She blinked and laughed. “No.”
“Potential?”
“Uh . . . again, no.”
“Why not?”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
Brooke bit her tongue on the stammered response that threatened to spill out and took a calming breath before releasing her words. “I was dating someone before I left for Afghanistan. He didn’t want me to go.” There. That sounded reasonable enough. She tugged her hands from his.
“And yet you did. Why?”
She gave a tiny shrug. “Because I’m a bit of a brat.”
“Huh?”
“The guy I was dating was someone my father approved of. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I mean, I liked Kirk. He was a perfectly nice man.”
“But?”
“My father liked him. That one fact really threw me. And so I kept looking for things to dislike. I finally found one.”
“Which was?”
“He was nice to me, but he was nice to several other women as well. Turns out he wanted to ‘keep his options open, but I was in the lead’ when it came to his favorites.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“If only.”
“What a jerk.” Anger flashed in his eyes.
“He was definitely that.”
“I hope you punched him.”
“No, I didn’t resort to violence.” His look said he would have. For her. It made her stomach do strange things to know he would do something like that on her behalf. Not that she wanted him to punch anyone, but the fact that he would stand up for her touched her in ways she’d forgotten existed.
“What?” he asked. “What’s that look?”
“The only man who’s ever really offered to defend me is Paul.”
“I like Paul.”
“And Paul didn’t like Kirk.”
“In fact, I love Paul.”
A giggle slipped out and she covered her mouth. “How can you make me laugh when I’m telling you about one of the lowest times of my life?”
“It’s a gift.”
It really was. “Anyway, when I found out, I wasn’t too happy about it, as you can imagine. We were supposed to be having a dinner party with some of my father’s friends and associates. My father came into the room when he heard us arguing. He might be a strict, hard-nosed man, but he’s not stupid. He figured out pretty quickly what the topic of our argument was. He told us to suspend the discussion—his word, not mine—until after his guests had left. We did. The guests left, and before Kirk and I could get into it again, my father pulled me aside and said that men sometimes strayed but most came home to the wife and I should let it go. Kirk would be a good provider and had a promising career ahead of him.” She clicked her tongue. “Which would, of course, make my father look good.”
“He sounds a lot like my father.” He shot her a small smile. “Maybe that’s why I like you so much. You understand what it’s like to grow up with a man like that.”
“Well, I wasn’t having any of it. Told them both I was going to Afghanistan with the Army and Kirk was welcome to take a long walk off a short pier.” She grimaced. “It wasn’t original, but I was mad and it was the first thing that came to mind.”
“Sounds appropriate.”
“Hmm.” She studied him, suddenly realizing what he’d said a moment ago. “You like me so much? You do?”
He stilled and let his eyes linger on hers. She could sense the turmoil boiling beneath the surface. “So very much,” he said, moving closer, lowering his head. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you before. You fascinate me.”
“And that’s good?”
“I sure think so.” He hesitated while Brooke’s heart hammered in her chest. “Then again,” he said, “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”
“What?”
“Kissing you while we’re in the middle of such craziness.”
“Right.”
His hand lifted and his fingers trailed down her cheek. “So soft. How do you keep your skin so soft?”
“Um . . . moisturizer. I have a really good one, although I haven’t had much of a chance to use it lately.” Brooke wanted to smack herself. Had she really just said that? She cleared her throat gently. “Asher?”
“Yeah?”
“If you kiss me, you can’t be a client. Just . . . putting that out there.”
“I’m okay with that. Are you?”
“I’m okay if you’re o—”
His lips settled on hers. Soft, gentle, exploring, curious. Her pulse thundered in her ears while her knees went weak and her stomach flipped a three-sixty. His hand slid under the back of her head and tilted it, granting him better access. She leaned into him, sliding her arms around his waist, reveling in his closeness and the care he took while kissing her senseless.
“Well, well, little brother. I thought you were bringing a damsel in distress to hide out for a few days. Guess I know where to find you if you go missing in the middle of the night.”
Brooke had frozen at the first words and opened her eyes to meet Asher’s dark ones. Without taking his gaze from hers, he stepped backward and with one hand, slammed the door in his brother’s face. Then he pulled in a deep breath and dropped the other hand still resting at the base of her head. “That was Nicholas.”
“He’s charming.” Brooke was proud she was able to speak with a steady voice.
“He can be. Until he chooses not to be.” Thunderclouds rolled behind his eyes, defusing the sweet, if heated, moment.
“You didn’t punch him,” she said.
“Just say the word and I’ll be happy to.” He looked like he would enjoy it. “But truly, all he’s looking for is to get a reaction. One he can tell our father about. He’s not worth it.”
“I’m just teasing. I don’t want you to punch anyone, especially not your brother. Don’t worry about him. I can hold my own with him.” She wouldn’t mind asking him to have better timing. Being in Asher’s arms, kissing him, had been even better than she’d imagined—and she had a good imagination.
“He can be vicious, Brooke. Don’t underestimate him.”
“I’ve worked with people like him before. It’s okay. I’ll just treat him like a client.”
“Except he won’t want your help.”
“He doesn’t have to know I’m offering.” She sighed. “Seriously, most of the people I’ve tried to counsel in the past nine months haven’t wanted my help. I’m used to it.”
He winced and she squeezed his hand. “Soldiers are a tough group,” he said.
“No kidding.”
With a sigh, Asher pulled her into a hug, and she laid her head against his chest. She never wanted to move.
“That felt good,” he murmured.
“What? The kiss?”
“Well, that, yes. I’ve been wanting to do that for a while, but I have to say, slamming that door in Nicholas’s face ranks a close second.”
Brooke snickered.
Asher did too.
Brooke’s snicker turned to a giggle, then a full-on laugh. Asher stepped back and looked down at her for a moment, obviously fighting his own grin. Then laughter rumbled from him, and they held each other until tears of mirth tracked Brooke’s cheeks. She swiped them away. “Asher?”
“Yeah?”
“It wasn’t that funny.”
“We needed the laugh.” Asher pulled her back against his chest. “Was kind of funny, though. Wish I could have seen the look on his face.”
She took comfort from his embrace and the feeling of being safe. Cherished. “What now?” she asked.
“First, dinner, then we sleep, and tomorrow we figure this out and take down a group of killers.”
Kristin slid down the wall and pressed her palms to her eyes. “We have to get out of here.”
Halfway down the hall, they’d been interrupted by the administrative assistant looking for Dr. Madad. One of the children was seizing and they needed him immediately.
&nbs
p; At his hesitation, her eyes had widened. “Doctor? He needs help. Please!”
He’d pointed and told her to get back to the child. “I have to get my bag. I’ll hurry. Now get back to him. Stay with him until I get there.”
She’d spun on her heel and bolted.
The good doctor, with the director’s help, had shoved them into a large, mostly empty, supply closet with a warning hiss. “Director Yusufi will be outside. Make any noise and I’ll start killing the children—one by one.”
“Don’t do this,” Kristin said. “You’re a doctor!”
The door slammed in her face and she heard the click of the lock.
The minutes ticked past while Sarah paced, her phone in her hand, dialing. Kristin watched her, saw the fear on her face, the shaking in her hands, and the sheer determination to figure a way out of their current—and dire—situation.
“We’re too late, aren’t we?” Kristin asked. “She’s going to die, isn’t she?”
Sarah stopped. “I don’t know, Kristin, but if we don’t get out of here, other kids will for sure.” She stilled and listened. “Felicia, this is Sarah. Dr. Madad and the director, Abdullah Yusufi, have gone off the deep end.” She explained the current situation. “They’re using American soldiers who probably think they’re doing something good—or maybe they’re a part of the whole thing, I don’t know—to transport these kids somewhere—”
“Tajikistan,” Kristin said.
Sarah frowned at her. “What?”
“I overheard them say something about Tajikistan. It makes sense.”
“Okay, we suspect they’re crossing the border into Tajikistan with these children and turning them over to someone who’s probably acting like they’re adoptive parents from the United States. They’ll have passports and all the right paperwork. You need to stop them from getting on that plane. Okay. Thank you.” She hung up and looked at Kristin. “Help is on the way, heading here and the nearest airport, but we’re going to have to do our best to save ourselves until it can get here.”
Kristin nodded.
Sarah grabbed a bottle from the shelf with one hand and pulled the mop from the bucket with her other. “Here.” She gave the mop to Kristin. “Whoever opens the door, shove the mop into his stomach. It’ll distract him long enough for me to throw this ammonia in his face. Then we’ll deal with anyone with him.”
“You think that’s going to work?”
“I think we have to try.”
“Okay, then.”
The lock clicked and Kristin sucked in a breath. “Get ready,” she said.
When the door swung open, Kristin jabbed with the mop.
Dr. Madad yelled and doubled over, curses ringing. Sarah threw the ammonia. It missed Madad but hit Director Yusufi. He hollered and went to his knees, holding his eyes.
Dr. Madad shoved his way past her and ran at Sarah, who backed into the corner, keeping the shelving between her and the doctor’s gun. Kristin grabbed a glass bottle from the shelf behind her and swung it at the man’s head. It cracked against his left ear. He howled, whirled, and fired the weapon.
Pain shattered through her chest. She heard Sarah’s cry. Saw Paksima’s beautiful smile even as she saw Sarah throw herself at the doctor. The gun clattered to the floor. Fire radiated through her and she rolled toward the weapon with a groan. Her hand closed over the grip. She turned to see Madad with his fingers clamped around Sarah’s throat.
Kristin lifted the gun, aimed, and pulled the trigger.
Dr. Madad dropped. Mr. Yusufi was still trying to breathe through the ammonia fumes and clawing at his eyes.
Kristin slid to the floor, gasping, her gaze on Sarah. “Find her,” Kristin whispered. “Take care of her.”
“No,” Sarah croaked. She crawled over the dead doctor’s body and reached for Kristin’s hand. “Hold on.”
The pressure on her chest intensified, and she realized Sarah was leaning against her wound. “Promise me. Find a way to save her.”
“I promise, now be quiet. I think I hear sirens.”
And all Kristin saw was darkness closing in. One last electric flare of agony whipped through her and she sank into the blackness.
Dressed in black, he blended into the dark background of the night, but the streetlamps would be his downfall if he wasn’t careful. He noted the security system, but that wouldn’t be a problem. He’d just have to be fast once he was inside.
He’d received his orders and had watched the house for two days, run the plan through his mind, written it out, studied it, practiced it in his head until he figured he could do it with his eyes closed.
The sounds of television laughter drifted from behind the windows of the living area, and he approached quietly from the side so he could see in. The woman sat on the couch, watching a sitcom. A blue bowl had been discarded to the floor. Had it held popcorn? Probably. A Coke bottle had been drained, along with several water bottles that would most likely make it into the recycle bin before she turned in for the night.
He let his gaze run over the home. A large brick house set in the middle of two acres, it was private, quiet, peaceful. Everything he’d ever envisioned for his own life. Maybe one day. He almost felt sorry for the occupants, but orders were orders and it was his job to follow them.
As soon as the last light went out, he pulled on the black ski mask, then removed the weapon from his pocket and screwed on the suppressor. It was go time.
Sleep. His few hours of dreamless oblivion had been nice. Wonderful. Then the dream had hit him.
Asher halted mid-pace, the nightmare fading as he thought about Brooke and that amazing, earth-shattering kiss.
Wiping the sweat from his face and chest, he dropped into the chair next to the window and pressed his palms to his eyes. He really had to get a handle on the nightmares.
Although, strangely enough, it did seem they’d gotten better since he’d been working with Brooke and doing his best to keep them both alive. Maybe he was an adrenaline junkie and needed the rush that being in constant danger brought.
He frowned and hoped not. Most likely it was just because he wasn’t sleeping as much.
A buzzing sound pulled at him, and he blinked away the fog of interrupted thoughts as he picked up his ringing phone. “Yeah, Asher James here.”
“Mitch Sampson here, you loser.”
“Samps, good to hear your voice. Wish I could see your ugly mug.”
“Now, that’s the pot calling the kettle black.”
Asher frowned. The words were right, but the tone was different. “What’s going on, Sampson?” He and Sampson had talked occasionally since Asher had left the Army but not usually during the middle of the night. “You forget how to calculate the time difference?”
“Sorry, man, but this couldn’t wait and we’re getting ready to head out on a mission. I don’t know when I’ll get another chance to call.”
“Of course. What is it?”
“Captain Newell’s wife was murdered late last night. He’s on his way home now.”
Asher could only stand there staring at his old bedroom wall.
“Asher?”
“Yeah,” he grunted, the momentary paralysis leaving. “I heard you, but, man, I’m . . . stunned.”
“I know. You’re not the only one.”
“What happened?”
“Home invasion. She fought, and he shot her.”
“And the kids?”
“They’re fine. Well, devastated, of course, but physically unhurt. They weren’t supposed to be there that night. They had some kind of church function. A lock-in or whatever. But Monica wasn’t feeling well and PJ brought her home. Apparently, he decided to just go on to bed. Yvonne’s mother is with them for now.” The background noise intensified. “I also gotta tell you one more thing.”
The man’s voice was so low, Asher could barely make out his words. “Speak up, man, can’t hear you.”
“I’ll text you. It’s getting crazy around here.”
/> “I remember. I miss you guys.”
“Then come back. We need you and Black. It’s not the same without you. Look for my text.” He hung up and Asher rubbed a hand down his face and resumed his pacing. He wouldn’t be going back to sleep anytime soon.
Captain Newell’s wife? Yvonne? How could this be? He stopped. And was her death somehow related to everything going on? He had no idea why his mind immediately went there, but Yvonne’s death couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? So, did that mean Newell knew something and they’d retaliated? But why go after his family?
Or . . . it was a simple home invasion and Yvonne had gotten caught in the middle of it.
His phone buzzed. Mitch’s promised text.
Bomb parts from the ambush match the bomb parts from the café in Kabul. Out of all the parts I’ve collected, these are the only two that match—because they weren’t Afghani. Parts are American military grade. I’ve let the captain know, but he’s headed to your part of the world. Maybe you can talk with him and see what he has to say about that?
Asher processed the information, then typed back.
Will deal with on this end. See what you can find out on that one. And be careful who you trust. Don’t get your ugly self killed. People are dropping like flies.
He got a thumbs-up emoji in response.
Asher dropped his chin to his chest. God, protect them, please. He pulled up his captain’s number and sent a text.
I know you’re still in the air heading home. I’m so sorry. Yvonne was the best. I can’t believe this. I know you’ll probably stay in close touch with CID while they investigate her murder. If there’s a lead you want me to run down or whatever I can do, just ask. If you need me to hang out with your kids for the day or whatever, I’m here.
He sent the text and rubbed his eyes. A glance at the clock made him groan, but he knew he was up for the day. He showered and dressed and couldn’t shake Sampson’s words. American materials had made both bombs? His main questions were where had the stuff come from and who had gotten their hands on them?
Collateral Damage Page 20
