by Cindy Skaggs
Poor fucking impulse control.
Right or wrong, he’d wanted a showdown. So he’d taken stupid risks like the phone. He’d been showing off. Technically the pink phone couldn’t be traced to them. Unless Echo was monitoring Miss Connie, in which case they would backwards engineer a trace. Smart phones were walking trackers. He removed the SIM card and crushed it between two fingers before flinging the pink phone to the center of the pond. Heard the solid plunk as it splashed down, but still he didn’t leave.
The ugly black phone was in his other hand, burning like a mother. He opened it up and pressed a button. Waited, leaning against the rock wall that was meant to keep kids from falling into the deep end of the pond. A ding notified him when the power up was complete, but he wasn’t ready to use the damn thing.
Fuck it all.
Echo was always ten steps ahead. Now Stills had to eat crow.
He lifted the phone. There were no numbers programmed, so when the phone finally activated, he dialed the number by memory, followed by his security code.
Beeps and pings sounded before Craft’s voice came through the line. “Where the fuck are you?”
“Hold the ass chewing for twenty-four hours, would you?”
Computer keys tapping were the only answer. Craft was trying to triangulate his position.
“I’ll save you the time. I’m in Tucson.”
“Tucson.” The keystrokes stopped. “Where they killed Gault? Nearly tagged Fowler?”
“That’s right.”
Craft did something that sounded like an alarm blaring through the line. Stills knew it was the alert to draw all hands to the command post. No way this was going to be easy.
“Brother, you’ll be lucky to live another twenty-four hours.”
“That about sums it up,” Stills acknowledged.
“I’m not talking about Echo. The team is pissed.”
“Yeah, what else is new?” They ate anger and digested rage.
“Fowler wants to beat your ass to a pulp for going around his security system. Twice. You left him open, man, and we’re not just talking about the safe house. His mother is here. The women.”
The call turned into a conference call with the entire team walking into the middle of things. They were playing good cop-bad cop, and the entire team was the bad cop, riding his ass for taking off on his own. They called him every dirty name in the book. And then they invented new words, entire books describing how they wanted to eviscerate him.
Stills bit down to keep from cursing right back. Craft had thrown him under the bus by calling in the rest of the team.
“You’re on speaker,” Craft said belatedly.
“Yeah, I figured that out, genius.”
“I say we leave his ass out to dry,” Rose intoned. His voice was dead serious.
“That’s not the way we work,” Ryder answered. Even as a defunct team, they followed military order. With Captain Johnson MIA, Ryder was in command and his word stood for more than most. “Live by the team, die by the team.”
The words they lived by. The words that saw them through hell.
Other voices chimed in, each recounting Stills’ sins. Fowler thought Stills was a security risk. Craft wanted Stills to acquire a new piece of computer equipment while he was out.
Where the hell were the women? Ryder’s wife was a sweetheart and Rose’s woman was one of the few people on the planet who could calm Rose down. He could use their moderating presence.
Rose’s voice lifted above the others. “He wants to fly solo, I say we let him.”
“Fuck you, Rose. You owe me.”
“For what? For taking my sister and Debi into the university lab? Without backup? Your dumbass move put them at risk.”
“I had backup, asshole. You’re too pissed to think straight. We got valuable intel from that mission. You owe me for letting you use my face for target practice. And then there’s cleaning up the mess in the kitchen after you lost your moronic temper. I saved your sorry ass from Janet’s wrath.”
Janet was Fowler’s mother. She ran a survivalist training camp in south Texas where the team was holed up. The Manor as she called it rivaled any training camp Stills had seen in the military. Janet was Army strong. Maybe stronger. She had to be to give birth to a man like Fowler.
“I cleaned up my mess,” Rose insisted.
Anger heated Stills’ chest, and his entire body ramped up with the need for battle. “I had your back. Now I’m asking you to have mine.”
Rose started in again. “Look numnuts—”
“Shut the fuck up.” Stills had reached his limit. He needed to beat the crap out of something or someone, and unfortunately, the team was hours away. “All of you shut the fuck up. When was the last time I called in for a briefing?”
Crickets.
Across the park in the library lot, a vehicle pulled out, giving Stills a clear view of Mandi in the passenger seat of the stolen SUV. He tamped down his anger with the reminder that she was what this was about. Not his sins.
“So maybe—call me crazy—I have something more important than this bullshit.”
Ryder’s voice cut through the silence. “You have the floor.”
“It’s a simple rescue mission. Something even you girls can handle.”
“Ain’t nothing simple with you, brother,” Craft said. “Who do you want us to rescue?”
Stills had sat through enough briefings with these guys to know the strategic advantage of dropping a well-timed bomb. “Gault’s kid.”
The voices on the line went silent. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Ryder asked. “Gault didn’t have a kid. With Madigan gone, none of us do.”
“Au contraire. He has a daughter, Ellie. She’s six.”
A half-dozen voices nearly drowned Ryder’s order. “Break it down, Barney-style.”
Across the park Mandi’s pale face glowed like a small beacon in the window. He focused on her pretty face as he broke down the current situation so even a child could understand.
“Gault joined the military to get medical insurance for his kid. His sister Mandi is raising the girl. Last night, someone tried to run Mandi off the road.”
“Sounds familiar,” Ryder said. Echo had attempted to wreck Ryder’s wife Lauren. The accident could have killed her. Echo liked to go after their weak points, which is why Stills had said goodbye to Shelley and hello to bachelorhood.
“What makes you think her accident has anything to do with us?” Ryder asked.
“Because this morning, Echo tried to take her out at the hospital. Take a looksee at the kill wall. First guy, second row down. No doubt.” Stills debriefed the last several hours, including Captain Johnson’s mysterious appearance. “I’ll admit I screwed up when I took off Solo-style, but if I hadn’t, she’d be dead and we would never know about the kid.”
A long pause before Craft answered. “What the hell is wrong with these people? Don’t they understand the term noncombatants?”
“No, so you better watch your backs. If they went after Mandi Gault, you can bet that Rose’s six sisters and your parents in Boca aren’t getting a free pass.”
In the background, Rose asked Craft to get him a secure outside line. Their mumbling and curses faded as they walked from the room. It was time to wrap this up. They had work to do.
“I have Mandi. She’s safe, but you’re in closer proximity to the child’s last known location.” He gave them the address and contact information for Miss Connie. “If you don’t sit around briefing for fucking hours on end then you can reach her before I do.” It was the only reason he’d made the call.
Mandi stepped out of the vehicle and started toward him.
Ryder cleared his throat. “Plan to rendezvous in Santa Fe in—”
“Bag that.” Walking and talking, Stills moved to intercept Mandi. He didn’t like her in the open. “You haul ass to retrieve the kid. I’ll do the same. If you girls aren’t there, I’ll go in alone.”
Every voice
competed to be heard, but Stills clicked off, and then quickly powered down the phone. Tucked it in the hoodie pocket. He reached Mandi and hauled her back to the SUV.
“I called in reinforcements.”
“Will it be enough?” she asked.
He heard what she wasn’t asking. Would Ellie be okay, and he didn’t have an answer. Keeping his thoughts to himself, he opened her door before moving around to the driver’s side. The heater had scared away the drafts, but she still shivered as she pulled on a seatbelt.
He wasn’t the kind of guy who made promises. Hell, he barely made conversation, but then he made the mistake of looking at Mandi. At the salt marks from her tears; at the absolute terror shining in her eyes.
“Team Fear is the best there is.” He eased the SUV from the parking lot. “Just don’t tell them I said that.”
Chapter Eight
Stills flipped the heater off to quiet the rattle of a leaf in the vent. They’d driven seven hours without stopping except for gas and a bathroom break. They made good time despite the wind pushing against them.
Mandi had gone somewhere deep, nearly catatonic in the passenger seat. He pushed her to drink water, but other than that, few words passed between them.
“Nearly to Santa Fe,” he told her. “Hungry?”
She shook her head no.
“We still have a few hours ahead of us. You should eat.”
She swallowed, her throat flexing. “Stop if you want,” she said, her voice hoarse.
Time had not helped her throat. He pulled a lozenge from his pocket and held it out for her, but she didn’t take it until he waved it across her field of vision.
The paper crumpled and moments later a lemon-honey smell filled the interior. They drove in silence until they reached the outskirts of Santa Fe. He pulled the SUV into a small gas station that looked deserted this time of evening. A soft top Jeep sat near the secondary exit. Its flaps fluttered in the wind, snapping like dogs. It was the only vehicle within a block of the place.
Lifting his backside off the hard seat, he pulled his wallet from his back pocket. Muscles groaned at the movement. He handed the wallet to Mandi. “See how much cash I have left.” Using a card would give Echo their location.
While Mandi counted bills, he opened the door and stepped out next to the gas pump. Inactivity had tightened his muscles. He stretched his hands overhead to lengthen his torso, and then twisted his legs and hips to get the blood flowing.
Mandi handed out three twenties to cover the gas. “You’ve got $117 after this.”
They’d have to switch vehicles, something with a full tank of gas if they were going to make it back to El Paso after they picked up the kid. Or met up with the team, which sounded about as fun as a military parade with full dress uniform.
Both options assumed they got the kid.
He slammed the door harder than he intended because he didn’t want his brain going down a dark path. They had to find the kid. Mandi wouldn’t survive another outcome.
The little convenience store had beverages and plastic-covered sandwiches. He got some of both and set them up on the counter to pay. “Forty dollars on pump two,” he told the older man behind the register.
“Arizona plates,” the attendant said.
Stills nodded. Waited for the total.
“You headed north?”
“How much do I owe you?”
The old man scratched a hand through the gray scruff on his jaw. “State patrol closed the highway headed north. Blizzard.”
Stills cursed under his breath. They were slogging uphill no matter which way they went. “My girl has to get home. Her old man’s in the hospital. You know a way around the closed road?”
“Raton Pass was still open last I checked.” The man finished ringing him up and handed him the change before pulling out an old map. Unfolded it on the counter and pointed out several options. He took his time like he enjoyed the conversation and the ratty, greasy map. When he finished, he folded it along the original lines. “You folks drive safe,” he said with a toothy grin.
“Thanks.” Stills gathered the rations before heading into the cold. He tossed the bag onto the driver’s seat before pumping gas. The wind chapped his hands and turned them blue before he finished. He climbed into the cab and turned the engine over to get the heat pumping.
Mandi had several sheets of paper under the overhead light, reading so intently she didn’t look up despite the cold air he let inside. The air had gotten colder the farther north they moved. The wind and drop in temps should have warned him, but he hadn’t even considered snow. Now they had to go around, which would cost time. Time they might not have.
Hopefully the rest of the team had planned better. Shit, who was he kidding? Someone had probably pulled up the Weather Channel the second he mentioned a road trip.
He opened a bottle of Coke and drank half of it down before interrupting her thoughts. “The autopsy show anything?”
“More than the police told me.” She pushed the sheets across the console, her finger pointing to a block of text. “Do you know what this is?”
The chemical symbols looked like a foreign language, but he’d seen something similar recently. “You’d have to ask our resident chemist, but that looks like the same crap they pumped into Ryder.”
He unwrapped a sandwich and offered her half.
She shook her head no. “If they gave something to Danny that they’ve given to Ryder, how come Danny was the only one who... Died?” A hiccup stopped her thoughts.
“You eat, I talk,” he said.
She glanced at him for the first time in hours. Her eyes were bloodshot and red rimmed, but momentarily dry. “That’s blackmail.”
“I prefer to call it bribery. As a parent, you should appreciate the difference.”
She snatched the sandwich and took a big bite. Chewed. Swallowed so it looked like a huge chunk wedged in her throat. She took a drink of water to force it down. “Okay, now talk.”
He chuckled at her childlike behavior before putting the SUV in gear. “Finish the sandwich.”
“I ate.”
“A bite. Now finish it.”
He merged back onto the highway and was maneuvering around a slow semi when she finally finished her snack.
“Happy?” she asked.
“Not really.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been truly happy. “You needed to eat. Keep your strength up.”
“What?” Her voice sounded defensive, with a tremble of fear underneath. “Are you saying I need to keep up my strength in case...” She hiccupped again.
“No. Not in case.” The paranoid imp in his mind ran worst-case scenarios on a daily basis, but he didn’t need her to know those bleak stories. “But you do need your strength. Legitimately, you might need to fight.”
“Blunt much?”
“Truth.”
“I wonder if I’ll ever get used to your callousness.”
“Unlikely.” Few did.
“Do you want your half of the sandwich?”
He shook his head. “Wait until we get through town.”
“If your mouth’s not chewing, you can talk.”
“Fair enough.” He turned and the bleakness in her eyes had him turning his attention back to the highway. “We don’t know exactly what we were given during the experiments with Team Fear. We have the work of the original scientist and we have the chemical makeup of an accelerant they use to try to send us into overdrive. The actual dosages and chemical makeup of our time with Team Fear are unknown. Our current research is broken into two camps. What were we given and who was involved.
“If I had to guess, I’d say that the chemical listed in Gault’s autopsy matches the sample they gave to Ryder. The accelerant. Debi will know for sure, which is why I sent the information to the team. She’s the scientist who first discovered a way to inhibit the physiological reaction to fear.”
“You’re working with the woman who is responsible for so much pa
in,” she accused. Her voice bordered on hysterical.
“Debi is one of the good guys. She was attempting to overcome the symptoms of a panic attack. Her boss at the lab saw the potential for military usage, so he fired her and made a deal with the people who recruited us. The company.” He paused as he took the exit toward Raton, NM. “Any questions?”
“Would you like your sandwich now?”
“That’s the only question you’ve got?”
“I don’t even know where to begin. What you’re talking about is science fiction.”
“And yet it’s in your brother’s tox screen. You’ve seen Echo.”
She handed him the sandwich, pushed it at him really. He swallowed ham and cheese on day-old rye with the rest of his Coke while she processed. Traffic thinned the further they moved from the city limits, until it was dark and the sky overcast.
Her voice trembled when she finally spoke. “Earlier today you mentioned paranoia and anger. Did Danny know the potential side effects?”
“It’s not your fault or Ellie’s fault that he signed.”
“So he knew?”
“According to our scientific expert—”
“Debi.” Another accusation.
“That’s right. According to Debi, we weren’t given informed consent, but when you sign with a classified program, you don’t ask questions. We were approached individually months before the medical trials started. Most of us didn’t know each other at the time. Johnson gave us the God and country spiel, stroked our egos, and threw down a hefty signing bonus. I don’t know how many he approached, but Team Fear ended up as a twelve-man team. There were a total of six teams. The best of the best.”
“Sounds egotistical coming from one of you.”
“Yeah, they knew what they were doing. Hard to say no to people telling you you’re a rock star. What would you do if someone wanted to put Ellie in a program for the super smart and super talented?”
She didn’t answer his rhetorical question. He already knew the answer.
“We signed on the dotted line and ended up transferred to Fort Bliss in El Paso.”
