Fatal Truth: Shadow Force International

by Misty Evans

  “She was a double agent. I knew it, but it didn’t matter. I loved her, tried to get her to run off with me. Change our identities, live on some remote island, have a few kids. The whole happily-ever-after thing. She turned me down and when she couldn’t get the information she wanted out of me for her superiors, she poisoned me.”

  Jesus. “Love sucks.”

  Zeb waved him off. “She didn’t give me enough to kill me and she knew it. But it definitely put a damper on my love life after that. I never got over her.”

  A short gal with long, dark hair and a couple of dollar bills in hand interrupted them. They parted so she could snag a bag of pretzels. After she left, Trace asked the question that had been bugging him. “Linc Norman knew you. Did you ever work for him?”

  “Look, kid. I know all about Command & Control, but I never got mixed up with that group. I may have run in the same circles as some National Intelligence officers and rubbed elbows with a few presidents, but I steered clear of Norman. He was too much of a pretty boy. I didn’t trust him.”

  “That’s how you knew Parker.”

  “Parker’s work garnered attention she didn’t want, but you don’t say no to the president, right? She needed some input from someone who’d been in a tight squeeze before. Norman didn’t tell her at first what he was using you for; she figured it out the hard way. Then he told her she had to take out her fellow scientists to keep the project under the radar. She wouldn’t do it. So he used her family as leverage to try to blackmail her. She still refused. One thing about those Jeffries girls, they don’t take kindly to threats.

  “When things fell apart, Parker needed a way out. There was only one I could find if she wanted to keep Savanna and her parents alive.”

  “Me.”

  Zeb touched the tip of his nose with a finger. “You got it.”

  “You broke me out of Witcher.”

  “Nah, that was all Beatrice and Emit. I just gave ’em some ideas on what to do with you after you came around. You needed a public platform to redeem yourself. Parker needed one to out the president. Savanna could do both, but she needed protection. You were the answer.”

  “I may end up back in Witcher before this is all over.”

  “Your original arrest and conviction will all be reviewed, and trust me, the case will be thrown out.”

  Friends in high places. Or maybe enemies who didn’t want you to take them down like you had Oliver North. “I have the feeling I owe you for more than packing my wound with Quick Clot.”

  “That you do, boy, and don’t forget it. But I’ll tell you what. You take care of my favorite two Jeffries girls and I’ll go easy on you.”

  “I lied to Savanna. Didn’t tell her who I was. She’s pretty pissed at me.”

  “Then get down and grovel. That girl couldn’t hold a grudge if you paid her to. She’ll forgive you in time. And from the way you look right now, I’d say she’s your number 16, so don’t blow it. Let her know you love her and do whatever you have to in order to make her happy. Life’s short.”

  Zeb walked to the doorway, where he stopped and turned back to Trace. “One more thing,” he said. “Take a page from Ollie’s playbook. When you get called in front of Congress and the nation, which you will, take responsibility for the shit you did, but don’t take personal responsibility for carrying out direct orders. You were a decorated SEAL who deserves to have his medals returned and his status reinstated. You haven’t, in your ten years of uniformed service to the United States of America and your commander-in-chief, ever violated an order, have you?”

  “Just one, sir.”

  “And that’s the one that landed your ass in Witcher.”

  Trace nodded.

  “You refused to kill someone at the president’s direct request, if I heard that taped interview of Savanna’s correctly.”

  Did it matter? He didn’t want his medals back or his status reinstated. Not following that order hadn’t kept the woman or her baby alive. They’d been killed anyway.

  Cal Reese suddenly appeared, peeking his head around the opening. “Surgeon is out and wants to talk to you.”

  Trace bolted, blowing past Zeb and Cal and hightailing it back to the waiting area. The surgeon had changed into fresh scrubs, but his lips were tacked down in a frown, his eyes shuttered.

  Trace pulled up short.

  She’s not going to make it.

  “Hospital policy is that I speak to the next of kin. In this case, I’ve learned the patient’s sister is being detained and questioned by police and her parents have not been reached.”

  She’s already dead. Trace staggered back, his legs colliding with a chair. Good thing it was there. He collapsed into it.

  The doctor folded his arms over his chest. “I’m told you and Ms. Jeffries are…involved, so while this breaks protocol, I’m going to give you an update on her status. I’ve…” He cleared his throat. “I’ve seen the news footage.”

  Trace covered his eyes with a hand. She’s gone. Oh, God, she’s gone.

  “The wound in her arm should heal without issue. The stomach injury will take some time. The bullet passed through and damaged several areas in her small intestine. We sutured the wounds and are giving her high doses of antibiotics to tackle infection.

  “We had to give her a blood transfusion, but because of the clotting powder and her sister’s quick actions with the IV fluids, her shock was mild. She appears to have a mild concussion, so we’ll need to watch her closely for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. She suffered mild frostbite on her toes and fingers. There should be no lasting nerve damage, however.”

  Frostbite? Concussion? Wait. Trace dropped his hand. “She’s alive?”

  The doctor cocked his head. “She’s in serious condition, and it could be touch and go for the next few days, depending on if she has any infection or problems with the concussion, but she is alive, Lt. Hunter.”

  Relief and hope mixed in his system. He bolted out of the chair. “Can I see her?”

  The doctor looked uncomfortable. “Again, that’s usually reserved for family.”

  Beatrice stepped forward and squeezed Trace’s arm. “But in this case, you’ll make an exception, right Dr. Azram?”

  The man hesitated briefly, then nodded. “Follow me.”

  Zeb, in the hallway, had heard the news and slapped Trace on the back as he passed by. “Tell her hi from me when she comes around.”

  Trace stayed on the doctor’s heels through a set of double doors, around a nurses’ station, and down another long corridor. The sun was up and blasting through the window at the end of the hall. Each room was marked ICU with a number. Savanna had been placed in room 4.

  Monitors beeped. A nurse was fiddling with a tube running into the pale skin on Savanna’s left arm. Her hair had been scraped back from her face, her lips no longer blue but as pale as the rest of her skin. Her eyes fluttered under her closed lids. Her chest barely made the sheet rise and fall on each intake of breath.

  She’s alive.

  Trace’s knees felt weak.

  “We’re all good here,” the nurse said. She looked at Trace. “Can I get you some coffee? You look like you’ve had a hard night.”

  He almost laughed from the overload of stress. “I’m good.”

  She nodded. “We’re monitoring everything, but if you sense any distress in her, you press the call button, okay?”

  Her shoes whispered as she left. The doctor simply nodded and followed her out.

  Trace dragged a chair next to the side of the bed but then just stood, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. He had to touch her, and so he did, laying his fingers softly against her cool cheek, running them down her neck, tracing the veins on the back of her hands.

  “I’m sorry I withheld the truth from you, Savanna. It was wrong and I deserve a harsh kick in the ass. But that means you’re going to have to get out of this hospital bed and give it to me, okay?”

  Convinced she was indeed alive
, he sat in the chair and kept an eye on the sheet, willing her heart to keep beating. “Breathe,” he softly reminded her. “Just breathe.”

  Six hours later

  SAVANNA FLOATED UP through hazy dreams of her sister and a shadowy figure, a man that she wanted to talk to but he stayed just out of her reach, annoying her. A buoyant sensation filled her limbs, her left arm itching. It felt as though she were levitating right off the bed. If she could just get the lump on her arm off so she could scratch that itch, she’d feel spectacular.

  Beep, beep, beep. An alarm sounded from somewhere far off, making the dreams disappear. A man’s voice shouted and there were other sounds, too. The rasp of a door opening. The rhythmic warble of another alarm.

  Someone was futzing with her arm. She tried to jerk it away.

  “Hold still, Savanna. You’ve pulled out your IV.”

  Coldplay. His voice made her open her eyes. Or at least try to. Her eyelids were so heavy, she could barely crack her eyes open.

  “Hey there,” he said, bending over her.

  He was so beautiful, light from the window illuminating one side of his face. His jaw sported a few days’ worth of beard and his eyes were bloodshot. He smiled and Savanna saw relief in his face.

  She opened her mouth to respond, but a jerky burst of memories from the night before flooded her brain. Even through the drugs in her system, she felt a flash of anger, rage, fear.

  Her tongue stuck to the top of her mouth, her lips were parched. “Trace,” she finally forced out, voice raspy.

  A nurse hustled to the other side of the bed. “Good to see you’re awake, Savanna, but you need to leave your IV in, sweetie.”

  As the nurse went to work fixing the damage Savanna had done, Trace peppered her with questions. “How do you feel? Are you in pain? They can up your pain meds. Do you remember what happened? Do you want some ice chips? Water?”

  The poke of the fresh IV stung, her left shoulder ached, and her stomach felt like it was swaddled so tight, she couldn’t move. Looking at Trace’s smiling face, however, none of that mattered. “I’m good,” she croaked.

  “I, uh…” He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath, holding it, for a second and a feeling of dread filled her. What had happened?

  “Is it Parker?” she half whispered, her throat closing up. “Is she okay?”

  He flipped his eyes open. “Parker’s fine. She’s meeting with some lawyers and telling the attorney general her story. Everything, Savanna. Between what you did and the evidence we have on Linc Norman, he’s going to be impeached. The AG will probably bring criminal charges against him as well.”

  The nurse secured the IV with a fat piece of tape. “Just once I’d like to vote for someone who wasn’t a criminal,” she said. “Now, relax. You’ve got your heart monitor going crazy.”

  She left the room and Trace took Savanna’s hand in his. “Slow, deep breaths,” he reminded her, wrapping his hand around hers. Heat enveloped her cool fingers and the familiar feel of his calluses sent a shiver through her.

  His shirt was lumpy on the right side over what looked like padding. “What happened to you?”

  He squeezed her hand and relayed the story in a measly five sentences, leaving out some juicy bits, she was sure.

  “We’re both still alive,” she said, feeling sleepy again. “We survived.”

  “What you did was brave and very, very stupid.” He sank into the chair next to the bed without releasing her hand. “Norman was mixing his own drug cocktails based on Parker’s experiments. He could have killed you even without the gun.”

  “He was going to shoot you.” She closed her eyes against a sudden welling of tears. “I knew he was. I couldn’t let him do that.”

  He brought her knuckles to his lips. “I was supposed to be guarding your body, not the other way around.”

  The floating feeling was back, playing with her senses. Time seemed to ebb and flow. Her eyelids dipped, snapped back open. “What were you going to say a minute ago? When the nurse was still here.”

  It had been important. That she was sure of.

  Tipping his chin down, he rested his forehead on her knuckles. “I need to tell you something.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Sixteen days,” she heard him whisper. His breath was warm on her fingers.

  What was he talking about?

  He raised his head and he met her gaze head-on. “I want more than sixteen days.”

  The drugs and sleepiness were messing with her understanding. “What?”

  “I want more than sixteen days with you.”

  How long had she been out? They’d only been together a week. “What are you talking about?”

  “I…uh…” His mouth moved, but words stopped coming out. He cleared his throat. “I thought I nearly lost you, and I… I’d like us to start over. But first I have to know, can you forgive me for misleading you?”

  Starting over. Today was a new beginning for them. He was so sincere, so determined, a smile hovered at the corners of her mouth. She wished she could sit up and hug him.

  The most strength she could conjure was to pat his face. “I might if you promise never to lie to me. Oh, and one other thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Come on my show and be interviewed. For real this time.”

  “You don’t have a show anymore, Savanna. Remember?”

  “I will,” she countered. “I have the scoop of the century. I’m going to have plenty of job offers.”

  He grinned and put her hand back under the covers. “I promise never to lie, and we’ll negotiate the terms of my surrender with the interview when you’re feeling better. For now, I better go let your parents know you’re awake. They got here a couple hours ago and are very worried about you. They went down to the cafeteria for a bite to eat. Do you think you’re up to seeing them?”

  Hell no. Her eyes were too heavy to hold open and she wasn’t sure she wanted to see her mother just yet anyway. “You should let them know I was awake and making plans for the future, but I’m going back to sleep now.”

  He tapped her hand through the covers and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “I’ll tell them.”

  “Thank you,” she said, closing her eyes. Precious, perfect sleep waited for her. “By the way?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I…want more than sixteen days too,” she said around a yawn. “Whatever that means.”

  Snuggling down in the sheets, she kept an image of Trace’s smile in her mind as she let the sweet, peaceful darkness consume her.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  _____________________

  ______________________________________________________

  One month later

  SAVANNA’S STOMACH REVOLTED at the lunch she’d packed herself. Ever since leaving the hospital, she’d had to eat small meals and stay away from carbonated beverages. The doctors had declared her healed, but soda and jalapeños were no longer part of her diet.

  A knock sounded on the door and Charity, her new assistant popped her head in. “They’re ready for you in make-up, Ms. Bunkett.”

  “Thank you, Charity. If you’re going to the corner deli for lunch today, would you pick up one of those strawberry-banana fruit smoothies for me?”

  The girl had gotten her hair cut, her dark curls framing her lovely face and making her look her age instead of like a high school student. She had a soft southern accent and the organizing efficiency of Martha Stewart. “Like the one you had yesterday?”

  Savanna nodded. “Solid food just isn’t working for me again today.”

  “Sure, no problem. I’ll be back before you go on air.” She started to shut the door. “Oh, and Mr. Riceman wants a moment with you after the show to discuss the breaking news out of Oregon and that guy the FBI arrested for child porn. Says there’s a story there for you.”

  Savanna nodded and Charity hustled off. Zeb was Savanna’s new boss after she had threatened to sue her old netwo
rk for the rights to her show. They’d tried to get her to come back, now that she was America’s sweetheart again, but she’d told them to shove it. The lawyers had worked things out and she’d moved The Bunk Stops Here to her new network. She’d cut a deal with the executives of CNBC and Crime Investigations to bring Zeb with her, putting The Bunk Stops Here back on a national platform and getting back to work.

  Lindsey had been left without a show but Savanna had heard she’d come up with a new cold case investigation show, and so far, it had decent ratings. Beatrice could not tie her to Norman and they’d all concluded that Lindsey was after Savanna’s job, but nothing more. Savanna wished her well and hoped they never crossed paths again.

  The same was not true of Randy, the doorman. Rory had done some digging and was sure Randy was really a former, old-school CIA operative named Langston Covington. He’d done a few operations for various secret groups, including Command & Control at one point. He’d probably been assigned by Linc Norman to keep an eye on Savanna in hopes Parker would pay her a visit.

  Parker had been visiting when Savanna was away but she was too good to get caught, even by someone like Covington.

  Savanna had been offered multiple career deals, just like she’d predicted to Trace in the hospital. All she’d wanted was to be back on the air, under her own terms, debunking conspiracies and blowing the whistle on corrupt government officials, big businesses, and anything else that fell under her radar.

  Every news outlet in the country, and a few outside of it, had asked her for an interview, to tell her story about what had happened with the president. She’d declined. Soon she’d have to go in front of Congress and give testimony. That would be the only interview she would ever do on the subject.

  Several publishers had asked her to write a memoir. She’d considered it for half a second, then said no. If Parker or Trace wanted to write a book about what had happened, she’d give them her blessing, but she didn’t want to keep reliving the events of the past few months.