No Options Page 9

  Panting softly, Jonathan leaned against the doorway. “Sergeant Ward from Alpha team.”

  “Where are you located?”

  He sagged to a sitting position. “Hut on the northern side. One injured. Not sure how many dead. We need your help.”

  “Landing now. Stay put.”

  Jonathan crept to David’s side and released the tourniquet. More blood.

  Nabeelah faced him with wide eyes. She crawled toward the door. “Sergeant Jonathan, is Sergeant David going to die?”

  He caught her arm and pulled her back. “Stay here, Nabeelah.”

  Footsteps pounded from a nearby field where they’d trained the militia.

  Dash, the captain from Delta team, crept inside with gun raised.

  Nabeelah cowered in a corner.

  Jonathan kept himself between her and the captain. “Nabeelah, it’s okay.”

  Dash lowered his gun. “Ward, glad to see you.”

  “Shepherd’s injured.” He nodded toward his friend. A lump filled his throat. “He’s going to die if—”

  “We’ll take care of him.” Dash gestured toward the door. “You and the girl come with me.”

  Jonathan extended his hand toward Nabeelah. “It’s okay. You’re among friends.”

  Hesitantly, she took it.

  They followed the captain from the hut. Nabeelah tried to tug loose. He held firmly to her.

  “We’re getting you out of here,” Dash said as they maneuvered within a protective diamond of fellow SF soldiers whose rifles never lowered.

  “What about the other guys?” Jonathan asked.

  Dash stopped and stared. “What others? You’re it, Ward. You and Shepherd.” He jabbed a finger at Nabeelah. “And her.”

  “What?”

  Jonathan jumped at Nabeelah’s scream.

  At first, he thought she’d gotten shot.

  In some ways, it was worse.

  He stared at the broken body of the chieftain and his wife. Plus Nabeelah’s twin brother, her only other sibling.

  She broke through the diamond and ran to them. Sobbing, she fell to her knees and rocked back and forth.

  Dash’s tense features softened only a little. “Everyone’s dead. Our guys. The village.”

  Jonathan swore as agony seared his soul.

  A medevac chopper with its red and white cross on the nose approached.

  Dash called for a halt. “We’re getting Shepherd and you back to base.”

  Nabeelah. Jonathan couldn’t leave her. “She needs to come with us.”

  The girl wailed as she held her mother’s lifeless body in her arms.

  Dash hesitated.

  Jonathan ran toward her. “I’m not leaving her. She’s lost everything. Her family, her village, any hope of survival.”

  Dash followed. “But she’s—”

  “She’s been loyal to us beyond what was required.” He whipped around and turned on Delta team’s captain. “She’s coming with me. Go ahead. Write me up for insubordination.”

  “Fine. She goes, then. But we’re leaving.” Dash raised his head when the two medics on his team burst from the hut with David on a stretcher. “Get her and be done with it.”

  Jonathan knelt beside Nabeelah, whose keening reached new heights. “Nabeelah. Hey, we have to go.”

  Her grip tightened around her mother.

  “It’s not safe here. You need to come with me.” Gently, he pried her arms free and held onto her.

  A primordial scream escaped her. She beat against his chest until she collapsed weeping. He picked her up and carried her to the chopper. Somehow, something—the Holy Spirit, probably—kept him going as they made it to Camp Romeo. Abigail, investigating another crime at the camp, saved his sanity.

  Hours later, Jonathan slammed open the door to the temporary quarters where Nabeelah stayed and found nothing. Only her blanket pushed back and an indentation on the pillow. Abigail questioned the camp’s CO. Mysterious men had spirited Nabeelah away during the night.

  Heartbroken, Jonathan finally retreated to his quarters.

  Someone knocked on the door.

  “Jonathan?” Abigail called.

  “Leave me alone.”

  “Are you in there?”

  “I said leave me alone!”

  His eyes snapped open. He’d fully collapsed onto the balcony’s tile. Sweat coated him, and he shivered in the cold night air. I’m at the hotel, not at Camp Romeo. He raised his head.

  “Jonathan?”

  David, not Abigail.

  Jonathan scrambled to his feet. He staggered inside and caught himself on the corner of the dresser before nearly ripping the door off its hinges as he let his friend inside. “Sorry about that, bro.”

  “No problem.” David ambled into the room. He peered at him. “You okay? You look flushed. And sweaty. You’re not getting sick, are you?”

  If only. Jonathan ran his hand through his hair. His fingers came away damp. “No.”

  David shut the floor-to-ceiling windows. “What’s going on?”

  “Reliving some bad, bad memories.” Jonathan eased onto the edge of the king-sized bed. He focused on taking deep breaths. Maybe that would ease his blood pressure.

  David cocked his head. “About The Incident?”

  Not trusting himself to speak, he nodded. Gradually, his emotions began settling. “Sorry. I guess I didn’t hear you because I was so far into it.”

  David reached into a mini-fridge and pulled out a water bottle. After seating himself on the room’s worktable chair, he gazed at him for a few moments.

  Jonathan turned studying the floor into an art.

  “What do you think triggered it?”

  “Abigail texted. She’s on her way out here.”

  “What?” Surprise tinged David’s voice.

  Jonathan raised his gaze. “She didn’t say much, and unfortunately, it was too late to write her back and ask.” How did he say this? “She’s reopening the Mighty Men case.”

  David’s jaw dropped. “I don’t understand. Why?”

  He flopped backward onto the bed and scrubbed his hands across his face. Completely wet. “Darned if I know. I guess... I guess it brought back a lot of memories I’d just as soon forget. I thought writing them down a few years ago would make them go away. Turns out I was wrong.”

  “I hear you.” David fell silent.

  Now Jonathan studied the ceiling. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

  Plastic settled on wood with a soft sound. “I know it’s hard to say, and it took years for me to say this, but God was watching over us.”

  Jonathan pushed himself up on one elbow. “Too bad He called the others home.”

  David nodded. “For us, maybe.”

  Oh, so true. “I miss them.”

  “Yeah, me too.” David folded his arms across his broad chest. “I remember telling Abigail we’d never have that kind of a team again, those kinds of tight friendships we had.”

  That old ache of losing ten friends twisted Jonathan’s stomach. “We were family, even though we didn’t have those blood relations.”

  “We were.” David cut his eyes toward him. “Speaking of family, I got an earful when Kyra got home tonight.”

  That did it. Jonathan chuckled, and the tension dissipated. “Sorry I outed you. I didn’t know you and the sheriff were dating. Wanna talk about it?”

  “This doesn’t get back to Abigail?”

  “Nope.”

  David shrugged. “Kyra’s not a big fan of Monica. Something about Monica wasn’t nice to her when they ran into each other somewhere. We’ve gone out twice. Nice and casual. I’m not in the mood for anything serious.” He peered at him. “Funny how I was going to come over and have it out with you saying something to Kyra. I guess God had different plans.”

  “I guess He did.” Interesting that David viewed his relationship with Monica very differently than she did. Hope for Abigail bloomed anew. Jonathan offered a small smile. “Thanks, bro. And thanks for not b
reaking my face.”

  “I wouldn’t have done that.” David cleared his throat. “You going to be okay?”

  “I’ll make it. Say, you need some help around the hotel tomorrow and Wednesday?”

  “Huh?”

  A smile quirked Jonathan’s lips. “I’m, uh, kind of stuck here until Thursday. Randleman said Stone wants to meet with us on Thursday.”

  “I’m there. And yeah, I’ll ‘hire’ you.” He headed to the door, then turned. “Hey, in case you didn’t realize it, I think my sister likes you.”

  On the inside, Jonathan rejoiced. “Noted.”

  Once alone, he pulled out his cell phone and texted Kyra. Sorry I dropped a load on you about David and Monica. Good night, beautiful.

  He changed into a pair of boxers and crawled into bed. Just as he was about to turn off the light, his phone chirped. He picked it up. Kyra’s message said it all. I’m sorry if I was grumpy. Monica’s not my favorite person. And I’m just worn out. See you tomorrow?

  She’d included a smiley emoticon.

  He found a snoozing emoticon, then added, Absolutely. Sleep tight.

  Only then did he turn off the light and pull up the covers.

  “Sergeant Jonathan!” Nabeelah’s cry shot through him. Then David’s scream. More bullets this time. But why was David walking around? He reached out to Jonathan as he staggered. “Save me. Please. Save me.”

  “No!” Jonathan shouted. He bolted upright in bed, and once more, sweat soaked both him and the sheets. He groaned and slouched forward with his head in his hands. He risked a peek at the clock. Three. The darkest hour. He eased onto the mattress. Maybe one day, his memories wouldn’t haunt him.

  11

  Tuesday, April 18, 2017, 1915 hours MDT, Salt Lake City, UT

  Abigail grimaced as she hoisted her suitcase onto the luggage rack in her Salt Lake City hotel room. A delayed departure had meant a much-delayed arrival to the hotel. Time to settle in for the night.

  She took off her charm bracelet and placed it on the dresser beside her key card. With a groan, she eased onto the edge of the bed and pulled off her cowboy boots. One by one, they clunked to the floor. A nightshirt and sweats beat jeans and a camp shirt any day of the week. She glanced at her watch. Almost 2000 hours, almost 2200 hours Eastern Daylight Time. And past her East Coast bedtime.

  Work called first. Without looking, she rummaged around in a compartment of her backpack. Her fingers brushed a small book. She pulled it out.

  The travel Bible she used when on the road, the very same one Jonathan had carried with him when deployed. He’d given it to her upon his retirement. Should she read it? Probably. Maybe that would get her out of this morass she called her life. Maybe later. She set it on a nightstand.

  Next came her laptop. It took her only a few minutes to update Sal. She and Marti had split up for this round. Marti would interview the widows of the Mighty Men, starting with Captain’s widow. And Abigail would head to Burning Tree the next day. Oh, joy.

  She drew her knees to her chest as she once more stared at her Bible, then at the two composition notebooks she’d pulled out. Work won out, and she picked up the notebook with the black cover, the one she’d started for the Athena file case. Her Mighty Men case’s notebook had a red cover with its number scrawled across it in her messy handwriting. Thanks to the Coffee of the Day she’d had while waiting on her delayed flight, then the rum and Coke at supper, followed by the takeout tea after supper, her mind churned.

  She flipped the black one open and studied her notes.

  Sal had lied to her and threatened her.

  He’d never assigned the Athena file case to CCU.

  A little over a year ago on February 12, 2016 at 2018 hours, someone named Katrina Miller had accessed the server and swiped the file . Gabe hadn’t provided the location.

  She stared at her phone. Maybe he could tell me where the actual crime took place.

  Grabbing her burner phone, she tapped out her message. Hey, could you tell me where Katrina Miller swiped the file?

  Only a few seconds passed before the reply popped up. Location listed as Fort Bragg.

  Abigail’s eyes narrowed. Her phone pinged again.

  Glad you got there okay. Miss you already.

  She smiled and answered him. Sweet dreams.

  You too, sexy. He added a kissy emoticon.

  Her cheeks warmed. She had a name. Now she could find out more about this Katrina Miller at Fort Bragg. With her VPN activated, she entered the name and location she knew. Katrina Miller. Fort Bragg. Zip. Nothing. Nada. She texted Gabe again. No Katrina Miller in Intel stationed at Fort Bragg. Could location be altered?

  His reply came back quickly. Absolutely.

  She was a big girl. She could take it from there and do a lot of damage with a laptop. More typing revealed the Army had two hundred plus Katrina Millers. Hmmmm. Too bad she didn’t have gobs of staff for this one. Resting her chin on her hand, she considered her options.

  She ran her finger down the notebook’s page. Gabe had stated a Top Secret clearance would have enabled someone to swipe the file, something the Army had quickly rectified after its return.

  She sorted every Katrina Miller for clearance, yielding forty-eight. She could deal with that. She thought about her next steps. Not that she knew a lot about the intelligence community, but she knew enough. The Athena file resided on servers with access points other than Fort Bragg scattered across the country. The Pentagon, the United States Special Operations Command at MacDill Air Force Base in Florida, the Defense Intelligence Agency at Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling in Washington, CID headquarters at Quantico, and the US Army Intelligence Center in Fort Huachuca, Arizona.

  Which Katrina Millers had been stationed at those points during February 2016? The forty-eight got whittled down to four. One a second lieutenant at MacDill. She starred that one. Another a major at the Pentagon and aide to a two-star general. The third, another second lieutenant, this one in training at Huachuca. A candidate? Maybe, but she was barely old enough to tie her shoes, let alone access one of the most secure points at the base. The last Katrina Miller, a captain, was also at Huachuca. Who would have had the motive to do it? She began pulling up their full records, starting with Katrina Miller Senior at Huachuca.

  Deceased. All in red caps. Not good for Huachuca Katrina Senior. And not good for her. She blinked. “Dead? Why?”

  With two clicks, she accessed a summary report of the investigation into her death.

  Abigail grabbed her notebook and began scribbling. Captain Katrina Miller. Married for two years to an emergency department doc who pulled twelve-hour shifts three days a week at the hospital in Tucson. They lived off base in an apartment. He went away for a weekend shift, and returned home Sunday evening, only to find his wife not waiting for him.

  He reported her missing that evening on February 15. They found her body ten days later. Abigail’s pen slowed. She stared at a brief paragraph that wrapped Katrina’s death into a tidy bundle of a few words. Burned body. Identification from dental records. That was it. Nothing else.

  For a few minutes, she set that aside as she checked the other three. Innocuous. At least compared to the red glaring at her from Huachuca Katrina Senior’s file.

  Most likely, Abigail had found her man—or woman.

  Time to call Fort Huachuca CID. She located the number and dialed.

  “Fort Huachuca CID. May I help you?” a male voice asked in a Boston accent.

  “This is Major Abigail Ward.” She recited her badge number and waited for him to verify her as CID. “I’m looking for a report related to the murder of Captain Katrina Miller.” She read off the case number. “Is there any way I can get that tonight?”

  “The investigator can send it to you in the morning. I’ll make sure he gets the message,” the desk sergeant replied.

  “I’d appreciate it,” she drawled. “Though it’d be great if you could get it for me.”

  He chuckled. “No c
an do. It’s an active investigation, and I’m not going to send it without his blessing.”

  “Understood.” Abigail tossed her phone onto the duvet and stared at the dates and times in her notes. Swiped on February 12 after hours. Strange. She starred that and made the notation. Her husband reported her missing on the fifteenth. But when did she really go missing? In her mind, going missing—read, getting murdered—and being at Fort Huachuca were too suspicious to be a coincidence.

  Enough. She tucked her notebook into her backpack.

  Time to go to bed. She glanced at her hand. Her palm was now red from tapping the business end of her pen against it while she thought.

  “Grrrr!” And she really did need to get to bed seeing that it was now closing in on 2200 hours, midnight Eastern time. She scrubbed her hand, did her nightly rituals, and crashed into bed after turning the air temperature down so she wouldn’t roast under the duvet.

  Images haunted her, one of a woman crying out as her kidnappers stuffed her into a car trunk. Then the same woman begged for help from the flames. Abigail jerked awake. Not good thoughts for sleepy time. She lay back and pulled the duvet higher. Sometime after eleven, she drifted into sleep and prayed no more dreams would haunt her.

  Tuesday, April 18, 2017, 2145 hours EDT, Quantico, VA

  Golden lamplight filled the study where Sal holed up at his on-base duplex. Flamenco music played softly on the computer’s speakers as he slouched in front of his monitor and gazed at the list of names glowing on the screen. He had to submit his recommendations for promotion by the end of the week. If he failed to do so, it could impact his own impending one to colonel.

  Who would be the best to replace him when he made brigade commander? Abigail Ward? Of course. She oozed integrity. She knew her stuff, and she had a breadth of experience plus natural leadership abilities. His protégé in all ways, intents, and purposes. Or Gabe Santos. The CCU’s CO. An excellent candidate in his own right with his sharp intellect and own set of formidable leadership skills. Or neither if the pencil pushers at the Pentagon deemed it such.

  An e-mail notification flashed up. Abigail’s first update. She was set to head to Burning Tree the following day. She’d interview her brother and ex-boyfriend and find nothing. Right?