Operation Zulu Redemption--Complete Season 1 (20 page)

“I thought you were worried about the sub shop owner, too.”

“I am.” Her heart skipped a beat when she thought she recognized the green-eyed monster in his gaze. Their team commander had never been emotional. To the contrary—he often came across as coldhearted.

“He has to be dealt with.”

Case in point
.

“Let me talk to him.” As soon as the words were out, Annie knew how they’d sound. How Trace would respond.

He laughed and stood. “Right. I just spent every last resource and connection hauling you back here to keep you alive, but you want to walk out in the open for a chat with your
boyfriend
.”

Annie drew up at his words. At the ferocity. Rankled, partially by her own foolishness and the other part because of Trace’s raised voice.

“No. You’re not going out there. You’re safe here.”

“I’ll be safe talking to Sam—”

“Do you seriously believe that?” His face reddened as he leaned toward her. “Weren’t you with
him
when the sniper tried to slam some lead through your skull?” Nostrils flaring, he walked to the other side of the table, pacing. “No, you need to stay here.”

It was hard to hear. Harder to hear the way he said it. But she knew he was right. Knew going to Sam was a risk.

Only when Boone shifted did Annie remember there was another person in the room. He stood and walked to the door. Then looked at Annie. “He’s a SEAL. Sam will be fine.”

“If Trace doesn’t kill him first,” she muttered, half joking.

Boone gave a nod then looked to the team commander and left.

Trace blew out a breath. Shook his head. “We’ve erased your identity in and around Manson. You don’t exist there anymore.” Back to her, he touched the table with two fingers. “I called in some favors, and I’m sure nobody will admit you were there.”

“Except Sam. And what you’re doing—that will just make Sam more determined to find me.”

Trace gave her that stern-browed scowl again. “For his sake, I hope that’s not true.”

Hating to talk to his back, she swung around in front of him, staring up at those green eyes that once held powerful sway over her. She didn’t trust herself to touch him. Or close the limited gap between them. “Trace, please. What do you want? Would you walk away from this? For the last five years after we were set up, did you walk away from trying to find out who did this?”

“It’s different. They hit my team.
Hurt
my team. Broke laws. Murdered. It got real personal.”

“For Sam, it’s personal, too. Because of me.” It’d taken her two years to let the guy in, to open up and accept that she liked him, too. Her past, her relationships, and Misrata had kept her heart and feelings locked in a box. She’d never been prone to emotional outbursts or typical female hormonal rages, but after Misrata, she was even more disciplined in guarding her feelings.

His gaze met hers then ricocheted off. “I don’t have any options, Annie. He could get us all killed.”

She touched his arm. When he stiffened, she lowered it. “Can you wait? Just…wait for him to—”

“Get bored and give up?” Trace narrowed his gaze at her then pointed to the laptop. “Does that look like a guy who’s going to get bored?”

Annie turned to the table and slumped into a chair. Fingertips pressed to her face, she fought the frustration. “You can’t just kill him.”

Silence dropped like an anchor, leaving her alone with her thoughts and grief. Sam was a good guy. She had to convince Trace. Just…how? How did she turn this around? Defeated, she lowered her hands and looked up.

She sat alone in the room. Annie pushed to her feet and spotted Trace crossing the room. Boone hollered something to him, but Trace kept moving. In a few large strides, Boone was at the door, scowling. “What happened?”

Nuala

Lucketts, Virginia

12 May – 0130 Hours

Darkness laid in wait. Haunting. Daring. On the prowl.

Nuala shrugged and leaned her cheek against the butt of her sniper rifle. Prostrate on the rooftop, she too waited. In trembling. It was wrong. Something was wrong. She felt it in the warm, sticky air. In the oppressive gloom that coated the city.

Green washed the scene before her, bathing the warehouse and other structures in a pale green shimmer. She traced the reticle to the right, along the tree line that guarded the city and its inhabitants. There sat Zulu, ready for the mission that would establish them.

Téya and Annie huddled near an old, rusted-out truck twenty yards from the warehouse. They had point. Back and over a street, the rest of the team waited inside an empty storefront. But…it was weird. They weren’t there. Yet they were.

Nuala rubbed her eyes and looked back through the scope. There again. Gone again.

Ghosts.

They were ghosts. A sudden rush of cold air down her spine startled her. Nuala shuddered, firming her grip and reverifying her range to target. Something floated into her sight. A skull. A hollowed-out skull with strips of clothing for a body. The face shifted, becoming that of a small child.

Riveted to the ghoulish, midair dance, Nuala couldn’t tear her gaze from the scope. Yet everything in her railed, shivered, demanded to be free of the terrifying image. She pushed back, but it felt as if something had permanently secured her face to the rifle. The droning tick of a timer pounded in the back of her mind.

No.

Finally, Nuala pried free. When she looked around, panting, her clothes drenched in sweat, she found…nothing. Only a cold night smothered in the pale light of the moon and distant fluorescent streetlamps. No ghoul. No childish-skull-thing.

“Sitrep, Fire-eye.”

Fire-eye. Hearing her call sign jogged her out of the moment of terror. Trace wanted an update. Right.
Focus
. With a stuttering breath, she lowered herself to the ground again. She took up her position again. Her limbs shook as she adjusted the dials. She momentarily switched to thermals and traced the building.

Spotted Téya and Annie slipping into the warehouse, setting the charges. Wiring it up. Candice and Jessie hurried through, clearing their area. Moving on target with their projected timeline. They’d be clear in a few mikes. The building would be gone. And Zulu would have saved the day from terrorists.

But something, some darkness hung over a portion of the warehouse. Blotted out her view. Black. Jet black. She scanned left. Found the girls. Bright yellows and reds mingled with some blue.

Nuala slid right. Black. Jet black again.

She adjusted a dial. Slowly, the black began to fade. Lighter…lighter…gray. A little more.
Keep adjusting, you’ll miss your shot
. She turned it again and—

Lined up, row upon row, she spied children on beds. And they were singing. But they were asleep. No, they can’t be singing.
How can I know they’re singing?

Just as the question flooded her mind, she realized she could see the children, as if looking through a glass rather than through thermal imaging.

This doesn’t make sense
.

A child sat up from the bunk. Black hair hung in perfect ringlets. Her dress was yellow and fluffy with tiers of ruffles. Pretty yellow ribbons and beads in her hair. She smiled up at Nuala, as if she peered up the wrong end of the scope.

Heart thundering, Nuala froze. That’s not possible.

“Fire-eye,” came the terse voice of the team commander. “Sitrep. Over.”

“Uh…” Her voice trembled and cracked as she stared through the scope at the perfect brown eyes that gazed back with utter affection and adoration. “Fine. All clear.”

No! It’s not clear! There are children in there!

As if she were two distinct persons, a war erupted. One that told her to order the team to abort the mission, save the children. The other that seemed ignorant of the children, so hyper-focused on the mission and success that it ignored what it saw.

“Roger that,” Trace replied. “Stay sharp. Ten mikes.”

Ten minutes. The children had ten minutes.

Nuala blinked, easing away from the scope and the image of the girl in the yellow dress. She looked down at the dirt. At the rocks. At the…blood!

She yelped and shoved backward onto her rear end, hands braced at her side. She checked the spot—but it wasn’t there. No blood. She stared hard, shoving her palm against her temple. She was losing her mind.

What is going on?

“Five mikes,” Trace called. “Eyes out, everyone.”

No! The children! Have to get the children out
.

Throwing herself back to the weapon, she adjusted. Sat right. Had to tell them. Had to warn Zulu. Her friends would save the children. They had to.

“How we doing, Zulu?”

“Alfa and Tango, almost done,” Annie said.

“Charlie and Juliet all clear,” Candice radioed through.

Nuala keyed her mic. “No! Stop. Listen—”

“Good. RTB and let’s move!”

“Wait.” Nuala’s throat felt five sizes too big. Drenched with adrenaline. “Stop! It—”

“Copy that. Charlie and Juliet RTB.”

“Copy.”

“Tango and Alfa en route now.”

Why couldn’t they hear her? Why were they ignoring—

Something poked her in the cheek. She flinched and turned to find out what was pricking her. Her heart jumped into her throat at the severed coms cord. A strangled cry gargled up her throat.

Unable to breathe, unable to move, she sat in horror as a high-pitched whistle shrieked through the night.

BooOOOooom!

Amid the yellow ball of fire rose screams. The screams of children. They took form, ghoulish, childlike skulls in shredded clothing. Flying right at her.

“
Noo
!” Nuala jerked forward.

“Hey hey hey.” Arms came around her.

Nuala shoved them away and scrabbled backward. Pain thudded against the back of her skull as she blinked. Blinked again and found herself staring at the concerned faces of Téya and Annie.

Relief detonated in her chest.

Followed by a squall of grief.

She dropped her face into her hands and cried. Comforting arms wrapped around her as sobs wracked her body. Hauling in a deep breath, she detected a fruity scent that proved somehow calming and reassuring. Nuala burrowed into the warm embrace of a friend, wishing the images, the nightmare could be bleached from her mind.

Eyes burning and puffy, she straightened, unsure how long she’d made a spectacle of herself. Palming away the tears revealed how hot her face had become. Gave her a vague knowledge of how splotchy her cheeks and eyes must be. “Sorry,” she sniffled.

Hugging her knees, Annie sat beside her. “No,” Annie said. “It happens to all of us.”

Disbelief spread through Nuala. “Seriously?” She looked to Téya, who sat backward on the rolling chair in front of the bunk. “You have nightmares?”

They both couldn’t meet her gaze. But she saw their pain. The grief.

“I would do anything—
anything
to make that day go away.”

“We all would.” The strong bass voice startled them all, pulling their attention to the door, where Boone, dressed in sweats and a T-shirt but barefoot, stood holstering his weapon. “It was one messed up day.” He nodded to them then to Nuala specifically.

Her heart did a jig as his gray eyes met hers. The angular jawline. The thick neck and shoulders. But the eyes. Boone’s eyes…

Thanks to the flush from crying, Nuala knew he wouldn’t see the blush creeping into her cheeks as his eyes lingered on her.

“Need something to rest?” he asked, his voice deep and quiet. Caring.

“No—” Her voice croaked on the word. She cleared her throat, embarrassed. “No, I’ll be fine. That…” She lifted a shoulder in a shrug, not wanting him to worry about her. Wanting to be strong like Téya and Annie. Neither of them had cried out in terror since they’d come to the bunker. “The nightmare wore me out. That’s all.”

He wasn’t buying it, she could tell. But he also wasn’t the type of man to embarrass her further. “No shame remembering what happened.” Boone gave her a curt nod. “Get some rest.” And he vanished.

No, there wasn’t shame in remembering the past. There was shame in not being strong enough to stop it from controlling her mind. And
that
shame was reserved for Noodle-Brain.
Me
.

Téya

Lucketts, Virginia

12 May – 0630 Hours

Sleep clinging to her heavier than a dew-drenched blanket, Téya trudged from the bathroom to the small kitchen area. She started a pot of coffee then dug through the fridge for something. Emerging with a single-serve yogurt, she yawned so hard it made her ears pop. At the six-foot table, she tucked a leg under herself as she sat in the chair and hooked her other leg up and propped it on the edge.

Peeling back the foil of the yogurt, she heard someone else shuffling in. Annie appeared around the corner, her blond curls perfect. “You make me sick,” Téya muttered as she stirred the yogurt, churning the fruit on the bottom. “Oh my gosh—you’re already dressed.”

Annie stopped and frowned. “Of course I am.” Her gaze skated to the briefing room.

Téya smirked. “He’s not here. Won’t be today.”

Cheeks pinked, Annie went to the pantry. “Who?”

“You two really went at it yesterday. What was that about? Old passions revived?” Téya snickered as she spooned the first bite into her mouth.

Annie popped her on the back of the head.

“Hey!” Dropping the yogurt on the table, Téya scowled. “It is too early in the morning for that abuse.” She lifted her breakfast again. “Especially when I’m hitting the mark.”

With a bowl and box of health-nut cereal, Annie joined her. “You’re not even close.”

Wagging her spoon at Annie, Téya couldn’t help but rub it in. “You’ve always been a bad liar.”

Annie rolled her eyes then poured her cereal and milk. “Sam is nosing around, trying to find me. He went on a news show and said he wouldn’t give up. Trace wants to neutralize him.”

Nearly choking on a blueberry, Téya coughed. “He said that?”

“No,” Annie said as she returned the box to the pantry and the milk to the fridge. “He said Sam had to be dealt with.”

Mouth full of yogurt, Téya laughed. “And you took it he meant to kill your hunky boyfriend.”