Page 53 of Brooks

I felt like I was walking into a trap. But I answered anyway, “Yes.”

“By your logic, you shouldn’t. And I should no longer trust myself. You made a bad play and as a result some assholes took you and almost killed you. I fucked up, listened to the wrong person, and got a ten-man platoon captured. Two were murdered before we’d even made it back to the warlord’s compound.”

Shit, fuck, and damn. I knew this story. I was still with the CIA when it happened. The whole situation down in Panama was a clusterfuck. Declan had sent a Ranger platoon in to take out a high-value target but it was a set-up. His intel was bad and the Rangers were ambushed. From the story I’d heard, Declan had called it in to the higher-ups but didn’t wait for backup. He went in alone and saved the remaining eight men. It was a bloody massacre by the time Declan had saved them. The legend went, Dec had single-handedly killed fifteen men. I wasn’t privy to the after-action report, however, I believed the rumors. Eight men did indeed come home alive and Declan had no support during the rescue mission.

“That was different,” I tried.

“The hell it was. We make do with the information we have in the field. We go on gut feelings. Sometimes it pans out, other times it doesn’t. You have to get over it. If you can’t, you’re gonna be working a desk. Sometimes all you have is a split second and instinct. What happened to you was jacked. But guess what? There’s not a man in this vehicle who doesn’t bear the scars of battle. Wear that shit proud. You survived.”

That was easy for him to say, he wasn’t a woman. As sexist as it was, a man bearing the marks of war was acceptable. It made him look tough and manly. Scars on a woman made her undesirable. And when a man fucked up it could be chalked up to a bad day. When a woman did, she was incompetent.

“Not sure our situations were the same.”

“You don’t think I wasn’t where you are? You think I didn’t second-guess myself, almost get more people hurt because I was behaving like a pussy who couldn’t make up his mind? You think I didn’t lie awake at night going over every detail, all the ways I’d screwed up? I beat myself up about it more than anyone else could. Two men went home in a pine box because of me. Two. That’s what I live with. I don’t need marks on my body to remind me. Their deaths are seared into my skin, on my soul. So what? You fucked up, Tatiana. You rushed your op. Learn from it. Reflect on it. Move on from it. That simple.”

It wasn’t as simple as Declan made it sound, but he wasn’t wrong. If I didn’t learn to trust myself again, I’d make more mistakes. Possibly get someone killed. Wasn’t that why I was vacillating to begin with? That and the fact I’d never worked with a real team. I hadn’t forgotten Zane’s warning to me either, these men would give their lives for me, and each other. I needed to sort my shit out, which again, was easier said than done.

“I’m straight,” I told him.

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

“Great. You and Brooks will go scout Nazari’s location when we get to Al Qatif. Max, Thad, you’ll take the known locations and restaurants he frequents. Garrett sent over a list. Kyle, you’ll stay with me and go over the house blueprints. After a little recon we’ll decide the best course of action.”

Four men muttered, ‘copy that,’ and I remained silent thinking about what both Brooks and Declan had told me. Intellectually I knew they were right. But after everything my douchebag ex-husband had drilled into my head, it was hard. Every chance he got he pointed out my inadequacies. Nothing I did was good enough. One time he’d even gone as far as telling me it was a good thing I’d quit the CIA, that I was too weak to be an agent. He’d gone on to say, men were much better suited for field work.

James wasn’t always a dick. When I fell in love with him, he was kind and supportive. He’d valued my opinions and often praised my insight on situations and subjects. But after we got married he changed. And when he got pulled from deployment rotation and was sent to X Division at the SEAL training command, he really changed. He turned into a mean asshole and always had something to complain about.

It was hard to trust yourself after you’d been really wrong about two life-changing situations. Bottom line was, I had to pull my shit together or Declan was right, I was better off behind a desk.

Brooks reached over and picked up my hand, interlacing our fingers. He gave it a squeeze before resting our hands back on the seat between us. I closed my eyes and soaked up all the support and encouragement Brooks was offering. I hadn’t known how much I needed it.

Please God, don’t let Brooks be my third big mistake.

Chapter 22

“You ever clean your binos?” Tatiana asked, pulling the night vision binoculars away from her face. “There’re smudge marks on the lenses.”

She wasn’t wrong. Whoever had used them last, had put them away dirty.

We’d dropped off the team at the house we were spending the night in and headed to recon Nazari’s location. I was happy to see Tatiana seemed to have snapped out of her funk. Declan as usual hadn’t pulled punches while we were in the car and gave it to her straight. On the best of days, he could come across as harsh if you didn’t know him. He didn’t massage the truth to make it sound pretty. He could and did bullshit with all of us, but when it was time to get serious, he cut right to it. One of the many things I liked about him. He also held his cards close to his vest and showed little emotion. I could appreciate the need for the mask he wore – he may’ve been full of bravado while he was speaking to Tatiana, but I knew that shit that happened in Panama marked him deep. He wasn’t over it, and the more he gave Tatiana advice the more it sounded like he was trying to give himself a mental pep talk.

“Any sign of Nazari?” I asked, ignoring her comment.

“No. Just his two sons are visible,” she said, lifting the NVGs back to her eyes. “Maybe he’s out somewhere with his daughter. We haven’t seen her yet, either. Or he could already be asleep.”

“Either is possible.” I checked my watch and it was nearing ten p.m. “How old is the daughter again?”

“Twenty-three.”

“And she’s not married?”

“Weird, right? Normally a woman her age would’ve been married off.”

It was unusual, especially coming from a respected family.

“I didn’t read anything about his wife, where is she?”