Tactical Deception: Silent Warrior, Book 2 (16 page)

“Damn,” Bean said.

“Cave is over here.” Dugar pulled out a flashlight and shoved away the vines hiding the cave’s entrance, then slid inside. An odd smell hit him, but he moved forward.

“You said you had a get-out-of-jail-free card. Was this it?”

“No, Bean. This ain’t nothing but an escape route. It tunnels close to the parking lot and there’s another section of it that exits about a hundred yards outside of the camp’s electric fence. I’ve got—shit—just know I’ve got enough C4 stashed to make happen what Lloyd wanted do and then some.”

“Then you’ve got the stash close. We can get to it fast?”

“Yep. Real close. A few vines and you’d never know this cave was here. Right now we’re going to have some fun. Shoot some spooks and anybody else running around putting on airs as if they’re better than us rightful whites. Then we’re going to wait for that bit—What the fuck!”

Dugar almost tripped over the rotting corpse on the ground. He pulled back, bumping into Bean. His hand trembled as he centered the flashlight’s beam on the body. He knew…it was…he recognized… “It’s Lloyd! Son of a bitch, it’s Lloyd. Slayer killed him. Damn son of a bitch. I knew it. I’m gonna kill the bastard, right now.”

Dugar swung around and stopped short. Bean had a pistol pointed right at him. Bean didn’t look much like Bean anymore. “I can’t let you do that.”

“What the fuck? What’s this?”

“Get on your knees and put your hands behind your head. You’re under arrest.”

Dugar reached for Sugar and Bean laughed. “You don’t think I would have come out here with you and a loaded gun, do you? I unloaded all of your weapons when you were in the head. Took your knives too. They’re all back at the cabin.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Just an undercover son of a bitch who’s defanging the Vipers. You should have taken my advice and stayed at the camp. Your killing days are over, Frank Dugar.”

Bean. Bean was…Bean used to hang around Lloyd. A lot. Fuck. “Did ya kill Lloyd?”

“Tried to arrest him. He was guilty of the mail bombings at the very least and possibly involved in one of the most horrific acts of domestic terrorism ever. He shared a lot of shit with me, bragging about his executions, bragging about Oklahoma. He shot himself rather than let me take him in.”

Dugar saw red. Using Sugar like a bat, he went after Bean. Bean fired twice, but Dugar had anticipated the shots and had dropped low as he slammed the stock butt under Bean’s chin, snapping his head back. Leaping forward, he hit Bean again and again with Sugar’s hardcore butt. Bean managed to get off a shot, hitting Dugar in the shoulder, but that was all.

Dugar beat the man to death then stood, gasping for air. Murderous rage coursed through him. His killing days were going to rev into full gear now. He started for the camp then decided he was going to go kick some ass with Sugar and get that bitch first. Besides, he needed time to fucking think first.

It was Bean all along and Dugar had practically kept the bastard in his back pocket. It made Dugar look like the biggest fool alive. Nobody from the camp could find out who Bean was or Dugar’s reputation was dead. Dugar headed for the cars. He had all the bullets he needed in his trunk.

Bean. A fucking undercover shit. Son of a bitch.

Chapter Eighteen

Fort Bragg, North Carolina

0800 hours

Mari lay awake, but kept her eyes shut, pretending to herself that she was asleep. In truth, she’d tossed and turned all night long. She ached everywhere. She didn’t want to get up, yet she couldn’t justify staying in bed any longer, dreading the deed. Her stomach churned and she had no idea how she could face the world—

The familiar and beloved sound of wind chimes tinkled and for a brief moment she thought it had all been a bad dream. That she’d open her eyes and she’d be at home with Neil at her side, keeping her world simple and safe. That there was no Dugar. The sun would be shining and the morning breeze would play music amid the dozens of wind chimes on her porch. And the problem of Roger’s intrusion into things that should have been sacred to Neil didn’t exist. That the unwanted feelings Roger evoked had remained the deeply buried dark secret she had refused to examine and had avoided at all cost. Only Neil should have been able to make her heart race. Only Neil should have filled her every thought, her every dream, her every fantasy.

A riot of chimes rang out and Mari popped her eyes open. She was in Roger’s bedroom and the world was not simple and safe anymore. Neil was gone forever and Roger’s presence loomed larger than ever. But the wind chimes were real and Roger didn’t have wind chimes.

She rose and quickly dressed, leaving her abaya and hijab where they lay across the room on a chair by the window. The exact place they were when Roger had asked her not to wear them.

Opening the bedroom door, she took two steps into the great room and stopped cold. Pictures of butterflies from her house hung on Roger’s walls. Little mementoes from her shelves at home were scattered about and a photograph of her and Neil sat framed on the shelf, his warm smile and loving gaze a cherished memory within her heart. She sighed softly, drinking in the sight, so missing the familiar.

Even though Roger evoked things inside her, she had loved her husband.

“I hope you don’t mind.” Roger spoke from her right and she turned to see him just outside the patio doors, leading to the balcony. Morning sunlight glinted off his dark hair and cast his face in shadows. He reached out and ran his fingers across several of her wind chimes he’d hung by the door, making a splash of music. “I brought you some of your things from home to have around while you’re here. There’s a large box of stuff on the coffee table too. I didn’t intend for you to forget Neil nor would I ever want you to. I never will.”

“Thank you.” Her eyes stung and her throat closed. That Roger had done this for her, for her memory of Neil, touched her deeply. She scanned the room again, amazed to see that most of the things Roger had chosen were what she would have chosen herself.

“You like butterflies,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

The question caught her by surprise. No one had ever asked. “I guess it is because they are so gently beautiful.” She moved over to the rich watercolor picture he’d hung on the wall and brushed her finger over the glass-covered Lycaenidae with black-edged, vibrant blue wings and realized the colors nearly matched Roger’s eyes. She’d been drawn to this picture and bought it before she’d met Roger. It was one of the very first things she’d bought for pleasure after coming to America. “And free,” she whispered. “They are beautiful and free.”

“Not always though,” Roger said softly. “They were once trapped in a cocoon and had to break loose in order to fly.”

Mari turned to look at him. Hadn’t she already done that by coming to America? Before she could ask him what he meant, he looked at his watch. “I have to go check on some things and Holly left this morning on an assignment, so you’re here alone. I’ll be back in about an hour, okay?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He nodded her way as he moved into the room and closed the balcony door. She saw his face then. His eyes were bloodshot, making them even bluer than ever. He didn’t look as if he’d slept either.

She scrambled for a way to stop his quick march to leave. She had to say something, had to let him know that her struggle over Neil wasn’t his fault, but she was at a loss. She and Roger had just started to become friends and she’d destroyed it all with her confession. What must he think of her? He reached the door, turned the knob.

“Roger.”

“What?” He swung around as if she’d yelled for help. And as she looked at him, really seeing how worn and tense he was, she realized there wasn’t anything she could say to change the situation for either of them. She’d given Roger as much of the truth as she possibly could last night. He made Neil disappear and she couldn’t accept that. Not in her heart, no matter how much her blood raced and her senses danced.

“Thank you for bringing all of this to me.”

He sighed. “I wish I could take you back to your home, but I can’t. Not now even more than before. If Dugar is still determined to make you a target of his hate then seeing you—”

“Allah, have mercy,” Mari whispered and turned to take several calming breaths. “Seeing me on the news will renew his anger.” She’d brought this on herself. First by leaving the post, and second by allowing panic from the past to take over. She knew in her heart that she was stronger than the weaknesses tearing at her. She just had to find a way to overcome them.

“Hey.” Roger’s hand brushed her shoulder and she turned quickly. He stood so close that she bumped against his chest and stumbled from the shock of pleasure. He clasped her shoulders to steady her, his gaze intense and solemn. He spoke in a rush, as if he had to utter everything quickly in order to say it. “It’s all going to be all right. Do you understand? Everything is going to be okay no matter what video is making the Internet rounds. You, the baby, Neil’s memory, are all going to be fine because we are going to work on it until it is.

“Your little girl will grow up free, knowing as much about her father as she can learn from me and the guys on the team. Your confusion. Your panic. We’ll get help fixing that. Should have done it after Dugar’s attack. He almost killed you twice and what you’re going through is normal. I have to tell you that men on the team experience panic attacks after something rough happens in the field. Hell, sometimes it happens to me in the middle of the night. The whole racing-heart, cold-sweat, pressing-weight-crushing-in-on-you thing. It’s not unusual and certainly nothing to be ashamed over. Meanwhile, we’re going to catch Dugar, then your life will go back to being as normal as we can possibly get it. All of that is a promise that you can count on.” He let go of her shoulders, but didn’t step away. Instead he brushed his thumb along the edge of her jaw, his gaze both a source of pleasure and pain inside her. “I’m sorry about what happened last night on the couch. It won’t happen again. I won’t let it. That’s another promise. You’re a beautiful woman and I allowed myself to get tangled up in stuff I shouldn’t have.”

He cleared his throat and stepped back, pulling his hand away and fisting it at his side. He was still tense, but not as tense. He smiled slightly. “And from now on, I want you to make decisions on what makes you comfortable. If that means covering yourself from head to toe, then you do that. If that means not doing so, then that’s okay. It was wrong of me to make demands of you that went against your beliefs just because I don’t see the value of them in my culture.”

She shook her head. “You didn’t demand.”

“Yeah, I did. And let’s leave it at that.” He moved to the door. “I won’t be long. But there is one thing you can promise me.”

“Yes.” Her gaze followed his every movement, trying to absorb what he said, trying to figure out why she was torn between relief and something close to loss.

“You’re not a prisoner here on the post. You can come and go, but until we catch Dugar will you let me be the person that goes with you? Can you promise me that?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks. We’ll keep up with those shooting lessons and add a few other things to it as well, like Krav Maga. I want to know that you’re as safe as we can make you.” He nodded then left.

Mari forced herself to stand still, to not run for the door, to not call him back and tell him she didn’t want to lose him. Why? There was nothing Roger said that indicated he wasn’t going to be around. In fact, more than ever she got the idea he was a committed friend she could count on. But the stiffness of his bearing and the almost-bleak remoteness in his eyes told her that he’d removed himself from her on some inner level and she felt the yawning distance inside her.

She was being ridiculous. Overreacting. Besides, what had happened to all of her bravado about leaving to keep him safe and making it on her own?

She’d lost it in the crowd of protesters yesterday.

This stance Roger had taken was exactly the right thing for her, for Neil, for her child and for him. So why did she feel so out of sorts and more confused than ever?

Almost afraid to look now, she went to the couch and the box of things from her home Roger had brought. The first things she saw were the books Neil had prerecorded. She picked up
My Little Princess,
opened the first page and Neil’s voice filled the void in her heart that he’d left behind.

She thought she would have cried, that her grief over losing Neil would have grabbed her insides again and pulled her back into the dark place she’d been before Dugar’s attack. It didn’t happen. Her heart squeezed with pain and with love. Her eyes stung when she finished listening to the book and she placed her palm against her growing child. But the world did not end, and she didn’t fall apart. She set the book aside, searched for more treasures from her life with Neil.

Chapter Nineteen

Atlanta, Georgia

One thing about making love in the middle of hell, the pleasure glow didn’t last long. Angie glanced back over her shoulder, searching the shadows beneath the twisted live-oak limbs closing her and Rico in. Seeing nothing, she tried to shake the feeling and focused on bringing up the next picture on her computer screen for Rico to see. There were a number of people in the picture—joggers, kids on roller skates and two women pushing a baby stroller. “I took this picture here, facing that path.”