Collateral Damage

by Lynette Eason

  Nurses and workers pushed past him, eyeing him, knowing he didn’t belong there, but no one else said anything. He’d never find Brooke like this.

  “FBI!” he yelled. “Everyone out of the building!”

  For a moment, stillness. A piece of time frozen. Then, like ants, they scattered to the exits and doors.

  “Brooke!”

  He shoved open the next door. Empty. Then the next. Nothing.

  A sign above the room to his right snagged his gaze. HOLDING AREA.

  He pushed the door open to see Brooke kneeling over the body of a woman dressed as a nurse, phone pressed to her ear.

  “Brooke!”

  “Asher!” She threw herself at him and he caught her against him. “I’m so glad to see you!”

  He lifted his phone even as his right arm trapped her. “Caden, in the basement, room labeled Holding Area.”

  “Put the phone down, James, and move toward the exit.”

  Newell. “You’re done,” Asher said without moving. “It’s over.”

  “Maybe so, but I have enough money to disappear and live on it for the rest of my life. So I have no intention of giving up and going quietly. Now move.”

  Asher gazed down at Brooke, feeling her trembling. Shards of hate slashed at him and he drew in a breath. “No.”

  “So I shoot you and take someone else hostage?” He paused. “No, I shoot Brooke. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it’s a painful way to die.”

  Asher spun, keeping Brooke behind him. She gasped and stumbled. It was enough to knock him off balance and send him slamming into his former captain.

  The man roared, lifted his weapon, and aimed it. At Brooke.

  She ducked and Asher turned his back to the man, shielding her, expecting to feel the bullet burn a path through him.

  Instead, the man pressed the muzzle against the back of his head. “Go.”

  Asher gritted his teeth and moved, following the directions he was given.

  “FBI! Stop!”

  Caden. Hope revived itself and Asher tried to stop, but Newell jabbed him with the weapon. “Move! Into that room!”

  “Show your hands! Drop your weapon!”

  Newell didn’t bother to acknowledge the orders. Asher let Brooke go ahead of him into the room. Newell pulled something out of his pocket and held his thumb on . . . the kill switch.

  A bomb.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Can’t believe you risked your lives for a bunch of nothing kids. Kids who won’t amount to anything and are nothing but a burden to those who have to take care of them. Worthless brats. They were just collateral damage in a stupid war until I gave them worth! I gave their lives meaning! And you’ve ruined it all!”

  Newell pressed.

  The building rocked and shook, and Asher’s mind spun back for a brief moment to the explosion that had killed his unit members, his friends . . . his brothers.

  Until Brooke’s scream derailed his flashback. She knelt on the floor, hands over her ears.

  “There’s more where that came from!” Newell hollered. “Back off!”

  Asher realized the man had always had an out—a plan—in case something like this happened. A plan that didn’t include dying in an explosion he set. No, he wanted to live to spend his blood money. The bomb had been on the far side of the building. It was a warning. A scare tactic.

  Newell tossed the kill switch and his hand aimed back for his pocket. Another kill switch?

  Asher lunged. Shoved him back into the hall. He gripped Newell’s hand and held on. The man roared, brought his weapon around.

  The crack of a bullet echoed in the hallway and Newell’s face exploded into a red mist.

  Time slowed. Asher flinched and threw himself back. He fell to the floor and landed with a hard thud. “Brooke!”

  She lay beside him but rolled at his shout. Relief shuddered through him. She wasn’t hurt.

  Her gaze went past him and her eyes stopped. Stared.

  He turned to see Caden and his team rushing toward them, Caden’s weapon still held on the dead man.

  Time sped up once more and Asher rolled to his feet. Brooke scrambled up too. “The doctor,” she gasped. “Geraldine Frasier.”

  “We’ve got her,” Caden said. “She even gave up our mystery man too. Ever heard of Chester Howard?”

  “Yeah,” Asher said. “His nickname was Buzz. Only knew him for about four months.”

  “And he was one of my clients.”

  Asher turned to her and she met his gaze.

  “I had him discharged as medically unstable. He was sent home the day of the bombing,” she said.

  “He and Phillip were in high school together,” Caden said. “Got into a lot of trouble but managed to graduate and be model citizens for a while. He requested to be transferred to Newell’s unit and finally got it.”

  “Was he suicidal or was he just playing me?” she asked.

  “He shot himself when officers stopped him about a mile from here.”

  “Oh my . . .” Brooke drew in a deep breath. “Unbelievable.”

  “Anyway, we think we’ve gotten everyone involved. It’s going to take some time to sort out, but it’s over. The kids are safe.” Caden shook Asher’s hand. “And now you might want to go clean up a bit. Slasher movie isn’t a good look for you.”

  “Right.”

  Brooke hurried back into the room. When she returned, she pressed a wet towel into his hand. He smelled alcohol. He rubbed his face until it was raw and the towel turned pink. She handed him another wet one, and he continued the process until he had himself as clean as he was going to get without a hot, steaming shower.

  “We’ll find you some scrubs to change into,” she said.

  Asher nodded. “It’s over.”

  “Yes.”

  “They can’t hurt anyone else.”

  “They can’t.”

  For the next little while, he and Brooke stayed, watching the agents work. Finally, he blew out a breath. “I’m ready to go home.”

  “Home,” she said. “That sounds amazing.”

  Epilogue

  THREE MONTHS LATER

  Brooke panted, sure she was going to die on the spot. “I . . . can’t . . . believe I let you . . . talk me into this.”

  Asher grinned back at her. “We’re almost there. You can do it.”

  “I must be . . . insane,” she gasped, “to have agreed . . . to this.”

  “You’ll be glad when we get there.”

  “If I live that long . . . What happened to our normal jog around your neighborhood?”

  “You needed a challenge.”

  She sputtered. “I take it back. I’m”—gasp—“not the”—gasp—“insane one . . . You are!”

  “If you can survive being kidnapped by a skilled soldier, this should be a walk in the park.”

  “Yes! Good idea. Walk.” She stopped and planted both hands on her knees. Truly, she could keep going but wanted to catch her breath so she wasn’t huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf. It couldn’t be that impressive to the man who looked like he could go another hundred miles. “When I work out—or jog with you in the neighborhood—the ground is level and smooth beneath my feet. There’s not an incline like this. What made you think this would be a good idea?”

  “The view. Come on. Twenty more yards and we’re there.”

  “No.”

  “I have trail mix. You can have some when we get there.”

  With a groan, she pushed forward. True to his word, twenty yards later, she pulled to a stop with surprised wonder. A waterfall cascaded to the rocks below, crashing and splashing in glorious splendor. “Oh my. What is this place?”

  “Moonshine Falls.”

  “What?”

  “People used to make moonshine here.”

  “Hence the name. Wow. It’s gorgeous.”

  “Worth the hike?”

  She offered him a small smile. “When you suggested going running, I had no id
ea it would lead here. No wonder you gave me a list of things to bring.”

  “You did great.” He grabbed her hand. “Come on.”

  “Asher. Seriously? What now?”

  “We go down.”

  “Down? We just came up! And where’s my trail mix?”

  With a laugh, he gave a gentle tug and she fell into step behind him.

  And soon found herself on the back side of the waterfall. Every so often the spray would mist over them. She laughed. “Look. There are still moonshine drums here! Think there’s anything left in them?”

  “No. I’m pretty sure they were drained years ago.”

  Her smile faded and she watched him, her heart beating in her throat—and not from the exertion. “This is fabulous, Asher, thank you.”

  He pulled her into a hug and she decided she didn’t mind that she was half frozen and getting damp. His embrace warmed her from the inside out.

  “We’ve had a tough run of it,” he said. “To tell you the truth, I can’t believe we actually survived.”

  “I know. I feel the same. I just thank God we did.” She swallowed. “And to see Kristin and Paksima together was a miracle. She’s really going to get to stay in the US?”

  “Because there’s a price on her head back in Afghanistan, Caden said the request to offer her asylum was approved. Kristin is a certified foster mother and has been for a while.” He gave her fingers a quick squeeze. “I think it’s working out exceptionally well.”

  “Yes. Exceptionally.”

  “I still dream,” he said out of the blue. “I still jump at unexpected loud noises. I still zone out sometimes. But . . . I’m better.” He tilted her chin and placed a kiss on her lips. “That’s thanks to you. I just wanted to tell you that.”

  “Thank you, but I didn’t do anything. Running for our lives and stopping killers has kind of taken precedence over active counseling.”

  “Hmm. True, but you did do something. You do something. You just do it without realizing you’re doing it.”

  “Okay, that’s nice.” A pause. “What? I’m confused.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “Like that.”

  “Like what?” She gave him a light punch on the arm.

  “You’re funny and you don’t know it. You make me laugh without trying. And when I look at you, I want to smile.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh? That’s it?”

  “No, I’m trying to figure out how to tell you that I love you.”

  He went still. “You do?”

  “I really do.” She pressed a kiss to his sweaty cheek. “I’ve been falling for you ever since you started following me around on base.”

  “What?” His cheeks went red.

  “I noticed.”

  “I sure didn’t notice you noticing.” He grimaced.

  She laughed. “Miranda called. She said Isaiah’s being awarded a medal of honor. His full benefits have been reinstated. She said to tell you thank you.”

  He gave a slight shrug. “It was the least I could do.”

  “Hmm. But that’s you, Asher. And it’s simply one of the reasons I love you. You have a courageous heart, a passion for helping others, and a loyalty to those you love that most people have a hard time understanding. I find those traits very attractive.”

  He blinked, his jaw working. She could see how deeply her words had affected him. It took him a moment to gather himself and she let him do it. “I’ll be honest. I never thought I’d find someone like you,” he said. “Someone I can see myself spending the rest of my life with. But . . .”

  “But what?” she whispered.

  “My self-esteem has been in the toilet since I got back from Afghanistan. I try to act like my brother’s words roll off—and most of the time they do—but sometimes, a few of them stick and I wonder if he’s right. I wonder what my worth is and what I’m here for. And the fact that he put you in danger like he did makes me wonder if I’ll ever forgive him.”

  “Asher . . .” She grasped his hands and squeezed. “Surely, you can see that God has big plans for you. And you saved my life several times, so I see lots of reasons you’re here. As for Nicholas, I think he very much regrets his childish behavior.”

  “Possibly.”

  She could tell he wasn’t really thinking about his brother, though. “What is it?”

  “It hit home when the captain said those kids were nothing more than collateral damage. He said they were collateral damage due to the war, but I see it more about the money. The target was the money and they died because of the all-consuming greed to reach that target. He believed those kids had no worth except to save the lives of those who were worthy in his eyes, those who would grow up to make a difference in the world. He really believed that.”

  “I know. He was a sick man, but Monica and PJ are with their aunt now. She seems like a good woman who really loves them. They’ll be okay in the end.”

  “I pray you’re right.” He glanced at her. “I promised PJ I’d still come see him and we’d hang out occasionally.”

  “I promised Monica the same,” she said.

  “Each of those children who were killed—and the soldier who tried to protect them—had a purpose for being here on this earth,” he said. “Unfortunately, we’ll never know what they would have grown up to be—or do—or the lives they would have impacted. But they had purpose. They had worth. They were created for a reason.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Just like us.”

  “Just like us.”

  “And it’s up to us to continue to impact lives,” she said. “To make sure every person we meet realizes they have worth.”

  “How are we going to do that?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll pray about it and see what God does, okay?”

  “I’m good with that.” He held her while the water rushed down. “Brooke?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you too.”

  “I know.”

  His laughter rumbled under her cheek. She lifted her head and his lips closed over hers. For the first time in a long while, she couldn’t wait to see what tomorrow held. Because even though they still suffered the effects of their experiences, they would face them together.

  Asher pulled back and ran a hand over her cheek. “You ready to go?”

  “Go where?” she asked, eyes still closed.

  “Home.”

  “Does that entail walking?”

  “Yes.”

  The amusement in his voice lifted her lids. “Then no.” She sat on the nearest rock and held out her hand. “My trail mix, please. I’d like to enjoy it while I wait here for the medevac.”

  Asher gave another shout of laughter and kissed her again.

  Yep, she decided. She might just stay here forever.

  CHAPTER

  ONE

  Sarah Denning sat on the dirt floor of the Afghani prison cell and shivered in the ninety-degree heat, fighting the fear that had been her constant companion since the Taliban had attacked the school. One minute she’d been a guest teacher at the request of her friend Talia Davenport; the next, a prisoner of cruel men who would use her and kill her without blinking.

  She tugged the piece of cloth covering her head lower and patted the bottom section that concealed her mouth and nose, while praying she could stay hidden until they were rescued. If rescue was even on the way. If their captors found out she was an American . . . or worse, who her father was—

  The guard gave the barred door a violent tug and she jumped, her heart stumbling into overdrive. The door held fast. She doubted he was worried it wouldn’t. He let out a satisfied grunt and turned to walk down the hallway, his boots pounding the dirt floor before he disappeared from sight. Sarah’s pulse slowed a fraction. The longer he stayed gone, the better their chances of rescue. However, how long would that be?

  “Sarah?”

  The whisper reached her from the corner of the cell. “Fatima?”

  “I’m coming over th
ere.” The teenager crawled on all fours, dodging her classmates, to curl against Sarah’s side with a shiver. “What’s going to happen to us?”

  Sarah wrapped an arm around the fifteen-year-old. During her weekly guest teaching spots, she’d come to recognize Fatima as a bright, highly motivated young woman with the desire to be a pioneer in bringing change to her country. Sarah had treasured those days at the school and building relationships with the girls. “I don’t know.”

  But she did. They all did.

  “They’re going to sell us,” Samia said from the other side. “We’re to be brides to the Taliban, aren’t we?”

  Brides? More like sex slaves. Punching bags. Assigned to a life of abuse and misery. And terror.

  She, Talia, and the twelve students had been taken from the school and loaded into the back of a waiting van. No one had tried to stop them, and she hadn’t dared resist. Approximately twelve hours later, they’d arrived here.

  Wherever here was.

  “I’m so sorry, Sarah,” Talia whispered, her voice cracking, her fear tangible. “I’ve been there for three years, and while we’ve had a few minor scares, there’s been nothing like this.”

  “It’s not your fault, Talia, you couldn’t know.”

  “I don’t want to be a Taliban bride.” Nahal, the youngest of the girls at thirteen years old, scooted closer to Sarah, as though Sarah could keep that from happening.

  Sarah had been afraid before, but the images filtering through her mind sent the horror clawing inside her to a whole new level. She pulled in a steadying breath, desperate to find a way to remain calm and be strong for the other girls in the ten-by-twelve cell, because while she wanted to fight back, any sign of defiance would only get her—or one of the teens—killed.

  She shuddered and let her gaze roam their prison. It consisted of four cement walls with a door on the one opposite from where she sat. A small barred window above her head streamed a thin ray of light, cigarette smoke, and low voices that sounded like they were arguing, although she couldn’t make out the words.

  Except for a brief stop at the outhouses lined up along the south wall that included lewd looks and a few comments she’d pretended not to hear, she and the other girls had been left alone by their captors.