No Options

by Jennifer Haynie

  Stunned, Abigail couldn’t think of anything to say.

  Nabeelah rose and zipped up her jacket. “Think about it. We are grounded for tonight due to the weather. You will not file your report with Sal tonight.” Her lips quirked. “You are dead, yes? Tomorrow morning, our jet here will take you to Raleigh to meet with Tina Delaney. Good night, Abigail Ward.”

  Abigail watched her go. Her gut churned with Nabeelah’s implication. This case had taken a dangerous turn, but she, Abigail, was up to the challenge. And if successful? She’d thought that after her suicide attempt seven years before, lieutenant colonel would have been unattainable. Now? Maybe it was withing her grasp. A small smile crossed her lips. Yeah, that sounded good to her.

  Time to let her mind rest. Maybe just listening to the rain would help her figure things out, kind of like taking a shower did. Instead, it made her sleepy and muddled her thinking. She should head to bed after popping her last pill. Except she had another couple of hours before she could do that.

  The next thing she knew, someone draped a blanket over her shoulders. Slowly she opened her eyes, which now had that nasty sandpaper feel to them.

  David joined her on the couch. “I was getting worried.”

  She shrugged. “I was enjoying the fire too much. How long was I out?”

  “I watched you for about five minutes. I thought you might fall over.”

  Yep, she needed sleep. “What time is it?”

  “About 2130 hours.”

  He rubbed her back in slow, steady circles. Oh, why did he have to do that? Her pulse stirred. She pulled the band holding her hair back. Maybe he’d run his hands through it. She loved it when he did that. “Things have gotten out of control.”

  His fingers teased the nape of her neck. “Want to talk about it?”

  She really had to focus to phrase her thoughts, all the way from her call to Marti to her discussion with Nabeelah. She left out Nabeelah’s promise of certain promotion.

  David listened, his movements steady, comforting—and driving her wild.

  He didn’t ask questions, something she appreciated about him.

  She finally pulled away, lest she fall for the temptation to throw herself at him. “Nabeelah’s right. I can’t back out.”

  He glanced around the interior of the rec room as if making sure they were alone. “I think she’s using you. Using us.”

  She stared at him. “What? I thought you loved her like a sister.”

  He remained silent for a few moments. “The girl I trained and the woman who has us as her ‘guests’ are two different people. I don’t know what DIA did to her, but—”

  “She’s right.” Abigail straightened. “I need to see this to completion.”

  “Do you? You could pull out. Let Sal rest on his laurels.”

  “But Jonathan’s investigation—”

  “Jonathan’s terrified he’ll lose you.” David’s fingers skimmed down her cheek. “Think about it. You’re all he has left. Don’t you remember what you told me last year when you recruited me to help find him?”

  Oh, did she ever. “I didn’t want to be alone with no family left.”

  “Exactly. That’s his biggest fear too. And remember we serve a just God.”

  She did, but she also knew she meted out justice by arresting criminals. “Justice needs to happen now, not when Sal dies.”

  “God’s timing is—”

  “I know, I know. Perfect.” She jumped up and shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. Her arm squawked at her, and she hissed in a breath. Time to make her escape. “Look. Nabeelah’s right. I’m in too deep.”

  “She’s DIA. Let her figure it out.”

  “I-I can’t.”

  He rose and gently grasped her hands. “Can’t or won’t?”

  Of all things! What did that mean? “I don’t follow.”

  “Nabeelah can handle this.”

  Her pride flared. “She said I’m capable of it. And she’s right. Someone’s going to need to be there to pick up the pieces after we arrest Sal.”

  Whoops! She hadn’t meant to reveal that little tidbit.

  He cocked his head. His brow wrinkled. “What? She handed you the line about certain promotion?”

  Wow, he’d pegged his former protégé. “It’s true. I know I’m in line for it. Well, Gabe and I are. But—”

  “You think that solving this case will put a feather in your cap enough to run with the big boys?”

  “What a chauvinistic remark!”

  “It’s true, right?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t want me to succeed.”

  His hands tightened around hers. “I want you to live.”

  She jerked free. Ouch! “No, you don’t want me to continue in this job. I—”

  “I love you, Abigail. And because I love you and I love your brother like he’s a brother of mine, I’m asking, no, begging, for you to back down. Thank Nabeelah but back down. We’ll play dead until she gets Sal, but that’s it.”

  His words stung. She couldn’t leave the case. Not now. She raised her chin. “Well, I have news for you, David Shepherd. I’m a big girl and can take care of myself. And for your 4-1-1, I don’t love you. Not anymore. Not after you ran away because you couldn’t tolerate being married to someone with ambition.”

  She might as well have taken a sword and run him through with it.

  He flinched. Without a word, he turned on his heel. Cold and wet flew in her face as he bulled into the night. The door slammed so hard the entire structure shook.

  Abigail hung her head. She’d wounded him deeply. Very deeply. No, she was right. He couldn’t tolerate her ambition, especially after he’d returned home to Burning Tree where he worked as a humble hotel manager and maintenance man. He didn’t understand. Nabeelah did. She had to finish this despite the danger. And she would.

  The thought had a hollow echo to it.

  She collapsed onto the couch. When she got to the room she shared with the boys, she would pop that pill and try to forget she’d ever met David Shepherd.

  Thursday, April 20, 2017, 2140 hours MDT, outside Burning Tree, UT

  David blasted into the damp, chilly night. Behind him the hut’s door slapped shut. He paused and listened for something—anything—to indicate any kind of remorse on Abigail’s part. Nothing. Not a call for him to come back so they could work it out. Not even a sniffle.

  So much for getting on good terms with her.

  On the horizon, lightning lit the distant mesas with a brief, menacing glow. So what if he got struck? It’s not like it mattered now. Grunting, he stepped onto the street. His boots squished in a mud puddle. Figured. A crappy ending to a crappy day.

  Monica emerged from the bath house and stopped in front of him. “David?”

  He really should leave, head back to their quarters, and crash on his rack. He paused. “Hey.”

  She peered closely at him. “Are you okay? You look like you want to hit something.”

  He huffed out a sigh. “No. Just... frustrated.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “You want to talk about it? Or are you allowed to see me?”

  David ignored her sullenness. Should he? No. Not when she viewed Abigail as a rival.

  When more lightning flickered, she glanced toward the horizon. Thunder rumbled low. “Well, feel free to stand there. I’m headed back to my cell where I can be warm and dry.”

  She began walking away from him and cast a glance over her shoulder.

  Oh, why not? He followed.

  She turned into a smaller building that was a converted shipping container. “Welcome to my stellar quarters for the duration of my stay. Talk about feeling like a prisoner.”

  He noted the bars across the windows someone had cut into the metal. “Spartan.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, well at least I have heat. And something that passes for a dresser.” She set her toiletries and towel on a foot locker, then flipped a switch. An electric heater with faux logs in i
t began glowing. “I think they’re trying to provide some sort of ambiance.” She sat on the double bed and patted the mattress beside her. “Have a seat. You obviously need to talk, and you know I don’t bite.”

  He doubted that. He drew in a breath to decline. He really should leave, especially since he didn’t have a future with her. Then Abigail’s parting shot rang in his ears.

  “And for your 4-1-1, I don’t love you. Not anymore. Not after you ran away because you couldn’t tolerate being married to someone with ambition.”

  He shut the door, then shucked his boots. They clunked to the floor in a muddy mess. He eased onto the edge of the footlocker.

  “You don’t want to sit here?” Monica gestured to the bed. “It’s probably a bit more comfortable.”

  “I’m good.” He rested his elbows on his knees and contemplated the metal floor.

  “Who is Nabeelah, exactly? An old friend or something?”

  A good question. Just who was his former protégé now? And what should he divulge? “I met her when I was deployed in Afghanistan.”

  “So a lover, then?”

  “Hah. Hardly.” Why did it all have to boil down to that? “She was eighteen in 2009. Her father was the chieftain of the village where we were embedded. She wanted to learn how to fight. With her father’s blessing, we trained her. She became a great asset to our team.”

  “And she joined the Army or something?”

  He sent her a sharp look. “No. We were ambushed. Her entire village was slaughtered along with everyone on my team but Jonathan.”

  “I’m only trying to piece things together, okay?”

  He closed his eyes. How things had changed. Monica hadn’t been there, hadn’t seen the excitement in Nabeelah’s eyes as she’d learned from David and Jonathan how to shoot. Or the enthusiasm as she’d all but become a part of their team. Now, the only thing remaining of that girl was her sharp intelligence. Even her pretty features had matured into those that reminded him of Delilah in the Bible, someone easy to look at but who for her own cause would betray those who trusted her. He released a breath.

  Monica took his hands. She knelt before him, her gaze dark with concern. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “You didn’t.” He rose and folded his arms across his chest as he stared out the window.

  She joined him and ran her hand along his bicep. “How did you meet Abigail?”

  His mind flew back to The Incident. Not what he wanted to discuss. “Eight years ago, she investigated when our team got hit. Then last year when her brother was kidnapped, she asked me to help find him.”

  “Work’s more important to her, huh?”

  He stared at her. “How did you know?”

  A smile curled her lips. “An educated guess.” She shrugged. “Sounds like she doesn’t really care about you.”

  “That’s one way to put it.”

  She snuggled closer. “And she’s not local.”

  “Too true.”

  Monica wound her arms around his neck. “You forget that I care very much about you. And I’m local. Read, I’m here for you. And always will be.”

  With that, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him.

  Oh, wow. Almost up there in Abigail territory. David enfolded her in his arms as he deepened it. The rain began coming down, creating a loud, almost hypnotic white noise.

  She broke it off and took a step back. Her lips curved in a seductive smile.

  He joined her.

  He let her passion fill him as they lay down on the bed together. Just as he began entertaining fantasies of pushing things further with her, a blue-white light lit the container’s interior, followed immediately by a bang.

  Both of them jumped.

  “That was close,” Monica whispered. She ran her hand down his face as she stretched and settled back on the mattress.

  In too many ways. Chest heaving, he forced himself to sit up. “I—I need to go.”

  She pushed herself up on one elbow. “David, why? It’s not like this is a convent or something. No one will know. Or care.”

  “I care.”

  She reached for him. “Stay here tonight.”

  He shoved her hand away. “That’s not what I meant.” With that, he heaved to his feet and almost jumped into his hiking boots. “I’m sorry, but I love Abigail.”

  “Here’s a news flash for you. She doesn’t love you.” Hardness laced Monica’s words. “And I do.”

  “I don’t think you understand.”

  “Oh, I do.” She bolted to her feet. “You leave here, we’re done.”

  He opened the door. “So be it, then.”

  “David!”

  He ignored her and headed to the quarters he shared with Abigail and Jonathan.

  Once inside, he stopped short. Jonathan had already crashed hard and slept sprawled across the bed like he always had. No sense in waking him. And Abigail? Across the room, she’d curled on her side facing the middle of the room.

  David shucked his boots and carefully approached her bed.

  In the golden glow of the heater, he noticed something on her cheeks.

  Dried tear stains.

  Had she cried herself to sleep? Or cried in her sleep?

  It didn’t matter. Her sadness tugged at his heart. Once more, his words to Jonathan echoed in his hears. “Even if I never marry her, know that I love her.”

  He bent and brushed his lips across her hairline.

  She sighed and nuzzled the pillow. So low that he almost missed it, she whispered, “David.”

  Hope and pain seared him at the same time, hope because deep down, she cared about him. Pain because she’d never admit that in the light of day.

  He washed his face in the single sink in the room, then stared at himself in the mirror. Haggard yet hopeful. Lord, this is Yours. All Yours. Carry the both of us.

  Thursday, April 20, 2017, 2330 hours EDT, Quantico, VA

  Eleven thirty. Despite the fact his alarm would wake him in five and a half hours, Sal couldn’t sleep. Too much caffeine at his daughters’ soccer game and during supper at a nearby restaurant. And then there was the little problem of a helicopter shooting up a certain glass house in Utah.

  He’d scanned the news. Sure enough, it’d made headlines, except it had been portrayed as a structure failure that caused the collapse. Sal’s lip had curled at that. Of course. A structural failure caused by bullets.

  But no word from Enrique.

  Had something happened?

  The call came just as they’d returned home. He’d feigned the need to take an important call from the office and retreated to his study with his burner phone concealed in his pants pocket.

  He spoke with Enrique in hushed tones.

  The helicopter dispatched by Los Jaguares had been shot down.

  Shot down? How?

  No details, but Enrique had repeatedly assured him there had been no survivors.

  He could only hope.

  Now, Sal turned onto his back and laced his hands behind his head. As he contemplated his situation, he considered who remained who could potentially derail his career and life. Abigail was dead, as were her brother and David Shepherd. Anyone with knowledge of what had happened with the Athena file or to the Mighty Men had perished. Gabe Santos and Marti Raymond? They were like the body of the snake. Without Abigail as the head, they had nothing.

  His thoughts swung to Tina Delaney, Jessie’s widow. Sure, she didn’t know anything about what had happened to the Mighty Men other than the fact that her husband had died fighting alongside his comrades. But she knew too much. She’d carried Sal’s child, albeit briefly, before miscarrying.

  All because of a dalliance nine years ago, the hot June weekend before his battalion had deployed to Afghanistan. He’d sent his family ahead of him to the beach. He stayed behind to take care of some final financial matters he needed to discuss with Rita before he shipped out. Grieving the failure of her last IVF treatment and assuming that Rit
a was home, Tina had shown up. Upon seeing him, she burst into tears. Oh, he tried to comfort her. It turned into more, and they’d wound up in bed together.

  He’d told himself it was just one night. And it was. The news of her pregnancy eight weeks later had stunned him. And her e-mail regarding her miscarriage? Relief had filled him since evidence of an affair with an enlisted man’s wife could get him drummed out of the Army. Yet he couldn’t get her out of his head for the rest of the deployment. Even when his family had transferred to Quantico, he saw her sporadically. A weekend at the beach after a conference while Rita and the kids went to a soccer tournament. A couple of nights where Tina now lived in Raleigh after a visit to Fort Bragg. They were careful so no more unwelcome news visited him. But still...

  She had to go.

  Sal picked up his phone and thumbed his contacts until he located the name Tim, his codename for Tina. He texted her.

  Are you awake?

  A few moments later, her response flashed on the screen. Headed to bed.

  What are you doing tomorrow night?

  I’m meeting someone for drinks at six.

  His thumbs flew across the screen. Should I be jealous? He included a smiley emoticon.

  Her reply came back fast. Not when I’m meeting with CID detectives.

  Adrenaline shot through his body in an electric streak. He beat out the question. Who?

  Abigail Ward and Marti Raymond.

  Crap. Hadn’t Abigail died in the collapse of the glass house? His hands began shaking. Somehow, he tapped out another message. I could meet you after that. Where will you be?

  Her reply came back. Ball and Dart in Raleigh.

  He sneered. He had everything he needed now and tapped out a reply. Eight o’clock? Another text came in, this one from Francis. Something came up at WORK.

  Sal slid from bed. Rita didn’t stir from where she lay on her stomach with her head facing away from him. He slipped into his closet, retrieved his burner phone from the toe of one of his dress uniform shoes, and headed downstairs. Once it powered on, Francis’s message flashed up. Tripwires got triggered and woke me up. Gabe’s rooting around about Katrina Miller.

  Sal’s options, which had seemed many, had vanished in a matter of minutes. He could almost hear Enrique sneering at him. “Why do you think so much? Why don’t you do something?”