Operation Zulu Redemption--Complete Season 1 (62 page)

Heat skidded down her neck, eliciting too much response from her betraying body.

But then her mind snagged on what he meant. Against the wall, which wasn’t in view when she’d stood behind him, a subtle shift in color—a shadow hung on the wall. She took in a breath, realizing someone stood out of sight, lying in wait.

Had she rushed ahead, she wouldn’t have noticed and might’ve ended up dead. But The Turk had seen it.

Did he miss anything?

His hand covered hers. Not for romance. But to remind her of what she held—the gun. Did he want her to give it to him? Nervous jitters squirreled through her. Give him the gun and she was defenseless. Powerless.

But he’d been in a place to kill her twice now, and hadn’t.

Even as she acknowledged that fact, she felt his other arm moving. Saw a dark object and knew he had a gun of his own. She shouldn’t be surprised. And she wasn’t. Not really. She doubted a man like him was ever unarmed, whether with a gun or some other type of weapon. And he probably didn’t need anything to kill. The time he’d pressed her against the wall and rammed his forearm into her throat told her that. One more thrust against her skinny neck and she would’ve been dead.

He touched her shoulder then slid out from behind her, shimmying along the wall like some type of spider. Crazy fast. Crazy quiet. He had to be half ninja or something.

As he closed in on the person waiting, she realized he had never looked back. Never verified that she’d stay with him. But where else would she go? They were in this together.

Unless he was part of this.

Unless he was the mastermind.

How else would he know the passages so well?

How else would he know Georg was here?

Sidling up against the juncture that held the attacker, he pressed his back to the wall. Téya scuttled up right behind him, breath jammed into her throat. He lunged around the corner.

A shot cracked through the deafening blaze of alarms. Téya sidestepped out, weapon ready. She took aim. Tangles of arms and bodies made it impossible to sort out who was who.

“Shoot!”

The voice, even in the thickly padded noise of the alarms, was distinctly The Turk’s.

Shoot. Right? But who? She couldn’t—

In a split second she saw The Turk’s profile. Instinctively, she fired at the other man. He thumped back against the wall. Turned to her. Angry.

He wore a vest beneath that security shirt.

Téya fired again—this time at the guy’s leg to at least slow him down.

The Turk spun around and retrieved his gun from the floor. He snapped it up. Fired at the guy. About to object to the brutality, Téya froze when she saw the serrated fighting knife in the man’s other hand.

He was going to kill her one way or another. The Turk had saved her.

She pushed her gaze to The Turk. He grinned. “You can’t be the hero all the time.” He caught her hand and jerked her around the corner, then down the long corridor. Ahead, a door beckoned, a glowing sign above it declared it an exit. They ran toward it for all they were worth.

Out. They were almost out. Téya felt a little giddy.

The Turk pitched toward the door.

Yes. Out. Home free…

Only, The Turk’s legs buckled. A dark stain spread over his shoulder. The door flung open. The Turk clung to it, using it to pull himself around.

Téya nearly tripped over his legs. Like a pileup on the highway. Her legs tangled over his. She flew forward. Rolled against the fall and came back to her feet.

She jerked toward The Turk.

He hauled himself up as he shut the door. Dropped hard against it. Holding his right arm.

Téya lifted his arm and hooked hers around his waist. Then they were rushing on.

“The guard hut on the south,” he said as they broke out across the parking lot.

She knew exactly what he meant and headed there. They came to a small overpass, the tunnel below part of a rail system.

“There.” He huffed and stumbled toward the rail.

“No, it’s—”

His legs were over the edge.

Téya gasped. Then saw the open-bed truck waiting below. Only a dozen feet, but it’d hurt if they landed wrong. Behind them shouts erupted.

Time for a leap of faith.

Téya climbed over the rail, feet perched precariously on the ledge. She looked at The Turk. Sweat dotted his brow in the lights of the facility. With a nod, he took her hand then stepped off the ledge.

They dropped like a sack of potatoes into the truck. Téya’s legs crumpled, and she pitched to the side. Their heads collided. It felt as if a hammer hit her and knocked her sideways into the bed of the truck. Pain darted down her cheekbone and neck.

And even before she could untangle herself from The Turk, the truck lurched into motion, barreling into the darkness of the tunnel.

Hands hooked beneath her arms, startling her.

“Easy,” someone said, hauling her backward, up against the hull of the cab.

The deafening, windy roar of the tunnel gave way to the intermittent streetlights. Swerving right, the truck sailed over the track and onto the street. The high rate of speed made conversation impossible, wind whipping her hair in her face like tiny snapping needles.

They’d made it. They’d actually escaped.

She turned to The Turk to share her excitement. And found him slumped against a wheel well, someone tending his wound. But The Turk was watching her. Smiling.

A silent message telegraphed through that moment. What it said, she didn’t want to think about. She didn’t want to read that message right now. Guilt rushed in. Reminded her she was only working with Zulu to get Misrata resolved. To get back home to David. Not to fall for an assassin. Especially one who clearly had no compunction against beating her up, one who’d tried to kill her.

Was she really that stupid?

Annie

Lucketts, Virginia

10 June – 0800 Hours EST

“Téya and the others are back on U.S. soil,” Houston announced. “She’ll head this way in about an hour.”

Annie nodded, sitting at one of the computer terminals in the bunker, working on threads to the mystery with Misrata, but her thoughts kept bouncing back to Téya, Nuala, and Rusty. Were they okay? How had the mission gone? Mostly, she wondered if The Turk had betrayed them. Killed them all.

A ridiculous thought. Had to be. Trace wouldn’t have let them go if he had doubts about their security. Then again, Trace hadn’t exactly been himself lately. A bit terse, distant—well, except when he wasn’t kissing her.

Yeah… She couldn’t deny how much she’d wanted that to happen or how many times she’d dreamed of it since he’d broken her heart five years ago. Kissing him was every bit as good as it had been when they’d started seeing each other secretly. He’d said she was too young for him. Maybe he’d been right, but she fell head over heels for him. She adored Trace Weston. Admired him. Respected him. Slept with him.

Annie lowered her head, still a bit ashamed at how far their relationship had gone. But there was more guilt at how much she’d wanted it back over those years since their paths diverged. How much she’d wanted the warm comfort of his arms around her. The passion of his kisses. The reassurance of his love.

But he’d left her. High and dry.

She could forgive him. Had forgiven him. But that didn’t mean they could just pick up where they’d left off.

“Can we talk?”

Annie blinked and looked up, startled to find Sam standing there thumbing over his shoulder toward the lounge. Coming out of her chair, she nodded. “Uh, yeah.” This certainly didn’t sound good. Had he read her thoughts, known she was thinking about Trace? Or worse—had he somehow seen her kiss Trace? “Should you be up?”

“A long time ago,” he said as they took positions on the seating group.

She tucked herself into a chair, hands in her lap, feeling every bit as if she’d been called to the dean’s office.

Sam sat there for a while, rubbing his hands. The bandages around his shoulder poked up against the fabric of his T-shirt. Finally, he brought his dark eyes to hers. “I’m going back to Manson.”

She came forward. “What? No, you—”

“With my shoulder messed up, I’m out of commission for a good three, maybe five weeks. I’m not going to be able to help here.”

“You can! You can research, do computer stuff with Houston.” Her heart thundered as she realized the last thing she wanted was for him to leave.

“Annie, I need to leave…you.”

She stopped breathing. Tears stung her eyes.

“I think you need to figure out what you want.”

The tears spilled over, rushing down her cheeks, hot and fast. That’s when she knew. “You saw us.”

A pained expression streaked across his face. “No, but I had a feeling. It’s all over your face.”

“I’m sorry, Sam.” She scooted forward in the seat. “You’re right—I have to figure out some things, but I don’t want to do it without you.”

“That sounds good, in theory,” he said with a smile. “But in real life, with us here, I don’t think it’ll work.” When she opened her mouth to object, he held up a hand. “If you go forward, I want you to know my intention up front. I want a future with you. I’m not going to yank you around. I’m not going to leave you.” He drew something from his pocket. A gold solitaire lay in his palm.

She swallowed a sob. How long had she ached for someone to say those words to her? And to have Sam… “Oh, Calamari,” she sighed. Her gaze landed on the ring, and Annie knew what she wanted. “I want that life, Sam. I want it with you.”

“Yes, but do you want it because it’ll hurt Trace? Or do you want it because you love me?”

“Because—”Annie froze, realizing she didn’t know the answer to that question. She
did
want to hurt Trace. He’d devastated her. Left her with more than just a broken promise, but she’d never exposed
that
secret to the light of day. And she never would. Truth was, she had strong feelings for both Sam and Trace. In different ways that she couldn’t sort out.

“Yeah,” he said with a nod that made her aware she hadn’t answered. “You have some things to work out. Because if ‘us’ is just about hurting him, what happens when your anger wears off?”

“It hasn’t worn off in five years.” She batted her golden curls out of her face. “Look, yes—I have to sort this. Trace devastated me. He left me when he’d promised to be there for me. I gave him
everything
.” She paused intentionally to make sure he caught her meaning.

Understanding spread through his features, and he got up from the seating group. Paced. Though she wasn’t sure and she’d never heard Sam utter an oath, she was pretty sure one seared the air.

He started for the bunk rooms then pivoted back. Stood there. Came toward her. Shook his head.

He wanted to leave. But Sam, in his intense desire to be honorable, refused to break the promise he’d just made—he wouldn’t leave her.

Annie didn’t move, because he had every right to be angry. “I trusted him. Believed him. And he left me on an airstrip, alone and—” She bit off the rest of that dark jungle of her life. “It was to protect me, he says. But…”

“Annie,” Sam said, his tone tight, tense. “You’re not over him.”

She swallowed. Hard.

Nostrils flared, Sam shook his head, clearly ticked.

“Sam, I—”

A sharp gasp came from the command station. “Oh man.” Houston’s grave tone of voice spiraled through the open station. “Dude, I’m so sorry.”

Annie pushed to her feet and looked toward Houston. “What’s wrong?”

Jaw slack, Houston met her gaze and touched the Bluetooth in his ear. “All right, man,” he spoke to someone. “See you—and…and I’m sorry.” He pressed his earpiece, ending the call with a heavy shake of his head. “Keeley died.”

The world suddenly felt a lot less bright and cheery. Annie couldn’t process it—she was gone. They’d won…again.

Thunk!
The massive locks of the main door disengaged. With a heavy groan, the steel barrier swung inward. Téya rushed in wearing battle scars—a busted lip, a cut on her temple that made the bruise around her eye seem like a bad makeup job. She lifted a hand to them but started immediately for the back.

“Téya—”

“Not yet,” she said tightly.

“Keeley’s dead,” Annie snapped.

Téya stopped, facing sideways in her trek to the bunk rooms. Lowered her head. Then continued to the back. A couple of minutes later, Nuala and Rusty entered the underground bunker, both worn and weary.

Perceptive Nuala keyed into the problem immediately. “What’s happened?”

Something in Annie finally broke loose. “It’s Keeley,” she said, her throat raw. “She’s gone.”

Nuala’s eyes widened. She covered her mouth and turned, looking for something or someone. Then she came back around to Annie, eyes dribbling tears. “Boone—how’s Boone? Where is he?”

“On his way,” Houston said, removing his headset.

“What happened?” Annie asked, nodding in the direction Téya fled. “Did The Turk burn her?”

Rusty moved forward. “The mission had complications. We lost coms with Téya after the first twenty minutes in—as I’m sure Houston told you.”

“Indeed I did,” Houston said, cracking his knuckles. “And I might not be a black ops soldier, but even I know something else went on after all that.”

“Téya and The Turk fled the facility. She was missing for two hours. We got a call from The Turk’s people, who promised to deliver Téya to the airstrip. She showed up and hasn’t spoken a word since.”

A phone line tweedled. Houston rolled his chair back to his monitors and caught the call. “What can I do for you, sir?”

Annie knew who it was. Houston only gave that deference to one man—Trace. Out of the corner of her eye, she detected Sam moving toward the bunk room. She met his gaze, briefly. His anger still hung like a neon sign around his neck. She’d failed him. While the intimacy she’d shared with Trace happened prior to meeting Sam, the kiss they’d shared hadn’t. And Annie had admitted she was confused. What a great way to ruin one of the best things that had happened to her.

Then again, she’d once said that about Trace.

Maybe Annie just couldn’t trust herself where love was concerned. Maybe she didn’t have the ability to rightly discern love from loyalty.