Shades of Gray

by Vicki Hinze

  She glared at him. “Don’t be a testy pig about this, Jake Logan. We’ve been friends for thirteen years, and until seventy-two hours ago, I’ve never asked you for a damn thing.”

  She’d asked him to hold her. He had, and they’d made love and felt regret.

  “Now I’m asking you for your promise, and I expect you to come through for me.” She licked at her lips, forcing her voice strong and insistent. “If something happens to me, Timmy’s going to need you more than ever. If you’re eaten alive with misplaced guilt, you can’t take care of my son. I’ve waited so long to have a son, Jake. I can’t face death afraid that you won’t be here giving him what he needs. Please. Please, promise me.”

  “Honey, I—”

  “Damn it, Jake, please!” A tear rolled down her cheek. “I’ve got to know you’ll both be okay. In my heart, I’ve got to know it.”

  Be okay? Without her? Jake’s insides cramped and then crumpled. How could he be okay without her? She and Timmy . . . they meant everything to him. Everything.

  How can you deny her?

  Jake damned his conscience to hell. It asked too much. He was a man—just a flawed human being who loved her and was terrified he might lose her. The truth was as simple and as awful as that.

  Odds were strong that they’d all three be killed. He hadn’t asked Connor their survival odds. He hadn’t had to ask. Less than two percent seemed too great a chance to expect. If one of them were spared, it’d probably be Timmy. And unless Connor broke Madeline’s deep cover and proved her involvement with ROFF was not one of Colonel James’ Intel assignments, Timmy would be returned to her. And what if Connor succeeded? What would happen to Timmy then?

  He’d be raised by strangers who neither knew nor loved him. How could Jake stand it?

  How could Laura?

  She couldn’t, Jake realized. Which is why she’d asked for his promise. She was counting on him getting out, on him being there for Timmy so he wouldn’t be vulnerable. So he wouldn’t be an outsider. And that belief was giving her the strength to do this.

  She needed the lie.

  Though it ripped him to shreds inside, Jake gave her what she needed. “I promise.”

  Her lips curved into a watery smile. “Thank you, Jake.”

  He kissed her hard, terrified he might never kiss her again, letting out his frustration and anger and outrage. And Laura soothed him, gentling her mouth, her hands on his back and chest until he calmed down.

  When their fused lips parted, she looked up at him, her eyes wide and shining. She cupped his jaw with her hand and beheld him as if she were memorizing every nuance of his face. “I love you, Jake Logan.”

  His heart wrenched. They’d both broken their agreement. “I love you too, Laura.”

  She smiled. “Of course.”

  He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t help smiling back. “Of course.”

  She sat back down. “We’d better go.”

  Jake gunned the throttle, swearing to God, man, and himself that he would do whatever it took to keep both her and Timmy alive and with him.

  An hour later, they left the boat and set out on foot in the thick swamp grass. Fifteen minutes in, Laura set the communication gear down between two oaks. “I’ll leave this here. Should be easy to relocate.”

  The oaks were rooted on a little island of swamp grass, surrounded by marshy wetland. “Looks like a good spot.”

  While she stacked the gear, Jake gathered a couple fallen limbs to cover the cases. When they had them in place, they hiked on, heading for the clearing where Jake had found the operatives’ bodies, both fearing that, when they arrived, they’d find Timmy in that same position.

  “It’s about twenty meters, straight ahead,” Jake whispered to Laura. He motioned for them to start circling.

  Laura went south, and Jake turned north. They crossed paths midway, then met again at the point of beginning. Neither had anything to report.

  The clearing stood empty.

  “A diversion?” Jake suggested the obvious. “To occupy us while they contaminated the water supply?”

  Laura couldn’t disagree. She wanted to; Timmy was still with them, but it appeared Jake was right. “Too obvious. We underestimated Madeline once. Let’s not do it again. She’s far more devious than we gave her credit for being. Let’s get back to the equipment and notify the base.”

  They made their way back to the two oaks. Laura reached to remove the branch concealing the cases and heard Jake thud to the ground. An ambush!

  Her heart in her throat, she spun around. Something hard collided with her skull. Her knees gave way, and she fell to the marshy ground.

  “She’s dead,” a man said. “Get Logan.”

  Laura struggled to stay conscious, to move, but couldn’t seem to manage it.

  And then she felt . . . nothing.

  Nineteen

  Laura awakened face down in the mud.

  Groggy, her head throbbing, she lifted a hand and felt a lump the size of an egg on the back of her skull. What had happened?

  She opened her eyes. Faint moonlight shone on the uneven ground. Looking through spindly branches, she felt something prick at her hand. Leaves. Soggy, pointed leaves. Pungent. Pine. And something jabbed into her hipbone. She eased her fingers to it, felt the outline of a package of gum, and remembered tucking it in there for good luck because Timmy had mentioned it when she and Jake had left him with Bear. Why was she lying face down in the mud?

  Go back. Remember the last thing that happened.

  She’d been moving a branch away from her stacked communications equipment, and—Jake!

  Her heart sped up, pounded through her chest and her temples. “Jake?”

  No answer.

  She sat up, woozy, feeling as if an all-base band was holding a jam session inside her head. The smell of pine and wet earth had her stomach threatening to heave. She blinked to clear her focus, to force her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting and saw Jake’s small black tool bag on the ground not far from the oaks. All of her communications equipment and survival gear were gone.

  So was Jake.

  She remembered the man’s voice. She’s dead. Get Logan.

  Fighting panic, Laura swiped at the mud on her arm, depressed the skin over the tracker in sequence, and then waited. There’d be a slight delay in relaying the signal from her to the satellite, then to Jake. Two seconds elapsed . . . five . . . ten . . . It seemed like ten hours. Finally, she saw the tiny red light. Jake was alive. Wherever he was, he was alive.

  She touched the skin again to stop the transmission, hoping home base was picking up the signals as well. With a little luck, she pulled herself to her feet and retrieved Jake’s tool bag. The team would give her time to search for him before converging. That act surely would result in Jake’s death. And maybe Timmy’s.

  But where should she start to look for them? Without her equipment, she couldn’t pinpoint Jake’s location, and ROFF wouldn’t be stupid enough, or brazen enough, to take him to their official headquarters. They knew they were under surveillance.

  Afraid using her flashlight would alert ROFF that she wasn’t dead, she strained to see in the faint moonlight. Jake had been behind her when she’d heard him fall. She had heard two men, though there well might have been more of them. They had to have been buried in the mud and hidden under leaves. Otherwise she and Jake would have seen them. As soft as the ground was here, they could have stepped on the men and never known it.

  Unable to determine much in the dimness, she dropped to her knees and worked her way out from the oaks to the last point she remembered hearing Jake. The ground there was packed and dense. That was where he’d fallen, she surmised. She began checking the ground for further signs, ones of their departure. Skimming her hands over the damp ground, her left palm d
ipped into a valley, came up onto a ridge, and then dipped again into a second dense valley. Two indentations about the widths of boot heels. They’d dragged him.

  Hope flamed in her chest. If she knew Jake Logan, he would let them go. on dragging him until they’d dragged him right into their camp.

  If Timmy hadn’t been involved, Jake only would have let himself be dragged until he’d pinpointed the camp, then he’d have wrestled the advantage from them. But Timmy was involved, and that changed everything. For both of them.

  Laura followed the ruts, deeper into the dank-smelling swamp. Wildlife was abundant here, but the only thing bothering her thus far were mosquitoes and humid heat. She could handle snakes, but not alligators. Unless God was napping, he’d know she was taxed enough and spare her from that.

  Something shiny glinted just under the bottom leaves of a spiny bush she didn’t recognize. Hoping it wasn’t poisonous, she shoved back the leaves and then reached for the object. Jake’s watch.

  Her muscles tightened, and she nearly wept with relief. He was conscious and letting her know it, leaving a trail for her to follow. The flame of hope inside her grew a little stronger.

  Progress came slowly. Frequent puddles crossed the trail, and seven times she lost it altogether and had to backtrack and search in semicircles outward from the water’s edge to find it.

  An hour later, the throb in her head had diminished to a dull ache. The oppressive heat and humidity had her sweating profusely, and the sounds of crickets had ceased to be a calming serenade and now grated at her raw nerves. She spotted a rut coming out of a four-foot-wide pool of ankle-deep water. South. They now headed south, deep into the federal reservation.

  Another hour passed, and she came to a break in the dense melucca trees. Undergrowth grew thick here. Dangerous due to snakes, but helpful for cover. Ground lights from somewhere not too far ahead hazed through the trees. It had to be the ROFF camp.

  She paused, again checked the tracker, and again saw the red light. All total, she’d found three items belonging to Jake: his watch, his flashlight, and his pocketknife.

  The men believed him still unconscious. They hadn’t bothered to search Jake for weapons.

  Laura moved with even greater caution toward the light. The undergrowth was rooted in a thin film of water, and she had to tread lightly—not an easy task in combat boots—to avoid making splashing noises. Sounds carried great distances in the swamp. The light grew stronger, and she came to a clearing. Hanging back at the perimeter, she stopped in a thicket of short squat bushes and dropped down to lie on her belly. Her clothes were wet and soggy with mud. Considering camouflage an asset that could save her life, she stilled and then slid on her stomach until she had a good view of the compound.

  A high fence had been erected about ten feet straight ahead of her. Hastily constructed. Metal, chain link, with razor wire stretched across its top. She’d bet her backside it was electric. Beyond it stood an estimated twenty tents. No wonder the team had a hard time pinning down ROFF’s satellite headquarters from the operatives’ reports. It was as mobile as a damn MASH unit. Three small buildings, made out of rough-hewn wood and not much larger than field unit outhouses, stood at the center of the tent city. An armed guard was posted in front of each of the three doors, and Laura felt certain Timmy and Jake were in one, or two, of them.

  Men ambled all over the place. All dressed in camouflage BDUs and all armed to the teeth. A fleet of airboats stood parked on the northeast end of the camp. Three flat-bottom boats and two canoes also were lined up there. A guard carrying a rifle patrolled the camp’s perimeter, walking along just inside the fence, not thirty feet from Laura. She ducked her face down, didn’t so much as twitch a muscle or draw a breath until he’d had time to pass her and walk a good twenty meters further down the fence. How the hell could she successfully infiltrate this place armed only with a pack of gum and Jake’s little tool bag?

  She watched and waited, timing the lapse between the guard’s passes. When he next passed her and went down the fence line about forty meters, she moved. Creeping out of the cover of the bushes, she crawled on all fours toward the fence, her knees making sucking sounds in the mushy earth. And she wished Jake hadn’t given her the geographical briefing, after all, telling her how many different species of snakes called the reservation home.

  Her skin crawling, elbows down, she lifted, then pushed herself closer and closer to the fence, the little tool bag’s strap clamped between her teeth.

  She pushed, scooted forward, and felt a different kind of wet soak through her blouse. A faint scent cut through those of pine and wet earth, and it tortured her nose. A scent that was both familiar and frightening. Blood.

  The adrenaline pouring through her veins tripled, and she paused and studied the ground. A lot of blood.

  And the dragged ruts had ceased.

  Panic consumed her. Had Jake been found out? Hurt?

  Bury it, Logan.

  She heard his voice as clearly as if he was standing next to her. You know the drill. Duty first. Bury it, Logan. Bury it. Bury it . . .

  Getting a grip on her fears, she checked the fence. It was wired, unfortunately with a device she’d seen in training, but had never attempted to circumvent. She cursed at not having her equipment. With it, she had excellent success odds. Without it, her odds were iffy at best. But she had to work with what she had. A couple of tools and a package of gum.

  The camp was too busy. Men still milled around, talking, looking tense. The air seemed charged; she sensed their anticipation. Probably awaiting word that the Jacksonville water supply had been contaminated. Her heart urged her to rush in and find Timmy and Jake. But she couldn’t heed it. She’d have one chance to get them out. One. And she couldn’t let a lack of patience rob her of it.

  As she lay there, Madeline’s hate message replayed through her mind. Laura tried to shut it out, tried not to remember Madeline’s threat, but it wouldn’t go away. Can’t say I didn’t warn you. I told you nothing is black and white. It’s all shades of gray. You’ll wish you’d never met me . . .

  It had been a threat levied against her and Bear. Had he survived the gunshot wounds? Had he survived surgery?

  As hard as it was to believe, Madeline was up to her earlobes in this ROFF organization. But how in the name of God could she put Timmy in the middle of this kind of danger? Subject him to this kind of environment? How dare she do that to him? How dare she do any of the things she’d done to him over the years?

  Sean Drake’s approval.

  It had mattered that much to Madeline. So much that she’d sacrifice anyone and anything for it. And realizing that included sacrificing Timmy—a grandchild Sean Drake had insisted Madeline abort—Laura felt a deep rage stir, and she wished Sean Drake were still alive so she could kill him herself for the damage he’d done.

  The camp finally quieted down.

  Laura crept to the fence, examined it again, and deduced it too dangerous to simply shut down the system. She’d have to rig a continuous circuit, bypass a break, and then crawl through. She pulled out the large package of gum, chewed five slices at once, saving the inside foil wrappers, then chewed five more, and five more, and then five more. Shaping the foil wrappers like horseshoes, she affixed them to the fence in a large circle, then retrieved a pair of cutters from the tool bag, praying this would work, that she wouldn’t trip the alarm and electrocute herself in the process. Sweat streaming down her face, her heart stuck somewhere between her breastbone and throat, she made the first cut.

  Though braced for it, she suffered no shock—and she heard no sound.

  Encouraged, she quickly cut the rest of the wires, and then checked her watch. Four minutes had elapsed.

  She had fourteen minutes max to get in and get out before the fence guard noticed the breach.

  Hugging the ground, she worked her wa
y toward the tents, taking cover behind a fifty gallon drum of what smelled like gasoline. A low hum of voices sounded inside the tent to her right, but the two men were talking normally; nothing had alerted them that she was there. The doors to the little shacks were lined up like a row of ducks but no longer guarded. Most likely the guards were now inside the huts.

  Working her way tent to tent, she reached the rear of the three wooden buildings. Directly behind the center shack, she saw something odd on the ground. Seeing no one in the immediate area, she eased to it and then picked up the object. Timmy’s rabbit’s foot.

  Her baby was here!

  Her eyes stung, and her heart swelled, feeling too big for her chest. She moved closer to the back of the shack, listened, and heard a man’s light snore. “Timmy?” she whispered.

  Low to the ground, a ventilation trap door cracked open. Little fingertips appeared, then stuck out. Timmy’s fingertips.

  Laura’s throat clenched tight. She touched her fingers to his, choking back a sob, debating between telling him to come out and going in to get him. The snoring had to be from his guard. If he awakened, he’d sound an alarm. She’d never get Timmy safely out of here. She had to kill the man.

  Oh, God. She knew how to kill. She had the ability. But she didn’t want to kill anyone. All she wanted was her son and her husband home safe, and the people behind this caught and punished.

  Her mind darted between life and death, between murder and alternatives to murder, and finally she decided on her tactic.

  On Timmy’s palm, she wrote a message with her fingertip. Come out.

  Tensing, preparing for anything, she waited.

  Timmy stepped through the door opening, then made the turn to round the corner to the side of the building.

  The man inside stopped snoring, and groggily asked, “Hey, where you going, kid?”

  Timmy looked back at him. “I gotta pee.”

  “Wait for me.”

  The decision had been made for her.