Fragmented

by Stephanie Tyler

  He was surrounded by maps and his iPad, and the kitchen smelled like coffee. And he glanced up when she walked in and gave her a brief smile. “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “It’s, uh … It’s good,” she managed, feeling the flush rise on her cheeks.

  He gave a slight laugh, and there was real kindness in his eyes when he said, “It’s about time.”

  Yes, he was correct about that. “Mind if I grab some coffee?”

  “Help yourself. There’s cake in the fridge too.”

  Cake would definitely be wonderful right now. She cut herself a giant slice and poured a mug of coffee. Key had made a space for her at the table, and so instead of going upstairs to Jem, she sat at the head of the table, next to Key.

  There was silence for a few minutes while she ate half her slice. She hadn’t had much dinner, and she wondered if she could just finish off the whole cake without Key mentioning it to anyone.

  She finished the slice and must’ve glanced at the fridge. Key got up and brought her the cake, moving her plate out of the way to place the platter down in front of her.

  “Who are you kidding?” he asked good-naturedly.

  “I guess not you,” she quipped, forking off a slice. “And thank you. For earlier.”

  Key nodded. “Anytime. My brother can be a pigheaded asshole at times, but he’s got his reasons.”

  “Do you think I’ll get to know any of them, beyond the obvious one of him being worried about hurting me again?” she asked.

  Key frowned a little. “Maybe. It’s not something he likes to talk about. Has to do with our childhood, which pretty much sucked.”

  “I’m a part of that club already,” she muttered, and shoved another piece of cake in her mouth.

  “We want you with us, Drea. I know you’re not ready to believe that.”

  She wasn’t, but part of that was her own problem. She’d always felt like a burden, had only wanted to support herself. She didn’t want to be anyone’s trouble, and at the moment, she felt particularly prickly, so she asked, “Why? You’ve already got a medic.”

  “Right, because you can have too many medical people for a team that seems to like to run headfirst wherever flying bullets are concerned,” Key pointed out wryly.

  “Okay, true.”

  “I’m not saying it to make you feel good—I don’t do shit like that.”

  In that regard, he was so much like Jem. “I feel like I’ve fucked up so much around here.”

  “You?” Key gave a short laugh. “Well then, with that attitude, you’ll definitely fit right in.”

  She supposed, in that regard, he was one hundred percent right.

  “By the way, it’s happening tomorrow,” he told her.

  “The rescue?”

  “Yeah. I guess Jem was slightly … distracted, and didn’t get a chance to tell you.”

  She smiled a little. “And we’ll get her back.”

  “It’s not going to be a one-day thing, but we’ll get her back,” Key said firmly.

  “And you think Jem’s okay with me coming along?”

  “Definitely. You’re not getting left behind.”

  “Good.”

  “You know, I don’t want this to trigger anything for you … and at the same time, I hope it does,” Key admitted. “I want your memories to come back.”

  “You’re worried that I’m going to suddenly hate all of you?”

  “Jem’s worried you’re going to hate him, Drea. If it takes you hating the rest of us not to hate him, I’m prepared to live with that.” On that note, Key collected his maps and left her with her cake and her thoughts.

  Luckily, there was enough cake to shut them up.

  Chapter Thirteen

  At dusk the following day, Drea was on the boat with him and the rest of the S8 crew. The last time Jem saw her on one, she hadn’t been able to remember a fucking thing about her life except for Danny.

  Now she still couldn’t remember Jem, but that also meant she didn’t remember what had happened on that other trip. Not enough to be scared of boats and missions—not the way she should be.

  Then again, maybe she’d seen enough to know that fear really had no place in anyone’s heart.

  He watched as she stood at the rail, her hair blowing back in the wind, the salt breeze spraying her lightly. And she was smiling, a small, private smile that she might not even realize she was making. Whatever she was thinking about, Jem wanted it to be him.

  “Does she know it’s happening once we get there?” Key asked.

  “I told her she can’t get involved.”

  “We can’t spare someone to sit back here and watch her.”

  “She knows how to drive a boat—Carolina taught her. She knows weapons—Carolina taught her that too. There’s no reason she can’t stay on the boat and act like a tourist. She’s actually probably our best distraction. Putting her on land and hiding her away is way too risky. We can’t afford another stop when it’s time to pick her up.”

  “And if we can’t get off the island this way? If we have to cross the island and come around the other side? Suppose that takes us over twenty-four hours? Is she comfortable hanging out here in the middle of the ocean for that long all by herself?” Key asked.

  “I’m not fucking comfortable with it—is that what you want to hear, baby brother?”

  “What I want to hear is that you’re being smart.”

  Jem laughed. “You’re going to be waiting a hell of a long time.”

  “I’ll stay back with her.” Neither man had heard Grace coming, so either she was getting more stealthy or they were fucking up. “I already told Dare I wouldn’t be able to go in. I was trying to psych myself up, but I really think I’d be more of a hindrance. I feel as if it’s worked out for the best. I’ll stay on the boat with Drea. If there’s a storm we can just pull in and dock. We’ll be smart. And you’ll be in contact almost the whole time, right?”

  “Right,” Jem assured her.

  Grace’s arms were crossed over her chest. Her copper-colored hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wore jeans and her feet were bare. She looked so much younger than she was, and she was young already. “I feel like I’m letting you guys down,” she blurted out.

  “Grace, honey, you’re not letting anyone down by admitting what you can’t do. Like you said, things happen for a reason. You and Drea will probably end up saving our asses.” Jem threw an arm across Grace’s shoulder and she cuddled against his chest for a long second.

  When she finally looked up at him, she said, “You ever think about becoming a therapist?”

  Key laughed so raucously that Jem almost threw him overboard. “Brother? You could at least try to fake it.”

  Key was bending over, trying to catch his breath.

  Jem shook his head. “Grace, nobody has faith in me around here but you.”

  “And Drea,” she reminded him. “And it’s not just because she doesn’t have any other place to be. You can always find another place to be if you really want to. Think about that.”

  Jem pondered that. “Maybe you’re the one who should be the therapist.”

  “Maybe I should,” she agreed. Key was wiping his eyes. “But we can all agree that Key should not.”

  *

  All Drea really knew about the mission, beyond the rescue portion, was that Grace was staying behind with her, and that Jem, Key, Gunner, Dare and Avery were going to swim to the island.

  At night.

  In the rain.

  In the pitch-black warm water filled no doubt with circling sharks and God knew what else. And they all seemed … excited.

  “Because they’re insane,” Grace stage-whispered to her when Drea pointed that out.

  “That’s why you love me,” Dare reminded Grace as he yanked on the last of the thick black wet suits and zipped it closed.

  “I can’t deny it,” Grace said more to him than to Drea.

  “Besides, if you’re talking about truly insane
.” Dare jerked his head toward Jem, who was sharpening a knife that already looked sharp enough to cut air. And smiling.

  “Just because it looks like I’m not paying attention doesn’t mean I don’t hear every single word you’re saying,” Jem told them in a singsong voice.

  “He’s got the super freaky hearing,” Key admitted. “He’s better than having a dog.”

  Drea couldn’t help it—she snorted. Jem looked at her, a semidisapproving look on his face, although she could see he was trying to hold back a smile as well. He zipped up his wet suit and latched the waterproof knapsack around him. He had a spear held to his biceps by a rubber strap. And then he put on the mask for the oxygen tank and her stomach tightened.

  This was it. The laughing and joking portion of the op was over—this was serious business now. The team talked using hand signals, turning toward one another, pushing everything else out of their mind but the seventeen-year-old woman who was desperately waiting for their help.

  Drea looked at her watch. They were right on time, and she forced herself to concentrate on a time, eight hours from now, when they were all supposed to be back on the boat with her and Grace, heading toward home.

  They had no idea what kind of shape the seventeen-year-old named Emma would be in. Even if she was kept under the best of conditions, she’d still be anxiety-ridden. At worst, she’d be sick and dehydrated, possibly delusional. And if they’d beaten her …

  Drea glanced over at Grace and she knew that was the woman’s biggest worry. Grace reached over and held Drea’s hand as, one by one, Section 8 disappeared into the black water below.

  After they were all gone, Drea saw Grace let go of the rail and sink to the deck, gracefully—not fainting but simply as if she’d held on as long as she could. As if her strength was all gone.

  “I’m okay.” She said it like she wanted it to be true, and Drea knelt next to her. “Or I will be in a few minutes. I couldn’t do this in front of them … especially not Dare. This is too important a job and I won’t ruin it.”

  Drea touched Grace’s forehead, automatically checking for fever. There was none, although her pulse was fast. “Maybe we should go inside and—”

  “We definitely should be inside, checking the cameras,” Grace agreed. She took a deep breath. “I’m not feverish—not now—but sometimes I do spike these really high, random fevers. But that’s not why … Forget it.”

  She went to get up—Drea stood first and offered a hand. Together they went inside to where the captain’s chairs were and they sat in front of the big screens, listening to the lapping of the water against the boat.

  Finally, Grace murmured, “I’m sorry—I don’t want to burden you. I shouldn’t burden you …”

  Drea turned to her. “This is going to sound awful, but I’d truly love to carry someone else’s burden for a while. Especially since I still don’t have my full memory back.”

  Grace laughed, a richly throated sound. “You’re one of a kind, Drea. It’s just that … this mission? With Emma? It’s just really close to what happened to me. I wasn’t kidnapped by human traffickers or anything, but …”

  “I know your stepdad was a really bad guy.”

  “That he was. He tried to use my psychic gift, and when I wouldn’t let him, he tried to make sure he broke it—and me.” Grace turned and lifted her shirt, and showed Drea the old scars.

  “Shit,” Drea breathed.

  Grace pulled down her shirt. “He had his men beat and rape me for months, until I shoved my psychic gift down completely. I didn’t find it again until I met Dare. And the old Section 8—Darius and Adele? They helped me escape from Rip and heal. And then S8 finished off Rip—killed him, for me, for all of us—and I inherited all his blood money. And we use it to fund these missions.”

  “Quite poetic,” Drea said approvingly.

  “Totally. And I love the work we do, but sometimes …”

  “It’s a lot to handle,” Drea said quietly, an odd sense rolling over her. “We’ve talked about this before—you and me, right? I mean, I didn’t know this from Jem—I knew it firsthand.”

  “That’s right, yes.” Grace gave her a small smile. “You and me and—”

  “Avery. On a bed. Talking …” Drea paused and Grace simply waited. “We’d all been through hell and we were talking about it. About how … people like us found one another. It’s all fuzzy, and kind of like it happened to someone else, but I know it didn’t.” She put her hand over her heart, much in the same way Carolina had done when she made Drea finally look at herself in the mirror after months of avoidance.

  “We’re good together, Drea. All of us. A really good team,” Grace said firmly.

  “It sounds like we’re the best ones to help someone like Emma.”

  “Definitely. No matter what she’s been through, once she gets on this boat, we’ll help her,” Grace said urgently.

  They would. And that was something for Drea to hold on to.

  *

  A ten-mile swim, made quicker thanks to a cooperating current (which of course would fuck them on the way back, thank you very much), had Jem and the team on the beach, moving fast to get cover. Granted, the black of night within an hour of leaving the boat helped. They were on schedule, which wasn’t bad considering Avery hadn’t been a SEAL. But she’d been training as often as she could with Gunner, and it showed.

  Besides, the object of the swim wasn’t about speed—it was about stealth.

  Jem led the team now, with Dare taking up the rear through the twisted jungle paths. This was a primitive setup, not a sophisticated kidnapping, but it didn’t mean that the native terrain of the island didn’t help the terrorists immensely. Hell, it was better than any security system Jem could think of. There were no real roads, no lights or electricity, wild boars and God knew what else. Add to that a team of terrorists who lived on the island pretty much full-time and all their security, and this was a mission that could easily go goat-fuck, and fast.

  It was the kind of mission he craved—high energy, high danger—that always led to big rewards. Emma’s father was promising them a big one, and Section 8 would put that money to good use to take down more and more human traffickers.

  Jem used hand signals, as the team made use of NV goggles to see their surroundings. They hadn’t risked flying a helo overhead to try to get a map of the landscape, but the way Jem figured it, their main hideout couldn’t be in the center of the island. It was too mountainous and too hard to lug gasoline and generators on a regular basis. Granted, it could be done, but there were no records of people leaving the island daily or weekly or even monthly. Which meant they lived here long-term. Which meant there was a boat docked somewhere that either held supplies or held most of the terrorists. And boats. Section 8 knew how to take care of boats.

  Thankfully, they hadn’t gone out last week, because they’d been given false intel, or they’d have ended up on a different island that was truly deserted, and the surrounding water, full of sharp rocks that would strand them.

  That didn’t mean this would be a piece of cake. Jem stopped on a dime, a razor wire running less than an inch from his shins. The first booby trap, which meant they were getting close or they were being tricked. He turned slightly to see what the team’s opinion was. He knew what he’d do at that moment, but learning to work with the team was a whole different ball game.

  Thankfully, the rest of the team agreed with him that they should just go balls to the wall, stepping over the barbed wire, and taking the chance that they were alerting the terrorists somehow. They were all losing patience with terrorists and kidnappers and bad men. They rather liked storming islands and boats and taking back justice. Emma was just about the age Grace had been when she was saved by the original Section 8, so even though all their missions were significant, this one was even more personal.

  And finally, they arrived at what had to be where Emma was being kept. Or else a major decoy, but Jem’s gut told him that wasn’t the case. />
  As the others stood to cover him, he broke down the door of the wooden hut. It was practically a hundred degrees inside the poorly built structure. He spotted her right away, Emma Covington, curled up lifeless on the floor. He was kneeling by her side in seconds, wishing Drea was here. He put his hand to the pulse point on her neck and the one on her wrist, and he prayed. A pulse, but a weak one. He checked her first, fighting the urge to just simply grab her and run. If she was injured, moving her could damage her for life. But her reflexes were there, albeit very slow, and he didn’t see any blood or major bruising. But he did hear the sudden sound of gunshots, and they were getting closer.

  He heard Key call for him with a low whistle, and he scooped Emma up, cradled her against him and went to meet his team. He followed them along the rocky paths, the opposite way they’d come in. And half an hour later, they realized they were trapped.

  The terrorists had driven them farther into the stone center of the island than they’d planned on going. The rains came soon after, which helped keep their enemies at bay, but which left them in a completely vulnerable position. They’d built in three extra hours of nighttime, in case the operation went goat-fuck. It looked as though they were going to lose those three hours, plus many more. And the unexpected storm … it meant that Drea and Grace would be pulling the boat into the dock on the other side of the island.

  “We could ask them to come around,” Avery said. “They’d do it—you know that.”

  “Of course they would,” Dare agreed. “But they need to use the lights on the boat to avoid the rocks on the other side of the island. I don’t trust that underwater radar shit. And we still don’t know exactly where the terrorists have docked. That’s a suicide mission, as much as this one is.” His voice was low; there was no rancor to it. They couldn’t put the women at risk, so they’d think of another way out.

  “Why don’t we just hit the water, put Emma in the raft and push her?” Gunner asked. “She’d be low enough that they probably wouldn’t spot her and we’d be under the raft.”