Free Fall (Elite Force #4)
Page 22“Fang,” she reached to pat the dog’s belly, “somehow I don’t think anyone’s going to be riding your ass about the mutt today.”
“Guess not.” Fang scratched his shoulder under the seat harness. “A group in the States sponsored the dog a while ago and since we were headed out, the dog will be swapping over to another plane in Mogadishu. He’ll be gone before…” He swallowed hard. “I mean, like, if the worst happens. The dog will be safe.”
“Fang, you’re going to be okay,” she said with a total conviction she knew he needed to hear. “I’ve crunched the numbers. I’m the queen of logic, remember?”
He nodded and grinned like a grateful kid before closing his eyes.
The dog scrabbled across the grated floor and tucked in beside Jose. His hand slid down on top of the animal’s head and right away she thought of Jose’s old commander, the one he’d told her married a lady who worked with therapy dogs for veterans under stress. She could totally imagine how that would work right now.
In fact, she could envision a lot at the moment, that tenderness in Jose that had so drawn her. How could he not recognize that in himself? The part of him meant to nurture…
“Stella,” Jose said softly without opening his eyes, just leaning closer to her where no one could hear them, “just because I like dogs doesn’t mean I’m primed for domestic bliss. And don’t deny you were thinking it.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to. I can feel your thoughts, lady.”
Didn’t that just make her point? They were so in tune with each other, it was wrong that he kept denying what they could have together. “You’re petting a dog. It’s like one of those pictures circling around the Internet of soldiers with pups. It’s heart-tugging, all right?”
“Okay. I just don’t want you to make too much of it. Yeah, I’m human and the mutt is comforting. You’ve been kidnapped. You got shot at earlier today. You could get shot at again. I’m rattled, but I’ll pull it together before we land.”
“I know you will. I have complete faith in your ability to do your job.”
“Too bad that confidence in me didn’t carry over into the relationship department.”
His voice rumbled so lowly it almost blended in with the drone of aircraft engines. But she caught every word all the same. His hand slid away from the dog and the mutt inched on to the next available hand… on to Bubbles, who looked less than pleased to have company, especially fuzzy company. The fuzzy-phobic PJ unbuckled from his seat and guided the pup back to the crate strapped down, although Bubbles chose to sit beside the dog. Softie.
Stella glanced away and back to Jose. Frustration sparked inside her over him laying the whole breakup at her feet. She looked around at the others and they were catching their own catnaps or far enough away where they wouldn’t overhear. A part of her winced at having such an intense conversation when they were anything other than alone, but their life was anything other than normal or convenient. They had to grasp moments when they could.
His eyes crinkled at the corner with one of those sad smiles. “Like you would ever settle down.”
“If I had kids, I would make changes to my life.” And she meant it. “I want to be there for my children. I don’t want them to grow up like I did, not if I can help it.”
“Moot point for us anyway.”
She flinched, reality a cold freakin’ splash of water. “We could all die today.”
“That’s not what I meant, Mary Sunshine.” He bumped his knee against hers.
“But it’s true. The risk here is off the charts.”
He glanced over at the mutt in the crate as if he wanted to haul the dog back out. “I can’t walk into missions thinking that way.”
“You approach every mission thinking that way. That others may live. Right?”
He sat up straighter. “You’re afraid I’m going to check out on you.”
“Is it so wrong to worry you could be killed, living life with that kind of reckless approach?”
“I just didn’t expect that from you.” He searched her eyes, his forehead furrowed. “I thought you would understand. You signed on for the same thing. Who did you expect to fall for when you hang out with guys like me all the time?”
His words stung, making her sound foolish when she wasn’t. She’d just had a plan and he arrived too early. “You make it sound so analytical.”
“You’re the one who’s logical,” he reminded her gently.
She sagged back with a sigh. “Apparently not about falling in love.”
“You love me?”
“I did.”
His hand rested on top of hers gently, but his jaw was hard and set. “I still do.”
Oh God, he was breaking her heart here. “That’s not fair.” She squeezed his fingers. “Especially not now with what we’re about to face.”
“Nothing between us has been fair.” He pulled his hand free, crossed his arms over his chest, and went back to sleep.
Four breaths later, his chest rose and fell evenly, his body lanky and relaxed as if they hadn’t just torn each other’s hearts out again, damn it. She ached to wrap her arms around the comfort of that goofy looking dog, but surprisingly Bubbles was scratching the mutt’s muzzle through the mesh grating.
She needed to find peace, resolution, and she needed to find it fast. They would be landing shortly, then go through another debrief with Smith and his intel comrades. Even now, intelligence organizations were following up, gathering data through satellites and drones and human assets on the ground. Those tasked with detail tomorrow would be forced to sleep tonight, to block out the world and recharge their bodies for whatever waited for them when the vice president’s wife landed to greet a welcoming crowd of at least a couple hundred. Thousands more gathered outside the airport’s secured perimeter.
She was about to launch into the most important mission of her life, one that could send the world into tumult, and still she couldn’t help but think about the image of Jose’s face when he’d told her he still loved her.
Everything here in Africa had been so intense between them. They’d only had five months together, a month apart. And in less than twenty-four hours, it could all be over. She could actually lose him in a way far more final than any breakup.
Faced with what waited for them tomorrow, she couldn’t imagine confronting it with the weight of regrets bearing down on her heart, on her soul. They only had this one last night in lodgings in Mogadishu to themselves before their part of the operation. She couldn’t find a single good reason not to spend that night with Jose.
Ajaya wondered how much longer they would keep him here at this base. The man who’d questioned him yesterday had left, but one of his friends remained. How often would they make him come back to this room for questions?
At least they let him sleep in a bed in a room by himself. The space had been cool and dark, the shower warm, and the loose clothes soft. But sleep? That had been tough to find, especially after the attack outside the gates. If the people who’d kidnapped him from the school took him back, after he’d been here…?
He would die. Painfully.
His only chance at living was to play this through until he could escape on his own. Because not for a minute did he trust this man in a suit that looked just like the other man who’d questioned him yesterday. The one they’d called Smith had cleared out fast for some reason. This person today, he went by Mr. Jones and wore a cowboy hat like that was supposed to make him look friendlier. His skin was also dark, but not as dark as Ajaya’s. But he wondered if they thought he would be more likely to open up because of something as meaningless as similar skin color.
He just wanted to go someplace safe and start a new life.
Mr. Jones sat in the seat across from him, elbows on his knees. “We know you aren’t telling us everything, and hey, I can understand why you didn’t want to talk before. Mr. Smith is a scary dude. Working for him…” He shook his head, swiping off his cowboy hat and hooking it on his knee. “It’s no picnic, let me tell you. I’m glad to have some breathing space now that he’s gone.”
“Of course. We’re happy to bring you anything you want.” He waved to an airman in camouflage behind him, a guy not much older than Ajaya. “How about a hamburger? An American hamburger, made right here by our own cooks.”
“Food would be nice,” Ajaya said, wondering if they would drug him like the pirates who’d taken him had, at first, until they had him so far away from the school he could not run anyway.
Jones smiled, showing off his perfect white teeth, no signs of hunger or worse. “And another soda? Although the fella over there calls it ‘pop,’ and Mr. Smith calls it ‘Coke.’ All depends on where you’re from. We have little quirks about the way we speak English. It is easy to make a mistake. Maybe you misspoke about something you told us.” Mr. Jones tapped him lightly with his outback hat. “But you could correct that mistake now.”
Yes, he spoke English very well, and he was not a gullible boy anymore. Gullible—a fancy word he had learned in school. Gullible—what he had been when a teacher introduced him to two men promising money and a job. “You think I am lying? I went to an orphanage school, with very good teachers who taught me how to speak your English. You can find out.”
He stretched out his story to buy himself time to plan, to escape. Because when this Mr. Jones and all his fancy suited friends finished with him, they would throw him away. No one here cared about him. So he had not told them everything then. And he did not intend to now. He needed information to ensure he would not end up unprotected again.
He had not meant to betray his friends at school. He had not meant for them to be taken too because of him. That had torn him apart for a long time.
But now, he would turn on all of them if that was what it took to get away.
Jose had twelve hours to sleep before he kicked the enemy’s ass—or not.
Towel tied low on his waist, he brushed his teeth after the first shower this week that had lasted longer than ninety seconds. How bizarre that this Mogadishu hotel room looked much the same as countless others he’d stayed in around the world before launching a mission. Brown tile bathroom, a few extra mosaics, and a few less breath mints.
Sleeping away what could be the end of his life seemed like a lame idea, but being anything less than one hundred percent tomorrow would be beyond a bad idea. Tomorrow afternoon, the wife of the vice president of the United States would step in front of the microphones to give a goodwill speech that would be televised live on cable news stations around the globe. On a regular day, people might not even pay much attention to her visit.
But if the world exploded?
The cameras would all be in place, and those small cable stations would have footage of a horror that would terrorize millions.
Unless their information was incorrect. Stella had explained she only had part of the code. They could be chasing ghosts. What if the times, dates, and locations were wrong? The bastards could be as tough to pin down as… toxic fumes.
Damn it, he never had doubts or questions before a mission. He always lived in the moment. Until he’d met Stella.
And he wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight until he laid eyes on her. She’d been escorted by local security to the parallel hall, to the rooms for agents, while the military bunked along the other corridor. The best damn protected hotel in Mogadishu.