Zone of Action (In the Zone) Read online

  She’d underestimated the resistors’ enmity for peace in that area of the world. Their hatred of unity, and the soldiers who were introducing it. She’d thought she, her country, and her fellow soldiers were making a difference, but it had turned out they were only deepening the rift. She carried that massacre in Kandahar as her personal cross until her service was over.

  When it came time to reenlist, she chose not to, against some very stiff appeals and enticements from her commanding officer. He’d wanted her to stay on, just like Brett had. They told her she was the best at what she did. She could read people better than anyone they knew, they said. She resisted. Her heart wasn’t in the job anymore. It had been broken that fateful day, and all she sought was tranquility. And maybe absolution. She moved into the private sector in search of a life far from terrorists and their evil.

  In that search for peace, she’d taken some classes for floriculture design. It was about as far away from being a soldier that she could imagine. She’d always been captivated by flowers and the artful arrangements she saw in magazines or social gatherings, so why not?

  The beauty of living things ran counter to her previous lifestyle, and that suited her fine. No one would lose their life from her floral decisions. She didn’t have to look for motives and subversive behavior in the people she dealt with daily. She could almost block out the cries and screams in her mind by creating beautiful centerpieces and decorations. Almost.

  After receiving her certification, she moved to Abbottsville and opened a flower shop. By that time, she’d discovered Brett’s treasonous behavior and turned him in, returning to the home she’d sublet after moving in with him. Once more, it had been time for her to switch gears. Her misjudgment of her informant while in the service, coupled with her miscalculation of Brett, told her she needed to work alone. She’d lost her knack. She vowed that no one else would suffer from her lack of ability.

  Along the way to rediscovering herself, Audrey realized that her heart hadn’t been as involved with Brett as much as other parts of her body had been. His shocking behavior had stunned her. She’d never have imagined him as a traitor. It reinforced her conclusion that she was no longer a superhero for understanding what made people tick. That alone helped her make the move, cutting all ties with the military this time. Until she was contacted to appear at his court martial.

  Audrey took a deep breath of the clear, Pacific Northwest air. Elena shot her a glance and a tentative smile. She smiled back with a nod. It was time to move on. Past time.

  Chapter Two

  “I gotta take a leak.”

  CID Special Agent Cameron Harris met his prisoner’s gaze in the rearview mirror. Was it the truth or the oldest trick in the book? Hard to tell. With Brett Gates, his one-time best friend and lifesaver, Cameron didn’t know. Hell, ever since Brett had been found guilty of conspiring to sell military secrets to a foreign government agent, Cameron had been second-guessing his friendship with the man.

  He paused before answering. Would his friend try to escape? He wasn’t deemed an escape risk by the brass. That’s why Cam was going solo with Brett. He didn’t think Brett was, either. They had too much history together. Or maybe that was wishful thinking. Again, hard to know.

  What the hell had happened to the soldier who’d saved Cameron’s life in Afghanistan three years ago? Where was the patriot who’d risked his own life for his comrade-in-arms? He’d thrown his Intelligence training, his stellar service record, his family’s military pride, into the toilet for a hookup with an enemy entity willing to pay well for info on Army Intelligence training.

  Ignoring Brett’s comment for the moment, Cameron cupped his chin with his left hand and fingered the three-year-old scar as he continued driving toward Sea-Tac airport. When he’d first asked his friend why he’d done it, Brett had told him the money was great, more than Uncle Sam could ever give him. That answer said so much, like, maybe, this wasn’t his first time. The thought had soured Cameron’s stomach.

  “Terrorism is everywhere nowadays, buddy. We fight back, but so many other countries don’t. We keep sending poor fools, younger and dumber than us, to the slaughter, and for what? Lousy pay and no thanks? So many of us die for other countries. Take my dad, my grandpa. We’re still fighting the same damn fights, just with different players. It’s never going to end.

  “Look at Jimenez. He’s gone. Ross, he’s riding a desk at the five-sided puzzle palace. There, but not there, if you know what I mean.” Brett had tapped his temple. “There comes a point when enough is enough. No matter what we do, someone is always there ahead of us. Our intelligence doesn’t hold a candle to theirs. They’ve got hackers better than ours. So, I figured, why should someone else get rich on the information I already had? If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. Isn’t that how the saying goes?”

  Cameron frowned at the memory, yanking his hand away from the scar that tied him to Brett forever. He’d always known Brett’s money slipped through his fingers like water. His friend had bought the latest, fastest car, the cell phone with the most gadgets, and every new technological invention known to man.

  While Cameron had socked money into CDs and into buying a house with acreage, Brett had splashed his money around like he had a never-ending supply. Unfortunately for him, his live-in girlfriend turned out to be more of a patriot than him and reported his plans when she overheard them.

  He remembered how livid Brett had become when he found out she’d been the one to turn him in. He’d screamed hateful words at her, threats that didn’t amount to much since he was incarcerated. But they made Cameron sick. How could his friend, who’d told him a few months earlier that this woman might “be the one,” turn around and tell her he was going to hunt her down and kill her? Cameron couldn’t attribute that type of behavior to the best friend he knew.

  Brett’s girlfriend had sat stoically through the court martial last month. She’d kept her composure through Brett’s hateful rants. If she was worried about Brett’s threats of violent retribution, she hadn’t shown it. And here he was now, on the road to the plane that would transfer Brett to Fort Leavenworth, Kansas.

  Cameron had requested this duty. The two of them had a history, and he owed Brett this last drive together. Hell, he owed his friend his life. Everything went back to that fateful day in Kabul.

  He’d wanted to travel all the way to Kansas with Brett, keep his one-time friend calm. Brett had never liked closed-in spaces, yet now he would be spending his life in a six by eight cell. Cam’s heart clenched at the thought.

  His idea to accompany Brett to Leavenworth had been shot down. He had a lot of open CID cases on his desk. Cameron had to be satisfied with the time he had with Brett now.

  “I really need to take a piss, Cam.”

  Their gazes met briefly again in the mirror before Cameron returned his to the tree-lined highway unwinding before him. “You should’ve thought of that before we left.” He was authorized to stop if he deemed it important, but Cameron didn’t want to. This was harder than he’d originally thought. All the memories with his buddy bombarded him like a kaleidoscope.

  “C’mon, Cam, you saw how I was hustled out of there. The Army and their timetables.” He spat the words. Cameron was shocked at the venom flowing through them. They’d met in Basic. When had Brett become so bitter? When he was caught? Or had it been much earlier, after the second sports car, possibly? Or the numerous night ops he hated? Cameron didn’t know. All he remembered were the good times, like helping each other complete the obstacle course in BT, or pulling guard duty together. Or having each other’s backs out on patrol, like in Afghanistan.

  Cameron’s hand crept up to his chin again, and he dropped it to the steering wheel, gripping it tightly. The scar was a constant reminder of his lapse in judgment, one he regretted every day. He’d always been the guy people looked up to, relied upon. At least, until that day.

  That da
y had changed his opinion of himself, and he’d been fighting back to his previous standards ever since. He wasn’t sure that was even attainable. They’d lost a man that day. A good soldier. A father. You didn’t recover from seeing death, from watching life seep from a friend’s, a comrade’s, body. His scar was a reminder of that loss, of too many losses: a loss of life, a loss of friendship, a loss of a personal ideal. So much waste.

  Jimenez’s death had left a grieving widow with two young boys to raise. In the beginning, he and Brett would go visit her, play catch with her sons, talk about her husband, until one day she asked them not to come anymore. She told them their visits brought back too many painful memories. She needed to move on.

  She’d cried when she told them. Cam could still feel her hot tears as they seeped through his shirt that afternoon, cooling against his skin. He’d wished it had been him instead of Jimenez. Then there wouldn’t be this fractured family left behind.

  Brett had felt the same. They’d discussed it many a night. The unfairness of fate, or God, or happenstance. Neither of them understood the sense of taking a husband’s, a father’s, life, when there were so many single soldiers. It wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair.

  So, in agreement, they had spearheaded a college fund for Jimenez’s kids. Their entire platoon pitched in. That hadn’t assuaged their survivor’s guilt. Cam didn’t think anything would. He had the nightmares to prove it.

  Since that ambush in Kabul, gathering intelligence in the field had lost its appeal. When Cameron learned he qualified as a CID agent, he’d taken the opportunity and studied for it. Now he used his training for criminal investigation involving service members. It was challenging, and he found he had a real aptitude for investigating. He hadn’t thought he’d be scrutinizing his best friend, though.

  Up ahead he spotted a gas station. Good enough. Not many people around this time of morning. It wouldn’t be as embarrassing for Brett to be escorted in handcuffs to the latrine. After notifying his CWO over the car’s ancient radio (not all their vehicles had been upgraded here in the Northwest), he glanced in the rearview mirror and said tersely, “We’re stopping here. One time. If you have to go again, piss your pants.”

  Brett’s answering snort brought a grin to Cameron’s face, one he quickly swallowed. Brett was a prisoner. Their friendship had to be put in the past tense. Easier said than done.

  “Thanks, bud.”

  The car bounced into the station, where Cameron drove up as close as he could to the convenience store. No need to parade him around outside.

  He got out and circled around to the other side of the car. After pulling Brett out from the back seat, he looked his buddy in the eyes. Brett was shorter, with a solid, baseball player’s body. His pale blue eyes met Cameron’s brown ones and crinkled at the corners.

  “Thanks, bro, for doing this.”

  “Just hurry up.”

  “No, I mean taking me. It means a lot, not being sent to that hellhole by a stranger.”

  Cameron stared into Brett’s face, unable to read his expression. “Why, Brett? I know I asked this before, but…why?” He didn’t get it, had never gotten it. Why would his best friend consort with an enemy government? How could he even contemplate it?

  Brett looked at his shoes, the slip-on kind that didn’t have laces for the prisoner to use for a nefarious purpose. Cameron waited. He needed an answer. For closure.

  Finally, Brett returned his gaze to Cameron’s. It hardened into chips of blue ice. “Uncle Sam doesn’t have our backs, Cam. They talk a good game, but for the average soldier, it’s sayonara, sucker. Look at Jimenez’s family, for chrissake. They got a flag, a twenty-minute memorial service, and a size ten boot out the government’s door. Jimenez isn’t any good to the government dead. But I bet they’ll take his sons if they enlist.” He spat to the side. “I’m sick of our soldiers being the government’s pawns. The suits need to realize they don’t have the power. It’s all in us. We shouldn’t have to take lame-ass orders from people who can’t remember the last time they put on OCPs.”

  Cam knew he should reprimand him, but his brain was still processing Brett’s words. Losing Jimenez had been a blow to Cameron, and seeing how it affected the dead soldier’s family had been the deciding factor for Cam to change careers. He had vowed then and there not to make any close relationships while he was a soldier. The innocent shouldn’t have to pay for his choices. It was a lonely choice, but at least he wouldn’t have anyone’s shattered life left at his feet. He didn’t think he could stand that.

  Jimenez’s death had affected Brett, too, apparently. While Cam had chosen to serve alone, Brett had decided to switch sides. Had Jimenez’s death, had his grieving family, been the catalyst that weakened Brett to the idea of treason?

  When he returned to the field, Brett had worked hard to become the NCO of his team, the guy who stayed on post. Cam had always thought he’d moved up for more money. Had it been to stay out of the line of fire? Had he become disillusioned, like Cam had? Was Brett’s defection now a result of that long-ago attack?

  It didn’t excuse what Brett had done, though. That was the bottom line. Cam’s disillusionment had sent him into another career, not into the enemy’s arms. Selling out his government never crossed his mind. But it had Brett’s. Brett breached the soldier’s creed of ethics when he’d sold troop whereabouts, and not even grief for a dead comrade, or the treatment of his survivors, was an acceptable motive for treason. Cam had to remember that, just as he had to remind himself that Brett was no longer the friend he’d known before. That man had disappeared into the body of a traitor. The knowledge soured his response.

  “Lydia knew what Jimenez was when she married him,” he snapped. “She was a soldier’s wife. Army spouses, and their families, are tough. They’ll get through it. Besides, I didn’t see you handing over the money to them that you made selling our secrets.” That was a cheap shot, but Cam had to say it.

  “Asshole!” Brett shoved at Cameron, who whipped him around and slammed him against the car, the pain of so many losses fueling his retaliation. Grabbing the cuffs and jerking on them, he leaned into his friend so that his mouth was at his ear.

  “We were best friends, Brett. But you’re still my prisoner. Make no mistake. I’ll do my job.”

  Brett sagged against the car, the fire burning out of him. After waiting another long second, Cameron yanked him upright, spinning him around to face him. The anger had seeped from Brett’s blue eyes. In its place was contrition. Cameron inhaled, fighting to control the resentment he held for his friend’s choice that put them on opposing sides.

  “Hurry up and take a leak. Linder expects us back on the road in five mikes.” He grabbed one of Brett’s elbows and shoved him toward the convenience store’s entrance. A little bell clanged as they entered. A clerk knelt on the floor to their right, stocking the soft drink shelves. He cast them a glance and a mumbled “good morning” before returning to his task. If he noticed the cuffs, he gave no sign.

  Spying the restrooms at the back of the store, Cam pushed Brett toward them, but his buddy balked. “You gonna uncuff me, or hold my dick for me?”

  Cameron glared. He had to uncuff him. Brett’s hands were behind his back. He knew he could take Brett in a scuffle—he was bigger and taller than him. He just didn’t want to be put in that position. But there was no way in hell he’d help the guy take a piss.

  “Turn around,” he barked. Brett complied. Cameron fished out the cuff keys and unlocked his friend’s restraints before quickly spinning him around. “Hands out.”

  “Seriously? You’re gonna make me piss with my hands in cuffs?”

  “It’s that or nothing, Brett.” Cameron refastened the cuffs. Meeting Brett’s turbulent gaze, he said, “Clock’s ticking. Get in there.” Cameron pulled the door open. His cursory glance took in the toilet, urinal, and sink, with a wall unit hand dryer. No window for esc
ape, and the venting system was too small to climb into. With a quick nod, he moved aside for Brett to enter. “Don’t lock the damn door, either,” he admonished.

  “Yes, Mother.” The door slammed in Cameron’s face, but there was no locking sound. Good.

  Cameron leaned against the wall, glad for his fatigues because it was starting to rain outside. He watched it fall out the handprint-smeared window opposite him, while listening for Brett in the latrine. Just as he turned to knock on the door, he heard the flush and water running. He faced the door when the hand dryer began to drone.

  When it didn’t turn off, he reached for the doorknob. “Damn it, Brett—”

  The door flew toward him, the edge of it catching him in the face. Blood spurted from his nose, which must have been shoved into his cranium. Now he knew what seeing stars meant. He thought he was going to black out. He put out a hand to the wall. His vision swam, like he was looking in a funhouse mirror.

  “Brett, don’ do this.” He sounded like a drunk. He hoped he wasn’t spitting out teeth. He reached for his Sig.

  “Sorry, bro. Leavenworth ain’t for me.”

  Bam! Just as Cameron started to focus on Brett, something white and hard slammed him in the head. He howled and dropped to the floor. He thought he heard Brett say, “You’re lucky we got history, Cam, or you’d be dead. What’s already in motion has gotta be finished, and then I’m a ghost. Wish it coulda been different, bud.”

  A hand patted Cameron’s pockets, and then his Sig was removed from his side. Running footsteps echoed in his head, louder, louder, like a train was about to run over him, and then there was blessed silence.

  Chapter Three

  “What the hell happened, Harris? I okay you to take Gates to the airport, ‘for old time’s sake,’ and he clocks you and escapes with your sidearm and a government vehicle. It looks bad for you, like you aided and abetted him. And my ass is grass because I allowed it. Now I’m sitting on what could become a major incident. Start talking.”