David rose. “But if we don’t come back, Kyra will—”
“At the appropriate time, we will assure her you are alive and well.” Nabeelah stepped to the door. “Abigail must continue, Sergeant Jonathan. She is a truth seeker, and we believe she is on the right path.”
He grabbed her arm. “I won’t allow it.”
Like an asp striking, she pinned his wrist in a vise grip. Nabeelah gazed at him with amber eyes rimmed in dark brown. Coldness emanated from them. “You do not have a say in this.”
He winced. “Nabeelah—”
She dropped it. “Abigail is strong. Wise.”
But no match for the man who was her boss and now her foe.
David folded his arms across his chest. “What’s the link between the SecureLink convoy and El Lobo?”
As if suddenly tired of discussing the matter, Nabeelah put her hand on the knob. “Think about it. You’re both intelligent men. Figure it out.”
With that, the door softly shut behind her.
Jonathan yanked it open. “Hey! We’re not finished here!”
His shout reverberated off the metal buildings
Nabeelah kept walking.
“Nabeelah!”
She turned into the command center.
He slammed the door and whipped around. “What nerve! I mean, she didn’t—”
“I love her.” David took Abigail’s still hand. He brought the top of it to his lips and pressed them to her skin before placing it on the mattress beside her. He tucked the blanket around her. “I know we’ve had our differences, but I’ve been praying.” His gaze shot to his friend. “She’s the only woman for me no matter what.”
A lump formed in Jonathan’s throat. “You know... how stubborn she can be, bro. I wouldn’t—”
“I don’t care. Even if I never marry her, I love her.”
His best friend’s sincerity nearly choked him. “Yet Nabeelah insists on letting her continue. Sal’s most likely a vicious killer. I can’t let her—”
“You need to.”
What? Had he heard right? “How can you say that? I mean, you just said you love—”
“She’s walking in God’s will.” David’s gaze shot to his. Peace radiated from it.
How could he stand there and agree with Nabeelah? Jonathan braced his hands on the window sill as he hung his head. “She’s all I’ve got now. If she dies—”
“I know. But I also know this.”
Jonathan battled the lump in his throat. “What?”
David smoothed some strands of hair away from Abigail’s face. “She’s a child of God. And there’s no safer place to be than walking in God’s will.”
“I know.” Jonathan closed his eyes at the prospect of losing her forever. “And that’s what scares me, bro. That’s what scares me.”
19
Thursday, April 20, 2017, 1345 hours MDT, outside Burning Tree, UT
Had the street been dirt rather than concrete, Jonathan would have worn a rut in it two feet deep. His best friend had lost his mind. Couldn’t he see Abigail headed toward certain death? He raked his hands through his hair as he turned on his heel and stalked toward the runway.
The wind whipped around him. The light faded to a stark gray against red rock as the clouds overtook the sun. He swore the temperature dropped ten degrees. Kind of like his feelings toward the woman David had called Little Sister years before.
Next to the hangar, the pilots once more lounged on their camp chairs. The CWO had a book in one hand, a can of soda in the other. He called, “You okay, man?”
Jonathan plastered a fake smile on his face. “Couldn’t be better!”
The CWO raised his can in a mock salute. “Love the sarcasm.”
Jonathan spun around and retreated to the other end of the street, where a Hummer sat with a guard in the turret. He stared in the direction David had said was Burning Tree. His fingers curled in a death grip around the chain link. Lord, I know what David means when he says Abigail’s walking in Your will. But why do I get the feeling Nabeelah is using her—and us—as her pawn to do her dirty work? Why?
Runaway fear. He’d always told his soldiers that fear was like pain. If not stopped early, it could grow out of control. Boy, did he ever understand that now.
The thought of losing his sister terrified him.
Why?
It hit him with the force of a sledgehammer.
Loneliness.
Eight years before, he’d lost ten of his best friends in the span of half an hour and had almost lost David. His sister and parents had helped him cope.
Then came his parents’ deaths.
The agony of losing them had nearly crushed him. He felt as if he had nowhere to turn except Abigail. Then he’d almost lost her when she’d attempted suicide. Had it not been for his mentor, he never would have survived. He thought he’d found a haven in Christine—before Nicole Chardet’s schemes had torn her away from him, reopening old scars as surely as a bandage being ripped from a fresh wound.
God, why? Why her? Why this? Why now?
He crouched and hung his head. Words failed him.
When he came home after basic training, he’d had a conversation with Mom. He’d said, “I’m surprised you were so happy when I graduated. I thought you didn’t want me to enlist.”
Mom dumped some ice cubes into a glass and handed it to him along with a cold bottle of Coke. They wound up on the screened-in porch.
“Mom? I didn’t make you angry, did I?”
She laughed and shook her head. “Not at all.” She took a sip of her drink. “I was thinking about how to respond.” Another sip, then her words. “Whether I approve or not never mattered. Your father and I talked, and he reminded me of some things.”
Jonathan raised an eyebrow.
A gentle smile tipped her lips. “When you were a little fellow, you got really sick and wound up in the hospital. Obviously, you pulled through okay, but it induced a huge fear in me. I couldn’t sleep. I had to stay up all night beside your crib because I worried that if I took my eyes off you to rest, something would happen. Obviously, that wasn’t a healthy way to live.”
He couldn’t argue with her.
“Your father finally recommended counseling with our pastor. That kind man reminded me of something that’s stayed with me.”
He smiled. “What was that?”
“Children are gifts on loan from God. You, son, even now at the age of eighteen, are still His child as much as you are a Ward. God knows what’s best for you. He’ll take care of you. That keeps fear from paralyzing me.”
“But do you worry?”
She took another sip and nodded. “I do, but then I remember what I just told you. You’re God’s kid as well as ours.”
Now, Jonathan sought to place that into action with Abigail. Sure, she was his sister, but she was also a daughter of the King. God would watch over her. And if she perished? He had to trust that the One who he professed to trust would provide for him.
Lord, I’m scared to do it. But I know I must. Help me to take this one day at a time.
He raised his head and gazed at the command center.
A calm descended on him. Maybe he’d gotten past the fear curve. But peace didn’t mean he’d let some things go.
Nabeelah owed him answers.
Thursday, April 20, 2017, 1350 hours MDT, outside Burning Tree, UT
Where was she? Jonathan stalked the length of the street to the runway. No Nabeelah. Only his audience of two by the hangar. She could be in the command center. If so, he’d drag her out and demand his answers until she came clean with him.
At the chow hall, voices slowed his steps. He pressed against the corrugated metal wall and listened.
Fragments reached him, those from a male voice. “Gone on too long... need to stop this.”
That one sounded familiar. Jonathan drew in a breath.
Then came Nabeelah’s alto. “I am so close! Just a few more days...”
; It dipped lower.
“We’re out of time.”
He finally placed it. Frisco Montero, the man who’d worked for Nabeelah undercover and had saved his life when Nicole’s gang kidnapped him the year before. Jonathan’s eyes narrowed. He inched closer and peered around the corner.
Nabeelah had her back to him.
Frisco faced him, but he was so locked in his argument that he didn’t even look up. He took Nabeelah’s hands.
That didn’t compute. Jonathan’s brow knitted.
Nabeelah shifted. “Just a few more days. That’s—”
“I can’t keep covering for you. People are starting to ask questions. Why do you think we’ve gotten personnel pulled off this?”
She shook her head. “She is close, Frisco, I can—”
“How close?” Jonathan took a step forward.
Nabeelah glanced over her shoulder. Her jaw dropped. She put her hands on her hips, closed her eyes, and raised her chin. “You were not supposed to hear that, Sergeant Jonathan.”
Red tinged Frisco’s cheeks. He averted his gaze to the ground in front of him.
Planting his feet shoulder width apart, Jonathan folded his arms across his chest. “I suggest the next time you want to discuss my sister’s future, take it behind closed doors. Or better yet, don’t talk about her behind my back. Or hers.”
Yeah, he was in an ornery mood. Hearing Abigail discussed as if she were a decoy for something made him that way.
A muscle in her cheek twitched. “She will be fine.”
Right. Like a fair-skinned person wouldn’t burn without sunscreen in the desert.
Jonathan pressed closer. “You walked out on our little discussion earlier. You’re involving her—and David and me—and I still lost four guys on Friday. Or does that escape your memory?”
Her eyes narrowed, but a smile curled her lips. “Come with me. Both of you.” She led the way across the street to the command center. She wove between a large worktable and a set of empty folding tables. “This way, gentlemen.”
Jonathan stalked after her. At least something seemed to be happening now. They passed into a conference room that was more like a glass box with wiring between the layers. A secure conference room. He knew them well.
She shut the door, and the noise from the rest of the room faded to silence. “You wanted answers, Sergeant Jonathan? Perhaps I can give you some.”
“Then start talking.”
At his insolence, a muscle in her jaw twitched. “How many personnel do you see out there?”
Jonathan glanced outside the conference room. He noted two others, one the medic and the other who gazed at a computer screen and manipulated a joystick. Most likely, he operated a drone. “Two.”
“Correct. Plus my two pilots outside, my two watchers with Sergeant David’s sister, and Frisco. That is all that remains of a team of fifty.”
He stared. “I don’t understand.”
“Until last year, we had a full team working on this.” She cast a glance at Frisco. “As you know, Frisco was undercover. I stayed near, or as near as I could, even in Afghanistan. Through our work, we pinpointed a link between Sal and Shamal Khan.”
“Nicole Chardet.” Jonathan nodded as he remembered the Chief Financial Officer from SecureLink’s Ghazni compound. “She was the ringleader of the gunrunning gang.”
“Exactly. It took work, but we determined Sal had an affair with her while he was stationed at Fort Bliss. That is when the gunrunning began. We knew that if we could arrest her, we had a confession locked up, and we could arrest Sal.”
“Except he had her murdered last year when we rescued Kyra after Nicole and the gang kidnapped her.”
Nabeelah folded her arms and gazed at the remains of her team. “Overnight, my case collapsed. DIA was satisfied I was safe. And the DEA?” She faced them, and frustration brewed in her eyes. “They have other cases to worry with now.”
Jonathan nodded toward the drone operator. “How are you still running this, then?”
Frisco cleared his throat. “She’s too stubborn to quit.”
That earned a glare from her.
He didn’t shrink away. “Somehow, she sweet-talked everyone. We have until the end of June to wrap everything up. Then we’re done, like it or not.”
Jonathan once more folded his arms across his chest. “Which is why you need two washed up vets and a CID detective. Oh, that makes real good sense.”
She ignored his jab. “I have a mission for you, Sergeant Jonathan. You will go with Frisco to pick up Mr. Randleman. When you bring him here, we will deal with him.”
“How so?”
“Rupert Randleman never intended for you to meet with Mr. Stone. It was a trap, a way for Mr. Stone to be framed for your deaths.”
Jonathan nodded. That squared with what David had observed at the glass house.
Nabeelah continued, “For some reason, Randleman chose to stay behind. Was he under orders? Or did he have a morbid fascination with what would happen?” She sat on the edge of the table and traced circles on the glass with one graceful, slim finger. “Our drone was in the air as soon as we landed at the glass house. It has been tracking him. He thinks he can hide on the back roads. He cannot. You two will hunt him down and bring him back here. Then we’ll see exactly what he knows.”
“After that?” Jonathan asked.
“We let him go.” Her lips twitched as her eyes once more narrowed as if assessing his intelligence. “A dog always returns to its vomit, no?”
Jonathan chilled. Eight years ago when he’d carried her to the medevac chopper, she’d been a teenager shattered at losing her parents. Now, she’d morphed into a woman with an oval face, alluring eyes, and olive features. Like a cobra, she was beautiful—and deadly. Don’t ever turn your back on her.
Frisco nudged him. “Let’s go.”
Jonathan followed him as he wondered just how the heck he’d gotten himself into this mess with no way out.
Thursday, April 20, 2017, 1400 hours MDT, outside Burning Tree, UT
“You see that weather?” The CWO Jonathan had seen sitting in the camp chair now preflighted the Black Hawk. The camouflage net for it rested in a pile against the wall of the hangar. He jerked his chin at clouds now the color of soapstone.
Frisco shrugged. “Smitty, it’s got to get done.”
“That storm’s gonna be a doozy. So let’s get in and get out. We’ve got until 1600 hours, comprende?”
“No worries on our end. Here’s our coordinates for Randleman. He’s on the road trying to flee the area.” Frisco read off numbers from his tablet.
“We’re locked and loaded, then. Climb aboard and strap yourselves in.” Smitty tossed them some skydiver goggles and headphones. “For your eyes and ears. Sorry we don’t have lids for you.”
No problem there. Jonathan could live without a helmet. He strapped himself into the right bay so his feet hung over the edge.
As they rose into the sky, his stomach dropped. Coupled with the clatter of the rotors and the smell of aviation fuel, the sensation exhilarated him and rekindled memories of his time in Special Forces. Despite his misgivings, it felt so good to be part of a team doing something.
Below, red rock sped by as they flew above the valley of the river running from Burning Tree. A road paralleled it, the very one Randleman was using.
“Subject at our twelve o’clock,” the CWO announced.
Jonathan peered downward.
A Mercedes SUV bounced along the rough road. Dust kicked up behind it.
The Black Hawk slowed, then rapidly descended until it pursued the SUV like a car.
Randleman must have been freaking out.
Jonathan smirked.
The SUV sped up. A hubcap flew off. Then a piece of trim.
No use. The Black Hawk easily followed.
In a move that would have made the average civilian yak, the chopper popped up over the vehicle, spun around, and faced the Mercedes in a game of chicken. SUV ver
sus helicopter. Who would win?
The Mercedes screeched to a halt.
The driver’s door flew open.
Randleman scrambled out and fell to his knees. He righted himself and dashed down the road in the opposite direction.
The Black Hawk landed.
Jonathan sprinted from the chopper with Frisco hot on his heels. His hands flexed. “Not this time!”
Oh, did he want Randleman.
With a superhuman effort, he launched himself toward the personal assistant.
His fingers snagged black silk.
They tumbled down a slope. Rock bit into Jonathan’s back, then cut his cheek. He had the weasel.
“Let me go!” Randleman squealed.
Jonathan didn’t relax his fingers as he climbed to his feet. “Not on your life.”
Randleman’s fist flashed.
The glancing blow barely hurt, but Jonathan loosened his grip.
His quarry bolted.
Frisco drew his gun. “Stop, you punk!”
Randleman kept running.
Frisco fired a shot. Dirt kicked up to the left of Randleman.
The personal assistant skidded to a halt.
Pistol held at ready, Frisco approached. “On your knees. Hands on head. Now!” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a cable tie. “Tie him up.”
Jonathan knocked him onto his chest and yanked his hands behind him.
Randleman thrashed. “Stop!”
“Sorry. Your luck just ran out.” Frisco dragged him up the slope.
When he saw the Black Haw, Randleman dug in his heels. “I hate helicopters. I can’t go on that. If I go, I’ll get sick and then—”
“You puke on me, I’ll throw you out.” Frisco practically picked him up, carried him through the morass of the rotor wash, and dumped him inside.
Jonathan followed.
They slammed the doors shut, and Frisco yanked a black bag over Randleman’s head.
He moaned. “I’m going to be sick.”
“Dude, you barf in my bird, you clean it out,” Smitty called.
At least the noise of the engines drowned out his protests.
Once they landed, Frisco wasted no time in hauling him from the Black Hawk’s bay and dragging him down the street despite his squawking
No Options Page 17
