Code Name: Bikini

by Christina Skye

  The puzzle pieces snapped into place.

  Cruz meant them to think he’d gone to the Promenade level lifeboats, but Trace sensed their target was four decks lower. A man could hide webbing and rope nearby, using the staff balconies for access to the water. The area was only two or three minutes via service elevator from the food storage area where Dakota had found Gina.

  Trace tapped a swift code on his walkie-talkie to alert the others. Then he ran down the corridor, with Duke straining eagerly at his side.

  DAKOTA TOUCHED his headset, assimilated the code and then scanned the staff room.

  Gina and Sunny were sitting in armchairs, now wrapped in blankets and surrounded by crew members. Sunny was talking to her father via borrowed cell phone. They would be fine now.

  According to Trace, Cruz was headed to a staff area one floor up.

  The SEAL turned and sprinted for the aft elevator.

  CLOUDS RACED before a thready moon that offered little illumination.

  Hidden in the darkness beyond the first balcony, Trace watched shadows ripple over the hull of the ship.

  Wind tore at his face as he tried to plot Cruz’s next move.

  Duke felt it first, his body going stiff. Then the dog dropped, head toward the next balcony aft. Object sighted.

  There.

  Movement rippled over the hull. A figure slid from shadow to shadow, rappelling down the side of the ship. With his night-vision glasses, Trace made out a new-generation oxygen rebreather and wet suit.

  He aimed his rifle, but the ship’s motion made a tight aim impossible, and he couldn’t risk a shot that would alert Cruz to his presence.

  Trace twisted the line ready at his feet, clipped in carabiners and went quietly over the rail, wind cutting his face. As he hung free he plotted a line that would keep him in the shadows, yet gradually bisect Cruz’s descent.

  No matter the cost, Cruz could not leave the ship alive.

  The rope swung, shaking in the wind. Trace descended carefully, legs locked for stability around the line.

  Suddenly the shadow to his side stopped moving.

  Trace tensed as he was hit by waves of energy that slammed into his mind, shaking his concentration. He kept moving, despite a sickening sense of dizziness as Cruz’s energy projection ranged off the charts.

  Far below he saw a small fishing vessel bobbing on the dark water. The vessel had to be Cruz’s arranged pickup.

  Their lines were barely forty feet apart when Cruz turned. Two rounds exploded past Trace’s head. The third tore into his shoulder, jerking his hand from his rope.

  His fingers pulled free and he twisted wildly, banging the metal hull, then hooked his feet to restore his balance.

  Cruz speed-roped down and kicked him in the face, but Trace feinted, blocked Cruz’s feet and slashed upward at Cruz’s rope.

  As the two swung out over the water, a knife slashed through Trace’s vest. He jerked Cruz’s other foot, throwing him hard to the opposite side. His old team leader gave a skeletal grin and kicked Trace’s shoulder, pain exploding like shrapnel in his recent wound.

  But Trace kept one hand around Cruz’s nylon vest. If the tissue samples were anywhere, they would be there.

  From the corner of his eye he saw two figures roping down the hull. Trace recognized Wolfe and Dakota. A shot whined over his head and ricocheted off the hull.

  Dakota turned. Aimed. Another shot screamed through the darkness.

  On the hull Cruz jerked and groaned once. Then his grip loosened and he plunged toward the water. Only Trace’s hold on the vest blocked his descent.

  Trace twisted his arms, holding on despite the wrenching pain at his shoulder, feeling Cruz’s dead weight.

  It was over.

  FIRST WOLFE AND THEN Dakota swung into place beside him, securing Cruz’s inert body.

  Subject immobilized. Classified materials restored. Ryker would be ecstatic.

  Trace knew that he should have been relieved.

  Instead, all he felt was exhaustion and anger at the memory of Cruz’s betrayal.

  THE TWIN-ENGINE CHOPPER banked in from Mazatlán. Nine men jumped aboard, carrying boxes of equipment and one motionless figure with a long scar above his eye. The dogs followed.

  Trace was the last to go aboard. The ocean stretched black and restless beneath frothing clouds as he looked down at the cruise ship. His mind was already back at the Foxfire base in New Mexico.

  But his heart was aboard the ship. Thanks to Dakota’s report, he knew that Gina was fine. He had hoped to see her before the departure.

  To touch her face one more time.

  Not possible. The mission came first. It always would.

  He swung around, looking east, where the first pink tendrils of dawn brushed the horizon beneath layered clouds. In that moment Trace made a silent promise to himself and to Gina.

  He’d promised her a future.

  Somehow he was going to keep that promise.

  As the chopper surged from the landing pad, he thought he saw a dim image shimmer into view, slouched against one of the skids.

  Good work, Lieutenant.

  The phantom shape gave him a little two-finger salute and then vanished.

  Trace rubbed his neck and sighed. As soon as they were back, he meant to do some digging into Marshall’s death. He was also going straight to Ryker to cite precedents for bending the rules against personal attachments.

  If Ryker didn’t bend, was Trace prepared to leave the team?

  The question weighed heavy as he thought of the men who had taught him and of the country he served. He thought of comrades fallen on dark nights in places with no names. Could he really walk away from that and stay sane?

  He remembered Gina’s face when she’d kissed him. Her smile when she’d manhandled the forklift truck. Her grace and laughter and sheer courage.

  She’d given him her trust and her unqualified love. That kind of bravery made a man take stock of what he was missing.

  Trace took a last look back at the brightly lit cruise ship. Yeah, he could walk away from Foxfire. Changing wouldn’t be fast or easy, but he didn’t want that future if Gina wasn’t part of it.

  Ryker was going to find that out first thing.

  GINA AND TOBIAS WERE the first to reach the deck after the SEAL team pulled out. Tobias had given Gina the news in the infirmary, where she was being treated for hypothermia and dehydration. When she had insisted on at least a few details, Tobias had given her a statement of the success of the mission, though all names and departments involved were omitted. Now they stood on deck without a word, watching the chopper bank to the east against the pink light of dawn.

  Tobias winced a little as his arm, freshly draped in a sling, brushed the rail.

  “You okay?”

  “Just a scratch,” he said firmly.

  “They had to leave already?”

  “That’s the job, Gina.”

  She took a deep breath. It was what she had expected, but expecting didn’t make it hurt less. “He’s good at his job, too. I just wish…”

  She didn’t finish. The list was too long. Besides, she’d never played what if, and she wouldn’t start now.

  “By the way, the doctor said to give this to you.” Gina held out a white envelope. “He said one of the men left it for you.”

  Tobias studied the bold letters and slid the envelope carefully into his pocket.

  “Is it important?”

  He watched the helicopter bank to the east. “I think so. Damned important.” He put an arm awkwardly around her shoulders. “You think you know how your life is going to turn out. You think you have every detail planned. Then fate comes along and kicks you hard in the butt.” He looked at Gina. “Know what I mean?”

  She knew exactly what he meant.

  But there was a promise amid her pain. She wasn’t giving up on her SEAL, not for a second. If he didn’t look her up, she would track him down even if he was in a cave on the opposite side of t
he world.

  They had a future to plan. Hopes and dreams to share. The thought was exhilarating, but terrifying, too.

  As she faced the dawn, Gina swore that she wouldn’t settle for anything less. Trace had taught her that.

  She stood beside Tobias, watching the chopper race to the east. “Yeah, he’s good at his job.” She brushed a tear from her cheek. “And I had to make that crack about him lacking the skills to be a pastry chef.”

  “I think he forgave you,” Tobias said wryly. “Don’t worry, you’ll find him again. I saw the way he looked at you. The man won’t forget.”

  As the two stood on the deck, the sun broke free, bloodred above the horizon, and the helicopter faded to a vague dot in the distance.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Foxfire training facility

  Northern New Mexico

  One month later

  THE DOGS WERE on the move.

  Trace O’Halloran lifted his binoculars, scanning the steep slope. Inside a dusty arroyo, Duke and two other service dogs nosed along the ground in search of a carefully hidden cache of weapons. The hunt was their third training exercise of the day, and the excited Labs showed no sign of flagging energy.

  Trace crouched at the top of the slope, making notes as Duke jumped a row of boulders and skirted a fallen mesquite tree. A startled quail shot over their heads, and somewhere a spotted cactus wren shrieked a warning.

  Duke sniffed at the air and went still.

  As one, the dogs dropped to a prone position, their heads facing the buried metal box that held five shoulder-mounted Stinger missiles. They’d found their target in less than thirty seconds, Trace noted. Each time they searched, they had cut their target acquisition time by half.

  Were these guys great, or what? His sister had done another fabulous job training these special dogs.

  He noted final times and locations in his notebook and stood up. Ryker was going to be pleased with the dogs’ progress, no mistake about it. In another six months they’d be ready for full field assignments.

  Suddenly Duke’s head cocked. Gunfire erupted from an outbuilding across the wash. Why was an idiot using live ammo near the testing area?

  Trace grabbed his walkie-talkie and gave hell to the team doing maneuvers across the hill. When he turned back to the arroyo, his dogs were gone.

  He skirted a cactus and ran down the slope, following the fresh prints in the sand. Behind a dead cottonwood tree, he found one of them sniffing in the sand.

  Before Trace could give a signal to heel, Duke trotted up and dropped something at his feet. Trace realized it was a glove he’d dropped two days before during a night training session. The dogs had found it for him.

  He was rewarding Duke with a thorough scratch behind the ears when another dog nosed in and dropped something pink on Trace’s knee.

  Satin and lace gleamed in the sunlight. Trace blinked down at the unfamiliar item while Duke shoved it closer, his tail wagging hard.

  Trace realized the soft satin top belonged to Gina. He had found it in his cruise bag when he got back from the ship. It had to have dropped there by mistake after their night together aboard ship.

  His rascals appeared to be matchmaking.

  “I get the message. You want to see her, do you?” Duke squirmed closer and looked up intently. “Okay, I promise. It will be soon, if I have my way.”

  Wind shifted across the foothills while a hawk followed the restless currents high overhead. Trace felt the cool silk slide through his fingers and wondered what Gina was doing at that moment.

  Tension seemed to ripple over the wash. Trace had come to recognize the energy.

  “Cooking.” Light stirred above a gray boulder. Marshall’s face glimmered in the shadows, barely visible. “Arguing with Tobias.” Her eyes narrowed and she seemed to concentrate. “Thinking about you.”

  Trace folded the silk and lace and put it carefully in his pocket. He had only “seen” Marshall twice since leaving the ship. Each time she looked more indistinct.

  He couldn’t explain any of it, but he didn’t need science or explanations. Now he accepted that she was real, if only for him.

  Suddenly Duke turned, staring intently at the boulder where Marshall sat. The dog sniffed the air, then trotted across the wash.

  “You’re a beauty, aren’t you?” Marshall leaned down, stroking the dog’s head. “Smart, too.”

  Duke gave a little whine of contentment as Marshall’s phantom fingers combed through his fur and smoothed his neck. The other dog curled up at Marshall’s feet.

  The dogs could see her, Trace realized. Why or how, he couldn’t say. The reasons didn’t bother him too much now. He accepted that he might never have the answers.

  “They love you, you know. Especially Duke. Be sure to clean his left back paw because he picked up a cactus spine on that last search.” Marshall smiled a little sadly. “I always wanted a dog. We moved so often that I never got one.” Duke wriggled forward and sat in the space next to Marshall’s leg. The dog whined softly, his head tilted up in the sunshine.

  “It’s done. You don’t need me anymore so I came to say…goodbye.” Her fingers stroked Duke’s dark fur. “Don’t worry about me. If you look, you’ll find out what happened. But it isn’t so important now. I’m moving on.”

  Duke made a little huff of contentment.

  Trace didn’t know what to say.

  “You don’t have to say anything. I’ll miss you, Trace. But you have to know when to hold on and when to let go. For me it’s time to let go.”

  I’m going to miss you, too.

  Her face seemed to grow fainter. “There’s one more thing. Protect what you’ve found. There’s nothing more important anywhere.”

  Trace didn’t need to ask what to protect. The feelings he’d felt since the day he’d seen Gina on a crowded San Francisco street had continued to grow, whether the two were together or not. And he’d find Gina as soon as Ryker lifted his ban on travel, following Trace’s recent medical tests.

  Sunlight shimmered over the slope.

  Leaves stirred along the cottonwood tree, and when Trace blinked Marshall was gone. The air was warm and hazy, full of her presence as Duke sat up, whining slightly.

  Trace didn’t move. Without words he said the final goodbye he had somehow been unable to frame until this moment. He felt Duke’s cold nose brush his hand as the three of them stared at the sunlight where Marshall no longer appeared.

  She was gone for good. Trace couldn’t explain how or why.

  Suddenly Duke sat up, staring toward the top of the arroyo. His tail began to bang in the dust.

  Boots crunched on sand and Izzy appeared, a black backpack slung over one shoulder. “You three are a tough bunch to find. Hey, where’s my greeting?”

  Duke bounded up the slope and rolled over once, then shot into the air, front paws landing against Izzy’s chest in a well-rehearsed routine.

  “Yeah, that’s better. How’s O’Halloran treating you? Is he giving you those dog treats I left? Brushing you enough?”

  “They’re spoiled rotten, Teague. Stop busting my chops, will you?”

  Trace hunkered down and watched Duke pirouette around Izzy, waiting for the piece of dried salmon that emerged from Izzy’s high-tech backpack. “There goes my routine,” Trace said dryly.

  “Hell, you’re way ahead of schedule and you know it. These two are doing things even Ryker didn’t expect.” Izzy looked across at Trace. “How about you?”

  Trace’s hand moved unconsciously to his collarbone. All his technology had been gradually reactivated over the past weeks, and the returning abilities had felt as natural as coming home. When Marshall had appeared, he’d sensed a powerful shift in the energy unlike anything else he’d felt before.

  One more detail he wasn’t fighting to analyze.

  “Are the chips fully functional?”

  “Better than before. It’s already hard to be without them now.”

  “You won’t be
without them again, not if Ryker has his way. He has some new plans on the drawing board, but he’ll tell you about that when he’s ready.” Izzy frowned, straightening his backpack. “I’ve got some information for you about Marshall. There was evidence of foul play that the local authorities missed in their initial crime-scene analysis. There were no clear marks indicating struggle near the edge of the river, but that changed when I tracked down a second set of crime-scene photographs that had been mislogged to another case.”

  “So it wasn’t suicide.” Trace took a deep breath. “I never believed it was. Marshall was too tough for that.” His eyes hardened. “Any idea who did it?”

  “There are several leads. Most likely it was a random, opportunistic attack. I’m following up, don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried. I don’t think it matters to Marshall now.” Trace stood up, brushing twigs and leaves from his knee. “Thanks for keeping an eye on the details.”

  “Not a problem. What’s a techno-geek like me for, except to watch the data streams?” As Izzy scratched Duke’s head, he glanced back over the hill. “Dakota said he’s ready to take the dogs for their medical assessment as soon as you’re done. He looked a little pale though.”

  “Too many green chile burritos last night, he said. The man has an appetite that doesn’t stop.”

  Izzy rubbed his neck, frowning at the air above Duke’s head.

  “Something wrong?”

  “Me? No.” Izzy frowned at the backpack near his foot. “Hell, maybe there is. I had a call from Tobias Hale today. Ryker offered him a job here at the facility.” Izzy spoke in tight, clipped tones. “He’s starting as soon as the cruise line can find a replacement.”

  “That bothers you?”

  Trace knew there was a rocky past between Izzy and Hale, but he’d never asked for details.

  “It bothers the hell out of me,” Izzy said curtly. “I’m going to have to see the man every day, eat meals with him, discuss data with him.” He rubbed his jaw and glowered. “Treat him as an equal.”

  “He did a good job with Cruz. You know that.”