Free Fall (24 page)

She’d dealt with the attack as much as anyone could. She’d found her own peace to move forward with her new life. But she understood rape was perceived differently in this region of the world. Archaic views still prevailed, that the woman was damaged goods, somehow to blame.

“Once I was rescued, I could only think of them taking my children… my daughter…” Her voice choked off and she struggled for control, looking around the plane and seeing that no one here even really noticed she existed. She was just one of a number of passengers on a noisy transport plane. “Once the decision was made, there was no going back.”

Although now that she looked back, perhaps she hadn’t been in the best state of mind to make decisions that large, that fast.

She looked down and realized at some point, Sam had placed his hand on top of hers. She’d been so wrapped up in the past, she hadn’t noticed, just like he’d slipped past her defenses this past year. He had a way about him that made it easy to simply… exist. And maybe that was a part of his undercover training, low level or not, but at the moment, she decided to go with the flow and continue talking.

How much more could she be hurt anyway?

“Every child I saw, I thought of mine at the same age and wondered what they were doing. I hoped they were thinking of me, remembering memories we’d made. When my daughter was eight, I rented the movie
Out
of
Africa
to give her a sense of where I went when I left home. She would draw pictures and mail them to me—pictures of me passing out mosquito nets to children. And she always drew herself as well, standing beside me. I was supposed to get rid of everything from my prior life, but I kept one of those pictures.”

With that last confession she ran out of words. She was emptied out, exhausted. This time in the CV-22 with Sam was all the indulgence she could allow herself. She didn’t know what would come next for her or if she would even see Sam again. If this relocation was anything like the last, the coming couple of days would move quickly and radically. She needed to get her head together, because all too soon they would be on the ground and things would be out of her control.

In fact, the aircraft was starting to slow. The CV-22’s loud rotors cranked into motion, shifting the blades to an upward helicopter position for landing. Still, Sam held onto her hand. Why hadn’t she thought to ask more about him?

Because she didn’t trust yet that he would tell her the truth. She didn’t want something to be said, more lies told, that she couldn’t overlook. After living through some of the worst experiences life could dole out, somehow knowing that Sam hid his identity to protect her didn’t feel like an unforgivable sin…

The CV-22 settled on the ground with a light thump that echoed in her stomach. Her hand clenched around Sam’s. This was it. When the hatch lowered, life as she’d known it for the past fourteen years would be officially over. Could Annie Johnson handle the upcoming intelligence meetings? The reorganization of her life?

She couldn’t screw up much worse than Melanie Carson had.

And she was older now, stronger. Tougher. She let go of Sam’s hand and tried not to think about how much she wanted to hold on and drag him into her next incarnation.

Shoulders squared, she walked down the load ramp, dry wind funneling around tan military buildings and whipping her loose pant suit around her. She was ready, damn it. Prepared for anything…

Except the sight of her daughter standing only twenty yards away.

***

Stella’s gasp sent Jose’s protective radar on high alert.

He scanned the troops off-loading from the CV-22 at the airport in Mogadishu, wondering which one was Smith’s new contact and why Stella was so upset. She staggered back a step and he caught her, steadying her with a palm to her spine. Smith had brought them all out here for the arrival of some new intel contacts, but beyond that, the lead agent on this had been damn tight-lipped about where he thought the list of operatives was about to be exposed.

Or why the coded cloth had been draped on the VP’s wife.

Irritation was running high. He’d always been able to stay detached during an operation, but with Stella involved, the stakes for him became all the more personal. Her moods fed his and that was a scary thought.

He wanted to pin Smith and demand answers for Stella. Now. No more jerking her around. If the guy didn’t want to talk, why the hell had he dragged them out of bed?

Jose ducked his head to her ear. “Are you okay?”

Eyes wide and stunned, she shook her head, pointing. “The woman there, one of the last off the load ramp… That’s my mother.”

“Your
what
?” Squinting into the late morning sun, he scanned the stream of people pouring off the CV-22, a mix of soldiers and civilians.

He followed the line of Stella’s attention to a couple trailing the rest. A dark-skinned man dressed in local garb stood beside a fair-skinned woman in a loose linen suit and a scarf that almost managed to hide her brownish-red hair. “You mean that lady looks like your mother?”

“No. That woman
is
my mother.”

Stella’s mother was
alive
?
This
was Smith’s special contact they’d been brought out here to meet? The implications of this woman’s name being on the list of operatives in the area took on a whole new complexity now.

She pivoted hard and fast toward Smith, anger vibrating from her. “You knew. Why the hell didn’t you warn me?”

Smith didn’t even wince, his craggy face unapologetic. “I was curious to see if you already knew she was alive, if she’d broken the terms of her agreement and contacted her family after all. That information could have provided a lead to how this list leaked out.”

“Well, trust me. Even I’m not that good of an actress.” Stella’s mouth tightened into a grim line.

Across the stretch of asphalt, the woman in question had her eyes locked on their small group as well. She’d gone white as a sheet. Her feet moved forward in something close to slow motion. The man at her side adjusted his pace to stay right by her until the couple stopped.

No one spoke. The aircraft engines rumbled and other base noises echoed—trucks, loudspeakers, people going about the business of parking and servicing planes.

The two women continued to stare at each other. Now that they were closer, the resemblance was unmistakable, right down to the freckles on the nose.

There were minor differences—Melanie Carson had more of a brownish tint to her hair and time had brushed some lines on her face. What did Stella see when she looked at the mother she thought she’d lost, a mother who’d walked away? He wanted to scoop Stella up and hold her, insulate her against the pain.

Stella stepped nearly nose to nose with the woman without reaching out. Her arms stayed stiff and straight at her sides. “I hope to God you’ve had amnesia for the past fourteen years, otherwise I’m going to have a tough time getting past this.”

Melanie Carson shrugged wryly. “No amnesia. Sorry, Stella.”

Smith interjected, “Touching as this is, the rest of this reunion will have to wait.” He gestured to Agent Jones. “If you’ll show Mrs. Carson and Mr. Al-Shennawi to the briefing room, I need a few moments with… Stella.”

Interesting. Melanie didn’t know about her daughter’s job, because otherwise why would Smith purposefully avoid calling her Agent Carson?

Smith charged ahead, orders given.

Apparently now that he’d gotten his shock value test to read mother and daughter he was ready to move this little party inside the hangar. Jose kept his hand on Stella’s back and to hell what anyone else thought. Rage and pain damn near radiated off her in waves, stirring every protective impulse in his body. He was staying by her side until he received a direct order to the contrary.

Once inside the hangar, Smith guided Stella to the door. Jose stayed with her every step of the way. Smith just lifted an eyebrow but didn’t argue.

“Sergeant James, this actually will be of interest to you,” the agent said as if it had been his idea to include Jose. “Mr. Brown, stay with us.”

Stella took a place at the long table, chairs, and a smart screen with a map of the region running feed in all four corners. Really? They were going to have a brief while Stella thought of her mother on the other side of the wall? Smith was a fucking sadist.

The senior agent leaned a shoulder against the wall by the screen. “We got the reports back on the bio toxin in the container.”

Jose sat up straighter. Hell, that seemed like years ago now. “And?”

“All exposed can enjoy a sigh of relief.” He thumbed a remote in his hand, bringing a report onto the screen. “The toxin levels were high enough to set off our sensors, but not enough to do more than make people sick—which explains how it flew under our radar. We would have caught the movement of chemical sales large enough to create a weapon of that magnitude.”

“A hoax?” Stella inched forward in her seat, her face overly controlled. “To cause chaos?”

“Apparently that’s what Harper and the warlord’s troops that brainwashed him intended.” Smith clicked through slides with images of the compound, the captors, Stella… the rescue.

Smith paused on a picture of the stolen artifacts, with the folded kanga Harper had stuffed in his backpack. “Their goal has never been order, but rather more anarchy so they can continue with their illegal trades.”

And now Sutton Harper was dead, a casualty of someone else’s larger plan.

Stella pointed at a new image. “Why did they drape the list on the VP’s wife?”

Brown took notes on his iPad. “To send a message? Or arrogance? My money’s on the former.”

Stella rubbed the back of her neck. “Or could she be involved?”

Brown looked up fast. “Did you really just say that, Carson?”

“It had to be said,” Stella answered. “True, Mr. Smith?”

Agent Hard-ass wasn’t giving anything away. “All scenarios have to be taken into consideration. But we must always—always—protect the families of our leaders without hesitation.” His eyes lasered in on Jose, finally coming around to the reason he’d been allowed in the brief. “We’ll sort it all out regarding possible high profile involvement once the dust settles.”

The official orders may not have come down yet, but it was clear even without Smith’s veiled mention. Special operations forces would be a part of the security detail and since his was already in the region, that put them at the top of the list. Jose knew his job and the best thing he could do for Stella was keep his focus, get through this nightmare scenario. He tuned in as Smith continued.

“We circulated a story that the cloth was promptly packaged up and mailed back to the States. Initially, we hoped they would try to track our decoy package. However, our intel on the ground indicates there will simply be another transfer that will take place tonight at the state dinner honoring the vice president’s wife. I don’t need to spell out how many years of operations—how many lives—will be in jeopardy if the list of our human assets becomes public knowledge. The balance of power and peace is already so unstable in this region.”

If intelligence agencies and special operation forces were compromised, unable to help stem the flow of pirates, warlords, separatists, terrorists, too many unstable factions to count, there would be nothing left to stop them—except war.

Fang’s words from earlier rolled around his head, how the kid had half-jokingly asked…
Should
I
stay
or
should
I
go?

Jose glanced at Stella and saw the answer in her eyes. There was no question for people like them, intel, and special ops. They were here for a mission and they had to see it through to completion.

He’d always understood that part of his mission.

But this need to take Stella and tuck her away somewhere—anywhere—safe and to hell with the cost to everyone else? That distraction was a hundred percent new.

***

“Henry, we have one final mission for you and then your debt will be paid.”

Cell phone pressed to his ear, he watched Jose James stand guard outside the room where Stella Carson spoke with her mother. James’s determination, his protectiveness damn near vibrated through the air.

He understood the feeling well. There’d been a time he’d thought he could protect his family from anything by sheer force of will.

“Hold on. I need to get somewhere I can talk.” Henry marched toward the hangar exit, trying to give off the air that he was working and to back the hell away.

Shoving through the door, he blinked at the harsh sun. God, he missed his little house in Virginia, the snowy winters, all the shit he’d griped about, taken for granted. “Why should I believe this is ever going to stop? That I’ll ever be free?”

“Because you’ll die on this mission, Henry. You won’t be a danger to your family ever again.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, holding onto that image of building a snowman with his wife and kid. “Or I could eat a gun now.”

“Henry, you don’t want to do that.”

“Why the hell not?”

“We can’t let it be that simple for you or word will spread and others might get the same idea to escape their obligation to us,” he spoke patronizingly—and without the voice distorter. This truly was the end if he wasn’t worried about his voice being recognized. “Do what we ask and your daughter will live as a sign to others we keep our word—as long as you follow our orders.”

His throat clogged with the truth he already knew but had to ask. “And Charlotte?”

“Your wife’s already gone.”

He doubled over, grabbed his knees, and fought back the urge to vomit.

“But your daughter can walk away from this alive. Little Ellie can grow up with her cousins in your sister’s home where no one gambles with her future.”

Like he needed the reminder this was all his fault, how he’d justified his addiction, then justified the things he’d done to hide his secret. “What do you want me to do?”

“You will shoot the vice president’s wife. She doesn’t have to die, but an injury to her will create chaos. And continued chaos in that region equals free trade of goods and information. We don’t need to get into the gory details. You’re a smart man, Henry.”