Zone of Action (In the Zone) Read online

  He’d gone out by himself a lot and stayed up later than her—got up earlier, too. If she asked where he was going, he’d say he was meeting coworkers, friends, and then tell her to get some of her own. The words stung of rejection.

  Eventually she decided he had a new lover. It was the only explanation that made sense. Maybe she was too boring. She was in her head a lot. The assumption that he’d moved on shred her to the core. Moving out had become a distinct possibility, though she’d ached at the thought.

  As the inner door swung shut behind Brett and his MP escort, Audrey gave herself a few seconds before rising. Her skin tingled from the ugly threat. She swallowed bile and thought back to the first moment she realized he was a traitor. When she’d overheard him on his cell phone divulging the planned deployment of American troops to Somalia six months ago, his behavior leading up to that moment had finally made sense. Unfortunately, his betrayal of his country did not.

  Brett had always been the consummate warrior, patriotic to the core. He’d explained to her he joined the Army because he came from a long line of soldiers. His great-grandfather, grandfather, and father had all been military men. All had died before their time, serving their country. He’d told her he hoped to break the family curse, as it was called. So far, he’d managed to.

  He’d even saved a fellow soldier’s life once in Afghanistan. That savior quality of his had made him a god in her eyes. For him to reveal military secrets was unthinkable. Yet he had, and she’d been the one to turn him in.

  He’d been furious, and clearly his anger at her hadn’t lessened as he waited for his court martial. His violent outburst was proof of that. As much as she’d like to put this whole business behind her and get on with living her new life, it was going to be a long time before she’d forget today’s events.

  While the courtroom emptied, Audrey raised her eyes and found a soldier staring at her from across the room. He was tall—over six feet, with a broad chest and shoulders that stretched his dress blues to the max. There was no room even for wrinkles. Brawny arms hung relaxed at his side, filling out the fitted material. She recognized the red, white, and blue patch of the Army CID, Criminal Investigation Department, on his shoulder. He frowned at her, which brought an answering scowl to her face.

  She’d seen him before. He’d been present every day during the proceedings, just like she had, but unlike her, he’d never testified. He’d just sat, day after day, while the court martial wound to its inevitable end.

  His tanned face was all angles and planes, topped by dark, short-cropped hair. He looked like he’d been cut from a G.I. Joe action figure mold, one of the older ones that didn’t sport all the facial hair like the new toys. He even stood just as rigidly straight.

  His mouth, fixed in an uncompromising straight line, gave no hint whether it was more comfortable in a smile or a frown, but the set of his jaw spoke of a determined nature. Or of deep emotions simmering beneath his stoic demeanor.

  But it was his gaze, piercing and direct, that mesmerized her. It pinned her in place, searching, with a touch of accusation that she didn’t like. She fought the urge to squirm, then squared her shoulders. Who the hell was he? And why was he glaring at her? Did he think Brett was innocent, that she’d made up everything she’d overheard? She wished she had.

  Resentment and anger bubbled to the surface. It shouldn’t matter what anyone, even a handsome stranger, thought. She may not be in the military anymore, but she was a patriot. Revealing Brett’s actions would save lives. There had never been a choice.

  She gently pulled her hands from beneath Elena’s and stood, returning the soldier’s stare. She lifted her chin a notch. The soldier surprised her by dipping his head a fraction in acknowledgment before slipping his cover under his arm and striding toward the exit doors. She watched him leave, admiring his ramrod straight back and military gait. There was something about a man in uniform.

  She tamped that insta-attraction down. After this debacle with Brett, she was taking a break from dating. Obviously, she was not a good judge of character. Not even a handsome soldier in dress uniform was going to tempt her back into that arena. Absolutely not. Uh-uh. No way.

  “Are you okay, Audrey? You did the right thing, you know. Brett deserves every minute behind bars, the douche.” Elena smoothed her skirt over her thighs as she rose to her feet, shooting a sneer at the door Brett had disappeared behind.

  Elena, a voluptuous Hispanic woman a couple years older than Audrey’s twenty-eight, had been her best friend even before she’d agreed to work for her. Divorced, her opinion of men wasn’t any higher than the toilet, which made for some fun conversations at the flower shop Audrey owned and operated in Northern California.

  Audrey snapped her attention away from the CID soldier and busied herself by gathering her purse and sweater. Most of the people had left the room already. The trial counsel approached her and Elena, wearing a satisfied expression.

  “Thank you, Ms. Jenkins. That was a nasty business. Rest assured, Gates won’t be getting out for a long time. With your evidence, we’ve managed to save soldiers’ lives and lock up a dangerous man. I know this wasn’t easy for you. Please remember, your government is indebted to you.”

  Boy, was it. But aloud, all she said was, “I was just doing what anyone else would’ve done in my position.”

  Elena snorted beside her, but the counsel, a graying man in his fifties, said, “I doubt that. But thank you again. Now, may I get you both a bite to eat?”

  “Thank you, sir, but Ms. Sanchez and I have to get back to California. The shop has been closed for a few days, and we’ll have to play catch-up now.”

  “All right, then. Again, thank you.”

  A weight lifted off her chest as she watched him leave. He was her last link to this sorry ordeal. Shaking her head to clear it from both her memories and Brett’s ominous words, she addressed her friend. “To answer your question, Elena, yes, I’m fine.” She sucked in a deep breath, then released it. “It’s finally over. Now maybe I can get back to living a normal life.”

  “You and me both, sister.”

  They made their way outside into rare Pacific Northwest spring sunshine. Clouds with gray underbellies dotted the vivid blue sky, and Audrey inhaled deeply. She could live up here, she mused, if she didn’t have her flower shop in Abbottsville, California, or the fact that Northern California had more sunshine. She liked being near nature, hearing the wind in the trees or the silence of the night, smelling the fragrance of the flowers on the breeze.

  The young private assigned to escort them while on the base moved to Audrey’s side, fresh-faced, with a smattering of freckles over the light skin that went along with his short red hair. “If you’ll follow me, ladies,” he said.

  Elena winked at Audrey, who rolled her eyes. Her friend had been burned by her cheating husband, didn’t want to get married again, but certainly enjoyed a meaningless flirtation, even if it meant with someone ten years younger.

  As they walked to the Jeep they’d arrived in, Audrey thought back over the years that had led her to this point. She’d joined the Army right out of high school, when she hadn’t known what she wanted to do with her life. She’d excelled physically and mentally, rising to become an Intelligence collector, a Mike, who had a knack for reading people. The Army’s counter-terrorism unit scooped her up with promises of a variety of career choices after her service.

  She’d joined the elite group without a second thought, immersing herself in a deadly counterculture that sucked beauty from every corner of the world. Her preternatural ability to read people sent her to the front of the class, where she was asked to find terrorists and individuals she thought could be radicalized in whatever region she was stationed.

  She accompanied intelligence-gathering details, often staying quiet and watching, listening, during friendly conversations over meals or coffee. While dialogue was exchange
d between locals and the soldiers, it was her job to study the informants, make a silent judgment on whether they were legit, or a Judas. Often the soldiers she accompanied resented her presence in their tight-knit group. She couldn’t blame them. They were good at what they did. But she was better at it, and her results proved that. She became respected, if not accepted.

  She lived, ate, and breathed the extremist manifesto, studying the roots of terrorism in every place her unit was sent. She learned what groups operated where and how they took hold in a certain area. She watched and listened, advising when she felt there was a danger. Nearly every time, her observations were correct.

  She had to admit, she liked foiling terrorist plans before they came to fruition. It was her job to nip terror cells in the bud. She learned how people were indoctrinated, the type of person likely to be recruited, even who was doing the recruiting. She was the resident expert on terrorist activities wherever her unit was deployed.

  Helping to expose terror cell recruitments had given her life a purpose it had been lacking. She was saving innocent people, susceptible people, all over the world, as well as serving her country. Her motive hadn’t been that much different than Brett’s, just not as personal.

  She embraced the training she received and basked in the glory of a job well done. And she was damn good. Until the day when a possible recruit she was sure she had turned blew up a bus full of people and himself.

  Her team, led by Brett before he was her boyfriend, had been sent into town for information regarding recent terror cell activity in the city of Kandahar. While most citizens welcomed peace, there were still insurgents who didn’t like the new status quo. They survived better in chaos.

  The U.S. forces wanted to squash any rebellious activity quickly and quietly, so when she’d heard chatter from her local sources about renewed resistance to the tentative peace in the area, Audrey wanted to confirm the rumors. Brett had approved the excursion, placing her on point. That fact haunted her still.

  While she watched Elena get into the Jeep, memories flooded Audrey’s mind, brought on by hearing Brett’s cryptic threats in the courtroom. Her stomach rolled.

  Their patrol had entered Kandahar through a residential sector that fateful day. She still remembered how the children ran in the wake of their Jeep, shouting and laughing, bringing smiles to her team’s faces. Kids acting like kids in a war-torn area made all their sacrifices worthwhile, reinforced the importance of their, her, terror cell expertise. Her ability to quell cell recruitment before a group could be organized and mobilized provided a future for these children, as well as a safe place to grow up.

  They had stopped near a market. The smell of livestock, the pungent fragrance of cooked food, came back to her, as well as the hot, dry breeze blowing the multicolored rugs as they hung along the street to tempt buyers.

  She could hear the sharp yells of the driver from the bus that had rumbled past their Jeep, could see her “recruit” standing in the center of the bus staring at her through the open window. The squeak of the bus’s brakes as it slowed beside them grated on her ears. The horror that engulfed her as that man shrugged at her and pushed the button of a handheld device, and the resulting burst of flames and heat as that very same bus exploded into a fireball.

  “…Audrey? What’s wrong?”

  The shrieks of the people faded into her subconscious. Audrey realized Elena was already seated in the Jeep, and the private stood by patiently with his hand outstretched for her to get in.

  “Nothing. I’m fine.” She avoided Elena’s raised brow look and settled into the passenger seat. The vehicle jerked to a start. She looked back at the courthouse building, where Brett was probably already sitting in a holding cell.

  When she thought about it, their relationship had evolved out of proximity. He’d been her NCO, she his terrorist-recruitment specialist. They were always discussing plans, possible threats, and how to diffuse volatile situations. She’d felt a spark between them from the beginning. She’d been instantly attracted to his sharp mind, as well as his muscular physique. It had been difficult to tamp down that chemistry while working with him.

  They hadn’t acted on their mutual attraction until after she was discharged. He’d tried to get her to re-up, to continue the terrorist fight, but her lack of self-confidence after the Kandahar episode had rested heavy on her. Reading people had been her proficiency, and she’d missed big-time on this guy, resulting in death and loss. She’d left the Army, and her expertise, without a backward glance.

  Brett had called her when he returned stateside, surprising her, and they’d begun dating. Seeing him had brought back memories, good and bad. It had also brought back that chemistry they’d always had. She moved in with him three months after they reconnected. She’d been smitten—until he changed.

  His threats today echoed in her head, drowning out her memories. She had no doubt if he ever got loose that he would make good on them. She’d seen his vindictive side toward the end of their relationship, though he’d hidden it in the beginning. If someone cut him off on the road, he made sure he did the same in return, even if it meant chasing them down at a reckless speed. She’d chalked it up to the road rage some people reverted to as soon as they got behind the wheel.

  But he also did other things that should have set off warning bells, if she hadn’t been so enamored with his blue eyes and sandy hair, his powerful, compact body. Like the time she had found him in his home office using a laptop she’d never seen before. For his job he had a laptop with a camo cover, but this computer was sleek and new. He’d closed it when she had entered the room, removing a blue flash drive and pocketing it.

  “That’s new,” she’d commented, indicating the device.

  “Yeah, I needed to split up my files,” was all he said, offering no other explanation. She hadn’t seen that laptop or the flash drive when she’d cleared out of his place. In a hurry to gather her belongings and go home, she’d assumed he’d taken those items to work on the base. They’d probably already been confiscated.

  Another suspicious moment with Brett had been when they’d watched the news unfold on TV about a terrorist attack in central London. She’d been surprised when he seemed to know all about it when it was just being televised. When she asked him, he’d blown her off.

  “I saw it on social media. How can they be so organized, Audrey? They know when, where, and how hard to strike some place with such precision that law enforcement doesn’t even know what happened right under their very noses. The U.S. could learn a lot from them.”

  Her jaw had dropped as his words sank in. While he was right that terrorists worked with a meticulousness that rivaled the armed forces, she couldn’t admire them. No one could. Except he did. He’d gazed at her, unaware of the mixture of emotions churning within her from his words.

  She’d faced the TV. “There’s nothing good about the Global Unification for World Peace, ISIS, or any terrorist group, Brett. Take it from me: the only thing we need to learn is how to stop them.” But she hadn’t in Kandahar, had she, a nasty little internal voice reminded her.

  He’d shifted on the leather couch beside her before walking back his earlier comment. “Well, obviously, though we’re not doing a very good job of keeping people safe, if these things keep happening. Watching how they carry out their plans is one way to figure out what they’re plotting next. Right?”

  His explanation had mollified her at the time. After what she’d later overheard him do, she wasn’t so sure his admiration for evildoing had ever diminished. It was possible it had morphed into something more insidious, like his switching sides in the war on terror.

  His behavior toward her also warped over time. He’d never had a great sense of humor, but their job together hadn’t required one. She still remembered when she’d made some joke during lovemaking. He’d gotten pissed off, taken her to the edge of an orgasm, and then rolled away, tell
ing her to have a laugh at that.

  She’d never forgotten the incident, and she’d never joked in the bedroom again. Squashing the memory into her subconscious, she’d told herself he was just under a lot of pressure. After all, he carried the weight of his investigative unit on his shoulders. She cut him a lot of slack because of that. The buck stopped with him and answering to the higher-ups for his results caused a lot of stress. She could understand his mood swings.

  Besides, playing in the bedroom had never been high on his list. He had an intense personality. Being a goal-driven person herself, she’d been fine with that. He’d brought intensity to his lovemaking, even if it was a bit “abbreviated.” Pillow talk wasn’t part of his repertoire. Again, that hadn’t bothered her too much.

  In retrospect, that was probably because she’d been so enamored with his whole persona. Infatuation glossed over a lot of imperfections. After that incident, she’d had to sit up and take notice that Brett wasn’t acting like the Brett she’d fallen for. The thought that he might be losing interest in her had crossed her mind. So she’d tried to adjust to suit him.

  Now she knew he’d been involved in something much bigger than their relationship. He was keeping one whopper of a secret from her, and that had affected his behavior and his feelings for her. In his mind she represented the people he was betraying, and he wasn’t that good of an actor to pull his double life off.

  She faced forward in the Jeep, clasping her purse on her lap. She was right to assume Brett was dangerous if freed. But Brett wasn’t going to get free. And she’d been the one to make sure of it. Now it was time to go home and put this nasty business behind her. For good.

  Just the thought of her home and job down in Northern California sent a wave of peace through her. What had happened in Kandahar had left a mark on her soul. She’d fatally misjudged her ability to read people. Trusting her instincts was no longer viable.