by Ronie Kendig
“If … excuse me.” She stepped around him and skipped a step back into the house.
“Miss Roark, wait.”
His words sent her running. She dashed into her room and slammed the door shut. Knowing Alexandra would come after her, Dani locked the door, leapt into the bed, and yanked the covers over her head.
Buried, she stemmed her tears. Focused on just being … safe. Alone. Quiet. He must think her an imbecile, going nuts at the sight of a lonely, dark hallway. She just wanted to be normal again. Wanted to get back to work, wanted to have a life. Not feel the stinging sensation of being raped with every step she took.
Minutes later, Alexandra’s frantic voice called from the other side of the door. The handle jiggled. Her sister’s quiet crying eventually faded into the oblivion of sleep that claimed Dani. By the time her eyes fluttered open, the soothing blues of dusk had plowed into the sky. She nudged back the comforter—and stopped short.
“Good evening, Danielle.” Soft lines creased the eyes under white, short-cropped hair.
Instant panic bottomed out, embraced by relief. She pushed herself upright. “General Lambert.” She looked to the door. It sat open. She could run. Evade. Her eyes drifted back to his. Kind. Compassionate. Fatherly. “What’re you doing here?”
A sad smile tweaked the sides of his mouth. “Keeping a promise to an old friend.”
Mom. The thought pushed her back against the bed.
“But I’m afraid I have bad news, Danielle. Out of respect to your mother and to you, I chose to deliver the news personally.” His expression faltered in a very subtle way. What was that look? Sadness? Anger?
Braced against the edge of the bed, she waited. What could be so horrible? It wasn’t like he would send her back there. It wasn’t like Bruzon could come and get her. So she waited, believing she could brave whatever he told her.
He stood and walked to the windows where he peered up at the sky. Finally, he turned to her. “I’m afraid the government has … concerns about the validity of the information you delivered.”
The veiled accusation drew her from the mattress. “Concerns?” Chest heaving, she tried to calm herself. “Validity? I gave them Bruzon’s blueprints!”
He held up a hand as his gaze lowered. “I know. I know.” A sigh. “But they question that he would leave that out for you to steal, that he would be walking around with that information. They think it’s too tidy, too clean a scenario. In fact, they discovered a significant amount of evidence on your computer.” He nodded to the Dell she hadn’t touched since returning. “There are pieces of this so-called evidence that anyone with a brain would question the validity of, but the ‘proof’”—he hooked his fingers for air quotes—“was too strong for them to deny. There were images of you with Bruzon—”
“Hello? He held me for six months. Of course I was with him!”
“Two years ago. At his vacation home.”
“That’s impossible!”
“And they’ve found an offshore account in your name. With a significant amount of money deposited recently.”
Dani gulped.
“They believe you’ve helped Bruzon in some way to obtain either the technology or the contacts to secure the technology you say is in that underground bunker.”
“Are they out of their minds? How would I gain the technology for nuclear weapons or WMDs—and that’s exactly what’s he’s building down there!”
Lambert nodded. “I’m just trying to help you understand.” He huffed. “Never mind. There is no way to understand it. But that’s their position.”
She sucked in a breath. That meant— “No …”
Sorrow clung to his handsome, weathered features. “I’m sorry, Danielle, but the FBI has been reviewing your debriefing transcripts as well, and they’ve requested an interview. The Senate Subcommittee on Select Intelligence is launching an investigation, which could lead to criminal charges.” He drew himself straight.
“They are investigating you regarding espionage or treason.”
CHAPTER 3
Capitol Hill, Washington, D.C.
February should be warm. Okay, for the average Joe, that would seem ludicrous, but Canyon preferred warmer. Like San Diego. Or the Caribbean. Not brittle with stinging slush numbing his toes as he climbed the steps of the Capitol building.
Canyon shrugged as he tugged open the door and stepped onto the gleaming vinyl floor on the Hill. A security checkpoint cleared him, and he strode toward courtroom A10 in response to the AHOD sent by General Lambert. Curious. Most all-hands-on-deck relays ordered deployment. This one sent him to a senate subcommittee hearing.
On the second floor, he spotted a small group huddling outside the courtroom. His mind leapfrogged over the heads—straight to one semiwavy patch of black hair. No way. What was he doing here?
Movement to the side snagged his attention. Max “Frogman” Jacobs. Their eyes met before the team leader passed through the double doors. Right behind him Legend strolled by, sipped from the water fountain, then disappeared into the same courtroom.
Canyon would go in eventually, but first he wanted answers. He marched up to the small crowd.
“What’re you doing here?” Range glanced to the side, eyes wide.
“I could ask the same, little brother.”
“I told you last night I had a trial.”
Canyon blinked. “When?”
“When you came by the house to drop off Mom’s prescription.”
Canyon didn’t remember that, but whatever. After a quick shoulder-patting hug, he grinned and glanced around those gathered, trying to understand why his brother was here instead of out baiting illegals on the Gulf.
A quasi-attractive woman with short, dark hair clung to a slick-suited guy. A politician, if the condescension oozing from the man spoke loud enough. An older suit joined them, vague recognition flickering through Canyon’s mind. Where had he met him before? The man moved toward a fourth person.
A woman. Long hair hung in cascades of dark brown. Thick and silky like the chocolate fountain at the big bash Lambert threw for the team last Christmas. With her back to him, Canyon couldn’t decipher age, but the thin frame was too skinny for his liking. Why women these days stayed on the gross side of skinny, he’d never get.
As soon as the older man touched her elbow, she jerked free and took a step back. Defensive posturing. Interesting.
Tension zapped the already chilled foyer. Range sucked in a quick breath.
Curiosity piqued, Canyon gauged the responses. What was going on?
“Danielle,” the man spoke to her. “I’m sorry. It’s time to go in. Are you ready?”
She glanced over her shoulder—straight at Canyon. The purest honeyed eyes he’d ever seen pierced him. Something deep inside him burned. Attractive? No. Beautiful. Stunning. But the vacancy in her expression pulled at him. He’d seen hollowed-out gazes like that before. Soldiers, dead on the bed of a helo.
Then his mind switched gears. Why were they leading her into the courtroom? The flood of information—and her locked gaze—left his mind jumbled. “Why …?” He tried to get his brain back in gear. “Why are you here?” he mumbled as he angled his head toward his brother.
“I’m here to testify,” Range said. “Remember why I missed Thanksgiving?”
Barely hearing his brother, Canyon kept his gaze on the woman. Two fresh scars pinked her forehead and chin. Maybe it wasn’t anorexia that had her thin. Starvation? His brain finally engaged with the story his brother had lamented over. At the time, Canyon felt his little brother was letting his Coastie work get to him. But now, maybe he understood his brother’s attention to the case. A woman escaping a Venezuelan rebel camp? Surely this wasn’t that woman.
A sudden slap to his gut snapped his narrowed gaze to his brother.
“I’m talking to you.”
He felt the scowl and washed it free. “Sorry.” Again he looked at the girl, but the older man herded her into the courtroom, sans tou
ching. “Who is she?”
“Aren’t you listening? I just told you—the woman I pulled from the Caribbean over two months ago.” Range took a few steps, then pivoted toward him. “And back off.”
Canyon couldn’t help the grin. So, his little brother had his sights on the hottie, huh? “Isn’t she a bit out of your league, rich and what, twenty-five?”
“She’s only two years younger than me, and don’t do that—she’s not like the girls you date. She’s nice.”
Twenty-six, huh? A bit young but … Canyon grinned. “Isn’t Valentine’s Day soon?”
Range shook his head and closed the gap between them. “Canyon. I’m not kidding. It’s not like that.”
Chuckling, he enjoyed the torment on his brother’s face. “Really?”
“She’s been through more than enough.” Range stuffed his fingers against Canyon’s chest and nudged him back. “This isn’t a game. Leave her alone.” A warning hung in the stale, air-conditioned air. “I mean it.”
Surprise wove through him. Range hadn’t gone serious over a girl since the high school fallout. There was something his little brother wasn’t telling.
Range sighed, then furrowed his brow. “Why are you here?”
Unfortunately Nightshade-related activities were eyes only. “Consultation.” He patted his brother’s shoulder and stalked into the courtroom, showing his ID to the guard.
Canyon planted himself in a chair in the far corner of the balcony, lower level. From this angle he had a perfect line of sight on her profile. Surprisingly, Lambert eased into the seat on her left and whispered something to her before moving into the gallery of seats fenced off behind the floor of the committee room. Sitting over her. Like a godfather. The older man—her father?—leaned down and planted a kiss on her head.
She twitched and swallowed hard.
What was that about?
As her father sat next to Lambert, the Old Man’s gaze tracked the courtroom, probably searching out the team. Canyon winked at Nightshade’s sponsor, then glanced back to her—and froze when his gaze collided with those caramel eyes. Something wormed through his gut, unable to break the electrified connection. The ambivalence and cool facade seemed out of place on her sultry face. As if it hid a dark secret.
“I will defend her.”
At the words not his own, warmth shook Canyon. What was this feeling? Where had it come from? He’d only renewed his life to Christ a year ago, but even he had heard stories of God using people to help others. Maybe … maybe God could use him somehow.
Yeah, right. A mess like you?
Still … He gave her a slow, acknowledging nod. A popping cracked through the hum of conversation in the room as a senator called the hearing to order. Unwilling to break the connection, Canyon held her gaze. But a shoulder surfed into the way, severing the link. His brother squinted at him as he sat next to her at the witness table.
Senator Miller spoke, opening the hearing, then proceeded through formalities. From the corner of his eye, Canyon noticed the way the girl remained ramrod straight and unaffected by the words of the next twenty minutes.
Blah, blah, blah. Get on with it, lady. The seats weren’t exactly padded to perfection.
“Our first witness will be Lieutenant Danielle Roark.”
The rank pulled Canyon forward. Lieutenant? He hadn’t pegged her as military.
“Lieutenant Roark, would you please state your profession?”
She eased toward the mic and cleared her throat. “I’m a demolitions expert with the Corps of Engineers.”
“Would you please relate to us the events of seven May of last year?”
Hands clasped on the table, Roark drew in a breath that hissed through the speakers, tightening Canyon’s gut with anticipation. “My team was sent into a backwater village to blow a bridge believed to be the primary route used by local rebels to transport drugs and kidnap the citizens, selling them as sex slaves.” Her soft voice pitched on the last two words. She took a sip of the water sitting on the table, and water sloshed over the side because of her trembling hand.
Range quickly wiped the spot as she continued.
“We’d almost finished the rigging, when they descended on us, en masse. Of the thirteen on my team, five were killed as we engaged the VFA—”
“Excuse me,” a gruff, wiry-haired senator cut in. “Please define VFA.”
Roark wet her lips and nodded. “It stands for El Valor de Fuerzas Armadas de Bolivarian. ‘The Courage of Bolivarian Army.’ It’s the army mustered by Humberto Bruzon, which has recently been legitimatized by the country’s president.”
The man grunted.
“Our team fought hard against the VFA.”
And Canyon bet she gave a solid fight. Which begged the question about why she seemed so broken now.
“What happened then?” Miller queried, jotting notes on a yellow pad.
“We were losing too many too fast, but we were willing to fight to the death. However, an order came from Command to stand down. The rebels rounded us up. Survivors were stuffed on a truck and transported to a facility a few klicks from the coast.”
“Who gave the order to stand down, Lieutenant?”
“Sergeant Dean, ma’am.”
“Go on. Where were you taken?”
“I—I …” Brushing dainty fingers through her hair, Roark lifted her head and composure. Chin out, she continued. “Being the only female, I was separated from the rest of the team. I didn’t know at the time, but the others were taken deeper into the jungle and held for ransom.”
“And where were you taken, Lieutenant?”
Lips pursed, she hesitated, and Canyon found himself silently encouraging her. “I … to a location less than a kilometer from the ocean. A fifteen-story building that looked like any other corporate tower.”
“Was it?” Senator Miller prompted, her voice not completely void of compassion.
“No, ma’am. There was a secret military bunker below it. That’s where I was held.”
Senator Miller, with her perfectly coiffed curls, sent a sympathetic expression to the young woman. “Miss Roark, I realize you’ve been through a lot, but I need you to tell the panel what happened to you in the custody of the VFA.”
Roark’s gaze darted to Olin, who gave her a supportive, encouraging nod. She took another sip of water, then drew in a breath. “When I first arrived, I was stripped, hosed down, searched, and beaten.” The words came out in a rush, almost tumbling on top of one another. “That was the first night.”
“Continue.”
“For the next few days, I was left alone … naked … in a cell.” Her gaze fluttered to the floor in front of the long table. “A group of high-ranking officers arrived after four or five days. They … they, uh … they knew I was the one rigging the explosives to blow their bridge, so they … um, they wanted to punish me.” Her eyes blinked rapidly. She cleared her throat again. “They took turns raping me.”
Merciful God. Canyon recoiled.
The questioning continued, each minute adding to the acid boiling in his intestines. Nausea had nothing on what he felt listening to the horrific testimony. That the woman could sit here and relate the story without falling apart made him marvel. Finally the panel took a short recess. Canyon didn’t move. Couldn’t. If he did, he might hurt someone. Fury roiled through his chest. But why did he care? He didn’t know this girl. And he’d certainly seen worse done to female captives. He wrestled with the thoughts as the hearing reconvened.
“Our second witness is Chief Petty Officer Range Metcalfe,” a male voice announced forcefully—Senator Billings. “Chief, can you please tell us about the rescue operation to retrieve Lieutenant Roark?”
“Yes, sir.” Range sat forward, crisp and at attention, making Canyon proud. “We received the call at 0217 to rescue a floater. A couple found her adrift. I used the basket to retrieve her from the deck. She was hypothermic and despondent. Once in the bird, we wrapped her in thermal blankets and deli
vered her to Walter Reed.”
“Your report,” Billings began, his cold, unfeeling tone grating along Canyon’s spine, “says that she was wearing nothing but an army jacket.” Billings peered over his reading glasses. “Is that correct, Chief Petty Officer?”
Range stole a nervous glance to Roark. “Yes, sir, that’s correct.”
“What about her condition?”
“Besides skin discoloration from the hypothermia, she had lacerations to her right temple and lower left jaw. Her lip was swollen, as was her right eye. Multiple lacerations and burns on her legs and arms proved she’d been through a lot.”
So, Canyon had eyed the scars right. Two months old. Still a bit pink.
A shift happened when Billings petitioned the panel to return to Roark for more questions that arose from Range’s answers. Though Senator Miller challenged Billings, the others felt further inquiry could be beneficial. Canyon wanted to throttle the fat, overbearing Billings.
“Lieutenant Roark,” Billings barked, eliciting a jerk from her. “When you were picked up by the Coast Guard, you were wearing a jacket from the Venezuelan army. It is reported the patch bore the name Bruzon. Can you explain how you came into possession of that jacket?”
Bruzon? Canyon’s hackles rose. He’d seen the handiwork of that guerilla firsthand. Heard numerous reports of much worse. And yet, no evidence had been lifted that could put him behind bars. In fact, he’d all but seized power in the country through his not-so-subtle and entirely brutal tactics. Admiration toward Roark grew. She’d survived that animal and sat here telling the story.
“As I said,” she said, then stopped and drew in a breath she blew out harshly. “I was transferred to the military installation where I was raped.” She cleared her throat again. “General Bruzon …”
Bent forward Canyon balled one fist and rubbed his knuckles with other.
“Are you saying General Bruzon is one of the men who raped you, Lieutenant?” Senator Miller asked gently.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Billings ripped off his reading glasses. “That still doesn’t explain how you got his jacket.”
