The Sparks Broker, page 6
part #2 of S.A.S.S. Series
“In my unit, disobeying a direct order isn’t nonsense.”
“First, I didn’t disobey your order.” She dipped her chin. “Second, that is not why you’re looking at me as if you’d like to flay the skin off my bones.”
“Douglas’s disappearance wasn’t an accident, Captain.” Forester’s voice was tight, his jaw tighter.
Great. Now he was back to calling her captain. Tired, worried and annoyed to the point of mayhem, she felt like spitting nails. “Yes, I know.”
“How?” His frown deepened and his eyes turned to furious laser points. “Exactly how did you know it?”
She didn’t even have to work at it to pick up on the suspicions running rampant and banging off the walls of his mind. They were blatantly clear. Bristling, she told him. “Douglas was on an exercise mission with a team. He wouldn’t just disappear without someone noticing. He had to have been lured away, isolated and then—”
Forester erupted. “If Douglas was alive, he’d be on the job! He isn’t, so he has to be dead. And if he’s dead—” The man hesitated a tick too long.
“What?” she interjected. “Then it’s my fault? Is that right?”
“That’s how I see it.” He leaned back, folded his arms at his chest.
Her temper jacked up from a controlled simmer to a roiling boil. It took work, but she managed to tamp it down, drop her voice and chill her tone. “Are you thinking I had something to do with Douglas’s disappearance?” She couldn’t believe it.
Guilt rushed through his eyes. He lowered his gaze to mask it. That was exactly what he was thinking. “Did you?”
“No!” Realizing she’d shouted, she lowered the volume, replaced it with steel, and spoke through clenched teeth. Still not wise—he could have her arrested—but it was the best she could manage under the circumstances. When Forester reported her, Colonel Drake would just have to get over it. “You didn’t order me to my tent because you were preparing an investigation. You didn’t want me to overhear your plans or conversations with Search and Rescue.” She couldn’t help it, she gasped. “I can’t believe—”
“Believe it.” He glared at her without apology.
Belligerent, misguided, jerk. She crossed her chest with her arms and matched his stance. Katherine Kane tolerated a lot. She had to. She was the guest. But there were limits, and he’d exceeded them.
“Looking at me like I’m a piece of garbage that crawled out from under a rock doesn’t change the facts. It’s a logical deduction, considering your actions.”
“What actions?”
“You never should’ve involved Douglas in a mission outside the scope of his orders. You divided his focus and put him in danger.”
“I what?” She couldn’t believe her ears.
“You increased the obstacles and raised his risks and you’re oblivious?” He looked at her as if she were a raunchy maggot. “You’re senior to him, Captain. Didn’t you even once think about the consequences to him?”
“You’re wrong, Commander.” She lifted a hand in protest, intending to set him and the record straight. “I—”
“No, you’re wrong.” Forester was too angry to listen and plowed on. “Your actions undermined my mission. You had no right—”
“Now wait just a minute.” She propped a hand on her hip.
He lifted a warning finger at her. “Do not interrupt me again.”
She shoved it out of her face. “No, you listen, and listen good. I will not stand here and say nothing while you spew false accusations. I didn’t undermine a thing and I’m not going to be a whipping post for you to dump all your fears on because Douglas is missing. I’ve got worries of my own about that, thank you very much.”
Stunned, Forester just stared at her.
Certain when the shock wore off, he’d have her thrown in the brig, she spoke quickly. “I interrupted to save you from having to eat even more of your words later. You’re wrong coming out of the gate on this. I didn’t involve Douglas. He involved me. I didn’t ask for his help or do anything to divide his focus. I didn’t ask anything of him. He sent for me. So, you can take all that righteous hyperbole you’ve been spewing and just stuff it—” Oh, man. She’d lost her mind. Gnawing on a senior officer’s hide? Her host? She’d clearly left her sanity in the grave! “—right into the garbage, sir.” Small save. Probably nowhere near large enough to spare her.
Forester took in a deep breath and rubbed at his chin. His wedding band winked in the raw light glaring from the single bulb dangling from a black cord at the center of his tent When he spoke, his voice came out soft. Soft and terribly still. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear any of that, Kate. For your sake, I hope you aren’t such a hot-headed fool that you repeat it.”
Genuinely offended but substantially cooler, she checked a look meant to stop a clock and held her tongue.
He uncrossed his arms and let them dangle at his sides. “Douglas came to you on his own?”
“Not exactly.”
“Aha.”
“No, ‘aha’,” she insisted, letting some of the tension ebb out of her shoulders. Forester was off his war footing; he’d visibly calmed down. “He summoned me. I didn’t talk with him. He, um, contacted me in a way he knew I’d get the message.”
Curiosity lightened in his eyes. “How’s that?”
The man was going to love this. “He mailed me a bag of sand, sir.” It sounded even more absurd than expected, but it was all she could tell him. To disclose the coordinates given would require a breach of protocol. Colonel Drake would court martial her. “Through the courier pouch,” she added, but that didn’t sound a bit better.
“What?” Forester looked confused.
Kate well imagined he was confused. It looked pretty good on him, too. Such a shame he was married—and a pig. “I said he mailed me a bag of sand.”
“And you took that as a summons?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Why?”
Kate debated on whether or not to tell him, then figured if she didn’t, he’d just call Colonel Drake, and then she’d call and crawl up Kate’s back for being uncooperative. “A few months ago, we took down a GRID compound in the Gulf region.” No way was she mentioning it was in Iran, or that she strongly suspected she was within spitting distance of that same place now. Maggie’s you don’t want to know remark replayed in her mind. “Douglas and his tactical team assisted.”
“I’m aware of that, Kate. I issued the order.”
“Then why are you asking me about the significance of the sand?” Good grief. If he had the answers, then why ask her the questions?
“Because I don’t get the correlation between that mission and a bag of sand.”
That, she could explain. “Douglas knows GRID is a S.A.S.S. priority. That he’d mail me anything at all would automatically relate it to GRID. Why else would he contact me?” She shrugged. “It was a summons, clear and simple.”
Just as clear and simple, Forester was trying to wrap his mind around her logic. “And in your mind, there’s no other possible explanation?”
“None.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
That earned her an unqualified grunt. “Did it occur to you that you flirted like crazy with Douglas on that mission and that he might just want to get in touch?” Forester lifted a hand, palm up. “Half my unit heard the radio transmissions between you two, and by any measure, you can’t deny that they were... suggestive.”
With Forester, at this point, Kate expected any response. Any response except that one. “What?” Kate replied, shaking her head in disbelief. “That never occurred to me. It was just pre-attack banter. A stress-breaker. Nothing more than that.”
“Tell me, Captain.” He gave her a haughty look she’d love to knock off his face. “Did Douglas know that?”
“Of course he knew it. For pity’s sake, any normal male operative would know it. Douglas is Tactical. How could he not know it?”
“It isn’t out of the realm that a man would take you seriously.”
He was kidding, right? She looked into his solemn face. He wasn’t. Great. Maybe being married had twisted his memories of being a single operative, or maybe he’d never been a single operative. Or maybe he was just twisted. “Do you honestly believe it was personal interest? Is that what you’re saying, Major?”
He hiked his chin. “It’s possible.”
Amazing. Utterly amazing. She stroked her temple before putting syrup in her tone. “Fine. Then tell me, Major. When you want to get in touch with a woman—and it’s personal—do you always mail her a bag of sand?”
“Actually, no, I don’t but this isn’t about me. It’s about Douglas. And if you’re speaking hypothetically, I’m not a good example, Captain.”
“Why not? You’re a male operative. That’s all we’re talking about here, since I’d never before laid eyes on Douglas at the time these events occurred.”
The starch went out of Forester’s shoulders and then his voice. “Because I don’t get in touch with women for personal reasons, Captain.”
Kate again looked at his wedding ring, thinking the woman wearing the mate to it was pretty lucky, even if Forester did have a prickly disposition and probably twisted memories. But she couldn’t see herself praising him for not messing around on his wife. Fidelity was part of the promise, after all. Still, plenty of men did it, and she was glad—more so than she should be, really—that Forester wasn’t one of them.
She looked past the mortar scars on the tent canvas to his cot, and then to a crate beside the bed that served as a table. A photo of a pretty redhead with a gentle smile sat on top. Kate assumed it was of his wife. The intricate silver frame was dented. “I’m sure Mrs. Forester appreciates that. But in the land of singles, a bag of sand to express interest is an abnormal dating ritual.”
“I doubt it,” he said baldly.
That set Kate back on her heels. “In your circles, sand is common?”
“No. No, I meant my wife, Emily. She wouldn’t appreciate it. The idea of me getting in touch with other women would never occur to her. That’s just not something I would do.”
Telling comment. The woman was secure in her marriage and certain Forester didn’t play around. Kate liked that, though she did so grudgingly, not wanting to like anything about him. “So why is her photo frame dented?” she asked before catching herself. “Wait. Let me guess. You lost your sweet disposition and tossed it?”
“Never.” He looked over at the photo with longing and something in his eyes so tender that it softened his entire expression.
It left Kate breathless, filling her with pure envy. Alan had never looked at her that way. Every remnant of bitterness that had been etched into Forester’s face drained away, and what remained appealed, tugged at her.
Until that moment she hadn’t noticed that he was gorgeous in a compelling way. Not traditionally: his nose was too broad, his chin too strong, his cheekbones too sharp for the traditional. But packaged together in his specific bundle, they made for a gorgeous man.
How could a woman consider a man compelling, sexy, gorgeous, and a pig? It made no sense.
“A few days before you arrived, the outpost was attacked by a small cell of insurgents.” He let his gaze rove the inside of the tent, over patches and small holes in through which sand slid inside. “As you can see, the mortar was pretty heavy. The photo frame deflected a bullet meant to kill me.”
“Would it have?” Kate couldn’t even think it. A world without Forester? Even a toothache would be missed. He was a pain, but he had a special mystique.
“Yes.” He swiveled his gaze from the photo back to Kate and tapped his chest. “Instead, I caught a flesh wound. Different angle and it would have penetrated my heart.”
Kate swallowed hard, her stomach turning flips. Why was she having such a strong reaction to him? The man was married, a senior officer, and for both reasons, totally off-limits.
“GRID?”
He shook his head. “Local insurgents that stumbled onto us.” He walked over to a squat table that served as a desk. A tall bottle of amber liquid sat atop it. “I need a drink. Do you want one?”
She turned her attention from the photo of his wife to him. “Yes, please.” God knew it’d been a long enough day. She’d like to just go for the bottle.
He poured a finger’s worth into a drinking glass and then passed it to her. “It’s rotgut, all the way. But it’s the best we’ve got at the moment and, believe it or not, we’re grateful for it.”
The outpost definitely wasn’t in Saudi, Kate thought, taking the glass. Not six months ago, her mouthwash and cough syrup had been confiscated on entering the country because they contained alcohol. She took a sip from her glass. It singed her tongue and burned all the way down her throat. Definitely rotgut. “Whoa, that’ll get your attention.” Her eyes were watering.
The corner of his mouth curved up, hinting at a smile. “You get used to it.”
She cleared her throat. “Would that be before or after it burns out the lining of your throat and stomach?”
“Just before.” He sat on the edge of his cot. “You have no idea why Douglas sent for you, do you?”
Recalling Colonel Drake’s “trust no one” warning had Kate stalling, but then Drake herself had brought Forester into the loop on this, which signaled he had the needed clearance to be told whatever proved necessary. “Not a clue.” She sat on a stool beside the cot. “Do you know?”
He rubbed at his nape—clearly a habit when mulling something over—and held her gaze for what seemed an eternity. “I think I might have most of it figured out.”
Progress. Progress was good. “Well, would you care to enlighten me?” By the skin of her teeth, she stopped short of reminding him they were on the same side.
Another hesitation, though shorter this time. “I can’t tell you where we are. That’s classified.”
“So is everything I’ve told you about GRID.”
“Yes, but you have authorization to tell me those things.” He drank from his glass, dabbed at his mouth with the back of his hand. “I don’t have authorization to tell you.”
“Fair enough.” She leaned forward, bracing her forearms on her knees.
“This region is mountainous,” he started, setting his glass down next to his wife’s photo. “Beneath the surface is a Swiss cheese maze of caves that extend out into the knuckles and toes of the water for miles.”
“I’m aware of that,” she reminded him. “I’ve spent three days exploring.”
“We’ve been here two months,” he said. “Exploring the caves.”
“What exactly are you looking for?” Kate felt confident she knew, at least in part, but she wasn’t at all certain if he would tell her, and if they were going to work together, she needed to know his boundaries.
“Terrorists, weapon caches and all relative intelligence.”
Pleased and more than a little surprised, she nodded. “Douglas has been diving south of the outpost for two weeks.”
“And this is significant because...”
“It’s not,” Forester admitted. “What is significant is that he noted an oddity in some ships heading to port,” Forester said. He held up the whiskey bottle, silently asking if she wanted more. When she shook her head, he went on. “They were weighted down and for all intents and purposes appeared to be full of cargo. Douglas deduced that explained why they rode lower than usual in the water.”
“The weapons arriving?”
“A three-mile stretch inland has been dredged for shallow watercraft. These ships were too heavy to make it through the channel.”
Kate was confused. Why was this significant? “So they off-loaded at the main port and didn’t move inland. What’s the challenge there?”
“Oh,” Forester’s eyes gleamed. “But they did move inland.”
“How? If the water was only deep enough for shallow craft, they couldn’t use it.”
“That’s what Douglas wanted to know.” Forester leaned forward, legs spread, hands laced between his knees. “He suspected the added weight was weapons, but he claimed his reasons for believing so were based on classified information he couldn’t share.” Forester straightened, stiffened, a knowing gleam in his eyes. “I’m guessing that classified information came from you.”
Kate nearly frowned. “Forget speculating that I breached security. I didn’t. All the tactical teams on the ground during the compound raid in Iran knew GRID would sell weapons, technology and drugs for quick money.”
“GRID’s very successful. Why would it need quick money?”
“Because we’d taken out two compounds in short order. It takes a great deal of money to replace lost resources at that level.”
“GRID knows you’ve arrived here,” Forester speculated.
“Yes,” she confessed. “I was nearly captured.” And she’d lost the C-273 communications device. God, but she hoped it wasn’t in Thomas Kunz’s grubby, greedy hands. Hostiles would pay a fortune for it—and use it against them.
Forester’s solemn expression sobered even more. “Does GRID know this outpost exists?”
“I have no way of knowing that.”
“But you’re sure you didn’t compromise our position during your escape from them?”
“No, I’m sure.” She explained how she’d hidden in the grave and stayed there until darkness fell and then made her way back to the outpost. “However, it’s hard for me to believe that they’re operating in such close proximity and haven’t discovered you on their own.”
“If they have, then why haven’t they destroyed us?”
It was a reasonable question. Unfortunately it was one Kate lacked sufficient information to answer. She needed to talk with Douglas. “Only GRID can answer that question.”
Forester smoothed his fatigues over his thigh with his hand. “I requested intervention on the ships.”
“You did?” Kate felt a crease form between her eyebrows. She’d have to report this to Home Base, and have Maggie relay it to Darcy. Nothing had come through from outside to Intel sources—or if it had, Darcy hadn’t considered it worthy of mention. Now, in context of GRID being in the immediate vicinity, it could be an important key to finding weapons, and if they were here, the hostages.
