Operation Zulu Redemption--Complete Season 1 (5 page)

Pain exploded through her side. She grabbed the spot with a guttural scream. Covered it with her hands, surprised to find Boone’s there.

“Hold on, Keeley. Help is coming.” He worked quickly. Sternly. Fiercely. It’s what she’d loved about him all those years ago. Even as the light began to fade—why was it fading? Had clouds come? She didn’t recall a storm warning—she was just glad he was here. She’d be fine now.

“How you doing, Keeley?” Boone demanded, his tone gruff. In charge. Just like the drill sergeant he’d been.

“My shoes,” she mumbled.

She went limp. Felt…nothing. Her eyes drifted.

“Keeley! Talk to me!”

She blinked. “Shoes…” A cocoon of warmth and comfort surrounded her. Boone was close, his breath skidding over her cheek. “Sparkly.” She tried to smile. “My…shoes…sparkle.”

Annie

Manson, Washington

29 April – 2130 Hours

Stars of shattered glass. Glittering under a red moon
.

Grief pushed Annie down, her shoulders hunched against the memories. Eyes closed to the nightmare that revived itself every year.
Every day
. She gripped the balcony and fought back the swell of emotions. The memories.

Lifting the lighter, she dragged her gaze from the glass-like lake to the six candles lined up on the rail. Annie flicked the striker wheel and aimed the flame at the first wick, remembering. “They…”

Then the second. “… never…”

And third. “… existed…”

Choking on emotion made her hand tremble as she lit the fourth. “… yet…” She mustered her strength as the fifth wick caught. “… aren’t…” The flames danced and popped against the wind. “… forgotten.” Light flared in front of her.

She brushed away a tear that escaped and set aside the lighter. Fighting more tears, she raised her gaze to the sky. To the clouds sliding in and out of the light of the fingernail moon. Screams mingled with the smell of burning flesh.

Annie stumbled back, gripping her forehead. Instinct tried to block the flood of sensory information. She straightened. “No. I
will
remember,” she said through gritted teeth. Palms on the banister, she braced herself, preparing for the mental storm coming.

A door thudded closed somewhere nearby.

Annie blinked away the tears, pulled herself straight as a cool wind teased her hair from her shoulders. Drawing in a breath, she hauled up strength she hadn’t planned to use today. She blew out a long, slow breath.

“Hey, Sandwich Girl.”

At the sound of that voice, warmth ballooned through her. Sam.

Be strong. Be strong
. He had X-ray eyes. Able to see straight through her. Right into her soul. She curled her finger around the water glass. “Calamari.” Keeping her back to him gave her time to scrape together the fragments of her mental acuity. Finally, she turned, lifting the glass to her lips. “You lost?” She pointed toward the cottage beside hers. “That’s your place.”

“Not lost.” Sam held up a lawn chair. “Thought you could use a chair up here.”

Annie couldn’t help but smile. Ever since he’d moved in two years ago, he’d looked out for her. Six weeks ago, a storm moved through, destroying the cheap lawn chair she’d set up on the deck. Working at the Green Dot kept her bills paid and groceries in the fridge but afforded no extra for frivolity. Like new lawn chairs. Thing of it was, Sam somehow knew her financial situation. Whether his sister told him or he was just that good—yes, entirely possible—he also tried to protect her pride. “You didn’t have to do that.”

His thick shoulders bunched up, making his neck all but disappear.

“And you brought two.”

As if he hadn’t noticed before, Sam separated the two chairs and looked at them. “Huh. So I did.” He shrugged, flinging that charming smile at her. “That’s what happens when they have those BOGO sales. Be a shame to waste them”—he glanced up—“on such a beautiful night.”

Why’d he come
tonight
? This was the night she spent remembering, honoring…. Chewing the edge of her lower lip, she watched as he set up the chairs and eased into one with a contented sigh. Crazy the way the night seemed calmer just with his presence.

But this is the Night of OZ
.

Trace

Chelan, Washington

29 April – 2215 Hours

“General, we have a real and deadly threat against Zulu.” Trace spoke using his Bluetooth as he hustled from the small plane at the municipal airport. He nodded to a man who handed over a set of keys, then Trace slid into the car.

“Tell me.”

“Two of them are dead.” Trace revved the engine and headed toward Manson. “I’m en route to One, and Ramage is dealing with Five. We have one unaccounted for.”

“Timeline?”

“Less than a week from start to now.”

“So it’s more than one assassin?”

Trace’s chest squeezed. “Looks that way.” He slammed the gear down and took the exit ramp. “I need assistance. SOP on both deaths has been sniper.”

“I’d be a little late to the party, wouldn’t I?”

Trace bit his tongue. Yes. Since he was within ten minutes of the cottage Annie had rented, if something was going down—

His Bluetooth beeped. He glanced at the caller ID on his cradled phone. “Sir, I’ll call you back.” He hit the E
ND
button and connected. “Tell me good—”

“She’s alive, but they aren’t sure she’ll survive the night.”

As the engine leveled out at 50 mph, Trace pounded the steering wheel. Who got the lead on the girls? Their addresses. Identities.

“Annie?”

“Not there yet.”

“Hurry.”

Trace ended the call, words inadequate and anger raging. He powered down through the gears as he hit the winding roads leading through Manson. She couldn’t choose a cottage on the main lake. No, had to be more hidden. Harder to get to.

Frustration built within him. Speed and winding roads working against him, slowing him. Delaying him.

He tried her hidden sat phone again. When it went to the manufacturer’s recorded voice mail message, he ended the call. He’d gotten the same message the last four times he’d called. Why he thought it’d be different this time, he didn’t know. He slammed a fist against the leather passenger seat, a stream of curses flying out of his mouth. Futility coated his limbs, weakening him.

Annie

Manson, Washington

29 April – 2215 hours

“Hey, gorgeous,” Sam said, his voice taunting. “You’re blocking my view. Could you move, maybe have a seat?” He grinned, resting a hand on the red nylon and metal chair. “Imagine that—there’s one right here with your name on it.”

Annie folded her arms over her chest and peered down at the wood deck. She pulled herself away from the small shrine and lowered herself into the game chair. Her gaze settled on the row of candles, the wind teasing and taunting the flames.

She missed
them
. What were they doing? Did they think of her, too, on this night? Every year she wondered if they were sitting somewhere honoring this night the way she did.

Not honoring. That was the wrong word.
Considering. Remembering
.

The wind whipped one of the flames out.

Annie sucked in a breath.
Was that bad luck
?

If she believed in luck…

Another snuffed out.

On her feet, Annie moved to the rail. Choked back the emotion, the assault the elements held on her frame of mind, snuffing out the wicks on this night of all nights. She relit them. Let out a breath.

A warm, light touch against her back made her flinch.

“Hey,” Sam whispered. “How are you doing?” He tucked a strand of hair the crisp lake breeze snapped into her face. “You okay?”

She appreciated his nearness. His tenderness. With a slight nod, she breathed her answer. “Yeah. Just…” Lights twinkled over the water as a strong wind swept through the valley-like setting. “Tough night.”

Sam cupped her shoulders as he stood behind her. Though she normally avoided his advances—it just
couldn’t
happen, no matter how much she wanted it to—tonight his strength, his presence filled a void that had left her cold for the last five years. Tonight she didn’t have the fortitude to be alone.

No, it was more than that.

Tonight…tonight, she
wanted
to be with Sam.

He drew her back against his chest. Muscles tensed, Annie closed her eyes, chiding herself. Telling her this was a colossally bad idea. Getting close—

His arms encircled her waist, her head cradled against his left pectoral.

She didn’t move. Refused to, torn between obeying the rules and the desperation that wanted to explore what could happen with Sam. If she’d been someone other than Annie Palermo, she’d have given herself to him long ago.

But she wasn’t that person. Not anymore.

And yet she didn’t move.

There were times, she told herself, that everyone needed someone to lean on. God never meant for people to be alone. The flicker of the candles drew her attention once more, and though she’d thought it an intrusion for anyone else to be here during the memorial, it felt right for Sam to be here.

Two of the candles winked out.
The same two
.

Weird.

Sam’s jaw and lower cheek rested along her cheek. Warm. Scruffy. Smelled uniquely of him—Old Spice. Seemed too good to be true, like something out of a romance novel or chick flick. That skin contact awakened in Annie an ache. For intimacy—not sexual intimacy—just closeness.

I’m so tired of being alone. Of hiding
.

When she realized she was leaning into his touch, she tried not to stiffen. Didn’t want to offend him. Didn’t want to scare him away.

She almost laughed. Was it even possible to scare off Sam Caliguari? He’d been so resolute in getting her to date him for the last year. So persistent.

Soft but firm lips teased the edge of her jaw, the spot right in front of her earlobe that shot darts of warmth and nervous excitement through her. Annie tensed, her mental warnings a distant shout in the thick fog of pleasure.

Sam traced a slow line of kisses to the corner of her lips.

If you do this—

He turned her and gently planted one on her mouth. He hovered just above her lips, his warm breath teasing her more. Again, he kissed her, this time a little longer. Still gentle, but waiting…

“Sam,” Annie whispered, eyes closed, feeling electrified. She sounded weak, even to herself. And for once, she didn’t care.

He captured her mouth with his as he slid a hand around to the small of her back and drew her closer. Deepening the kiss, he cradled her neck with his other hand. Annie lost herself in the passion, in his strength. Her fingers traced a slow path up his back.

She’d wanted this. For a very long time. To be cared about. To be with someone.

No. Not just someone.
Sam
.

She wanted it to be Sam since he’d first stepped into the Green Dot with his hair still in a military high and tight. Muscles bulging out of his black T-shirt. And his machismo oozing as he caught up with Jeff, the two of them sitting in a corner well past closing. But every time Annie glanced over at the duo, Sam was watching her. Tracking her, like the Navy SEAL he was.

And that was why she’d kept the distance between them.

Because Sam never missed a thing.

And he could never,
ever
find out about her past. Who could forgive that?

Annie hauled in a breath. Drew back a fraction. Stepped back. Hot tears streamed down her heated cheeks. Forehead resting against hers, Sam’s breathing sounded labored. But she couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t face him—if he knew…

A sob snatched her breath.

“Ash?” Hand still around her neck, he used his thumb to nudge up her chin. “Hey. Babe. Look at me.”

She shook her head then turned away. Out of his touch.

“Ashland, please.” Sam didn’t give her personal space back. He crowded in. “Talk to me. What—?”

Before she knew what happened, Annie went flying across the deck. Her head thudded against the wall. Sam was on top of her. “Stay down! Stay down!”

Annie

Manson, Washington

29 April – 2230 Hours

Annie hunch-ran along the edge of the house and ducked around the corner, Sam right behind her. He took point, a weapon appearing in his hand like a magic trick. Where he’d gotten it, she didn’t know. Right now, all that mattered is that he could help defend her.

If she could get inside the house, she could dig out her emergency stash. She peered over her shoulder and up at the window in the east-facing wall. Her bedroom window, conveniently blocked from road view thanks to the fruit trees. She reached up and tried it.

Glass exploded, peppering her face.

With a yelp, she dropped back. Onto the ground.

“You okay?” Sam knelt at her side.

Her face stung. She grimaced and reached for the spots—only to feel the prickle of glass embedded in her cheek. She cursed herself for not thinking through trying that window. It was a clear shot from it to the front windows that overlooked the lake. The shooter had anticipated her move.

“Yeah, fine,” she spit out. She’d need tweezers to pluck out the glass. But later.

Sirens howled in the distance.

“Finally,” Sam muttered. “Just stay down. We’ll wait for the authorities.”

Annie didn’t like that option. They’d want answers. And in a small town, tonight’s incident would spread like wildfire. That could reach news outlets.

Rocks crunched and popped to her left, drawing her attention to the road.

Headlights poked through the shadowy limbs of the trees, probing.

Annie froze, watching the car.

It swung around and parked. Not in her driveway, but across the way. In the ditch. A door opened. A man stepped out.

“Stay here,” Sam said, easing in front of her, still low.

Annie bristled at the command. But reminded herself that Sam didn’t know the truth about her. Didn’t know she had just as much, if not more, tactical experience.

Which is why she didn’t listen. She trailed him, keeping to the shadows. Watching. Expecting another attacker.
Hitting me from both sides
.