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With the office door closed and locked again, she perched on the edge of her desk. “What is wrong with you?”
Bart shook his big head. “Sorry. I heard the shot—”
“The door.”
“Sounded the same to me.”
It sounded the same to her too lately, but she knew why she couldn’t tell the difference. She’d been away from the Army and regularly scheduled qualifications for too long. While she kept current on her service weapon—until she’d been shot—her support role kept her at the computer and her few surveillance assignments hadn’t been of a violent nature. She wanted to know his reasons for freaking out over the slamming door. “Why?”
“Huh?”
“You can usually tell the difference between two nine-millimeter pistols on a busy qualification range.”
Bart wouldn’t meet her eyes. His avoidance was more frightening than having him aim a gun at her. Her instincts prickled with apprehension, but she believed in dealing with fear—and everything else—head on. “You didn’t come all this way to go mute.” She gave him a soft kick in the shin. “Talk to me.”
“You remember that night mission.”
He couldn’t be talking about the night mission that immediately popped into her mind. They’d vowed never to bring it up again. “There are a few of those in our history.”
He looked at her and the despair in his eyes sent a chill down her spine. He couldn’t be here aboutthat, couldn’t be bringing her worst nightmares up from the dark pit of Yemen to the quiet peace of Haleswood.
The emergency scanner crackled with a report about a 911 call at the middle school. The fire department sirens blared through town first, followed by one of the deputy cars from downstairs. Would Morris take the call or someone else?
How quickly life could change. An hour ago, it would have been the most important question of her day, now… “You’re sure about this?”
Bart reached into his pocket, pulled out his cell phone, and swiped the screen a few times. “Look,” he said, handing it to her.
She stared at the news article on the screen and told herself it was a hoax. Anyone could post anything on the internet and make it look real. But the brief, official obituary under what appeared to be the header of a major-market newspaper made her lightheaded.
“Why haven’t I seen this?” She held the phone out to Bart, but he wouldn’t take it back. She had alerts set up for news like this. At least once a week she scanned the headlines worldwide for this name and his related associates. Nothing had ever popped up. “This is nothing more than a hoax.”
“Eva.”
“Don’t ‘Eva’ me.” He wouldn’t take his damn phone so she left it on the desk and went to her own computer to search. “There is no way I missed this.”
“Did you read the whole message?”
She couldn’t listen to this and not just because of the stress-induced pounding of her pulse in her ears. Confirmation would prove she was overreacting. Her fingers flew over the keys while she muttered Italian curses that would make her father blush.
“It has to be fake, Bart. I would’ve known if he’d died. It has to be fake,” she repeated.
“Read the rest of the email, Eva.”
She’d read it in a minute. “How did anyone in that family get your email address?”
“Public record?” He shrugged. “The truck stop is a busy place and I’m not trying to hide my ownership.”
“You’re a thoroughfare, I know.”
“It’s true.”
She glanced up and saw her dear friend, a proud man, a strong soldier, standing there oozing doubt and defeat. Just as he’d looked after that fateful mission.
It all came rushing back from the murky corner of her mind where she kept that god-forsaken night locked away. They were supposed to save a young man who’d been groomed to take over the Morcos family businesses. But the queen of languages had misinterpreted the intent behind the intel and sent a delicate rescue mission spiraling into a deadly recovery op.
Not the brightest moment of her career.
Rather than let her take all the blame—the right thing to do—Bart had insisted on shouldering the failure with her. Their CO knew the truth was somewhere in the middle. Everyone on Special Forces lived with the cold awareness that things didn’t always work out as planned.
