He stared into his coffee.
“No man left behind,” Scarlett said quietly.
“We knew they were taken captive by the Taliban, and it just—it ate at us. The CIA wouldn’t give us sanction to rescue them, so me and another guy—Simon McCord—put together a team and we…we went in on our own.” He glanced again at Scarlett.
She stiffened.
“McCord was killed, along with another SEAL, but we got Royal and Thorne back.”
“But it was the end of your career,” Ford said.
He nodded. “Officially, the buck fell on Senior Chief McCord, so they let me separate, let me leave with an honorable discharge, but…it wasn’t voluntary.”
“Sorry.”
Ham looked at Ford, something level and unwavering. “I would do it all again. McCord was a good man. The kind of man I’d follow anywhere. He used to say that he didn’t show up where God hadn’t gone first. That he didn’t worry about fixing anything—that God already had it figured out. He was just following orders.”
Ford nodded as if he agreed, and Scarlett looked at his reflection in the window. She knew Ford was a man of faith—his entire family was—but something about Ham’s words lodged in his expression.
And it sort of bugged her that Ford might let God decide where, and how, He might show up. “What about the places God doesn’t go? Doesn’t show up? Who fixes that?”
Ham looked at her and frowned. “Where would that be?”
She gave a laugh. “My entire life?” She leaned back, pulled up a knee, wrapped her hand around it. “God was about as present as Santa Claus, and let me tell you, I stopped believing in him when I was four, so…” She lifted a shoulder, not sure where the venom came from.
Ham nodded. “I get that. It’s hard to see God at work when we’re not looking for Him—”
“Oh, I looked for Him. I prayed, hard, that He’d show up when…” She looked away, then back to Ham. “My mother had a few boyfriends who weren’t exactly nice to me.”
Something flickered in Ham’s eyes, a rise of something oddly protective, even painful. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well. I’m glad there’s guys like you and Ford in the world. I really am. Because maybe you can show up where God doesn’t.” She got up. “Or won’t. I’m going to the bathroom.”
She pushed her way into the hallway, not sure why her heart was beating so hard, why she felt like crying. But the last thing she needed was God deciding if she was worth saving or not.
She’d bet she’d get the not.
“Scarlett.”
She turned, and Ford had come out of the compartment, walking toward her.
She took a breath. An apology was on her lips but couldn’t quite make it out.
“Hey,” he said, coming close, but not touching her. “Are you okay?”
And now, no—no—stupid, crazy tears blurred her eyes. “Yeah—” She ran the palm of her hand across her eyes. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m so…maybe I’m just tired.”
“Or maybe you’re hurting. Because yeah, from your point of view, I can see why you might think God didn’t show up. That He stood aside while He watched you get hurt—”
“Raped,” she said quietly. “By my mother’s boyfriend, Gary.”
He drew in a breath. Swallowed hard. His eyes sheened and he looked away. Nodded. Outside, they were starting to enter suburbs, the neighborhoods of small, red-roofed houses becoming more dense.
Yep. The truth hurt, and her wounds spilled out into her voice. “Admit it, Ford. God abandoned me. Just like my mother. I don’t know what I have to do—or be—to matter to God. So, it’s easier to believe that He simply didn’t care—or didn’t exist—than to come to the realization that I don’t matter.”
“You matter.”
She held up her hand, cutting off his words. “Listen, if I think for one minute that He is going to save me, if I start relying on Him to care, to show up, to believe that I matter, then I’m going to be in big trouble. I know. I’ve been there. And I’m not going to set myself up for heartache. I am in this alone, and I know it.”
Ford turned to her then, something fierce and almost bone shaking in his expression. “No you’re not. Because I’m not going to abandon you.”
The force of his words shuddered through her. “Ford—”
“No, you listen to me. Maybe that’s why God sent me into your life because whatever happens, I will show up for you, Red. Whatever happens.” He met her eyes, holding hers with his, a dark gravity to them that made his words find her bones.
But she couldn’t let the words take root. Because no one could make those kinds of promises. Especially a Navy SEAL, a man committed to saving the world. The minute she let those words sink in was the minute she’d lose control of her heart.
Only the rumble of his words, the sincerity of his gaze kept her from shaking her head. She nodded. Turned away.
Felt his eyes on her back as she continued down the corridor to the head.
Inside the tiny bathroom, she splashed water on her face, her heart pounding.
Oh, she wanted to believe him. Almost ached for it.
But she wasn’t naive. And she wasn’t her mother.
And next time she had the impulse to kiss him, she’d remember that.
6
“Are you sure it was a good idea for you to bring your girlfriend on a mission?”
Ham sat opposite Ford on his bunk in the private berth on the train to Kiev.
Ford sat, staring out the window. In fact, Ford might not have heard him except for the fact that Scarlett had just left the compartment in search of more coffee.
They weren’t in Russia yet, but sixteen hours on the train had trekked them deep in the heart of Ukraine, and the stop to Kiev was less than an hour away. They’d had to wait three precious, brutal hours in the Warsaw train station, and spent yet another wretchedly slow night in the private car.
He was rethinking his decision to cede control of this op to another man, even if Ham did know his way around Russia.
No doubt the man would be invaluable when they arrived at the Russian consulate. Especially if they had to get creative to get RJ out of Russia, but right now Ford just wanted to know that his sister was safe, see her with his own eyes.
It might help loosen the knot in his gut.
It didn’t help that Scarlett had practically stopped talking to him. After their conversation in the hallway before Warsaw about God and His involvement in their lives, she’d quietly, and painfully, shut down.
And why not? Ford couldn’t scrape her words from his brain where they turned corrosive and gnawed at him.
Raped. By my mother’s boyfriend, Gary.
Wow. He’d known that Gary had abused her, but to hear her put it in the exact words…those words sat in his brain like a coal, burning through him. He hadn’t eaten much over the past ten hours.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Ford said now as Ham looked at him. “We work together.”
“I saw you two nearly kissing in Prague, and yesterday you ran after her like…” He lifted his shoulder in a shrug.
“Like I’m her friend.”
Ham looked at him. “I don’t want to get caught in the middle of something. I’m here to do a job—one job—and that is to get your sister out. The last thing we need is some kind of lovers’ quarrel or…something else—”
“There is nothing else. She was my FOB radio contact, that’s all.” But even as he said it, the words tightened in his chest.
That’s all?
Not even close. Worse, her words about leaving the Navy still burned.
No, he didn’t want that to be all. But now wasn’t the time to dive into something. Keep his focus in the right place, and when they got stateside, he’d…
Let her decide.
The last thing he wanted to do was push her into a place where she was scared. Uncomfortable. Threatened.
He might never get the word raped out of his head.
And maybe he shouldn’t.
“She was available to help,” Ford said now to Ham. “You were the one who said we needed a logistics person. Don’t worry, I’m not going to get distracted.”
Ham nodded but looked away, his mouth a tight line.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Ford said, following the itch in his gut. Ham possessed the same look his chief did when he was sitting on classified intel.
A beat of silence from Ham, then, “I just did a little research into you and it seems you’ve had a little problem with that.”
“With—”
“Distractions. Or should I say, off-mission behavior?”
Ford frowned, shook his head.
“Nez said something about you going rogue on a mission a month or so ago. Something about a truck of terrorists—”
“They were following us, would have sabotaged our exfil.”
“And then a week ago, you threw a grenade into a closed room and took a header off a cliff?”
Ford just looked at him. Then away.
Ham took a breath. “I get it. When I first joined the teams, it was fresh off my dad’s remarriage, and I was angry all the time. I made it through BUD/S fueled by that anger. I wanted to show him, and maybe myself, that I was tougher than the hurt inside. And that boiled out into some of my early missions. Got in over my head, was a bit of a lone wolf. Only problem is, you can’t be a lone wolf on a SEAL team.”
“I know that.”
“Being a lone wolf is really just fear that it won’t work out unless you do it your way. That unless you take care of it, it won’t succeed. If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself, right?”
Ford’s jaw tightened.
“Truth is, going rogue isn’t about bravery, but pride. And fear.”
“I’m not afraid.”
Ham drew in a breath. “I don’t know you, Ford. But my guess is that you’re trying to prove something. I’d like to know what it is.”
“I’m just trying to get my sister out of Russia.”
“Or you could have let the CIA handle it.”
Ford looked up at him.
Ham held up his hand. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m just saying—you’re risking a lot should you get caught. A SEAL in FSB hands?”
“We’re not in the Cold War anymore.”
“It’s getting pretty chilly. Don’t tell me that you wouldn’t be a valuable catch.”
“Or you.”
“I’m old news. You’re cutting technology.” A smile tweaked up one side of his face.
Ford looked out the window. The dawn was slicing through the darkness, a blade of golden light across the horizon. “My sister nearly died because of me when I was a kid. We got caught in a cave, and I…I was too afraid to leave her to get help.”
“Because you were too afraid to leave her…or too afraid?”
Ford looked at him. “I wasn’t afraid. But my family thought I was. My dad found us. It was a miracle, really. One minute we were sitting in pitch darkness, then this light appeared. And right behind it, my dad. He looked right at me and wore such a…I don’t know…a look of disappointment on his face. Like I was a little kid instead of…well, one of my brothers.”
“You’re the youngest.”
“Youngest son. My sister is technically the youngest child.”
“You’re related to one of my former teammates—Fraser Marshall, right?”
Huh. “Yeah. He’s my cousin.”
“He retired, too, just recently. Works for me in Jones, Inc. But if you come from the same stock, I can imagine your brothers were hard to live up to.”
“They were nothing compared to my father. He was a firefighter, a bull rider, a rancher, and a range cop. He grew straight out of the land, tough, gnarled, and didn’t let anything beat him. Once he and my brother Reuben got in a plane accident, and despite having a broken ankle, he dragged himself back home to get help. He was tough as leather and expected us to be too.”
“Sounds like a hard man.”
“Yeah. He taught us to handle ourselves, but he was also a man of faith. He believed that you needed to trust God but also take hold of what He’s given you.”
“God helps those who help themselves.”
Ford lifted a shoulder.
“You know that’s not actually in the Bible, right? Ben Franklin said that, and it’s about opposite to what God wants. We always think of God as our reinforcement…but He’s our breacher. He’s the first one through the door. Consider the Israelites as they were fleeing the Egyptians. They run up to a massive sea, and what does Moses do? Tells them to stand still. To cool their jets—the Lord would fight for them. And then God breaches the Red Sea. Parts it and they walk through on dry land. Dry. Land. Seriously.”
Ford considered him. Ham didn’t look like an overly religious man. He wore a tattoo on his upper arm, peeking out the sleeve—what looked like tribal marks. He carried himself with confidence, still had the build of a man who spent time in the gym.
Ford, too, had done his homework. Ham had served twelve years on Team Three, four tours in Afghanistan, and had even been involved in an insurgency in Chechnya ten years ago, when a group of separatist guerrillas overran an aid hospital and refugee camp. Ford had dug up a story that was circulating about Ham and a handful of other SEALs who had rescued an aid worker taken hostage.
Not a coward. Not a guy to stand in the shadows and let others fight his battles.
In a way, Ham sounded a little like Orrin Marshall. “I grew up on stories from the Old Testament,” Ford said. “Joshua and Caleb, warlords who brought the Israelites into the Promised Land. The crazy battle of Jericho. Samson. David and his fighting men.”
“’Trust in the Lord—he is our help and shield.’ Psalm 115. David knew that the only way to victory was to let God lead him into battle and watch his flank and shield him when he was in over his head. Which is why God gives you a team, Ford. To watch your back, your flank, and drag you out of the drink when you’re drowning.”
He considered Ford a moment. “This isn’t about rescuing your sister. It’s about proving to yourself that you’re not that scared kid anymore. Too afraid to move.”
What? “I’m not him.”
“Clearly. Keep taking on terrorists by yourself and jumping off cliffs and you might just convince yourself of that.”
The door unlatched, and Scarlett drew it back. Ham turned back to the window.
Ford wasn’t a scared kid anymore. But he conceded he might be in over his head, especially as Scarlett sat down next to him.
Whatever happens, I will show up for you, Red. Whatever happens. He heard his own arrogant, passionate, desperate words.
Please, Lord, help me not let her down.
She set a fresh cup of coffee on the table. “Kiev looks a lot like Poland. Big cement buildings, statues of military leaders.”
“Communist rule. The Russians came in and put their stamp on everything. They rebuilt war-damaged buildings by putting up cement structures and reminders of who was in charge,” Ham said. “The Kiev station is less organized than the one in Warsaw. We’ll need to get tickets at the gate.” He looked at Ford. “I’ll place a call to my contact when we’re aboard and make sure RJ is staying put.”
Ford still wasn’t sure they shouldn’t have gotten on a plane.
The train pulled into the station, a cement platform in an open yard of other trains, both short and long haul. Travelers congested the area with suitcases, pull bags, and duffel bags, waiting to get on various trains, mixing with the disembarkers. Ford pulled his backpack close as he got off.
“Keep your pack close to you,” he said to Scarlett. “Put your cell phone in your front pocket.”
The air smelled of diesel fuel and oil, the sky overhead rose gold, turning to blue with the rising sun. Food vendors hawked breakfast in the form of peroshke and chebureki. His stomach writhed, passing them.
They descended into a corridor filled with kiosk
s of souvenir vendors, newspaper stands, and the occasional travel supplies. Ford refrained from holding Scarlett’s hand but kept glancing back to see that she was keeping up.
Ham was leading, stalking through the tunnels as if he knew the way. They pressed through crowds, up stairs, and emerged into the central terminal, a magnificent arched building reminiscent of a cathedral, with hanging chandeliers, columns, and ornate windows.
Ham stopped in front of a window with Obmin-Valooti written over the top.
Ford didn’t have to read Cyrillic to understand: Tickets.
Scarlett wandered over to a kiosk selling T-shirts and pointed to a yellow-and-blue fútbol jersey—the Ukrainian soccer team.
Ford debated, then headed over to Scarlett.
“It’s for Gunnar,” she said, touching her hand to the jersey.
Gunnar. “He still playing baseball?”
She glanced up at him, smiling, and for a second he was sitting in the stands with her that day when he’d stuck around for Gunnar’s game. The first time he realized how much she’d affected his life.
The first time he’d panicked about losing her.
No, it wasn’t a good idea to bring his girlfriend on this trip, not at all.
Ham came over and handed them their tickets. “We got the last private compartment.”
Scarlett swung her pack off her shoulder and shoved the ticket into a side pocket. Put the pack on the floor and picked up the jersey. “I need to get some hryvnia.”
“I got some,” Ham said and dug into his pocket. He handed the male vendor a couple silver coins, the equivalent of a few dollars, and the man folded up the jersey and slipped it into a plastic bag.
“Dyakuyu,” Scarlett said.
“You know Ukrainian?” Ham asked.
“No. I memorized a few words I downloaded off the internet. When I was a kid, I helped my mother memorize lines—I got pretty good at committing a lot to memory, fast.” She turned to reach for her bag. “Oh no.”
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