Aaron nodded, waiting.  Once you were Special Forces, one of the elite, you learned fast when to ask questions and when to stay silent. 

Aaron stayed silent.

Dillon watched him for a minute.
 
Aaron was ex-Secret Service, now with EDGE, and
this wasn’t his normal hangout.  “I suppose I could ask you the same question.
 
Pulling guard duty isn’t exactly your M.O.”

Aaron grinned.
 
“I’m stealing supplies, same as you.
 
I’ve got
a
private party with an Al Qaida death camp in a few days,” he glanced around the room, “and I wanted to snitch some extras just in case.”

“How many are going?”

“Seven.
 
Plus me.”

“Sounds like suicide.”

“Yeah, well, no one else is moving those four Americans.”  He shrugged.  “Someone’s gotta do it, and the admiral’s teams are the best.”

Dillon had to give the guy credit for understatement.  The men on the admiral’s teams were beyond good.
 
They were damn near God-like.
 
Considering the favor he was about to ask, and the fact that Aaron had been straight up with him, Dillon figured he owed Aaron some kind of explanation.  “I’ve got some private business with Rafael Sanchez.” 

At the name, Aaron’s head snapped up. 

“I need supplies.  Long story, but suffice it to say, Sanchez issued a kill order on a friend of mine and I can’t go through the normal channels.”  Regardless of what the admiral had said. 

Aaron whistled between his teeth.  “That’s some serious business.  What do you need?”

“Everything.”  Dillon decided he’d better get supplies in twos just in case things got hairy and he couldn’t get Sara to a safe house right away.  “A pair of NVG’s, a week’s worth of MRE’s for two, two canteens.  Grenades, some C-4 with detcord, etc., an HK MP5 with a few thousand rounds, two Kevlars—one of them small, and anything else you can think of.  Surprise me.  Oh, and I need a couple sets of small fatigues and a pair of broken in, size seven’s.”

At the last, Aaron’s eyebrows rose.

“Don’t ask.”  Dillon shook his head.  “You don’t even want to know.” 

“Okay.  I can do this, take me about ten minutes.  Another five to get the clothes and boots.”  He paused.  “On one condition.”

Dillon’s eyebrows rose.  “Yeah?”

“When this is over, you bring your friend by and let me meet her.”

You already know her, but since I don’t have time to explain...

The last time Aaron saw Sara had been at a beach barbeque and she’d been happy and carefree, and very much in love.  Still, he knew what Aaron was saying, that he’d get through this alive and so would Sara.  He appreciated the faith.  “You got it.” 

They bumped knuckles and Aaron disappeared.  True to his word, he was back in less than twenty minutes with two duffel bags full of gear. 

Dillon shook his hand.  “Thanks, man.  Can’t say how much I appreciate this.”

“Appreciate what?  I never saw you.”

“Don’t get yourself buried in the sand.”
 
Dillon gave him a quick salute and left, hoping like hell Aaron’s faith was warranted.   

He made his way back to the SUV and tried opening the rear hatch.  Locked.  He tapped on the glass.  When the latches flipped, he opened the rear and tossed the gear into the back.  He heard Sara ask something but couldn’t quite make out the words.  “Wait, I didn’t hear you.  And why’d you lock up?  Cripes, woman, no one’s going to get you on a base full of Navy SEALs.” 

“Easy for you to say, you have a gun.”

He scowled at her but made his voice patient.  “I have several, you want one?”

After Dillon climbed in and closed the door, Sara laid a hand on his arm in apology.  “I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.”  Dillon didn’t say anything, but he did give her a long, unsettling stare.  Clasping her hands in her lap, she looked out the window, looking awkward as hell.  “So, now where?” 

Dillon drove off base and headed south. “My original plan was Canada, but since Sanchez called, that idea’s history.  So, I guess now we’re going to Tijuana.  It’s late, we need to sleep, Tijuana’s overcrowded and touristy and hopefully, we’ll blend right in.  With any luck, Rafael, his men, and whoever the hell was shooting at us won’t think to look for us there.  At least, not tonight.” 

“I thought Sanchez lived near TJ.”

“Not for over a year now.”  And he wouldn’t be back if he wanted to keep on living. 

“What if they
do
find us?” 

“Nobody’s following us, Sara.  We’ll be safe for the night.”  Dillon took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at her.  She wanted reassurance and she was looking for him to give it to her.  He wanted to stop the car right then and pull her into his arms and kiss her until all her fears melted away into the night. 

Except, of course, they had no time for kisses because people were trying to kill them and, oh yeah, given her disappearing act twelve months ago, they still had some issues to settle.

He kept his eyes on the road. 

Within twenty minutes they passed under Freedom Arch at the Mexican-American border.  Another twenty had him pulling into the parking lot of a cheap motel.  The place looked bleak and dreary and fit his mood to a T. 

He checked them in, left the office, and with a heavy sigh unlocked the door to their room.  Sara followed.  He flipped on a light switch and right there, smack in the center of some cheap shag carpeting, was a double bed barely big enough for one person, let alone two.

She looked at the bed, then at him.  “Only one bed?”

The question stung, even though under the circumstances, he supposed it was warranted.  Once, a measly twin would have been more than enough.  “Sorry.  I’ll sleep on the floor.”

He turned away from her to retrieve their duffel bags from the car.  When he returned, Sara was standing in the same spot, bone weary and swaying.

“Dillon, I didn’t mean...that is, I...”

He looked at her and their gazes locked.  Her pupils dilated and a flash of heat hit him broadside.  Heat, he was sure, he definitely needed to quell.

“I know you’re exhausted.  Go ahead, take the bed.” 

“You too, I mean, you’re tired too and--”

He raised an eyebrow.  “And?”  He tossed his keys on the dresser and unstrapped his shoulder holster, then laid his weapon on the only bedside table. 

“I guess
there’s no reason we can’t both--”

“Glad to hear it.”  With a weary groan, he kicked off his shoes and lay down on top of the covers.  Stared at the ceiling.  He knew if he so much as looked at her, he was going to go into atomic meltdown and make a move she wasn’t ready for.  “Pick a spot, Sara.  I’m tired.”

“Close your eyes.”

He gave her a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look.  “Why, you suddenly have something I’ve never seen before?”  And no sooner was the question asked, than he did exactly as she’d requested.  Studied the back of his eyelids to save her modesty and his sanity. 

She might be able to control her wants, needs, passion, whatever, but his came roaring back to life at warp speed.  Memories of her body arching under his, her damp skin, her eyes dark and molten, blazed along the front of his mind in a sexual frenzy of living color. 

He wanted to warn her.  Tell her this was danger of a different kind.  He was a man with a man’s wants and, by Jesus, he wanted her. 

Except...except he couldn’t have her.  Not now.  Maybe not ever.   

Eyes still closed, he sighed and she said, “Thank you.” 

He heard slow, clumsy movements as she stripped off her jeans, felt her throw back the covers, lay down, and when he opened his eyes, she’d pulled the sheet and thin blanket up to her chin.

He turned to look at her and nearly stuck his nose in her ear.  “I didn’t mean that.  It’s just that I…well I wanted to…you’re alive and--”
 

She turned her face until they were nose to nose.  “It’s okay.”

Her breath fanned gently across his cheek and he thought maybe his sleeping on the floor would’ve been safer for them both.  Not that he’d ever been the play-it-safe type.  “No.  It’s not okay.  I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” she said, “me too.” 

The look on her face was the saddest thing he’d seen in a very long time and his heart broke a little bit more.  He wished more than anything that he could turn back the clock to the time when Sara looked at him like he was the brightest star in her galaxy.  Back to the time when they held hands and talked until the sun came up.  Took long walks, danced, played, laughed.  Back to when they built castles in the sand and played King Arthur and Lady Guinevere with green plastic army men.

The hell of it was, those days weren’t really so far off.  But the bigger hell of it was, right now the last twelve months felt like a lifetime.  And a lifetime they might well become
.

Damn it.  Just fucking damn it.
 

Plus, this cheap-shit hotel was bringing back memories of a grander, more magical place.
 
A happier time when nothing between them was awkward.

The first night they’d ever spent at The Del, just after they’d made love for what was probably the third or fourth time, Sara had decided to play twenty questions.  They’d known each other maybe a month, and he learned that night that the reporter in her never turned off.

Flipping onto her side, with her back to him, she snuggled deeper into the covers.  “Dillon?”

“Hmm?”

“When’s your birthday?”

“November first.  Why?”

“What’s your favorite color?”

Brown, he thought, because it’s the color of your eyes, and when you smile at me my whole world comes alive.  “Blue, I guess.  The ocean’s blue.  Sky’s blue.”

“Remember what mine is?”

“Of course.  Your birthday is July sixteenth and your favorite color is green because you said it was a color you could smell.  Like freshly mown grass on a perfect summer day.”

“Ooh, trying to score points, huh?”  She giggled and snuggled her butt against his side.

“Babe, I don’t need to score points.  I have you right where I want you.”  And that’s where one game ended and another began..

A slight sniffle drew him back to the present.  Between the way Sara was curled into herself and the tears he was sure were running down her cheeks, his chest hurt so bad he wondered how he’d ever survive getting her though this. 

Turning on his side, he reached over to comfort her but dropped his hand back to his side instead.  He just wasn’t sure if she’d welcome the gesture. 

He heard a quiet sigh and then, “Goodnight,” and within a few short minutes she was sound asleep.  The urge to pull her close was strong.  Instead of disturbing her, he flipped onto his back.

“Yeah,” he said to himself, “and happy anniversary.”  But he couldn’t decide if the night was good or not.  Sara was alive, and that was wonderful.  Amazing.  But she was still angry, still hurt, and still keeping secrets.  Not that he had much room to talk.  After all, his job, his very existence had, instead of protecting her as he’d vowed, almost gotten her killed.  Could still get her killed. 

“Walk away from her now, Dillon.  Put her in custody.  Witness protection, a safe house.  She’s as good as dead if she’s with you.”

As much as he hated Craig’s words, he knew they were accurate.  Hell, he had the past to prove it.