The 3rd Cycle of the Betrayed Series Collection: Extremely Controversial Historical Thrillers (Betrayed Series Boxed set)

by Carolyn McCray

  “I don’t know. I honestly I thought she was you at first.”

  “I’m a little worried she is going to have a stroke just to look like me.”

  Davidson chuckled along with her. It certainly was a strange situation. No stranger, he guessed, than Bunny and his relationship.

  “I want to prove to you I’m here, really here.” Davidson pulled out a small box. He thought it was time for some clarification. “I’ve had this for a few weeks, waiting for the right time… you know when bullets aren’t flying…”

  Bunny’s pupil dilated. “Samuel, no. I don’t want a pity proposal.”

  “Pity?” Davidson laughed. “I have no pity for you. You are a live-action theater operator just as I am. We all know something like this can happen. You’re going to have some battle scars, but that is what we are about.”

  “You really believe that?” Bunny asked.

  He could tell that he was getting through to her.

  “Bunny…” He didn’t use her given name or her last name since she disliked them both. “Warrior-woman, will you marry me?”

  “I… I…” she slurred.

  He slipped the diamond ring on her finger.

  “I guess I say yes,” she said, leaning forward as best she could.

  Davidson kissed her on her uneven lips.

  “Samuel, we have to be realistic, I’m not sure if I can,” she waved her left hand over her mid-region. “If I can ever…”

  “Seriously? You are trying to use lack of sex as a deterrent to me? I feel like the pressure is off.”

  They both laughed. They had always had the hardest time hooking up. What was new with that?

  “Okay, okay,” Bunny agreed. “We’re engaged.”

  Right then Davidson’s cell phone rattled in his pocket. They both knew what that was.

  “Return to base ASAP,” read the text.

  He looked into her eyes. “Go on, we can talk later, fiancé.”

  This is why he loved her.

  “But can you send Stark in?”

  “You know it,” Davidson said, giving her one last kiss goodbye. Who knew how long it would be before he’d see her again.

  * * *

  Stark watched as Davidson walked into the ICU lounge.

  “She’d like to see you,” Davidson stated.

  “Me?”

  Davidson smiled. “Yes. I have to go, but you’ll be here for her?”

  “No doubt,” Stark replied.

  Davidson held out his hand to shake. Stark reciprocated. Then surprisingly, the sniper pulled him into a bro-hug and patted his back.

  “I’ll never be able to thank you enough…”

  Then Davidson was heading to the elevator.

  Stark looked back at his mother. “Go in, silly.”

  Turning, Stark looked at the door he had been going in and out of for the last few days. Suddenly he felt reluctant. Like he was an intruder now.

  He opened the door and walked in.

  Bunny smiled a half-smile. He also noted the glittering ring on her left ring finger. So they were engaged. No great surprise there. The ring was an antique. Bunny had made it very clear that she did not want any conflict diamonds. Clearly Davidson had listened to her.

  “Congratulations,” he said from the doorway.

  “Get over here,” Bunny teased opening her one working arm.

  He came over and leaned in tentatively. He wasn’t quite sure where the line was now.

  With her one hand, Bunny hugged him tightly. “Thank you so much. I know you were there for me.”

  “I tried,” Stark answered rising from the hug.

  “You deserve better,” Bunny said.

  “No, no--”

  Bunny held up her good hand. “Tika is obviously into you and I think you like her too.”

  “That isn’t, I mean --”

  “You deserve to be happy, Stark. If this event has taught me one thing, it is to grab happiness while you can.”

  Stark took a step back. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m not saying I wouldn’t want a friend during my recovery, but that doesn’t mean you can’t find out if Tika is the one for you.”

  Stark felt a wave of emotions. From excitement to disappointment to fear.

  Bunny’s life being in danger had bottled them all up. He’d had to disregard them all until she was better. And now that she was on the road to recovery, he guessed that he would have to feel them all now.

  “I mean it, Bunny. Congratulations to you.”

  “And one day I want to say the same to you…Now get out of here. I’m sure your mom wants some Stark grand-babies.”

  He wasn’t too sure about that, but he smiled and walked out of the room.

  Miraculously, his mother was gone and only Tika was in the lounge.

  “Tika?” he asked.

  “Yes? Do you need something?”

  “No, no,” Stark said as he sat down next to her. This was where his social awkwardness really kicked in. Had he really not invited a girl out on a date since that one time in college? It had gone so poorly, Stark had never tried it again.

  But watching Davidson and Bunny struggle, two of the most attractive people he knew, had taught Stark a lot. Everyone could be stupid. And everyone could get rejected. Somehow that made him feel braver.

  “I was just wondering, if you’d like to go out to dinner?”

  She smiled. “Sure. Your Mom was talking about a Thai place right down the street.”

  “No,” Stark said reaching his hand out to hers. “I meant just you and me.”

  “On a date?” Tika asked slowly.

  “Yes,” Stark said hoping his voice didn’t crack.

  A smile spread on her lips. “I would love to.”

  “Great,” Stark said, filled with relief. Who knew where their relationship went from here, but at least that was over with.

  “So…” Tika asked her eyes down. “Can I go back to blond and take these contacts out?”

  “Yes, I think the ploy worked already.”

  “Oh thank goodness. These contacts were getting scratchy.”

  Stark’s mother walked in, did a quick survey of the situation, including his hand on Tika’s.

  “Finally.”

  * * *

  Brandt hung up the phone. The conversation with his wife had been short. He was staying to go on this next mission. They had been tracking this particular human trafficker for two years. He’d just popped his head up in Paris.

  Despite wanting to go home with Rebecca, they’d decided for her to go home alone, and he would follow as quickly as he could.

  Prenner knocked on Brandt’s partially open door. ‘You wanted to see me, sir?”

  Brandt nodded for Prenner to take a seat.

  “I think you knew this was coming,” Brandt said handing over some papers to Prenner. “You are being transferred immediately.”

  “But…but…sir, if this is about allowing Sallah to be captured…The bats…”

  “It isn’t.”

  “Or with the Chinese.”

  “It has nothing to do with any of that,” Brandt said. “This has been in the works for a while.”

  “Sir, I will do anything I need to in able to stay on Alpha Tango.”

  “Prenner, stop. You are being transferred to your own command.”

  “My what?”

  Brandt smiled. He’d felt pretty much the same way when his command orders came down.

  “Your command, Prenner. You leave immediately to put together your own team. I need a little competition out there.”

  Prenner finally seemed to get it, a smile forming on his lips. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Looking at our schedules, I believe good-bye would be in order.”

  Brandt rose from his chair and Prenner followed. They shook hands. “I honestly don’t know how to say thank you enough, sir.”

  “You don’t have to. You earned it. However…”

  “Yes, sir?”
<
br />   “You are even more stoic than I, which means, even though you may want to stock your team with men like yourself…”

  “It is important to have a variety of personalities on a team. Men to compliment and improve on my skills.”

  “That’s exactly right.”

  “I don’t have to take Lopez do I?”

  Brandt laughed. “No. I wouldn’t let him go even if you asked.”

  Prenner chuckled, perhaps for the first time Brandt had ever seen. “Thank goodness.”

  They arrived at the door. “Are you going to be okay without me on this mission? Do you want me to stick around for a few days?”

  “No, no,” Brandt said. “We can only take three men this time anyway, so perfect timing.”

  They could hear the other men entering the offices.

  “Go say good-bye, then be on your way. I was serious about that. I need someone to pressure me into upping my game.”

  “You know it, sir. I will make you proud.”

  “That is one bet I am taking,” Brandt said as Prenner walked away.

  The man should have had his own team long ago, if it hadn’t been for that idiotic “Don’t ask. Don’t tell,” policy. The man had held himself back, so that his personal life wouldn’t be scrutinized.

  Now that he could show everything that he was, he’d blossomed completely into an amazing soldier.

  Brandt was proud to be a part of that journey.

  He leaned back in his chair, breathing in the rarified air of Special Forces.

  Even after all the near misses, the danger, the fear, and yes, even the goat carriage…

  God, it was good to be back.

  * * *

  Rivalry – the bridge short story between StormFront and Heresy

  Brandt braced one hand against the passenger side window and the other hand against the sport car’s console. Normally, he could take Lopez’s driving, but there was nothing normal about what was happening right now.

  What was normally just inventive, aggressive driving seem to have turned into a death wish. A very, very satisfying death wish.

  Lopez’s smile looked like a plastic surgeon had messed up and made him look like the Joker. The problem was the smile was real, even as the corporal tipped the car over on two wheels as he turned a corner.

  Slamming the car back down on all fours, Lopez gunned the engine, laying down rubber for half a block.

  Another car came in sideways, barely missing them by an inch. Brandt looked over to the passenger of the other car. Van’s eyes were dilated and her hands white knuckled on the door handle.

  Brandt was almost glad that Van was here. He didn't feel like such a wimp.

  Davidson was spread-eagled behind Brandt, trying to keep himself from rolling around in the back seat.

  Brandt was just glad the mother of his children wasn't here. Rebecca was back home for this mission, since it didn’t involve any religious fanatics. Small favors.

  This wasn't how the mission was supposed to go down. No one in their right mind would have authored such a plan.

  However, out in the field you just had to roll with it. Like Lopez slamming on the brakes, flinging them all forward, then ducking behind Van’s car, ramming into the right rear bumper sending the other car into a spin.

  Why did Brandt think this wasn't going to end well?

  * * *

  Van's head hurt for a variety of reasons. One was the knock to her skull she took on the window. Another was the centrifugal force being applied to the car. The last was how sideways this mission had gone and was going right now, literally.

  Sam, Van's new wheelman, wasn't about to be out done by Lopez's ploy.

  Ever since the young woman had heard that she was going up against possibly the world's best wheelman, Samantha's cray-cray had gone off the charts.

  Not even Paris looked good when you were spinning round and round.

  After pulling them out of the spin, Sam really floored it.

  "Now for some speed."

  Now?

  But Van couldn't get the word out as her head was snapped back against the headrest, which really at this point was a misnomer.

  Then Vanessa saw the traffic circle up ahead and realized how Samantha was going to catch up to Lopez.

  No, no, no, no.

  Van thought she was saying it, but who could know over the scream of the engines and Bernadette’s sobs.

  Somehow, the French woman had crawled so far under Van's seat that Van feared she was sitting right on top of Bernadette’s head.

  Normally, Van would have chastised the woman for making a scene, however, at this point Vanessa almost wished she was down there with the redhead.

  Van never should have agreed to this race. But it was the only way to get close to the guy who was transporting enough radioactive material for a very large and very powerful dirty bomb.

  What was a little physical discomfort compared to millions of people dying a painful death?

  Right now, Vanessa could not have answered that question fairly

  * * *

  Rebecca carried one of the twins under her arm, as she chased the other. It was amazing how quickly the babies were growing up. Even though Jimmy was wobbling side-to-side, lurching between one object and another to keep himself upright, he was still evading her capture.

  They had been playing their favorite game, cowboys and Native Americans. Even though she didn't allow toy guns, they still managed to fashion them out of popsicle sticks. So much for political correctness.

  Kasa hugged Rebecca’s heel, recounting everything that her “Grand-monster” had made her do. Things like wearing a dress. Like getting her nails painted, horror of horrors, pink. And being forced to wear sandals rather than combat boots.

  Rebecca could remember how much she pined for her children while she was out in the field. How quickly reality hit. Now, she kind of was jealous of Brandt, out having the time of his life in Paris.

  After stubbing her toe on a toy train, Rebecca gave up the chase. Instead she sat crossed-legged on the floor, giving Davey raspberries on his tummy. It was like she was the Pied Piper, within moments, Jimmy turned up, pulling his shirt up for his own raspberries. She obliged.

  Rolling around on the floor Rebecca realized what a nice clean crisp carpet it was. Certainly not her own. She sat up rubbing her palm over the floor. Where was that stain from Kasa’s grape juice spill?

  And wasn't their carpet more brown and tan?

  She stood up, realizing what had happened. Her blood boiled.

  Mrs. Brandt had been so calm and arrogant when Rebecca got home. “No, of course there wasn’t any problem.” “Everything went smoothly.” “Honestly,” Mrs. Brandt said with her nose held high. “I don’t understand why you made such a big deal about having three small children.” “I had nearly five children back-to-back and never complained a quarter as much as you when my husband had been out in the field nearly all of his career.”

  Oh, Rebecca had bought that story hook, line and sinker.

  She turned Kasa. "Did grandma have this carpet replaced?"

  Kasa shrugged. “Grandpa took us out for ice cream, and when we came back it was here."

  Oh, that sneaky old woman. “Where else is there new carpet?"

  Kasa spread her arms," I think all of it and the slick stuff in the kitchen."

  No.

  Leaving the boys to play, Rebecca searched the rest of the house and it was true. Every bit of floor covering in the entire house was brand spanking new.

  She whipped out her phone and dialed her husband.

  He answered, but sounded distracted, and it seemed like he was in a machine shop. "Yah, babe, I'm in the middle of something, Is this important?"

  Rebecca was so angry she could barely answer. "Your mother. Your mother, she lied.”

  “Hon, what are you talking about?"

  There were the squealing brakes and someone screaming, but Rebecca didn't care.

  “Your moth
er said everything went fine, but then replaced every inch of carpet and linoleum in the house. Fine, my ass."

  “Babe, maybe she did it as a gift. We’re selling the house after all, to move back east."

  “Then why didn't she say anything?" Rebecca hissed.

  Another scream, more breaks and it sounded like Brandt dropped the phone and it rolled around the passenger well for a few seconds.

  When he came back on the line, he pretended the connection was going out. Like Rebecca hadn’t done that herself to Brandt's mother.

  “Breaking up, gotta go, just let mom have her pride."

  Then the line went dead.

  "Ugh!" Rebecca groaned, turning to Kasa. “Your grandmother.”

  Kasa smiled, “Welcome to my world."

  * * *

  Brandt feared that the knee that had barely survived the last mission was going to blow right here, right now.

  His foot was jammed so hard against the floor of the car that he feared his leg was going to snap in two.

  Thank God, the race was almost over. They just had to cross under the Arc de Triomphe.

  After that, he wasn't sure what was going to happen. He just knew that they were on some kind of adrenaline-fueled working interview.

  The gunrunner, Bouchard, after all, was a racing junkie. Not the kind of street races where everyone shows up and oohs and ahhs over the cars. No, this guy was all about speed.

  Once you applied to enter the race, you were his. You would get a text and no matter where you were or what time it was, the race was on. He texted you a map of the course that threaded all through Paris. Forget having blocked off streets or the cops on the payroll. Traffic, pedestrians, and police were all part and parcel of the race.

  Participating in the race was the only way they’d found to get close to the man. Interpol, the CIA and MI-6 hadn’t been able to penetrate his organization, after two years of trying.

  Brandt didn't have the time to piddle around trying to work his way up in the organization. Supposedly, Bouchard was going to be moving two hundred sex slaves in the next few days. Those women were not going to be sold, not If Brandt had anything to say about it.

  Van’s concerns were even more urgent. That radioactive waste had to be intercepted.

  So here they were, both in a race neither one wanted to be in. Their wheelmen, however? This was the time of their lives.