Operation: Tempt Me (23 page)

A
local terror group released a photo confirming that they held him.
Sons-of-a-bitches didn’t know who they were fucking with when they held an
American hostage. Miller kept his cool, relying on his training to make his
every move.

Short
phrases rang in his ear. The team said only what they needed and nothing more.
The stench of piss and dust filled the hundred-degree air. Under his armored
vest, Miller’s shirt was soaked with his perspiration, but this was all in a
day’s work. The military had never promised a cozy work environment.

Miller
sensed movement as he approached a room that showed signs of a previous bomb
attack, the walls crumbling and piles of debris covering the floors. His aspirator
kept him from breathing the dust that might force him to cough and give away
his position. He blinked for focus and came upon the hostage. He whispered into
his mouthpiece and waited for his team to rendezvous at his location.

Waiting
for backup was one of the hardest things Miller had had to do. He was helpless
to aid the young man being tortured. He had to await the team because, on his
own, he’d be useless.

The
bloodied Marine sat in a chair with his hands tied behind his back, while his
captors fired questions at him, punching him, spitting on him, kicking him. The
man’s head hung low, his voice barely audible with each answer he offered.

“What
you say? Speak, you American asshole,” one captor shouted an inch from his
face.

With
guts Miller wouldn’t have expected to see under such tactics and from someone
so young, the Marine raised his head and spoke clearly, his eyes fixated on his
captor. “Go. Fuck. Yourself. Mothafucka.”

Bravo
kid.

Miller’s
team arrived. Taking thirty seconds to discuss their tactical measures, they
rushed the room. A spray of bullets filled the room and bodies fell to the
floor. Miller grabbed a knife, sliced through the Marine’s bindings, helping
him to a more protected position.

“Give
me a weapon,” the Marine yelled.

Miller
handed him a spare handgun. “Let’s get you outta this shit hole, Marine.”

“Yes,
sir.”

The
team left as they had arrived, quickly and organized. On the street, they
boarded their vehicle and raced to the safety of the American camp four miles
away.

“Hell
of a job back there, men,” Chance yelled over the hum of the engine as the army
truck sped across the desert. Hoots and hollers echoed from the men.

“You’re
a tough fucking Marine,” Miller said. “Never seen steel balls like you
displayed back there.”

Miller
shook his hand while the kid’s fat lip attempted a smile. Entering the relative
safety of their camp, Miller jumped from the truck and prepared to debrief.

He
wished he could email Cambrie or even give her a call. Maybe once he got done
with his work and with a great deal of luck, the Internet connection would be
stable enough for him to send a quick note. Cambrie had to be fast asleep half
way around the world far from the dangers that surrounded him. That’s what made
his job worthwhile, keeping people like Cambrie safe in their beds at night.

The
camp didn’t offer any comforts of home, just the basics for survival. Miller
sacked out on a wooden carton and cleaned his gun. Thanks to the fucking sand
flying around, if he didn’t clean it then the damn thing would jam.

He
found himself thinking of Cambrie during the tedious chore. Looking forward to
her emails and seeing her again, Miller knew he wouldn’t be able to stay away
for long. He’d figure out some way for them to be together. For now, he’d just
enjoy getting to know the wonderfully refreshing woman.

Maybe,
if he ever had privacy again, he could entice her to play with him a bit at
some cyber sex and use that web cam on her laptop. Shit, seeing her naked body
flash across his computer screen would just about give him reason to beg for
Section 8.

Chapter
Fifteen

Cambrie
couldn’t decide what made her more proud, the military board filled with local
citizens highlighting their military service or the wad of money she held in
her hand that had been raised by the Teen Readers Group for care packages to
the homeless veteran’s shelter. Never had a project given her such a sense of
pride for her country.

When
Cambrie put out a call to local vets to submit their photos for a Military
Board of Honor for Maddyville to be displayed at Highland Library, she never
expected the response to be so great. But it had been and now even more
citizens took advantage of the library’s services.

A
group of vets gathered to make new friends, see old friends, and share stories.
Cambrie couldn’t listen because it brought Miller’s job too close to home. She
was better when she thought of him being bored in a desert somewhere rather
than him facing enemy combatants and running out of ammunition like some of the
vets had talked about. It was also hard to see their war wounds up close. Limbs
maimed or lost. Eyesight or hearing lost. Scars etched into skin now wrinkled
with age. Cambrie admired each and every veteran she had met.

It
had been almost a week since Miller left and still no word from him. But
Cambrie reminded herself that he’d get in touch when he could.

Meanwhile,
she had responsibilities to see the pen pal project through and emailed Miller
each day, keeping him updated on the happenings around Maddyville, the
heartwarming letter she’d received from the shelter’s manager so grateful for
the first donations sent, and Aunt Annabelle’s constant efforts to get out of
the nursing home.

Aunt
Annabelle even had gone as far as writing Miller a letter under the false
pretense of supporting the pen pal program. Cambrie at least had the good sense
to intercept that letter, read it, and confiscate it.

“How
could you write Miller that you’re being held prisoner and needed to be
rescued?” Cambrie had admonished her stubborn aunt. “Honestly, don’t you think
the man has more important things to worry about than a stubborn old woman who
is too set in her ways for her own good?”

“Well,
someone needs to help me. I’m wasting my days in here.”

Cambrie
had made some phone calls to see about bringing Aunt Annabelle home, but her
physicians thought it was too soon. Until her medications could be regulated,
then Aunt Annabelle would receive the best care in the nursing home.

Supervising
the Teen Readers Group was always the highlight of Cambrie’s week. But today, a
bruise on Greg’s cheek distracted her. The boy had been his usual quiet self
and didn’t make eye contact. Just kept his head hung low while the other kids
discussed the book of the week. The story had been about a boy who ran from
each foster home he was placed in because he was being abused.

“Greg,
what do you think the boy’s friends or family could’ve done to protect him from
the abuse?” Cambrie asked, hoping to give the kid a forum to discuss his
troubles with his peers.

Greg
shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe they couldn’t do anything because they weren’t
strong enough.”

The
answer stunned Cambrie for its insight and honesty. “Very true.”

“Or
maybe the boy tried, maybe he tried to tell someone he thought would be a match
for the abuser, but that person did nothing.” Greg raised his head and stared
at the small circle of teens. “Sometimes not all problems can be solved.”

Cambrie
cleared her throat and stood. “Okay. Well, since our time is up for today, I
wanted to take a moment and thank all of you for the fantastic fundraising
efforts you’ve made for the pen pal program. Keep up the good work and I’ll see
you next week.” She walked to Greg as he put his coat on. “Greg, how did you
get that bruise on your cheek?”

His
eyes had shadows in them. “Just solved a problem.”

“I
see. Have you written Lt. Daly? I’ve seen you on the computer.”

He
shrugged. “Yeah. Haven’t heard from him. No big deal.”

She
sighed. “I know, he hasn’t replied to me either. But I keep writing because I
know he gets them. He’ll write when he can. But keep sending the emails. He’s a
really good listener I’ve learned. And strong as an ox.” Enough to kick your
dad’s sorry ass.

“Will
do. Bye, Miss Brasher.”

“Mrs.
Ginnity,” Cambrie called, passing the front desk. “Do you know who I’d call to
report suspected child abuse? The sheriff or child protective services?”

“If
you’re talking about Greg’s bruised cheek, I heard the school nurse already
called the authorities, but without Greg’s cooperation they couldn’t prove his
father hit him. The kid said he fell off his bike or something.”

Cambrie
shook her head, anger consuming her. “Maybe I’ll talk with his mother then.”

The
other woman let out a sarcastic laugh. “Are you kidding? What’s she going to do
against that bear of a man? He throws her around too, but no one can ever
convince her to press charges. The sheriff’s talked to Greg senior and told him
to lay off his wife and, for the most part, he has, but the woman’s still
scared stiff and no help to her son. And don’t you go getting any ideas about
confronting that man yourself. Aunt Annabelle needs you.”

Cambrie
had a better idea. She happened to have an ox of her own in her corner. When
Miller came to visit next, she’d ask him for advice. In the mean time, she’d
keep the elder Greg distracted.

“Mrs.
Ginnity, would you mind getting a group of ladies together to visit Greg’s mom?
I’m thinking the more outside contact she has, the more she’ll open up.”

“Oh,
I like how you think. I’ll even have the women include her in our bridge
games.”

“Thank
you. If she’s that abused, she may be afraid to join you at first but let’s
keep trying. It’ll let her husband know people are watching. Now, I was also
hoping to enlist your help in organizing a Harvest Fair to raise money to mail
the care packages to the shelter. Would you be interested?”

Mrs.
Ginnity jumped out of her seat. “Would I? Oh, that sounds magnificent. Give me
all the details you have so far.”

****

Miller’s
head throbbed and his ribs hurt like hell. But he had won the fistfight and
captured the suspected terrorist with his bare hands after his gun jammed—thanks
to the goddamn sand.

“Sit
down and shut the fuck up,” Miller said between clenched teeth, pushing the
filthy man into a chair in the middle of an empty room. “If you don’t
understand English, then I’ll have it translated for you, asshole.”

“You
dirty Americans. My brothers come for me. You see.”

Miller
leaned back against the wall while Cade stood on the other side of the small
interrogation room. “Great. The more the fucking merrier. Keeps me from having
to chase their asses through this friggin’ sand,” Miller said. “Now, let’s save
us both some time. Tell me where the American weapons are that you and your
slime ball friends stole.”

“Kiss
ass mine,” the man said and spit on the ground.

Miller
laughed. “When you learn to speak English correctly then we’ll talk. Until
then, you can rot in here for all I care. Cuff him.”

Cade
locked the man’s hands and ankles to the chair and left the room with Miller.

“Leave
him in there. Isolation works wonders on loosening the tongue. I’ll check back
in a few hours,” Miller said, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Yes,
sir,” Cade replied.

Miller
had stepped in as Team Leader for Chance while he patrolled the southern
border. Miller had some time to kill while he waited, hoping the terrorist
would crack under the pressure. Probably wouldn’t be that easy, but sometimes
the good guys caught a break.

Miller
found a free laptop in the office and logged into his email. He hadn’t been
able to reply to Cambrie because he was afraid it’d shake his concentration,
but he did like to read each new email and re-read her old ones as often as he
could.

When
he read her latest email listing all of her accomplishments, he had to reply.

Hello,
Cambrie baby. I’m well. I miss you like I hadn’t expected. Please keep writing.
I read them when I can, even if I can’t respond. It makes my day to hear from
you and knowing that you’re out there thinking of me. I think of you too.

I
sleep with a little bit of peace as I dream of your beautiful body. I’m so
proud of all that you’re doing at work and with Aunt Annabelle. I promise to
check with you before I bust her out of the nursing home prison. LOL.

I
don’t have long, but maybe when I can secure some privacy you can put that web
cam to use and have cyber sex with me. You have no idea how crazy it makes me
to imagine your sexy body naked on my computer screen while you play with
yourself and imagine it’s me there.

Christ,
my cock is throbbing now just thinking of it. If I were still there, I’d wake
you up with my mouth on your breast. Would you wake me up with your mouth on my
cock?