Screens flickered and shifted with feeds of everything from jungle perimeter to the rusted chain-link fence. Jose imprinted every detail in his brain. Nothing could be tossed aside as inconsequential.
“Gentlemen,” Mr. Smith continued, scratching his jaw along the beard they all grew when undercover in-country for any length of time, “I trust I don’t need to stress how important it is that this rescue goes off without major incident. With the vice president’s wife coming for a goodwill visit at the end of the week, security is crucial.”
If there weren’t civilian students involved in the kidnapping would they have left Stella there to die in the interest of preserving “security”? His fist clenched around his sobriety coin in his pocket. He was the first person in a long line of family alcoholics to make it this far in AA.
“Sergeant James.” Mr. Smith turned his attention to Jose. The frozen image of Stella fast forwarded. “Here’s the part that brought you here today.”
Stella hitched her hands on her hips, her face directed right at the nano bug. “I really could use some Jose Cuervo.”
The CIA agent clicked the remote again and again, skipping to different frames where she repeated over time… “Jose Cuervo… Jose Cuervo… Jose Cuervo…”
Cuervo. An ironic reminder of a bad encounter with a bottle of the tequila, and due to his name Jose, the call sign stuck. Jose “Cuervo” James. He forced himself to concentrate on the deceptively bland CIA operative in charge of the whole operation.
“We looked into her file and your name—or rather your call sign—caught our attention. We realized the two of you worked a mission together six months ago. Our files indicate you became more than friends.”
So much for their attempts to keep the relationship secret. Apparently big brother really was watching.
“Yes, sir,” he answered simply, catching a look from his fellow teammate out of the corner of his eye.
He’d been paired with Tech Sergeant Gavin “Bubbles” Novak, the least chatty PJ in their squadron, but the best medic. Bubbles had also been there the day Stella had pulled them out of the Gulf of Aden.
A wave from one of the techies drew their attention back. The main screen filled with Stella in “real time.” His mouth dried at the thought of seeing her now, so vibrant he ached to step into the image with her. The screen showed a door opening in Stella’s cell.
Shit. Why did they have to sit around here with their thumbs up their asses reviewing footage? They needed to get to her. Now.
A guard tossed another limp body on the floor, the resulting groan from the guy the only sign that their latest inquisition had left the student alive. The guard’s shaved bald head gleamed from the bare lightbulb swinging from the ceiling. He wore camouflage pants and a T-shirt with the sleeves cut, no military rank visible. Ammo straps crisscrossed his chest. A rifle hung over his shoulder.
A blade was sheathed at his waist in a belt holding more bullets.
Stella’s eyes went wide with perfectly played innocence and horror. “I don’t know what you want from me. I’ll tell you everything I know. Can I just have some water first, please?”
The guard hooked his hand on the strap of his automatic rifle slung over his shoulder. “We want to know who you are.” His accent was clearly local, Somali most likely. “Why were you and your fellow spies on our property?”
“I’ve told you already. My name is Stella. I’m a foreign exchange student. These are my friends in the same program, but we’re all from different schools. We were on a day trip when you found us, a study on ways to improve distribution of food during a famine. We only wanted to help.” She backed step by step until she bumped a table of ancient pottery. “I’m begging you, can I just go home?”
“You must think we are very stupid.” The bald guard blocked the doorway out. “I do not like to be insulted.”
“I don’t like being taken captive.” Her hand slid to the table, her fingers closing over a broken handle off a cup. She tucked the remnant into the back of her waistband. “I want to call my embassy.”
She tugged her T-shirt as if for emphasis, effectively hiding her makeshift weapon. Pride filled him. Damn, she was amazing.
His mind raced back to the first time he’d seen her when he’d hauled himself out of the sea and into the rescue boat. She’d been at the wheel, holding the boat steady against the hammering waves, unbending with the wind tearing at her fiery red braid. There’d been bullets, a blown up chopper, and blood streaking down her face.
Not a romantic meeting by any stretch.
Their sprint through the marketplace to the embassy had left them both weary as hell, wrung dry by the job. Afterward, he’d found her on the embassy roof, grieving for the aircrew of the downed chopper. That explosion had shaken him more than a little too.
He’d been planning to have his one cigar a month to decompress. He’d taken up smoking when he kicked the booze, then had to kick nicotine as best he could. One cigar a month when stress got to be too much wasn’t the best option, but it didn’t drag him back under the way one drink would. So he carried a Cuban smoke in his pocket at all times. He’d had it half out when he stepped onto the roof… and then he’d found Stella.
He hadn’t smoked a cigar since.
Their attraction had been immediate. Explosive. Their five-month affair had been frenetic as they “dated” wherever their paths crossed on missions and assignments throughout the Horn of Africa and farther along the Eastern region, even over as far as Uganda. They’d lived on the edge, drunk on an edgy attraction that provided a greater high than could be found in any bottle.
Until they’d crashed. Broken up. Ripped each other’s heart out.
A quick elbow jab to his side brought him back to the present. He looked sharply at his team bud—Tech Sergeant Gavin “Bubbles” Novak—nodding toward the images again. Screen three filled with a male stretched out on the floor, a student beaten to a pulp for information who appeared to be hanging on by a thread.
Stella knelt beside the pummeled student, her hands going to each wound as if to make sure to document every injury for the rescue team watching. Her gaze was so intense.