by Toby Neal
It was a five-mile run to the National Guard training center and Luca broke into a sprint as he approached the first incline of the trail. He missed Peaches. She usually ran this with him. He’d bring Peaches in to work with him, she loved that and deserved it after being forced to stay home during their morning run. He’d pick her up before heading to church. Luca had skipped Mass on Sunday and needed to go to confession—especially after last night.
Luca crested the hill at a full sprint and slowed. He could see the city of Austin in the distance, its towers and sprawling suburbs covered in a haze of heat. Only a few cases of Scorch Flu had been reported in the area, but as Luca stared down at the city he wondered how long it would be before the fatal virus flourished. It couldn’t be long, not with the way things were going in the rest of the nation. Quarantine zones, riots, and chaos followed in the flu’s wake.
It was the National Guard’s job to keep the homeland safe, and it was Luca’s job to train the men and women of the Guard—but how could they protect their nation against this foe? Luca began to jog again, clearing his mind and concentrating on the simple act of running.
After another sprint he dropped to the ground and did push-ups until his arms burned and his thigh stabbed at him. Luca jumped back up and continued modulating his speed all the way to the base, coming up on the obstacle course as the sun reached the height of the trees.
His body was covered in sweat, his black hair wet under his ball cap, and even his socks were soaked. He hit the course at a full run, dropping to his stomach to scramble under the low wires. Returning to his feet, Luca’s thigh hurt enough to throw off his gait but he attacked the rope wall, leaping as high as he could. He hauled himself up as the net swung and twisted beneath him.
Luca was pure burning sensation when he reached the top and grabbed the first set of metal rings. Swinging his body across the open expanse, sweat making his grip slippery, Luca reached the wooden platform and allowed himself an extra ten seconds to breathe before gripping the thick rope that led to the ground.
The calluses on his palms protected them as he slid to the soft earth. Luca’s phone rang when he started to jog again. Usually Luca would have ignored it, but his brother, Nando, was sick.
Luca pulled the phone from his armband. It was his commanding officer.
“Captain Luciano, I need you to come in a half hour early—meet me in my office.”
Luca checked his watch. He’d have to head home now if he wanted to make it to confession first. “Yes, sir.”
Luca ended the call and checked his messages. Nothing from his mother. His finger hovered over a voicemail his brother, JT, had left two weeks earlier. Luca had not been able to reach him since. While phones in Texas were still functioning, much of the country’s communication infrastructure had been compromised.
JT was only eighteen months younger than Luca. Two years ago, he resigned from his post at the EPA and bought a farm in Idaho to prepare for a national disaster he had been sure was on its way.
Their mother had always said JT had the Sight, like their grandmother before him: una strega, a witch. Luca usually ignored such claims as family lore, but now it looked as if JT might have been right after all. Luca had played JT’s voicemail repeatedly over the last few weeks. He had it memorized:
“Luca, if you can or need to get away, come to the Haven, my place in Idaho. It’s remote and fortified, with enough food and energy for you and a friend, if you’ve got someone you want to bring. I’m hoping Mama and Lucy will come out West, and whichever of you numbskulls will wise up and join me. So, get your ass out here.”
Luca would never abandon his post but he hoped that the rest of his family would join JT at his Haven. He fit the phone back into his armband and turned around, sprinting back the way he’d come.
Luca’s wide shoulders rubbed against the walls of the confessional booth as he made the sign of the cross. The cramped, dark space smelled like incense and orange wood cleaner.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was ten days ago.”
“Go on, my son,” the priest’s voice came through the mesh screen, hoarse and rasping.
“I have despaired of God’s mercy.”
“Why is that?”
Luca swallowed a sigh. “My injury, Father—it is more than mere flesh.”
“We have spoken of this before.” Father Rapaport coughed, a harsh bark. “In the past you have found comfort in your faith that God has a plan, that your survival has a purpose.”
“Yes, Father.” Luca had no memory of the incident that had caused his discharge from the elite Special Forces. He remembered getting on the helicopter surrounded by his men, and then he woke up in the hospital alone. His future, his life, his body, his friends—all ruined.
Five men had died on the raid and, according to reports, Luca had saved two others. The shrapnel in Luca’s leg couldn’t be removed, and his thigh would never support his full weight without pain—but he was lucky to be alive, and lucky to have kept the leg at all.
All of it was God’s plan.
That was still hard for Luca to believe, but without faith, the hopelessness that settled on his shoulders became an overwhelming weight.
“Do you have more sins to confess?” the priest asked.
Luca rubbed at his thigh, digging his knuckles into the muscle, pressing the shrapnel against his nerves, the sharp pain an antidote to his dulled life.
“I’ve used God’s name in vain. I have been angry and proud.”
“Go on.”
“I have given myself sexual gratification and had sex outside of marriage.”
“Every week, Luca, the same confessions.”
“I am a sinner, Father.”
The priest coughed again, the sound ricocheting in the small space.
“Are you okay?” Luca sat up and peered through the mesh screen separating the two men.
“Yes,” Father Rapaport wheezed. Luca heard him take a sip of water and lean back into his seat, his breath coming easier.
“You should see a doctor, Father—make sure it’s not Scorch Flu.”
“It is all God’s plan.”
“My brother is sick.” Luca’s voice rose, fear for Nando breaching his indifference. “He’s a good man.”
“So were the men who died on your mission. Take comfort that whatever is coming is God’s will.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Father Montgomery gave an excellent sermon Sunday on sins of the flesh. He quoted…” The priest coughed again, a wet and strangled sound. A shadow passed over the screen between them, followed by a thump as the partition shook.
Luca jumped out into the aisle and ripped open the priest’s door. Father Rapaport tumbled onto the floor, his robes twisted around him, his face mottled, eyes bulging as he struggled to breathe.
Luca dropped to his knees and supported the man, holding his head up, trying to create breathing space around his neck, but his lungs were the problem. Luca heard phlegm gurgling.
Reaching into his pocket, Luca pulled out his phone, dialing 911 as his eyes scanned the empty church. Sunlight pressed against the stained-glass windows, gilding the dark wood pews and scratched floor as the priest’s cough echoed in the sacred space. No other worshipers in the place at six-thirty a.m. on a Tuesday.
By the time the ambulance arrived, Father Rapaport had stopped coughing, but his breathing was shallow and he was unresponsive. The EMTs loaded the priest onto a stretcher and burst through the double doors as they left. A bright shaft of sunlight blinded Luca before the doors shut. He reached into his pocket and took out his rosary. It had belonged to his father, and before that Luca’s grandmother had used it to pray.
Turning to the altar, Luca slipped into a pew and lowered to his knees. He held the cross at the end of the beads and touched it to his forehead, each shoulder, and then down to his chest.
He meditated on the mysteries of the rosary as he whispered Hail Mary’s, then asked fo
r the quick recovery of his brother and Father Rapaport. Luca tried to find faith in the Lord’s plan but only felt a growing unease. JT’s words cycled through his mind. “Get your ass out here.”
Peaches rode shotgun in Luca’s Jeep Wrangler, her fur ruffling in the wind and eyes blinking against the breeze as her nostrils flared, taking in all the amazing fragrances whizzing by. Stopped at a red light, Luca called his mother in Philadelphia to check on Nando. She picked up, her voice sounding tired, and he heard crying in the background.
“Mom, what’s going on? Is that Lucy crying?” His little sister, Lucy, attended law school in New Jersey and lived with his mom in the Philly row house where they’d all grown up.
“Oh honey,” his mother’s voice broke. “Nando is gone.”
The light turned green, but Luca’s foot wouldn’t push the gas pedal. The words cracked the numbness that cloaked him, fissures of pain radiating over his body at the news of his brother’s death. Nando was the heart of the family—the only one of them that could make their father’s tomato sauce, the only one who never fought with his siblings, and the one who always found a way to bring them all together.
His mother’s soft, sad weeping came through the connection.
Anger welled in Luca’s chest, burning his eyes, as a car honk from behind finally got his foot working to accelerate. Luca’s vision clouded with tears as he pulled into the parking lot at the National Guard Armory. “Mama, I’m sorry.” His voice cracked and tears breached his control, flowing down his face.
“Luca…” The line went dead.
He dropped the phone and it landed on his lap. Luca hung his head, pain taking control. He tried to breathe and contain the flood of grief that had been waiting since he heard Nando was sick.
The screen of his phone displayed a photograph of Mama that he’d taken last Christmas. She stood in the kitchen, her focus on a pot of marinara sauce bubbling on the stove. Her black hair streaked with silver was rolled into a tight bun at the base of her neck, and she had a smile on her face. She looked content, pleased with her sauce. Luca could almost smell it: tomatoes, sautéed onions, and pancetta, warm and rich.
Home.
A thrill of terror ran up Luca’s spine—would he ever see her again? Since joining the armed forces, he’d been home infrequently and had never gone alone, always bringing along a woman—one of the many who wanted to meet his mother. He’d kept Ana Luciano at a distance. He didn’t fully trust her for reasons Luca fought to hide even from himself.
He had a place, a lock box in his mind, where he stuffed all the memories he didn’t want to think about. He wrestled with Nando’s death, trying to force it into that box, but Nando’s laugh haunted him—I’m not gonna fit in there, bro.
Luca’s watch beeped, reminding him of the meeting with his commanding officer. He swiped at his face, dashing away errant tears, using the weight of his duty to get moving.
Luca’s commanding officer, Colonel Heathcliff, sat behind a desk piled high with paperwork. He waved Luca toward one of the chairs facing his desk. “Sit down.” Peaches went around the desk to capture the treat Heathcliff held out to her. “Hello darling.” She sat beside him as the man patted her head.
Luca took a seat in front of the desk and Heathcliff steepled his fingertips. “You look like hell.”
“Allergies, sir.” Luca couldn’t yet speak about Nando’s death.
“I’ve had a phone call.” Heathcliff’s eyes flicked down to his desk—he looked nervous.
“Is there a problem, sir?” Luca frowned.
The commander sat forward. “You’re not the first Special Forces man to end up under my command, but you’re one of the best, and the first I’ve ever gotten a call about from the Pentagon.” Heathcliff leaned back and rubbed at his neck. “A specialist appointed by the President to investigate Scorch Flu is coming here, and she needs you for a mission.”
“She?” Luca had never had a female commanding officer—and he didn’t want one. Women couldn’t be trusted.
“That’s right, Captain, your new commanding officer is a she and a civilian.” Heathcliff held up his hands. “I don’t know anything about it. I don’t want to.” He looked past Luca, through the open office door behind him. “Ah, here she is now.”
A civilian woman?
Luca crushed the armrests of the chair in his hands, anger and pride rising up, pushing his grief aside and shattering the delicate shell of detachment he’d just managed to rebuild around himself.
This could not be good.
Chapter Three
Haunani
Nani followed a corporal down the hall of the Austin armory. The place smelled like a footlocker with a dash of floor wax, and her sensitive nose twitched. Beauregard’s voice haranguing the commander of the base had almost reassured Nani that she’d have a reasonable possibility of getting the kind of team she needed here in Austin—but not quite.
Luca Luciano, a former Special Forces captain, was on site and her best hope for this mission to work, according to Beauregard, who had the man’s record accessible. Luciano had experience with homegrown terrorists and everything in his file screamed competent, strong, deadly, and trustworthy. The only reason he was stuck with the National Guard was an injury he’d sustained in combat—he’d received the Purple Heart and moved to Texas to train the National Guard. Hopefully, he still had some skills.
Nani straightened her spine. Posture was important, particularly when dealing with military personnel. Nani envied Agent McMillan’s lean, mean, honed and toned look, but frequent, punishing workouts only made Nani’s big, round glutes firmer, not smaller.
Enough with the useless flagellation about her never-ending butt. Nani had more serious worries.
The corporal ushered her into a small, cluttered office with a wheezing air conditioner on one wall. The commander stood up and removed a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, tossing them onto the high-piled desk.
“Dr. Kagawa. Welcome to Austin. General Beauregard told me to get you whatever you need. I’m Colonel Heathcliff. We are at your disposal.”
The man seated in front of the desk rose much more slowly, a sort of lazy uncoiling, and turned to face her.
His body was a stack of vees: tree-trunk legs inverting to a massive chest and crossed arms, the whole intimidating picture topped by a face cut from stone and framed by a black buzz cut. Honey-brown eyes, glittering with sparks of gold, stared at her from under a slash of dark brows.
Oh, she knew this man’s type all too well. He was definitely not at her disposal.
“Captain Luciano.” He gave her his name like he was eking out a dime tip to a bad waitress.
Damn, she didn’t have time for this crap.
Nani directed her attention to the Colonel. “Thank you, Colonel. Time is of the essence, as I’m sure General Beauregard made clear.” She felt Luciano’s stare burning a hole through her.
“He did. Captain Luciano is all yours, and he’ll help you get the men and supplies you need for your mission.”
“Is that so?” Nani slowly shifted in his direction and let her gaze drift over to meet his. Luciano lifted a black brow but didn’t speak. Cocky bastard. This one needed to be put on his back, and quickly. “Captain Lupo, is it?”
“Luciano. Though Lupo is Italian for wolf.” The quick baring of the man’s teeth couldn’t pass for a smile.
Nani cocked her head and smiled. Charm was in order, for the moment. “How about you lead me to your SCIF.”
“Right this way, ma’am.”
“You can call me Dr. Kagawa. Just Doctor, if you need to address me otherwise.”
“Sure, Doc. This is Peaches.” Luciano snapped his fingers, and a German Shepherd appeared from behind Heathcliff’s desk, plastering itself to Luciano’s thigh. Nani nodded at the dog in greeting because it had a presence that felt very human.
Luciano moved toward Nani. She had to step aside to let the big man and his dog pass through the door before her.
&nb
sp; God, he was huge.
Luciano took up so much room in the hall that he almost forced Nani to walk behind him—but hell if she was going to trot at his heels like the dog to his left. She lengthened her stride to keep up and parallel, stretching to her full height. He wasn’t more than five inches taller, it was the width that was the problem.
They arrived at the open door of a large, well-equipped gym, and Luciano stopped in front of it. Nani was jonesing for a workout, she hadn’t been able to do more than some stretches and jumping jacks on Air Force One and this was the perfect opportunity to make sure Cocky Lupo knew who was boss. “You have a sparring ring!”
“Yup.” They stepped into the huge room. Luciano’s voice was a little rueful. “I’m the troop trainer. I work with a regular drill sergeant to whip the nuggets into shape and this is the best room in the house.”
The room was huge, lighting above the ring highlighted a sweat-stained mat. Time to get Luciano to begin lowering his guard. “I’ve been cooped up on Air Force One. I’d appreciate a workout.” Nani smiled. “My favorite is tae kwon do, but we could box, jiu-jitsu, karate—pick your poison.”
Both of Luciano’s black brows lifted, this time in surprise. “You want to spar? I thought time was of the essence.”
“I think better after I’ve worked out. Besides, I’d like to know what kind of skills you have. I’m sure they’re considerable.” Nani could flatter when it suited her.
“I don’t want to hurt you. That would be insubordinate. Doctor.” His brows were still up, but his eyes had brightened at the challenge.
Nani smiled wider. “Show me what you know, Captain. No one will get hurt today, I promise. Now, where can I get some workout clothes?”
Nani asked Luciano to lock the door of the gym, not wanting anyone to drop in and witness him being humiliated. Losing in front of his peers would make the captain an enemy, and she needed him willing to follow and obey, not looking to stab her in the back at the first opportunity.
