Broken Love

by Drake, Tabatha

Caleb shifts out of her chair to linger over my shoulder. She heaves a sigh. “Yeah, Carson. Just a bit of noise.”

  There’s anger in her tone, meaning any progress I might have made with making her laugh is officially worthless.

  “It wasn’t there a minute ago,” I say. “They’re obviously using the edges of that sandstorm to stay out of sight and—”

  “How far out are they?” she asks over me.

  “About eighteen miles. And, by the way, your old crap could only see like twelve miles out. So, you’re welcome.”

  “Shut up and bring your laptop.”

  She walks off, bolting in a straight line toward the command tent across the camp.

  “Well…” I shrug. “It doesn’t quite have the same ring to it as shut up and keep your head down, but I guess I’ll take it.”

  Fox stands up. “One of these days, you just might get a shut up and kiss me out of her,” he jokes.

  “Dude, it is so not cool to toy with my emotions like that. I am a very sensitive man.”

  He laughs and we leave the tent, following her bootprints through the sand.

  His hand slaps my shoulder. “Box, let her go,” he says. “You can’t keep up with her. No one can.”

  The warning digs at me. I know it’s true. Caleb is Wonder Woman. Strong, independent. An Amazonian rockstar. I would have to be Superman to make the slightest dent in her, but it would only slow her down for a moment.

  Fox is right. There’s no way a guy like me will ever get close to a girl like Caleb Fawn.

  But that won’t stop me from trying.

  * * *

  The mysterious convoy settled at an abandoned warehouse about ten miles east of our camp. Sunset is just moments away, giving the sky a deep purple glow, meshing with the pale sand surrounding us.

  I keep quiet, watching intently as Fox peeks through his rifle’s scope from about a mile away. This fucking guy. I’d hate his guts if he weren’t so damn nice. Cool as James Dean and as suave as mid-80s’ Patrick Swayze. No wonder his mother named him Fox.

  “They don’t look hostile,” he mutters. “This is something else.”

  I squint through my glasses, seeing only the blurred lines and black dots on my laptop’s radar, along with a rather menacing cloud taking up half the screen. “Storm inching closer…” I note, scanning the distance.

  Fox grabs his radio. “Caleb, are you in position?”

  Her voice comes through. “Yes.”

  “Can you see inside?”

  “Not from this distance. I’ll get closer.”

  “Whoa—” I say. “Should she really be getting closer to that?”

  “She’ll be fine, Boxcar,” Fox says. This is what she does.” He clicks the radio. “I’ll cover you. See if you can find out what they’re doing.”

  “On it.”

  Fox rolls his shoulders, shaking out his tension. He pauses to glance over at me and he smiles. “She’ll be fine,” he repeats.

  “I know,” I say.

  I inhale a deep, frustrated breath. He sees through it completely but there’s not much I can do about that. There’s not much I can do about anything right now, other than watch. I can barely even do that out here in the dark.

  “Here.”

  I look up from the radar and Fox hands me a pair of binoculars.

  “Night vision,” he says.

  “Ooo…”

  I flick them on and bring them to my eyes, being careful not to scratch my glasses. The once-black warehouse now glows with shades of green.

  Caleb catches my attention, slowly slinking onto the grounds from the west side dressed all in black. Her short hair is secured back out of the way, but harsh winds attempt to pull the hidden locks free.

  “Damn, she’s cool,” I say.

  Fox chuckles and clicks his radio back on. “Slow down, Caleb. You have movement around the corner.”

  I flinch, pulling my gaze away from her long enough to catch the very armed, very scary-looking, man headed right for her location around the building.

  “Shoot him—!” I gasp.

  “Calm down, Box…” Fox’s voice slides off his lips, smooth as butter.

  “But he’s—”

  “Box.”

  Caleb retreats into the shadows before the patrol makes it to her location. He continues, completely unaware she’s even near him.

  I exhale the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Okay…”

  Fox turns away from his scope to pat me on the back. “See? Relax…” he says. “Panic only when necessary.”

  “How do I know when panic is necessary?”

  He shrugs. “Watch me. If I’m not panicking, then you shouldn’t be either.”

  “But you’re cool as fuck, dude. You never panic.”

  “I’ve panicked before.” His eyes flick in thought. “Once.”

  “You can hold his hand later, Fox. Do you mind giving me an update on my path, please?”

  My chest sinks at the sound of her voice. Fuck…

  Fox focuses through his scope again. “You’re all clear, Caleb.”

  “Thank you.”

  He clicks the radio off and offers me an apologetic nod. “Sorry.”

  I collapse against the sand.

  “All right. I can see inside.”

  I raise my head and look through the binoculars again, this time trying not to focus too much on Caleb alone. There’s a whole warehouse around her and not a single person inside will care if they had to put a bullet in her.

  “Any idea what they’re doing?” Fox asks her.

  “Not a clue,” she says. “I’ll take them out and look around, though.”

  I furiously shake my head at Fox.

  He nods. “Negative, Caleb. Come on back. We’ll report to Rhys and check it out again after the storm passes.”

  “I agree. I just wanted to freak Carson out a little bit. Did it work?”

  I sigh.

  “That’s an affirmative,” Fox answers, smiling.

  “Cool.”

  He lays his rifle down and pats me on the back again, giving me a weak, yet purposeful, smile.

  Let her go. You don’t stand a chance. Move on.

  I fight the overwhelming urge to smother myself in the sand.

  Chapter 8

  Caleb

  I feel his eyes on me long before I look up.

  Carson — or Boxcar, whatever — sits on his cot across from mine with his laptop balanced on his outstretched legs. We make eye contact for a moment before his shaded eyes shift to the loud display of manliness happening a few feet away from the back of the barracks.

  I ignore the grunting and groaning and focus on putting my revolver back together.

  Rogers and West sit on the floor across from each other with Fox’s footlocker between them. Their hands are locked in a fierce arm wrestle while the ropey muscles of their arms quiver in a hard flex. Neither one of them seems any closer to winning than they were fifteen seconds ago.

  “Do they do this a lot?”

  “Carson—!” I jolt to my left as he appears on the floor beside my cot. “What are you doing?”

  “Starting a conversation with you,” he says.

  “Why?”

  He shrugs.

  I sigh, gesturing softly with my hands to push him away. “You’re in my bubble…”

  He shifts back a little but maintains that schoolboy smirk across his mouth. “So, do they?”

  I slide a little to the right. “Do they what?”

  “Arm wrestle.”

  I look at Fox as he leans over the battle playing referee. “Yeah.”

  “Do you?”

  I turn back down to the revolver parts now littered along my mattress. “No.”

  “Why not?” he asks, admiring my toned arms. “You seem like you’d be good at it, even against these guys.”

  A hard slam finally hits the footlocker. Rogers launches up in victory as West growls in defeat.

  “That’s two out
of three,” Fox recounts. “Pay the man.”

  West spins around to his cot and fishes beneath his pillow for money.

  Boxcar smiles, still awaiting my answer.

  “I was banned from competing,” I say.

  “What? Why?” he asks.

  “Because she cheats!”

  I raise an eyebrow at Rogers. “I don’t cheat. You just suck.”

  He leans closer, rolling his freshly-won money into his pocket. “Cheater…”

  “Well, that doesn’t seem fair,” Boxcar argues.

  “You want to try her?” Rogers laughs, gesturing at me. “Go ahead, Mulan. Show him your moves.”

  “I’d really rather not…” I mumble.

  Boxcar stands up. “I’m in.”

  I roll my eyes. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah, come on,” he says. “I challenge you to an arm wrestle, Caleb Fawn.”

  “No.”

  “Caleb…” Fox says. “You know the rules. You can’t back down from a challenge.”

  “Yes, I can.” I stay seated. “Watch me.”

  Boxcar nudges my arm. “I promise I’ll go easy on you.”

  The guys wince and with good reason. Boxcar hardly even reacts, ignoring the obvious warning signs of rage prickling at me.

  “Fine,” I say, my eyes turning red. “What’s your wager?”

  “Well,” he says, smirking wide, “let’s keep it simple. If I win, I get a kiss.”

  Anger spikes in my cheeks. “A what?”

  “A kiss.”

  “Are you fourteen?”

  “And a half,” he jokes.

  I glance around the tent, suddenly realizing how silent it is. Fox stands back with his hand latched over his mouth, simply fucking amused by the whole thing while Rogers and West look terrified.

  “No,” I say.

  “What’s wrong, Caleb?” Boxcar asks. “You scared I’ll actually win?”

  I pick myself up off the cot, seething. “And if I win?”

  His smile makes gentle dimples in his cheeks. “What do you want me to give you?”

  My eye twitches. “How about you just owe me some money? That seems fair.”

  “Okay.”

  He moves around the cot and lowers himself to the floor beside the footlocker, firing off a sly wink at me while he waits for me to join him.

  I glower at Fox’s grinning face before kneeling and facing Boxcar. He’s already in position with his right arm forward, eagerly awaiting me to take his hand. I hesitate before laying my elbow down and placing my palm against his.

  I touch him and a bolt of warmth charges up to my shoulder blade.

  Fox clears his throat. “Okay… are we ready?”

  “Ready,” I say, wrapping my fingers around Boxcar’s.

  His knuckles quake with nervousness but he tries to hide it. “Ready,” he says.

  Fox takes a quick step back. “Three, two, — Boxcar, don’t look down — one. Go!”

  Boxcar flinches. “What?”

  It’s too late for him to absorb the warning. I flex, bringing his attention back to me and he gives my hand a hard shove in the other direction.

  I’ll admit, he’s not as weak as he seems. He doesn’t have a bodybuilder’s physique, but I can’t help but glance at his bicep as his shirt tightens around it.

  Boxcar lets out a struggled breath. My ears twitch. A grunt escapes his lips. It travels down my spine, all the way to my kneecaps. I shake it off, ignoring the quiver between my thighs as I tighten my grip on him. His eyes wander my face and, for a moment, the struggle in him fades into lust. It twists at me, knocking me off-balance enough that my strength almost slips completely.

  His eyes flick downward, and I shift my shoulders forward to deepen my cleavage.

  “Cheater!” Rogers shouts.

  I feel Boxcar’s strength waver for just a moment but that’s all I need to send his hand flying down to the footlocker.

  Boxcar shakes his head, jerking his eyes away from my breasts. “Wait — what?”

  Fox reaches for my hand and raises it high. “And we have a winner.”

  I stand up. “Sorry, Carson. You can pay me back later.”

  Boxcar stays on the floor, positively dumbstruck while his eyes blink away from my chest. “Damn…”

  “I told you not to look down, man,” Fox tells him, shrugging his wide shoulders.

  I walk back to my cot. Rogers and West shake their heads at me again. I ignore them and return my focus back to the disassembled revolver, hoping this throbbing feeling beneath my skin goes away as soon as possible.

  Manly grunts resume but they don’t affect me nearly as much as Boxcar’s did. I keep my head down, breathing steadily as the menial task takes hold of me and my pulse resumes its normal rhythm.

  “Fawn!”

  I look up to find Sergeant Rhys standing at the end of my cot. “Yes, sir?” I ask, jumping up.

  “Where’s Carson?”

  “Oh, he’s—” I pause mid-point, realizing that he’s not on his cot.

  A quick glance around tells me he’s nowhere to be seen. It’s just Fox, Rogers, and West.

  “He was here a few minutes ago.”

  Rhys stares back at me with annoyance. “Well, go find him. We don’t need him wandering around alone, remember? Bring him to me. I need to see that radar footage from earlier.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I bend over to find my boots, silently cursing his name.

  Dammit, Carson.

  Fox gestures to Rhys. “Sir, have you heard from command about the convoy?”

  Rhys’ face falls. “Yeah. They said to ignore it.”

  “Ignore it?”

  He nods. “Apparently, it’s not interesting enough to waste resources on. I’ll keep you guys updated if they say anything else but, in the meantime, ignore it.” He spins around to leave. “And find Carson.”

  I wait for the sergeant to disappear before sighing hard. “Did you see him leave?” I ask Fox.

  He shakes his head. “I’ll go with you.”

  I slide my jacket on and wait for him to lace his boots before charging outside into the windy night.

  Chapter 9

  Caleb

  “This guy is really starting to piss me off,” I murmur, glancing around the nearly abandoned camp.

  Fox grins. “You should cut him some slack.”

  “Why?”

  “Caleb, come on. It’s obvious.”

  “I know it is and I don’t like it. This isn’t the place for his crush.”

  “It’s not just his.”

  I stop in my tracks. “Excuse me?”

  He smirks. “Caleb.”

  “What?”

  “Caleb.”

  My jaw sags. “You think I…? Him?”

  “Yup.”

  “That guy?”

  “Yup.”

  “The man named Boxcar?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  He laughs. “It’s not that crazy, Caleb.”

  “Did he put you up to this?” I ask. “I don’t need you trying to incept me, Fox. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

  “Says who?” I glare at him and he laughs again. “Caleb, I’m not not on your side here. But I do think you’re jumping the gun a little bit with the suspicion that this guy is somehow a criminal mastermind sent to infiltrate the US Army and kill us all.”

  “Then, what is he doing here?”

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

  “I will.” I cross my arms. “As soon as I find him.”

  Fox points over my shoulder. Boxcar sits about twenty feet away, leaning nonchalantly against a crate with his laptop once again balanced on his thighs.

  I look at Fox. “You planned this,” I accuse.

  He spins around with a smile on his lips. “I’ll be inside.”

  “Really?”

  His eyebrows bounce as he leaves, jaunting back to our tent with a slig
ht hop in his step.

  I sigh and walk over to the crates where Boxcar lounges.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey.” His hand juts out and grabs mine before I can react. “Check this out.”

  With a quick yank, he pulls me down to sit beside him on the crate.

  “What?” I jerk my hand free, annoyed.

  He adjusts the screen on his laptop to give me a better view. “So, while we were out earlier, I took some photos of the license plates on the vehicles of that convoy.”

  I look at the screen over his shoulder as he clicks through his photos. “Uh-huh…”

  “Then, I modified the Army’s facial recognition software to recognize numbers and letters instead of facial features so that—”

  “The Army gave you their facial recognition software?” I interrupt.

  “Well, no…” He shows a slight grin. “I borrowed it. Anyway, the military has surveillance feeds all over Kabul, so I ran the software against the last forty-eight hours or so of footage, and…”

  I wait as his fingers rush across the keys. “And?”

  He stops and tilts the screen even more in my direction. “Do any of these faces look familiar to you?”

  The footage is blurry but the hairs quiver on my neck. I lean forward to get a better look.

  Three trucks sit on the side of the road near the center of town. A dozen men linger nearby, each one wearing black tactical gear, loading large boxes into the truck beds. One of them catches my eye. He’s tall, wide-set, pale-skinned, with a neck nearly as thick as his shaved head.

  I point at him. “He was at the building today.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.” I shift my finger to the next guy. He’s shorter, bearded, but just as muscled. “This one, too.”

  Boxcar pauses the footage and stares at them both. He says nothing, but a soft groan gets stuck in the back of his throat.

  “Do you think the facial recognition software might… you know… recognize their faces?” I ask.

  He peeks at me over the rims of his glasses. “Not bad, Fawn.”

  I watch him work. His trained fingers click and tap away, never making a single mistake as he starts and stops the footage, snatching various screenshots of their faces.

  “Where did you learn to do this stuff?” I ask him.