She woke up bright and early to her usual alarm clock glaring down at her with ice-blue eyes. She grinned sleepily. “Morning, sweetheart.”
All she got in return was a growl. Sloan stalked away silently. Abbey slipped from her bed with a yawn then dressed for her shift in the hills.
Bartholomew was already waiting for her when she reached their spot. “Do you want to be the sniper or scout?”
Abbey winked at him. “What do you think?”
“I think I get to be bored staring at the camp while you deliberate which one of these clowns up here with us you’d like to shoot first.”
“How’d you know that’s what I think about?”
“I think about the same thing. And for the record, it would be Simon.”
Abbey giggled as she sat on the ground and opened her case. “Me too.”
Once Abbey situated herself, she loaded the ammunition into her rifle. She sighed, peering through the scope.
Her breath caught in her throat.
An Afghani man stumbled into the camp, chanting something she couldn’t understand from this distance. He had opened his robe and, through the scope, she could recognize what was strapped to his body. A bomb. He reached inside his robe toward the pocket of his pants as he shouted.
She glanced around the rocks, noticing that the other snipers were still removing their rifles from their cases. He watched us, waiting to attack when we were changing shifts.
“Abbey,” Bartholomew warned.
“On it.” She pressed the weapon against her shoulder and aimed. Moments later, she pulled the trigger twice. The terrorist’s body jerked sharply before collapsing to the ground. She lay silently, waiting to see if there were any more insurgents.
“Did you…?” Bartholomew’s voice trailed off.
“I don’t kill,” Abbey breathed.
“Got it.”
They both stared at the scene below as Lathrop and Sloan cautiously approached the wounded bomber. Sloan turned toward her then flicked his wrist, summoning her. With a sigh, she stood and started descending the hill. By the scuffle behind her, she could tell Bartholomew was following.
Before she and Bartholomew could reach them, Torelli showed up at the scene. Lathrop was giving orders to summon the medics. “Good job, Abbey. Thank you. You saved the lives of those in this camp.”
Torelli pointed at the man. “Shoot to kill, O’Riley.”
“I don’t kill,” Abbey defended as she glanced over the insurgent, seeing the blossoming crimson stains streaked with pink paint on his shoulder and thigh.
“You suck as a sniper.”
“Torelli, go back to your assignment,” Lathrop demanded.
“I got the shot,” Abbey defended.
“You disarmed him. If that trigger had activated as he fell, you would have blown the entire camp sky high.”
“And had his dead body landed on it, the same thing would have happened.”
Torelli pulled his gun from its holster and pointed it at the insurgent’s head. “Shoot to kill, Abbey.”
She turned away and clenched her eyelids shut. She opened them again as she heard a scuffle. Sloan had a strong arm wrapped around Torelli’s, pinning them to his body. Lathrop rose from his knees and stood between them and the insurgent. He clutched the trigger in his hand.
“I don’t know who the hell you’re trying to impress Torelli. My office, now,” Lathrop shouted. He pointed at the man lying on the ground and looked at his men. “Find someone to get that thing off him then get him to the infirmary. Don’t let him out of your sight.”
The insurgent glared at Abbey from the ground, screaming at her in his native tongue. She didn’t need a translation. The hate he spewed was recognizable.
Abbey looked to Sloan for answers, for comfort. The whole scene confused her and set her on edge. She wanted to go home so much it hurt.
He gave her one long, hard look before dragging the restrained Torelli toward Lathrop’s office. Bartholomew cupped her arm with his hand and urged her away.
»»•««
The grin on Bartholomew’s face couldn’t possibly get wider. It was time for his video chat with Maggie. It had been the only thing on his mind all day, which had made being behind the rifle easier. Abbey had sat beside him through their shift, silently watching the camp. The events from the day before clearly still haunted her. He couldn’t blame her. It was one thing to be part of a bloody mission. It was totally different to hear someone curse her in another language, to watch him bleed from shots she fired.
He waved at Lizzy as she passed then settled in her chair. It only took moments to turn on the monitor and log into the website. His heart raced as he waited for his wife to respond to his call.
He knew the moment she appeared on the screen that something was wrong. He smiled at her. “Hey, beautiful. What’s up?”
She just looked at him.
He frowned. “Maggie?”
“When are you coming home?” she demanded.
“As soon as we find the smuggler. Why?”
“I know about the terrorist who attacked your camp.”
“How?”
“A reporter was there. He covered the whole thing.”
“Including the guy getting shot and hauled off to the infirmary?”
“No.”
“Then, he didn’t cover the whole thing.”
“How close were you to him?”
“I was in the hills with Abbey. She fired the shots that incapacitated him.”
“And my brother?”
“He was pretty close to the guy.”
He could hear her whimper from the other side of the monitor. “Maggie, we’re all right.”
“Until when? I don’t want to raise this baby alone.”
“You won’t.”
“Really? The CIA keeps sending you on these ridiculous missions. One of these days, you’re going to end up dead. I can’t do this anymore.”
“Maggie, please.”
She stared at him silently.
He sighed. “I’ll talk to your brother.”
She shook her head. “I’m tired. I need to go. Good night.” Her image disappeared.
Bartholomew’s heart fell. He couldn’t lose her. He’d fight to keep her, no matter what it took. He slowly stood and walked from the vacant room.
He didn’t get very far out the door when he ran into Sloan. “Where have you been?” the Irishman demanded.
Bartholomew motioned toward the command center then shrugged. “Nowhere. What’s up?”
“I think I found the dealer. I’ve been scouting them since before Mitchell. They’re packing their shipment now.”
“How do you know they’re shipping now?”
Sloan glared at him. “I’ve been watching them for the last hour moving crates. They’re getting close to finishing. I came to find you to help me apprehend them.”
“How many are there?”
“Four.”
“Those seem like decent odds for you.”
“Yeah, but if one of the bloody little bastards runs, I need backup.”
Bartholomew laughed. “Got it. Keep them in play.”
They strode quickly across the camp to the parked fleet of vehicles. After the conversation he’d just had with Maggie, Bartholomew was more than happy to help. The sooner they caught these guys, the sooner he could go home to his wife and baby, and stay there.
“We’re doing this alone. I’ll take them to Lathrop myself. I don’t want him there,” Sloan muttered.
“Understandable,” Bartholomew agreed.
They made their way around the motorcade to a clearing in the center. Four men worked silently and feverishly to load wooded crates. Bartholomew couldn’t make out the contents. What else could it be?
Sloan stepped from between the vehicles. “What are you doing, gentlemen?”
All four soldiers froze in place. Something fell from the hands of the one closest to the open container.
Bar
tholomew frowned. “Is that a block of cheese?”
Sloan stormed over and started digging through the contents. Hesitantly, Bartholomew followed. He peered inside to see it full of food. Sloan pointed to the sealed boxes. “Open them.”
One by one, the soldiers pried off the lids. Sloan and Bartholomew dug in to investigate. None of them held a weapon. They were, however, filled to the brim with food.
“What is the meaning of this?” Sloan demanded.
“We take crates to the Afghani village down the road,” one of the soldiers, a tall, gangly man in his early twenties with short, dirty blond hair, explained. “The people there are starving. It’s horrible. We just want to help. This food is about to expire anyway. It’ll get thrown out. We all work in the mess.”
“Why the secrecy?” Bartholomew questioned.
“Truthfully, it’s theft. We could be court martialed.”
Bartholomew looked at Sloan from across the crate he was searching through. The Irishman sighed and shook his head. “Seal these back up. How many do you still have to pack?”
“We’re on our last one.”
“Fantastic. Fill it. We’ll help you load and deliver them. If Lathrop finds us, I’ll intercede. I’m certain he hates me anyway.”
All four of the soldiers’ faces lit up. “Thank you, sir.”
Bartholomew and Sloan grabbed a couple of hammers and closed the lids on the containers. As two of the mess hall soldiers finished filling the last crate, the others loaded the finished boxes into a covered truck. It wasn’t long before they all climbed aboard and headed down the road.
The people of the village flooded from their homes at the sight of the truck, nearly crawling over each other to get closer. The men climbed out of the vehicle then carefully unloaded the crates. The lids were barely removed before the people dove in. Bartholomew couldn’t understand a word they spoke, but the overwhelming gratefulness in their eyes said everything. Several children and a couple old women embraced him tightly.
He glanced over at Sloan. The Irishman kneeled before a little girl in rags, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Sloan hugged her back just as hard. When the little girl pulled away, he greeted her with a warm, gentle smile. He rustled her hair then stood and crossed over the dirt road to Bartholomew.
“This has to warm your soul,” Bartholomew remarked.
“We’re no closer to going home, even though I believe these men could still be responsible.”
“How? By hiding firearms in a loaf of bread?”
“I’ll be following every trail I can. I want to take my wife away from here.” Sloan smiled at the little girl, who giggled in response. “I miss my children. And you need to see yours being born.”
“Tell me about it.”
They both turned at a call from the soldiers. They jumped on the transport just before it took off down the road back to camp. Bartholomew grinned. The mission here had been a nightmare. He didn’t know if it could get any worse. But at least he could go home with one happy memory.
»»•««
Abbey stepped out of the barracks, wringing out her still-damp hair. After spending the entire day in the blazing hot Afghanistan sun, a cool shower felt good. Today, she had held the rifle while Bartholomew had scouted. Lying in the dust had left her grimy. Finally, she felt normal.
She hurried to the mess hall for supper, getting her tray and finding a place alone at a table. She preferred it that way. She had a plan in her head, and she needed to be alone. She munched on her supper nonchalantly. The less attention she brought on herself, the better.
Her eyes followed Sloan and Bartholomew as they stepped inside. Abbey sighed. She hated the division between her and Sloan. How can we have fallen apart this much? She watched Sloan as he analyzed the dinner offering. She fought back another sigh. I love him so much. I love his smile. I love the way he brushes the hair from my shoulder. I love the way he makes our children giggle. I would give anything to see him smile at me again. I miss him so much. It hurts so much. I can’t stand it. She shrugged sadly as took her last bite of chicken. It didn’t matter. The less he knew about what she was doing, the better.
Abbey waited for the room to fill before she put her dishes away and slipped out the door. She took roll call in her mind. Sloan was there, as were Lathrop, Torelli and Bartholomew. Good. It gave her ample time to investigate.
She wandered across the camp to the command center and stepped inside. The place was deserted except for Bartholomew’s friend, Lizzy. Lizzy waved then stood and approached her. “How can I help you?”
Abbey smiled. “I guess Lathrop wrote up an incident report about that insurgent attack. He wants me to sign it. It’s supposed to be on his desk.”
Lizzy tossed her hand toward the hallway. “His office is the third on the left. Seriously, he’s supposed to be here when you sign it. Not the first time he’s done this.” With a huff, the soldier returned to her post. Abbey nodded her thanks before scampering down the hall.
She glanced into Lathrop’s office before she snuck into the records room. Scanning the file cabinets, it took her a few minutes to find the one labeled Shipping Manifests. Tugging the first drawer open, she started scouring through the information. It didn’t take long to see discrepancies in the numbers. But with all the different signatures signing off on the shipments, it was hard to pinpoint who could be the culprit.
A beam of light piercing her eyes startled Abbey. One of Torelli’s henchmen, a big guy with flaming red, cropped hair stood at the end of the row of cabinets, a flashlight in his hand. “What are you doing, little O’Riley?”
“I could ask you the same thing. You don’t belong here either.”
The contractor picked a walkie-talkie out of his pocket and flipped it on. “Captain, I need you in the records room. You might want to bring Torelli and the Irishman with you. They’ll want to see this.”
Abbey let go a deep breath as she clenched her eyes shut. Fantastic. Here we go again.
It only took moments until Lathrop and Sloan stormed inside.
“What are you doing in here, O’Riley?” Lathrop questioned.
“The CIA wants research. I’m doing it,” Abbey answered.
“This is a restricted area. You don’t belong here.” Lathrop spun at Sloan. “She’s under your watch. Take care of this. I appreciate what she did to protect my camp, but she can’t be wandering in restricted areas without a warrant. Understand?”
With one last glance at Abbey, Lathrop and Torelli’s cohort left the two alone. Sloan pointed a commanding finger at the door with a snarl. Abbey tossed the documents in her hand on top of the cabinet and strode from the room with her husband on her heels.
Once they reached outside, Sloan grabbed Abbey’s shoulder and spun her around. “Go back to your barracks and stay there,” he demanded.
Abbey glared at him and stormed off without saying a word. She didn’t know where she was going or if anyone was following her until a hand grasped her shoulder and spun her around. She found the shipping containers surrounding her.
“Abigail, I wasn’t finished,” Sloan continued.
“I was. You wouldn’t have let me go had I told you,” Abbey retorted.
“You’re bloody right I wouldn’t have.”
“Sloan, there were discrepancies on those manifests.”
Sloan stared at her, clearly intrigued. “Did it say who was making those shipments?”
“There were too many signatures.”
“Did it say what was being shipped? And by what means?”
Abbey paused. “Not what I was looking at. Torelli’s thug found me before I could learn anything really incriminating.”
“Then all you proved was that it’s shabby recordkeeping, nothing more.”
“There has to be more. We need a search warrant for those records.”
“What do you think I’m trying to do?”
Abbey stared at him, her gaze drifting to his mouth. How long had it been sinc
e he had kissed her? Way too long. She watched his brow crease as he frowned. He shook his head. “It’s late. Get to bed.”
Abbey shook her head. “Not yet.”
“Abigail, I’m not going…”
Abbey stepped closer to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Before he could pull away, she tugged him to her and parted his mouth with hers.
For a brief moment she felt him try to pull her away. When his fingers brushed her body, his resistance melted. He deepened his kiss, his tongue tangling with hers. He scooped her into his arms and pinned her against the container with his own body.
His hands raced to unbutton her shirt. She stopped him.
“What the bloody hell?” he protested with a growl.
Abbey’s voice was breathless. “Not quick. Not a repeat of Bangkok. Dang it. I need you. Not fast sex.”
She looked up to see his eyes soften. He wrapped his hand behind her neck to draw her closer. His lips enveloped hers again. The kiss was deep, warm and gentle. All Abbey could do was moan.
“Was that what you were hoping for, Luv?” he murmured against her mouth.
“Oh, yes. That’s the man I miss.”
“I’m glad you’re pleased. Now, may I have what I want?”
“Only if it ends with you buried inside me.”
“That’s the plan.”
Abbey groaned again as Sloan’s hands worked magic on her skin. His kisses roamed her neck as he undid her shirt with his free hand. His other hand under her ass squeezed tight. She arched against his erection and whimpered. “Please?” she begged.
The sound of boot steps in the dirt tore their attention away from each other. They could hear Torelli’s voice echo off the containers. Sloan set her back on her feet then stepped away, his breath escaping in ragged gasps. Abbey scrambled to button her shirt. It was nearly impossible as her whole body trembled. The ache inside her burned. Her knees kept buckling. Her words tumbled over each other as she spoke. “I think it’s time for bed.”
“I would have to agree with you,” he muttered.
Abbey stared at him. She had been with him long enough to know the look in his eyes. He seemed at war with himself, a battle waging between letting her go or throwing over his shoulder and carrying her back to his bed to finish what they started. He stood stone still, his hands fisted at his sides.
The Assassin Page 8
