Boyer frowned, looking down at his boots. “You know, I’ve always wondered what happened that day. I read the file, but I don’t understand why you were the only one taken prisoner.”
“To be honest, I don’t know. I’ve been trying to forget my time there,” Remy admitted. “But over the last few weeks it struck me that this was planned. I think the attack was a cover. But I don’t understand why.”
“What happened while you were imprisoned? Did they ask for information? What were their demands?”
Remy clenched the beer bottle in front of him and downed the disgusting liquid. He hadn’t spoken of his imprisonment, not even to David. Sure, David was the one who rescued him. David had seen Remy’s condition, but he never asked what had happened and Remy never told. Some things were better left unsaid—even six years after the fact.
If it was David alone who was questioning his imprisonment, Remy might have answered. But with Boyer, Remy didn’t want to talk. Maybe he didn’t want to seem weak in his eyes. Maybe he wanted the past to stay where it was.
Whatever the reason, Remy stayed silent until Boyer prodded him again.
“Well?”
Remy sat back, his hands white-knuckled on his knees. “It’s the same shit at any enemy prison, right? They starve you, beat you, torture you.” Remy stopped. The pain was coming back, and it wasn’t just emotional remnant bull crap. Real physical pain seared his skin. He could feel every slash and scar as if he was reliving the experience. He breathed, pushing away the ache.
He was used to flashbacks; he’d had them constantly in the beginning. But with each episode, Remy gained more control and was able to contain it quicker.
The not-so-funny thing was, by the end of his imprisonment, Remy no longer felt any pain. He’d no longer felt anything at all, like his body was no longer his; it belonged to a stranger. The only thoughts in his head were of death. No body. Just a broken mind that made bargains with God, the devil, or whoever might be listening.
“They also interrogate,” Boyer added, ripping Remy from his thoughts.
Running his hand down over his face, scrubbing the last memory away, Remy nodded. “Yes, they interrogated.”
“What did they ask?” Boyer slipped his feet off the table as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.
“I didn’t understand them,” Remy answered. “None of them spoke English.”
Boyer frowned. “I don’t get it. Why go out of your way to capture a man and then not be able to speak to him?”
Remy shook his head. He often wondered the same thing. He remembered repeating, “I don’t understand,” until it became a mantra. But there was a word they repeated, a word Remy understood even through their butchering accents. Months after David had rescued him, Remy searched for connections to this word—if only to get it to stop echoing in his mind—but there was no ulterior mention of it in any web search, and all of his regular leads were dead-ends. He even contacted linguists with Middle Eastern dialect knowledge, wondering if he had heard an Arabic word with English ears and got it all wrong. No one could give him the answer.
But somehow it seemed familiar. As if it was always a part of him. As if it was permanently etched into his DNA.
Venom.
* * *
To say Ava was agitated would be an understatement. In less than three days, she had to find Brock, get him on a plane to the East Coast and then onto a boat. She could almost see his reaction now. If she wasn’t in danger before, she definitely would be after she spoke with him.
If he’d even let her speak. He wasn’t too receptive the other day. Not that she blamed him.
This was spiraling out of control. Rarely did she have all of the information when she started a job, but now she only knew coordinates.
And that Brock was to be the transfer.
She didn’t like the sound of that. But she couldn’t very well stop what was already set in motion. There was too much at stake. Ava had to play along and follow the bread crumbs.
But one man could tip the odds in her favor.
Jared Boyer.
Chapter 6
Remy watched as Boyer stood and stared out the window, his hands behind his strong back, his shoulders square, and his head tilted up. Moments before, Boyer had received a call and was clearly affected by it. Remy watched as his expression shifted slightly as the call progressed. It was enough to make Remy wonder who was on the other line. Boyer’s few grunts and ah-hems left many gaps.
Either way, it was none of Remy’s business. He made it a rule never to pry into another person’s affairs.
Boyer rubbed the back of his neck. Something was clearly bothering him. Remy looked over at David, who raised a brow in question. Remy jerked his head in Boyer’s direction, giving David the cue to say something. David shook his head and pointed back at Remy.
Remy declined. He’d quietly sit here for a month before opening his mouth.
Boyer cleared his throat and turned to face them. “So,” he began and then paused a moment. He shook his head with a small laugh. “You’ll never guess who was on the phone.”
Both Remy and David remained silent, waiting as Boyer stopped to collect his thoughts.
“It was Ava,” he finally said.
Remy sat perfectly still as though the words didn’t affect him, as though the air hadn’t been swept from his lungs.
“What did she want?” David asked.
Boyer scratched his jaw. “My help. It seems she’s hunting big game.” He looked over at Remy, whose vision was splintering. “It seems you’re in demand. Should I tell her yes?”
David shot up from his chair. “For the love of God! Will she stop at nothing?”
“If you boys want to find out what she’s up to, you may as well play along. If she thinks she has the upper hand, she might be more willing to talk.”
David threw his hands into the air, disgusted.
“What do you suggest?” Remy asked.
“I’ll tell Ava that I can help, but . . .”
“What?” David prodded.
“If Ava came to me for help, then whatever she’s working could be military sanctioned. She knows I wouldn’t help her otherwise. If she’s the traitor you say she is, then she’s not the only one. Someone is giving her orders.”
Remy had the same thought, but to hear Boyer second that thought didn’t make him feel any better.
“I’ll do whatever you want,” Boyer said. “Just know that I can’t help once this is set into motion. I’m retired. I have no way to help you from the inside.”
Remy nodded. He knew that better than anyone.
“So, we just surrender, then?” David scowled. “We just let her have her way and go along for the ride?”
“I may go along for the ride, but I won’t be the one surrendering,” Remy promised.
* * *
Ava hauled the last of the provisions onto the boat she’d rented. She didn’t know the boat classification—she was never particularly fond of them in general—but it reminded her of a tugboat: a squatty tub with a wheelhouse at the top and a cramped galley and bedroom below deck. While it was a large boat, it wasn’t big enough to make her stop worrying about surviving any storms they might encounter. She prayed they wouldn’t be in that situation. There was a reason she was Army and not Navy.
Thankfully, this should be a short trip. They would sail out about two hundred miles or so, following the boat’s navigation system, and then head back. It might be one really long day if they were lucky. Two or three if they weren’t.
She dreaded this journey, not knowing what she was sailing into.
She dreaded seeing Brock, being confined on a boat with him. There’d be no escape for either of them.
Ava had flown to Florida, traveling down to the Keys after she had spoken with Boyer. He promised he would have Brock to her by the time they needed to sail. If Boyer came through on his promise, Brock would arrive at the designated rendezvous spot at six the next morning.
; Ava and Boyer had always had a good working relationship. She had served under him many times. She was thankful for his help, but there was something that made her nervous too. He was quick to help. Almost too quick. And he didn’t ask many questions, just the basics: where and when.
She chalked her hesitancy up to nerves. But there were moments like this when she felt as if she were walking into a trap of her own making.
Shaking it off, she began stowing the food and necessities below deck. The plans were already in motion. Even if she wanted to re-strategize, she couldn’t. She was running out of time, and there were too many forces at work.
She was only a puppet on very long, chafing strings.
* * *
Remy boarded the red-eye flight despite David’s very physical protests that left them both a little worse for wear. He was going alone and, unfortunately, without his gun. The duffle bag he packed was light, filled only with necessities and a few changes of clothes. He may as well have not packed anything at all. He felt naked without his sidearm.
With only a location and time that Ava had given Boyer, Remy didn’t know what he was walking into. He didn’t know if Ava would be there or if it was a trap . . . most likely a trap. But he couldn’t turn back. He wanted answers, he wanted justice, and he wanted . . .
Hell. He wanted a lot of things that might never happen, but at least he could get answers.
Remy found his seat and silently cursed.
Middle seat.
He squeezed past a younger man who looked as if he’d just crawled out of a bar.
Holy hell!
Remy cringed as the smell of booze, sweat, and puke filled his nostrils.
Stepping over the man, Remy wedged into his seat, his shoulders hunched forward, his knees jammed into the seat in front of him.
A willowy forty-something woman near the window shifted, giving Remy a little more room.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice gruffer than he intended, sounding more like a growl.
She pressed her hand to her throat, eyes wide.
Dammit. This always happened. Women were either terrified of him or eager to hop into bed with him. There was rarely a middle ground. He knew he was large and could look menacing at times, but he wasn’t an ogre. Although, he was told he acted like one sometimes.
The only woman he ever related to, who he thought he understood, was Ava. But look how that turned out.
Women were nuts.
He didn’t have to look at the woman to know she sat stiff like a statue. He could feel her nervous energy. Remy didn’t care. It was late, he was jammed into an uncomfortable seat, and he was flying into the unknown. At least he wasn’t subjected to some asinine polite conversation with a nitwit.
Something hard hit his shoulder. He looked over to find the man had passed out, Remy’s arm now the man’s pillow. He shrugged hard, letting out an annoyed growl, bobbing the man’s head away. The woman squeaked.
Remy felt like punching something.
Thump.
The man’s head bumped against Remy’s arm again, a string of drool hanging from the corner of his mouth.
For the love of God!
* * *
Ava awoke from a sound sleep. She sat up straight on the bed below deck, listening for sounds in the dark room. Her ears strained.
What woke her?
She skimmed her hand along the surface of the bed over to the edge. In a quick movement, she claimed the knife tucked under the mattress. She gripped the handle, waiting for a sound or movement.
Ava cursed at herself. She knew she shouldn’t have fallen asleep, but it was important to be at the top of her game, a game that she would quickly lose if not alert and focused.
A light thud came from above, stirring her into action. Ava bounded from the bed, the knife strangled in her grip. She crept toward the stairs, feeling along the wall to keep from bumping into anything in the unfamiliar quarters. Finding the stairs, she slowly climbed, listening for the intruder. She pressed her ear against the door.
Nothing.
Had she imagined it?
Couldn’t be. Her instincts were normally spot-on. Someone had to be on deck. Her skin prickled, and she began hoping her instincts were wrong this time. She might be trained in combat, but that didn’t mean she looked forward to it.
Letting out a breath that was lodged in her throat, Ava flipped the latch to unlock the door. It swung open, the hinges groaning from the assault. She was yanked from the doorway and slammed against the side. The knife flew out of her hand, skidding across the deck.
“What are you up to this time, traitor?” the voice snarled.
How did he find her? He was supposed to be miles from the dock. They were to meet at the rendezvous spot. Ava felt faint, her limbs soft and useless.
“Brock—” Ava started, only to be jostled harder.
“Remy!”
“I’m sorry,” she said, keeping still. She knew any movement would only fuel his anger.
His laugh was bitter. “A nice blanket apology. It covers so many sins. What are you up to this time?”
His question blasted her like shrapnel. She didn’t know how to answer because she didn’t know the answer herself.
How did he find her? What tipped him off? She knew it’d be wasted breath to ask, something she couldn’t afford to waste at the moment. His nearness was suffocating and overwhelming.
“This is bigger than you or me. This began long before Iraq.”
His grip on her arms tightened. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. She wouldn’t be weak, not in front of Brock. Not in front of anyone.
“Let go,” she demanded.
“So you can slit my throat?”
“I seem to have misplaced my knife,” she retorted.
If he was going to act boorish and not listen, then she wasn’t going to waste her breath. As it was, the sun was peeking up over the horizon. It was time to leave.
With a quick kick of her foot, she struck Brock’s leg. He didn’t react, just held her as tight as before. She’d often thought he was made of rock; that thought returned. Why was it Brock who had to be involved? Why couldn’t it be someone more manageable?
Well, if he wouldn’t let go by force, then . . . no, she probably shouldn’t. But . . .
Ava crushed her lips against Brock’s. His reaction was swift. She tumbled across the deck, bulldozed away by one of his thick arms.
That was going to leave a bruise, she thought as she picked herself up. Unfortunately, it wasn’t only her skin that was bruised. But it’d had the affect she wanted.
With the back of his hand, he wiped the kiss from his lips. “Don’t ever do that again, traitor!”
“I wasn’t the traitor!” Ava barked. “The day of the attack I went searching for him. I knew he was close. I never would’ve left had I known about the attack.”
“Don’t lie,” he snarled.
“I thought you were dead,” Ava confessed. “I came back to find body bags lined in trucks. I thought you were in one of them.”
It had been over one hundred degrees that day and yet the chill she felt, looking upon the row of dead soldiers, still haunted her to this day. Before she could even process Brock’s death, she was called back by an urgent summons.
She didn’t wonder why at the time, but someone must have known Brock wasn’t among the dead. Why wouldn’t they want her to find him? That was her job, after all. To find soldiers. Well, that and her other job; the one that no one knew about. The one she kept secret from Brock.
“Crying won’t help,” he said. “I don’t trust you. Nothing you can say or do will change that.”
Was she crying? Fat drops stung as they rolled down her cheeks.
She never cried.
Well, it was rare. The last time had been six years ago.
Remy turned away in disgust, distancing himself farther. “Whatever you’re going to do, do it now. I don’t want your lies or your tears.”
Ava brush
ed the droplets away and straightened. Remy narrowed his eyes as if waiting for her attack.
She turned and headed to the pilothouse. It was time to go. She was going to end this once and for all.
Somehow.
Chapter 7
Remy watched as Ava turned away, as if not wanting to engage with him. His lips still burned from her kiss no matter how many times he tried to wipe it away.
Why was she on this boat?
And why the hell did she just start the engine?
“Can you untie us?” she called.
A wave of fatigue settled over him as Ava calmly went about her business. It was as if nothing had happened. As if she wasn’t laying a trap but getting ready for a leisurely cruise. He wasn’t about to help cast off.
But how else could he get answers if he didn’t follow her?
Even if it was on a boat.
On an ocean.
A boulder formed in his throat. While he was a good swimmer and didn’t mind the water, there was something about the ocean that unsettled him — especially on a boat with Ava at the helm. He preferred his grave on land and not a thousand leagues under the sea. An urge to wrap himself in life jackets suddenly overwhelmed him.
“Well?” she questioned.
Remy growled as he stalked to the side and slipped off the ropes that anchored the boat, snatching his bag off the dock before Ava pulled away.
Watching as water separated them from land, Remy knew that Ava would always get her way. He might be stronger than her, but she ruled their destiny.
He’d keep his distance for now. While he wanted answers and to know how long he’d be stuck on this floating scrap of timber, he wasn’t going to argue, beg, or plead. He’d face whatever was waiting for him. He was done talking.
Remy cursed as his stomach rolled with the rocking boat.
This is why he was Army, not Navy.
My Traitor Page 5
