Nightshade (Discarded Heroes), page 4
part #1 of Discarded Heroes Series
“I may not be young, I may not have done combat tours in Iraq like you, Lieutenant, but I was tossed aside, too. For years I languished.” The general pushed to his feet, his voice thick and his eyes weighted by the story. “But I slowly remembered that I’d joined the military for a reason—I wanted to be a man. A real man willing to defend my country with life and limb. I knew then I could screw up my career or I could do my best to make a difference in the lives of those who came after.”
Silence hung rank and thick in the abandoned warehouse. Something akin to admiration leaked past Max’s barriers as he watched the indignant rise and fall of the general’s chest. A smile threatened his resolve as the old man glared at the hulking men around him.
Lambert’s lips tightened over a clean-shaven jaw. “What’s it going to be, gentlemen? Do you have what it takes to finish the fight with the gift God gave you? Or are you going to turn tail, accept what the government stamped on your papers, and leave—go quietly into the night?”
“Whoa-hoa!” Laughing, Beach Bum stepped forward. “Old Man’s got some fire under that shiny dome.”
Lambert spun toward the bum. “What’s it going to be, Sergeant Metcalfe?”
The blond pursed his lips, considered Lambert, then nodded. “I’m in.”
The bright blue eyes shifted to the Latino.
“You need some CPR, ese? You look worked up.”
A half smile slid into Lambert’s face. “A little passion never hurt, eh, Mr. Reyes?”
“You all right, old man.” He hooked Lambert’s hand and patted his back. “You all right.” Reyes leaned in toward the general’s shoulders and looked at the Kid. “But I don’t know about this kid. He don’t look like he’s out of diapers yet.”
“That’s wrong. That’s just wrong.” The Kid’s face flushed. “I spent six years in the Rangers. I have enough—”
“Rangers.” Max couldn’t help but grunt his disapproval. “That explains a lot.”
The Kid’s chin jerked up in defiance. “I’m in.”
It seemed Lambert grew with each affirmation. He shifted to the cowboy. “Mr. Neeley?”
Cowboy gave a slow, firm nod, his hat shading his eyes. “I’m ready.”
Lambert smiled. “Good. Good.”
They were all crazy. Joining a group like this meant more problems. “What if we get in trouble out there?”
“Then get out of trouble,” Lambert said. “Understand that this team does not exist. If anyone comes looking, there will be nothing to find. Only one man besides those of us in this facility knows it exists, and he’ll pay the highest cost if that confidence is broken. No one—and I mean no one—will know your names.”
“So our orders are coming from on high?” Metcalfe asked.
A twinkle brightened Lambert’s eyes and gave silent assent to the question, although he gave no answer. Instead, he continued. “Any mission, any activity will be utterly and completely disavowed by the United States. You will be disavowed. If you get into trouble, Mr. Jacobs, count on your ingenuity to get out. If you are killed, no one will know.”
“Or care.” The Kid shrugged, a sick smirk in his face.
Max wanted to punch him.
“Or maybe that’s where Sergeant Metcalfe, call sign Midas, will come in with his golden touch.” Lambert ambled toward him.
The beach bum made a tss noise and shook his head. “Nothing golden, just hard work.”
The general’s smile disappeared behind a stern facade. “What is your answer, Lieutenant Jacobs?”
“This is crazy.” What else could he do? Flip burgers at the nearest fast food? What was worth staying here for? No wife. No family. “Fine.” The separation papers told him he had nothing left here anyway. “I’m in.”
“Good.” General Lambert’s smile softened his commando persona. “Look around. The men here are your new brothers, your family. Only they will understand when the horrors of war invade your sleep. Only they will be there when you’re pinned down and need an extraction.
Arms wide, Lambert smiled like a proud father. “Gentlemen, welcome to Nightshade.”
CHAPTER 3
This was her worst idea ever.
Okay, maybe not ever, but it sure ranked high on the stupidity scale.
But she needed closure.
Maybe that wasn’t really it, either. She just needed … no, she wanted to see him. Just one more time. To let him know she didn’t hate him, that he would always have a place in her heart—if he changed.
Sydney gripped the steering wheel tighter as she sat at the red light, her heart thrumming as she glanced at the collage box on the leather passenger seat. Row after row of Max’s medals glared back at her. He never cared about the awards, leaving them scattered over his dresser in the closet. He’d always groused that he’d done his job and didn’t need a shiny piece of metal to tell him that.
But she was proud of him and wanted to do something special, so she’d had them framed for his birthday last year. When she came home from work the next day, it didn’t surprise her to find the box hung—in the closet.
A strange dichotomy worked in Max Jacobs. Pride as hot and pure as molten gold ran through his veins. But not in the way one would think. He didn’t flaunt things. Instead, he held his head high, wouldn’t accept defeat, and resisted counseling for his anger.
She chewed her lip, wondering if she should just turn around right now and head home. Bryce would rake her over the coals if he knew she’d visited Max. While she understood her brother’s protective nature, he didn’t understand her feelings for Max.
Honk! Honk!
Sydney jolted out of her somber thoughts. The light had turned green. With a furtive glance at the delivery truck behind her, she pressed the gas pedal. Winding her way through the tangled streets to Max’s apartment, she swallowed the metallic taste darting over her tongue. A queasy stomach beaded her lip with sweat.
Maybe she should tell him …. If she was right, he deserved to know, didn’t he?
She frowned as she turned onto Parker Drive. Unease skittered down her spine as she took in the rundown street. Surely this wasn’t where Max lived. He’d never approve of such a place and had been downright hostile when she suggested living downtown, stating it wasn’t safe or nice enough.
Chain-link fence separated the street and sidewalk from the apartments. Small cement buildings looked wounded and bleeding with their peeling paint and cracked windows. She licked her lips as she eased the car along the curb in front of a red-brick building. Holding up the paper she’d written his address on, she confirmed the numbers with the weather-worn numbers hanging over the mottled wood.
“Oh, Max,” she whispered, guilt riddling her for living in luxury on the other side of town in their four-bedroom home with granite countertops. Eyes roving the street to verify her safety, she lifted the collage from the seat.
What if he wasn’t home? Maybe she should’ve called.
No. Because if she’d called, she would’ve talked herself out of this. Framed medals clutched to her chest, she climbed from the car, shut the door, and clicked the key fob. The tweak-tweak of her alarm gave little confidence the gray crossover would be there when she came back.
As she reached the top step, Sydney stared at the keypad and speaker. She’d have to buzz him to let her in? She blinked. What if he refused? Her gaze traced the dark green paint that split and peeled in more places than not. Just as she turned to press the button, the front door flung open. A man rushed out with barely a glance in her direction as he shouted on a cell phone.
Heart in her throat, she caught the door before it closed and slipped inside the building. Stairs rose directly in front of her, begging her farther into the dank structure. With a breath for courage, she climbed the stairs, cringing at each pop and creak as she made her way to the second floor in the hopes of finding apartment 214.
A minute later, she stood before the black door. Clanging and grunts slithered under the doorjamb in a repetitive fashion. What was he doing in there?
Better knock before you talk yourself out of it. Rapping on the wood, she held her breath.
A heavy thud was soon followed by three smaller ones. For several seconds, silence reigned. Her gaze flipped to the peephole. It looked new compared to the beaten and worn brass numbers. No doubt Max had installed it—and was looking at her right now. A smile bobbed and fell from her lips. A chain rattled, then a click, and the door opened.
Max stood there, shirtless and breathless. “Syd,” he said, his chest heaving—a sheen over his well-toned torso. Behind him, she saw his all-in-one gym. He’d been working out. And it showed. “What’re you doing here?” He frowned and glanced down the hall.
“Don’t worry. I’m alone.”
Now that he wasn’t in the service, he looked so good with his longer hair, sweat dripping off a few strands. Stubble lined his jaw, adding to his rugged appearance. Curse the way the man left her weak in the knees, her stomach churning.
His face darkened. “You’re alone?”
“Don’t worry. Bryce doesn’t know.”
Max hissed. “He’s the last thing I’m worried about. I’ll get my shirt and walk you out.” He turned back into his apartment.
And that’s when she saw it—the streak of still-red scabs down his back and shoulders. She winced and gasped. “What happened to your back?”
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Stuffing his arms into a T-shirt, he moved into the hall and locked his door.
“That’s not ‘nothing.’” She stilled when he stepped closer to her. “You had a bike accident, didn’t you?”
One side of his mouth curled upward as he hooked her elbow and led her down the hall. “Something like that.”
“Did you see a doctor?”
He stopped and cocked his head to the side, his dark eyes penetrating her reserve. “You’re worried about me.”
“Of course I’m worried. Just because this … this thing is happening doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”
Max tucked his chin, tension radiating from him. “This thing is divorce. A petition you filed.”
Ignoring the way her chin quivered, she shoved the collage toward him. “I brought this over. It’s the last of your things. I thought you’d want it.”
Max glanced down at the box then at her. Irritation crowded the concern that had lingered only moments earlier. Slowly, he took it. “Syd,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
She quickly shook her head and pursed her lips, knowing full well she’d cave if he tried to talk her out of this. “Please, Max.” Gaze on his bare feet, she tried to blink back the tears. “Don’t …”
His rough, calloused hand came to her cheek, and he swept his thumb over her face.
Smooth and creamy, her skin was as soft as he remembered. Every pulse of anger he experienced over the fact that she’d come into this high-crime disaster he lived in, every muscle that knotted at finding her on his doorstep, drained at the silkiness of all that was Sydney. She’d violated the court order—the very one she had requested—to bring him a collage, one she knew he didn’t want, one he’d said she could keep.
No, Sydney wasn’t here because of a box of medals. She’d come to see him.
Oh, he wanted her back, wanted their life back, wanted things to be right. Good. The way they were before.
But that hope vanished when she stepped out of his reach. “Please,” she said, her throat processing a nervous swallow as she avoided his gaze. “I just …”
His anger vaulted over the hurt and took control. “You just what?” Keep it cool, man. Keep it cool. He held up the medals. “Brought me something I told you I never wanted?”
Sydney leaned against the wall, her shoulders hunching.
Max ground his teeth. “I want you, Syd. I don’t care about things. I don’t care about my job. You. That’s all I want.”
Tears spilled from her eyes. “You get mad …. You lose control.” Sorrow filled her face and carved a gaping hole in his heart. “I can’t live like that anymore.”
He balled his fist, hating the painful truth of her words and how his anger took over. Always took over. Hating that she’d resolved their marriage couldn’t work without him changing. Changing what? He had been like this the day she’d vowed to love him till death parted them. And as far as he knew, neither of them had died. “Then why are you here?”
A sob ripped through her. “I can’t …”
His chest tightened. Get it together. He choked back the anger and frustration. Let out a huff. His entire life was slipping down a one-way track to hell, and he was utterly powerless to stop it. “Let’s get you back in the car and on your way to safety.”
She pulled out of his grasp. “I don’t need you to walk me out like a child.”
“What?” He ran a hand through his hair. “I—fine. Okay.” Hands up, he sighed. “Fine. Go, leave.”
Everything in him railed as she disappeared down the stairs. He waited until he heard the creak of the door then hustled down the steps after her. Watching through the rectangular block of glass, he waited until she climbed into her car and started the engine before he released the tension. What was she thinking coming out here, a place where there were more guns than people?
He glanced down at the collage box. She’d been so proud of it when he opened it at his birthday barbecue last summer. Their guests had oohed and ahhed over the dozen awards. What good were awards when everything in you, everything in your life, was falling apart? About all they were good for was to make empty frames look good. Still, he’d thanked her. And he knew she would expect him to hang it up, but he didn’t want it in a high-traffic area. Matter of fact, if nobody saw it, he’d be happy. Thus the prime location at the back of the closet next to his cleaned, pressed, and stored duds.
In his apartment, he slid the box across the counter and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. For the first time, he considered that closet—it had contained all his SEAL equipment, his uniforms, the gear, and his medals. Nicely and neatly contained. Tucked out of view. Sort of how he dealt with everything. Neat little closets nobody could see into, not even himself unless he needed to.
It was the only way to cope.
Ain Siro mountains loomed in the darkness, cutting off the small village from the somber glow of moonlight. Shrouded in the anonymity of night, Max huddled among a group of firs at the base of the mountain. Rushing water cascaded over rocks and tumbled southward fifty yards north.
Armed with his M4 and a rucksack full of adrenaline, he crept along the perimeter of the village huddled near the vital river. Each step purposefully placed. Each breath measured. Nestling against the tree gave him the temporary cover he needed. Using his night vision scope mounted on his weapon, he visually confirmed each member of the team was in place. Their first mission, yet after months of training, they operated seamlessly.
Shifting to the right, he swept his gaze over the interior of the village where Janjaweed forces reclined around a small fire pit. The spiked drinks Nightshade anonymously donated to the forces had the necessary effect. Talk and laughter drifted on the hot winds and invaded the tranquil setting. The underlings remained clustered around one man. Colonel Paka. Nightshade’s primary objective.
Even now as Max watched the man, he understood the neutralize order. According to the recon Legend and Cowboy had gathered, the man had raped and butchered more than a dozen of the villagers huddled in structure one-eight in the last twenty-four hours. This mission wouldn’t end soon enough.
Sweat dribbling down his back, Max monitored the progress of Fix as he hustled to the last vehicle in the parked convoy by the creek. Just one more device to plant before his man would scurry back into the trees with the Janjaweed none the wiser. Listening to the gentle swish of Fix’s tactical pants ten yards east, he knew the time had come.
So it begins.
At the signal, Legend slipped out of the trees and snuck to the lone Jeep between two mud-and-stick homes. Waving Midas into action, Max glanced at the Kid, who hovered behind him. He nodded, and they both sprinted into the dwelling northeast of Legend.
Laughter spirited from the campfire at the center of the oppressed community. Easing into point, he stared down his scope and fixed his attention on the leader of this group, his round belly the result and proof of the easy life compared to the swollen, malnourished bodies of the women and children. Thirty soldiers to Nightshade’s six.
Now to even the odds. With a quick flick of his hand, Max gave the signal.
