Hawk (The Quiet Professionals, Book 2) (36 page)

Kabul Market, Afghanistan

23 February—1700 Hours

“What did you do?” Fekiria dropped to her knees, hovering over Sergeant Brian. Blood flowed from the side of his head. She pressed a finger to his thick neck, checking for a pulse. It was steady and strong.

“He injured you!”

“No, that is not true.” It was a very difficult, confusing story. His team shot down the helicopter, but if Adeeb’s men hadn’t taken her… “Get something for his head. We need to get him out of there, into the room with the fire.”

“How do we move him?”

Fekiria considered him. Broad shoulders. Thick chest—the vest made him look bigger! “I…I have no idea. But we can’t leave him here.” Only then did she see his communications device. Fekiria unplugged it and removed it. “Here. Throw it in the fire.”

She positioned herself behind him, and after some finagling she managed to remove his large rucksack. Then she did her best to lift his shoulders and slip her hands beneath them…then under his arms. But she was too small. She couldn’t encircle his chest.

He groaned.

Fekiria eased him down and swung around to his left side, looking down on him. “Sergeant Brian?”

“You know him?”

She shot a look to Mitra but then focused on the American soldier. “Sergeant Brian.” She touched the side of his face. Felt a spark in the pit of her stomach.

Another groan.

Fekiria withdrew her hand and rested it on his shoulder. “Sergeant Brian, can you hear me?”

Ash and dirt covered his face, and now blood mingled with it.

His eyes fluttered. With a long, loud groan, he came to. “Holy…” He pulled himself off the floor and swung a hand out for balance. Then held his head, eyes squeezed tight.

Fekiria caught his arm, as much to stop him from accidentally hitting her as to help.

“What happened?” he said with a grunt.

“Sorry.” Mitra hovered above them, arms wrapped tightly around her small waist. “I thought you…she said you were…”

“Mistaken identity.” Fekiria dabbed the edge of the silk hijab against his bleeding temple. “I thought you were a soldier trying to kill me.”

His gray-green eyes fixed on her. “You…
you
were the pilot?” A storm worse than the one swinging down from the mountains moved in across his handsome face. “You bombed my team. Tried to kill us!”

“No.” Fekiria’s heart climbed into her throat. She could not let him believe that. “No, that’s not what happened.”

“Bullspit!” Anger churned in his eyes. “I was there! The explosion threw me through a wall. My team—” He looked at the door. Back to her. “My team. How long have I been out?” Faster than she thought possible, he was on his feet. Moving toward the door. “How long was I out?”

“No!” She threw herself between him and the exit. “You can’t go out there!”

Fury lit through his expression. His brow knotted. With flared nostrils and colored determination, he clamped his hands on her shoulders. Lifted. Turned and planted her.

“Please, no. They’llkillyou!” Her words tumbled out on top of each other as he stepped into the snowy afternoon. Desperate to protect Mitra, the girls, and even him, she lunged forward—

Sergeant Brian collided with her, throwing her back against the wall. Hands on either side of her head, he grunted hard.

The door slammed shut. Apparently he’d kicked it.

His eyes bored into hers. “I just got shot at!”

Fekiria stared at him, stunned. He terrified her with the ferocity of a mountain lion, and yet, she knew enough of him to know he wouldn’t hurt her. Would he? “Come inside.”

“Answers.
Now
,” he growled, his forehead almost touching hers. “Who’s out there? How’d you know—?”

“In there. All the answers you want.” Why was it hard to breathe? Why did she just stand here, compelled under his power not to fight the way she’d done with every other man? “Please.”

He hesitated, a shift in his expression so slight but so significant. And somehow, his hesitation hurt more than anything her father had said to her in a lifetime.

“Please,” Fekiria repeated, the ache raw that he did not believe her. Trust her. “I promise.”

A flicker of a frown creased his brow, but he relented. Sergeant Brian pushed back. Stumbled. She hurried to him and put a hand on his back and one on his bicep that dwarfed her hand span to steady him. When she leaned in to help him again, he pulled away. Held out his palm. A definite “I’m fine” response.

He moved into the room, sluggish, heel of his hand pressed to his temple.

The girls huddled on the bunk made some noise.

Sergeant Brian snapped alive. Went for the handgun holstered at his thigh.

“Children,” Fekiria said as she stepped in front of him, touching his tac vest as she steadied him. “Just children.”

He took in the cluster of girls, his jaw muscle popping as he made his way to the rickety table and lowered himself into one of the chairs. “Get them away from the exterior walls. If a stray bullet makes it past the plaster…” The rest didn’t need to be said. He lifted a large phone from his leg pocket. Punched in numbers.

Fekiria covered the phone. “Please, don’t.”

His jaw muscle popped again. The way he looked at her bespoke the anger he clung to, and he stepped out of her reach. Put the phone to his ear.

She was so tired. So rattled from the last two hours. “Sergeant Brian, for the children I beg you.” But her words fell on deaf ears.

“Hawk here…I’m good. In a”—he looked to the side, to where the girls huddled beneath the blankets and peered at him as they hugged each other—“situation.” Hand on his tac belt, he walked the length of the room. “No, pinned down. Can’t leave.”

Fekiria glanced at Mitra, whose face had gone white.

“Yes. A half-dozen others.” He nodded as someone on the other end talked, and then he glanced back at her. “I got the pilot.”

Fekiria felt as if a window had opened with the icy blast he sent her way.

“I’ll lay low then make the rendezvous after dark…roger. Hawk out.” Sergeant Brian lowered the phone. Let out a long sigh. Roughed his hand over his face—and hit the slick spot of blood.

She motioned to the rickety table. “Come. I will clean your injury.”

“No.” He came toward her with a menacing expression. “I want answers. You bombed our location. Tried to kill us.” He practically snarled at her.

“Sit at the table. I will dress your injury and tell you whatever you want to know.”

Again, he resisted her.

“You are angry with me. I understand.”

“No, I don’t think you understand the first thing about what I’m feeling right now.” He angled a shoulder in toward her. “Do you realize how many men you nearly killed firing off that rocket? Men who are my brothers? Men I took an oath to protect? And you want me to sit at a freakin’ table and act like that didn’t happen? And
where
is my coms piece?”

Fekiria shot him a fierce expression to match his. Then moved her gaze purposefully to the children. “
Please
. Come sit.” She tugged his arm.

The brooding man was like a reluctant bull being led by the ring in his nose. “Sit? You want me to sit when men are out there shooting at us?”

“I want this to stop. I want you to listen to me.” Her anger flared across her chest, heating her.

“Why were you flying that bird?”

With her own nostrils flared, she moved to the table. Folded her arms. Waited.

Mitra came forward with a bowl and a hand towel.

Sergeant Brian stood unmoving, but she could see the turmoil playing out behind those green eyes. “No time for that. We need to get somewhere safe.”

Mitra set down the bowl. “This is it. With the storm, there is nowhere to go. The children will not last in the snow and wind. We have no friends beyond those in this compound.”

He stalked toward the rear hallway. “What’s back here?”

“Bathroom, empty rooms,” Mitra said.

Fekiria closed the distance between them. “You are scaring the girls.”

“They need to be scared. This is—”

BooOOOooom!

D
own!
” Brian wrapped his arms around Fekiria and dove to the ground. Plaster and dirt peppered his head and back.

On his knees, he hauled Fekiria from the dirt and propelled her toward the far wall where the girls were huddled. He scrabbled up behind her and looked to the other woman. “Exit—we need a safe exit!”

“The back, but”—the woman shot Fekiria a worried look—“the children. They’re not dressed. They need shoes, jackets—”

“Do it. Hurry.” Brian shifted to Fekiria as another mortar round shook the building. “Help her.” He shuffle-ran to his rucksack on the floor. After shouldering into it, he knelt. Lifted the sat phone from his pocket as he eyed the women and children. He wanted to curse. How he ended up in a situation like this…

Phone to his ear, he waited for the call to connect.

“Watters.”

“We’re being hit.” Brian watched an older girl help the smallest into a jacket and shoes. “I have six innocents. Children.”

“We can’t move, Hawk.”

His gut cinched. “They need help. This place is going to come down. We have to get out of here or they won’t make it.”

“Hands are tied. Nothing’s moving, and I can’t get there. It’s too hot. Command won’t budge. Stay there. I’ll—”

“They’re
pummeling
us with mortars.” Brian gritted his teeth. “This building’s going down. We have to move.”

“Then get out. Find shelter.”

Brian screwed his mouth tight. “Roger.” He pocketed the phone and shifted his attention to the woman bundling up a small girl. “Do you have a vehicle?”

She glanced at him as she stuffed the girl’s arm into the sleeve jacket. “It was stolen last week.”

Irritation clawed up Brian’s spine. This night had gone from awful to nightmarish. It was a wonder he was still alive, that he hadn’t killed anyone. Yet. He was still ticked with Fekiria. She had some serious secrets. His mind warred with the divergent images of her. Piloting that chopper and blowing up their building. And now the petite woman, head no longer wrapped in that silk number, bent over a little girl and buttoned her jacket.

Girls. Five of them. They couldn’t be any older than ten. And the youngest—thank God they weren’t toddlers. It was inevitable that a toddler would scream and give them away.

How did this happen? How did he end up a babysitter? To a bunch of kids. Unbelievable.

On a knee beside Fekiria—he wasn’t letting her far from his sight, not after what she’d perpetrated against him and his team—Brian checked his weapon and extra magazines. As geared up as he could get considering the situation, he looked at the others. “Ready?” Though he barked it, there was something unsettling about the half-dozen pair of wide eyes that watched him.

Were they afraid of him? Or expecting him to be the hero and save the day?

Neither made him happy. He didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to face the questions about Fekiria that had exploded since he found himself face-to-face with her.

“Mitra?” Fekiria eyed her friend then spoke in her native tongue.

Brian hated being the odd man out. He had no idea what they were saying.

Or planning
.

No, don’t borrow trouble
. These women needed to get to safety as much as he did. And they were smart enough, he hoped, to realize he was their way out.

Mitra rattled something in Pashto and seemed to go even paler. She rose and started across the room.

Brian shoved to his feet. “Whoa. No.” He caught her arm. Looked down at Fekiria. “Where’s she going?”

Joining them, Fekiria explained, “There is an older man and woman who live here, too. She wanted to see if they are okay.”

“Not outside. She’s not going out there.” Was the woman crazy?

Fekiria gave his response to the woman, whose face twisted up in grief.

He handed his secure phone to her.

She shook her head. “No phone.”

Over the howl of the wind outside, Brian heard a distinctive, more ominous howl. “Down!” He grabbed Fekiria and pulled her close as he went down, covering both women.

Crack! Thud!

Brian’s gaze shot to where the girls had stood. His heart spasmed—between him and them, a pile of debris opened the ceiling. Snow and sleet pelted the mound. Crying, the girls grouped up with the eldest holding them close to the wall.
Smart girl
.

Fekiria shifted beneath him. Brian met her large green eyes. What he saw—a mixture of fear, expectation, and uncertainty—made him feel like a chunk of an iceberg had broken off his heart. “You okay?”

She gave a furtive nod as she pulled herself off the ground.

Brian offered his hand, and she hesitated for a fraction of a second, her gaze bouncing to his then to his hand as he placed hers in his. He tugged her upward, catching her back as she found her balance. Mitra was already over to the girls, and by her tone, she was reassuring them.

“Let’s move,” Brian said.

Fekiria spoke to the others. “Sheevah, help Aadela.”