Taking as much of Sal’s weight as she could, Olivia tramped through the forest, steps dragging. She focused on putting one foot in front of the other.
There.
A cave. Shelter. And possibly a bear. She pushed that image from her mind. Right now, they needed a place to hole up where Sal could rest.
She dredged up any information she knew about bears. They hibernated in the winter. Right? So late spring should be safe enough. Any bears around would be out foraging for food. Unless they were seeking shelter, just as she and Sal were.
She left Sal at the entrance to the cave and went to check it out. When she discovered it was empty, she went back for him. “C’mon,” she urged. “You need to rest.”
Once they were settled and Sal was as comfortable as she could make him, she dumped out her briefcase, looking for the granola bars she routinely stashed there. She saw a flash drive, the one holding her pictures of her time in Vermont. Something was off. She looked more closely and realized that it wasn’t the leaf-peeper drive as she’d thought but the one she’d taken from Calvin’s drawer.
“I mixed up the drives,” she said, explaining what had happened. “That’s why those men are after us, isn’t it?”
“We don’t have all the pieces of the puzzle,” Sal said. “Until we do, we’re operating in the dark. When we get out of here, we need to stash it somewhere.”
Even though the police had a copy of the file, she’d feel better if the original were in a safe place.
“I have a safety deposit box at my bank.”
“Perfect.”
She found the granola bars. After she and Sal devoured the meager meal, she leaned back against the wall of the cave and wondered how she could take his mind off their predicament. There’d be time enough to worry about that later.
Sal solved the matter by tapping the cave wall. “This reminds me of Afghanistan, staying in grape huts.”
“What are those?”
“Houses. But they’re made of mud with the thickest walls you can imagine. They were great at keeping out the heat and the cold. Of course, if we were trying to find out if a target might be in one, they made it almost impossible to gather intel.” He grew silent, apparently lost in memories.
“We could use a grape hut right along now,” she said. The temperature inside the cave was significantly cooler than that outside, and she wished she had something more substantial than her summer-weight navy blue suit jacket to ward off the cold.
“Come here.”
She nestled against Sal and relished the warmth he gave off.
“Tell me more about your time with Delta. You must have some really great stories.”
“There’s nothing great about war.”
Sal had always been protective of her and had never wanted to bring the ugliness of war into her world. It had been one of the stumbling blocks between them, his reluctance to share all of himself with her.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. But war is ugly. I know, that’s a cliché. But it’s true. It’s not just the dying—and there was plenty of that—but the things we were asked to do.”
“If you want to talk about it, I’m a pretty good listener.” With that, she knew that she truly wanted to know what caused the shadows in Sal’s eyes, the pain in his voice when he talked about his days with Delta.
What was he holding back? She knew he’d seen his fair share of action. What didn’t he want her to know?
Sal would never do anything dishonorable. Of that, she was certain. His honor was deeply ingrained, an integral part of him. She held her breath, sensing Sal was going to share something more than the usual war story, horrific as that was.
“Our unit was under heavy fire and pinned down. I managed to get to the enemy’s machine gun and take it out.
“I was hit in the shoulder and must have passed out. When I woke up, I was in an army hospital. The CO was there. He told me I’d be getting a medal.” Another shake of his head. “That was the last thing I wanted. We lost three men that day. When I told him how I felt, he said that the medal wasn’t for what I did but for living with it.”
Olivia wanted to offer comfort, but what could she say? She reached for him, but he pulled back.
“I know. There’s nothing to say. In the end, I asked for a different assignment.” His laugh was hollow. “That’s how I ended up as a spotter.”
“A spotter?”
“I identified targets for a sniper. I made certain the conditions were right, wind, etc. At least then I didn’t have faces to go with who I was killing. I got the call name of Hawk.” He met her gaze in a hard stare, as though challenging her to condemn him. Waiting for it.
“This is what you didn’t want to tell me? Why you walked away two years ago.”
“Don’t you get it? I all but put targets on the enemy’s back so my partner could take them out.”
“You were obeying orders.”
His laugh turned bitter. “That’s what I told myself. Over and over. But in the end, it didn’t matter. I couldn’t live with myself anymore. So I got out. While I still had part of my soul left.”
Her heart bled for him, a man who had given everything to his country until he had nothing left. His sense of honor and duty had warred with each other, taking chunks of his soul as casualties in the battle.
She’d thought she knew him, but she’d been wrong. These parts of him that doubted his worth, his heart, his honor, those were new to her. They added layers and vulnerabilities and made him more attractive than ever. She was having a difficult enough time resisting his appeal as it was.
What must it take for a man as strong and courageous as Sal to question himself? What another man might pass off as the necessities of war had carved scars in his soul. Though invisible to the naked eye, those scars ran deep.
“I wish you’d told me this two years ago.”
His nod was part acceptance, part pain. “Maybe I should have. I don’t know.” He looked down at his hands, turned them over as though they held the answers he was seeking. “I haven’t told my parents. That’s why I stay in Atlanta. I don’t want to see the disappointment in their eyes if they find out what I’ve done. What I was.”
“Your parents would never stop loving you.” Two years ago, Sal had told her about his family and how much they loved each other.
“When I enlisted, I thought I knew everything. Turns out that I didn’t know anything at all. And now...” He shook his head.
She took his hand, trying to tell him what was in her heart through touch because she didn’t have the words.
“I would have understood.”
“How?” The word came out in a harsh growl, and he yanked his hand away. “How can you understand when I don’t?”
“I don’t have answers. But I know Someone who does. He understands everything because He endured everything.”
Sal’s nod was weary as if he’d heard it all before.
“Do you think Christ wants only those who are perfect to come to Him? He wants everyone, including the worst sinners among us. He can heal even them.” Her voice broke, and tears stung her eyes. “Sorry about that. Talking about the Savior does that to me.”
Sal lifted his head, his penetrating gaze locking with hers. “I know you’re trying to help, but right now, I’m not ready to hear how the Lord can heal me. Maybe I’ll never be ready.” The last was said with such anguish that she felt it clear down to her soul.
How she wished she could share her belief with him. Her faith was such an integral part of her that she couldn’t imagine her life without it. When her mother had died, she and her father had turned to each other and to the Lord. Their faith had sustained them then as hers had when he died a few years back.
Clearly, Sal wasn’t ready to accept the Lord into his life, and she backed off. She wanted to reach out once more to take his hand and press it to her heart, to promise that she would never turn away this man who had given so much.
Sal looked at himself and saw a man beyond redemption. She looked at him and saw a man who needed love. Hers and the Savior’s. Maybe one day she could convince him of that.
* * *
Sal woke, disoriented and fuzzy-headed. The worst of the pain had passed. He’d slept fitfully, afraid the dream would come. At times of extreme fatigue or stress, it pulled at him. Last night had been no exception.
The faces were there, the faces of the men who died because of him. Why wouldn’t they let him go? He had a drawer full of medals, including a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star. He’d give them all back in a heartbeat if it meant he could erase the nightmares that continued to plague him.
Scrubbing his hands over his jaw, he looked around for Olivia and saw her slumped against the wall. Dirt smudged her face. Her hands were clenched as though to fight off attackers.
A small smile lifted the corners of his lips. She’d done everything and more than he’d asked, had reset his shoulder, kept them moving, and then found shelter so that he could rest and get his strength back. He wanted to tell her what was in his heart but knew he couldn’t.
The very last thing Olivia needed was for him to complicate matters by telling her that he’d never forgotten her, never forgotten what they’d shared. She was under enough stress as it was.
Though he hated to wake her, he shook her gently. “Olivia.”
She blinked, rubbed her eyes.
“It’s time we got out of here.”
“Are you all right?” she asked, and he knew she was asking about more than his shoulder.
“Better. A lot better. Thanks to you.” He stood with difficulty.
She hurried to her feet to support him. After a moment’s hesitation, he accepted her help. “Thanks.”
He tested his feet, found that he could walk. Outside the cave, he got his bearings. “Ten miles east, we should find a town.”
They covered a few miles, and he discovered he had cell coverage. He called Nicco and gave the coordinates from his GPS-equipped phone.
Nicco showed up, took one look at Sal and gave a low whistle. “You just can’t keep out of trouble, can you? First stop is the nearest hospital.”
“Correction, first stop is the bank. We’ve got a deposit to make. A very important one.”
On the way to the bank, Sal made introductions. Nicco darted questioning looks at Sal, who ignored them. Skilled at picking up on nuances, Nicco probably felt the tension that radiated between his brother and the client.
“If what you’ve got is so important, why not take it to the police?” Nicco asked.
Sal darted a look at Olivia, asking for her permission for him to confide in his brother. She nodded. They’d already discussed the pros and cons of keeping the drive versus handing it over to the authorities. The police had a duplicate. That should be enough.
Sal provided Nicco with a brief rundown of the case. “They have a copy of it. Plus, I have a feeling we’re going to need the original before this is over. When we get things sorted out, we’ll give it to the police.”
At the bank, Olivia went through the procedure of checking out her safety deposit box and putting the drive inside while Sal stood by her. Their bedraggled appearance caused several brows to rise. But nobody questioned them.
As they returned to the truck, Nicco asked, “Now can we take you to the hospital?”
Not long after that, Sal was treated for his injuries and rejected the doctor’s suggestion that he stay overnight.
“I need your truck,” Sal told Nicco.
“No problem. I’ll arrange to have yours towed and repaired.”
Sal clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Thanks. I owe you.”
Nicco’s grin was infectious. “You can be sure that I’ll collect.” He handed the keys to his truck to Sal and took off.
“What will he do for transportation for himself?” Olivia asked.
“Don’t worry about Nicco. He’ll find something. He’s nothing if not resourceful.”
“Where do we go from here?” she asked once they were outside the hospital.
Before he could answer, they were stopped by Agents Timmons and Jeppsen, the Homeland Security men they’d encountered earlier.
Though the agents didn’t draw their weapons, they made no secret of the fact that they were armed, letting their suit jackets flap open to reveal they were each carrying a suppressed Elite Dark Sig Sauer P226. The weapon was a favored one in law enforcement, carried by a number of Texas Rangers, as well as those in the Spec Ops community such as Navy SEALs.
Their brusque manner told Sal that they were on the hunt. What it had to do with him and Olivia, he couldn’t guess.
“We heard you had a bit of trouble,” Jeppsen said.
Olivia lifted her chin. “We were run off the road, shot at and nearly killed. So, yeah, I guess you could call that ‘a bit of trouble.’”
Her retort nearly caused Sal to grin, but there was nothing funny about a visit from the DHS. “Why is Homeland so interested in us?” he asked.
“Terrorism.” The agent’s voice snapped Sal back to the here-and-now.
Terrorism. Sal felt his body respond to the word. His muscles tightened, his stance battle ready. He’d suspected it, but having it confirmed sent his instincts on alert.
“You’re saying that Calvin was part of a terrorist cell and you think I’m involved as well?” Olivia was in shock. He heard it in her voice, saw it in the uneven rise and fall of her chest.
“He wasn’t in the cell per se,” the agent said. “But he knew what was going on. He made some very dangerous people very angry at him. In case you were wondering, these are the kind of people you don’t want mad at you.”
Sal got what the agent was saying. Chantry had been eliminated. It was as simple and as brutal as that. No matter what the man had done, he hadn’t deserved to burn to death.
Olivia, regal even in her filthy clothes, drew herself up. “I don’t believe you.”
“Believe it. Your friend was fronting for a Russian terrorist cell.” Timmons looked from Sal to Olivia, his gaze narrowing as it rested on her. “You’re saying that you had no idea of what he was doing?” Skepticism colored his voice and had Sal’s hackles rising.
“Of course she didn’t.” Sal wasn’t about to let that go unchallenged.
Olivia flashed him a grateful look. “No,” she said, turning her attention to the DHS agent. “I didn’t.”
“We’ve been following Chantry for months. We knew he was dirty, but we didn’t have the goods on him. Now he’s dead, and the connection to the people he was fronting is gone.” Disgust was plain on his face. Disgust and suspicion.
Though Sal knew that Olivia didn’t have anything to do with Chantry’s possible treason, he could understand—almost—why the agents were not inclined to believe her. She’d made no secret of her longtime friendship with Chantry or her affection for him. To Sal’s mind, that made her appear even more innocent, but not so to the DHS agents.
“That’s regrettable but certainly not my fault,” Olivia said with dignity.
Timmons flushed an ugly shade of red.
Sal wanted to applaud Olivia for her grace under fire. Timmons had all but accused her of being part of Chantry’s plan, and she’d firmly denied the implication.
“Maybe if you’d told us what was going on, we’d have been able to help you,” Sal said in a we’re-not-going-to-take-the-blame-for-your-screwup voice.
“It was classified, but—”
“That’s always the way with you Homeland boys, isn’t it?” Sal cut in. “Everything’s classified, and you’re so afraid of sharing what you know with someone else that you’re chasing your own tails.”
“People higher up the food chain than us have since given the go-ahead to share limited parts with you,” Timmons continued as though he hadn’t been interrupted.
Sal thought about telling them about the USB drive but was reluctant to do so. The DHS agents had accused Olivia of plotting against the United States. How did he know they weren’t part of the plot and looking to divert suspicion onto someone else?
“When did you catch on to Chantry’s part in all this?” he asked instead.
“We’ve had him on our radar for the last year. Things heated up when he went missing.”
“You mean when he was kidnapped,” Olivia snapped.
Timmons gave her a long look. “Mighty convenient for Chantry to disappear just when we were getting ready to close in.”
“That’s not proof of anything.”
“What we’re wondering, Ms. Hammond, is how you could not know what your boss and friend was involved in,” the agent said, a scowl digging into his mocha-colored skin. “Doesn’t seem likely, considering how close you say the two of you were.”
“We told you.” Sal cut off the agent’s line of questioning. “Olivia had no knowledge of what Chantry was up to. If he was a part of some plot, he fooled her like he did everyone else.”
“So you say.”
“That’s right. So I say.” Sal let the words hang in the air. He didn’t bother prettying them up. Timmons and his partner might as well know from the get-go where he stood: squarely on Olivia’s side.
The considering look in the agent’s eyes told Sal that the message was received and understood.
“If you think of anything that can help us, we expect to hear from you,” Jeppsen said. He and his partner stalked away. Halfway to his car, he stopped, turned. “You haven’t heard the last of this.”
When the agents had driven away, Olivia looked at Sal. “Thanks for sticking up for me.”
“You were doing a pretty good job of it yourself.”
“Yeah, well, lawyers learn to develop a thick skin or they don’t make it.” She grimaced. “Can you believe them? Accusing me and Calvin of being a part of some plot?”
“Homeland doesn’t like looking bad. It’s not good for the image. They’re going to keep coming at us. They need answers, and right now we’re the only game in town.”
“What they said about Russians made me think about the men who attacked me that first night. I think their accent was Russian.”
“That explains a lot. They were probably the ones who tried to take you outside the courthouse, as well.”
“And run us off the road yesterday.”
Olivia didn’t need Sal to tell her that having Russian agents after them raised the stakes. The Russians had a well-earned reputation of playing rough. Automatically, her hand moved to her cheekbone where a tiny scab remained from the knife prick.
* * *
The following day, Timmons and his partner Jeppsen showed up at Olivia’s townhome with a search warrant.
“This allows us to look anywhere we want,” Jeppsen said.
“Can I see it?” she asked, thinking that Sal hadn’t been joking about Homeland not leaving them alone. She’d known this was coming and had braced herself for it.
She perused the paper, looking for anything, anything at all, that was out of order. Even a mistake in the address or the spelling of her name could invalidate the warrant. “Okay. I guess it’s too much to ask that you clean up after yourselves.” She’d witnessed searches at clients’ homes and had been appalled at the mess the police had made.
“You’re right,” Jeppsen said. “It’s too much to ask.”
The two agents turned the townhouse upside down, unmindful of the shambles they left in their wake.
Three hours later, Timmons said, “Nothing.”
“Which I could have told you if you’d asked,” she said with no small degree of asperity.
“We like to see for ourselves.” Timmons fisted his hands on his hips. “Look, Ms. Hammond. We’re in a fix. Chantry and whoever he was mixed up with were planning something big. We’re grabbing at straws, trying to figure out what it was. Before it’s too late.”
“You gotta admit that it looks fishy that you don’t know anything about this, you being so close to Chantry and all,” Jeppsen said.
Olivia could almost tolerate Timmons, but his partner was another matter. The man seemed determined to make her the villain of the piece or, at the very least, an accomplice in Calvin’s plan.
“Then pay attention,” she said, enunciating each syllable with precision. “I am not part of this. I never was. I never would be. So save yourself some energy and find out who else was in on this. It wasn’t me.”
Timmons shrugged while his partner made no attempt to mask his disbelief.
“You’ll be seeing us again,” Timmons said.
“Count on it,” Jeppsen added.
The two agents took off.
Olivia gave a sigh of relief when Sal arrived to pick her up. She sank back into the truck with a defeated air. She had tons of work to catch up on, especially after spending so much time searching for Calvin, and now she was a suspect.
She wanted to laugh hysterically at the idea that the federal government actually considered her a part of a terrorist cell. Who would they pounce on next? Homeland wielded a tremendous amount of power. No one dared buck them. To do so was to ask for a boatload of trouble.
She worked through what was left of the day. Sal stayed close by, and she was more grateful than ever for his quiet but solid presence. The last few days, which included losing Calvin, being chased by bad guys, spending a night in a cave, and having the DHS accuse both Calvin and herself of terrorism, were catching up to her.
Sal frowned when a text came in just as they were preparing to leave for the day.
“What is it?” Olivia asked.
“Timmons. He wants to meet us at the Sand Dollar Motel. Room 242. Says he has something we need to see. Twenty minutes.” Sal checked his watch. “We need to get moving.”
They drove to the seedy-looking motel in the wrong part of town.
“Why meet here?” Olivia asked, nose wrinkling in distaste.
“Your guess is as good as mine.” Sal didn’t look happy at the setting either.
They tried the door, found it unlocked. He motioned for her to step back and went in first, checked it out. “Looks okay,” he said and gestured for her to go inside, closing the door behind them.
The next moment, it pushed open again, and a portly figure entered.