Текст книги "Collateral Damage"

Автор книги: Kaylea Cross

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Her father slapped Liam’s hand away. “I’ll touch her anyway I damn well please, and you can get the hell out of here because you’re just as much at fault in this as she is!”

Blood roared in her ears as the tension kept mounting. Liam and her father were going to come to blows, right here in the waiting room. “Both of you, just stop,” she cried, stepping between them and placing a hand on either of their chests. Liam was the calmer of the two but coiled, she could feel the energy seething inside him. Her father was trembling, his glare still boring holes through the man she loved.

Concerned that her father would escalate things further, Honor pushed at his chest, bringing his eyes back to her. “This isn’t about Liam, or me, or even you, Dad. We’ll talk about all this later but right now we should be focusing on Charity. She needs us.”

“No, you should have been focused on your sister all along, instead of carrying on with him when you knew how much damage it would cause.”

Then he sneered at her.

Actually sneered, and the disgust and anger in his eyes left her reeling. Charity had always been his favorite, his baby, and Honor’s relationship with him had never been easy. Still, she’d never imagined seeing that look directed at her. She’d only seen him look at someone like that once before, the night Faith had died. He’d looked at her oncologist the same way, placing her death squarely on the doctor’s shoulders.

An arrow of pain lanced through her and she let her hand drop from his chest, suddenly shaken to the core.

“They’d only gone out a few times,” she repeated in a whisper, tears slipping down her cheeks. Liam had kissed Charity, but nothing else. How could her father not see how unhealthy Charity’s attachment to Liam had been in light of those things? How could her family not see the difference between that and what Honor had with him? This insanity didn’t make any sense yet in the depths of her mental illness Charity had acted like the world had ended when he’d broken up with her.

Because of Honor.

Honor hadn’t known that was the reason at the time, only finding out a few months later, after she’d started dating him. In secret, for fear of how Charity might react.

In her wildest imaginings Honor would never have thought Charity would attempt suicide over Liam.

Liam’s arm tightened around her, lending her strength. She was too in shock to bother wiping her startled tears away as she continued. “Neither of us expected any of this to happen when we first met. Neither one of us wanted to hurt anyone, but you know how Charity is—“

“Charity is your sister,” her father fired back, now folding his arms across his chest and glaring down at her, “and the only one you have left. Family is sacred, Honor, but you’ve defiled that and the good name we gave you with your selfishness. And then you agreed to marry that man and go against our wishes? How dare you? How dare both of you.” He divided a fulminating glare between her and Liam.

Honor didn’t know how to respond. Her family had made it abundantly clear they didn’t want her and Liam together when she’d first expressed her interest in him, which is why she’d kept their relationship quiet and had dreaded telling them about the engagement.

Her father’s eyes turned even colder. “And now that you’ve gotten what you wanted, you’ll have to answer to yourself and God for what you’ve done.” He pointed a finger down the hall. “Your sister is in there fighting for her life right now because of your selfishness.”

Honor swallowed a sob and glanced at her mother, who was crying as she stared at Honor. As though Honor had broken her heart by being with Liam, let alone agreeing to marry him.

Somehow she summoned the courage to face her father again and found her voice, shaky as it was. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s the consequence of your actions,” he snapped. “Now you’ll both have to live with what you’ve done.”

“That’s enough.” Liam pulled her back toward him and stepped between her and her father. “Honor doesn’t deserve this.”

“She deserves that and more,” her father snarled, “and so do you.”

“No, she doesn’t. Charity is sick. Maybe you don’t want to face it, but it’s the hard truth. And she’s sicker than you’re willing to admit, if you can stand there and blame Honor for this. Bottom line is, this was Charity’s doing and no one else’s. No one forced those pills down her throat. It was her choice.” He glanced between him and her mother. “You really can’t see that? Or is it that you don’t want to?”

The words hung in the air between them like a taunt, an axe ready to fall. Before it could, a middle-aged doctor came through a door at the end of the hall and strode toward them. “Mr. and Mrs. Girard?”

Her father whipped his head around. “Yes.”

They all moved with him toward the doctor, meeting him in the middle, and he motioned for them to follow him into a private room down another hall. Wishing they’d had this kind of privacy for the past ten minutes, Honor stood in the room behind her parents, Liam at her back with his hand on her waist. She gripped his fingers tight in her own, grateful for his presence even though it had escalated things.

The doctor smiled at them, oblivious to the drama. “Your daughter has been stabilized. We were able to pump a large portion of the drugs and alcohol out of her stomach and we’ve given her medicine and fluids to help flush the rest out of her system. Her vitals look good. We won’t know for sure until she regains consciousness but I’m confident there won’t be any long-term effects. I don’t see any reason why she shouldn’t make a full recovery in a few days.”

Her mother gave a soft cry of relief and went limp in her husband’s arms. “Thank you,” her father told the doctor, his voice rough. “When can we see her?”

“Just as soon as she’s awake. We’ll do a few tests to verify everything’s okay, then we’ll let you in to see her. It might be best to limit her visitors for a while, until she’s more emotionally stable. You can discuss everything with the social worker who’s coming to see you shortly, and Charity’s psychiatrist will be in to see her in the morning. She’ll want to speak to you as well.”

When he left and the door shut behind him, a heavy silence filled the room.

“You need to leave now,” her father said without looking at her.

His cold dismissal sent a flare of panic through her. “I want to see her first.”

He rounded on her so fast she instinctively reared back and bumped her head against Liam’s chest. “You’re the last person on earth she’d want to see, and the last person I’ll allow into her room. Except maybe him.” He spat the word like an epithet, his accusing gaze flicking to Liam.

Slowly, her muscles so taut she feared they’d snap, Honor shook her head. “I don’t want to go.”

“I don’t care what you want, you’re not wanted here! Get out!” her father exploded, flinging his arms outward. “Just get out and leave us the hell alone, both of you.” He shot her a venomous glare that sliced her to ribbons inside, then whirled away, giving her his back.

Honor absorbed it without reacting, already turning numb inside. She was still breathing in and out, but she wasn’t sure how. Her entire body felt like it was made of concrete, including her lungs.

She didn’t resist when Liam eased her back into his arms. He turned her to face him and cupped the back of her head in one hand, his eyes steady on hers as he wiped her tears away. “What do you want to do?”

I don’t know! She wanted to yell the words. It was all too much, the shock, their anger and blame, the guilt writhing inside her. The ring in her pocket seemed to burn through the denim, branding her skin. Had she driven Charity to this? Had she known on some level that this would happen and just hadn’t cared?

She took a step toward the door.

“Honor, no.”

The plea in her mother’s voice stopped her. When she turned her head, Honor found her reaching for her.

“Come here.” Her mother forced a wobbly smile and nodded in encouragement, the hand she held out a tenuous lifeline back to them.

Honor looked from that hand to her mother’s beseeching expression, then to her father’s broad back. “Dad?”

“You’ve already made your bed when you chose him over your blood.” He didn’t bother looking at her. “Go.”

Family is sacred.

Those words and the meaning behind them had been drilled into her since she was a toddler. She knew exactly how strongly her father felt about them. Just as she knew if she walked out that door with Liam right now, she was as good as dead to him. And to her mother too, since she always sided with and backed him. A united, immovable force that had been a solid foundation to stand upon her entire life.

Now it was fractured beyond repair, crumbling rapidly beneath her feet.

Liam’s hand was warm and strong on her waist. He was her future, her chance at happiness. But at what cost? Could she really pay that price and live with herself now?

A cold, yawning pit opened up in Honor’s gut.

“I need to talk to Liam for a minute,” she managed past the tightness in her throat, and turned to leave.

Out in the hall, he stopped and took her face between his hands. In light of what she had to do, the concern on his handsome face killed her inside. “What do you need, baby? You want to stay a while, see if he cools down? Or you want to leave? I’ll drive you home if you—”

“No.”

He frowned. “No what?”

“I can’t leave.”

“Okay.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight to his body, pressing her cheek against the curve of his shoulder. “Then we’ll stay.”

Honor squeezed her eyes shut and held on tight. He was deploying to Afghanistan again in just a few days and even when she arrived at Bagram a month after that they wouldn’t see much of each other. They couldn’t, due to regulations.

Her head spun at the unbelievable turn of events. Mere hours ago she’d lain naked in his arms and stared at the way the light glinted off the aquamarine in the ring he’d chosen, filled with joy and excited about the future. Now that dream lay in ashes at her feet and it felt like she was being torn in two.

“Want to sit down?” he murmured.

She shook her head and didn’t let go, unable to tear herself away from him yet.

Liam rested his cheek against her hair and cradled her, surrounding her in the warmth and strength she needed so badly. “He shouldn’t have lashed out at you like that. Maybe he’ll come around once he sees Charity’s awake and things calm down.”

“He won’t.”

“He might.”

With a deep sigh, Honor pulled back. “No, he won’t.”

The finality in her tone must have registered with him because he stilled and stared down at her questioningly.

There was no easy way to say it. “If I leave with you, I’m no longer his daughter.”

He scoffed. “He’s just mad right now. He’d never do that.”

He didn’t believe that she was being literal. That her father was capable of such a thing. She knew better. And even if she could mend her bridges with her parents and they accepted her after this nightmare, they would never accept Liam. So how the hell could she marry him, knowing that?

“Yes, he would. I’ve seen him do it to his brother and one of my cousins. Some of his parishioners over the years, too.” Her family meant the world to her. They weren’t perfect, but no one was, and she had to at least patch things up with Charity or she’d never be able to live with herself.

He grunted. “Doesn’t sound very Christian to me.”

Maybe not, but that was beside the point because her father wasn’t going to change. He subscribed to the old school lessons in the Bible, and could cut the people he no longer cared to associate with out of his life without any trouble. “Oh, God, I don’t know what to do!”

He rubbed a soothing hand over her back. “So we stay for a while and see what happens.”

No, there was no we about it, and he still wasn’t listening. “You can’t be here, Liam. You’ve seen how he is with you, you’ll just make everything worse.” And if Charity found out he was here, there was no telling how she’d react.

His jaw flexed and Honor realized how harsh that sounded. She opened her mouth to take it back or at least reword it, but he cut her off. “There’s no way I’m leaving you to face them and everything else alone, so forget it.”

Frustrated, she pulled away abruptly and ran a hand through her hair. “I appreciate your support and trying to help, but seriously, you need to leave.”

“Forget it.”

God, he was just as pig-headed as her father. She sucked in a deep breath and struggled for patience, feeling like she was about to explode. She loved that he’d come here and stood his ground beside her even in the face of her father’s wrath, but she couldn’t handle more drama right now and that’s absolutely what his presence would cause.

“Please, you need to go, and I need time to think about everything.”

At that he stiffened, his gaze turning wary. “What do you mean, everything? Us?”

She waved a hand helplessly. “No, I mean everything! God, I feel like I’m being torn in two—” She stopped talking when she noticed his gaze was riveted to her left hand. Her bare left hand. Her chest constricted.

“You took off the ring?”

The accusation in his eyes hit her square in the heart. She scrambled to explain. “In my pocket. I couldn’t come in here wearing it, it would have made things a thousand times worse,” she blurted. Not that things could really get much worse, but she desperately needed him to understand. He didn’t have contact with his father. He didn’t know what it was to have a family that expected things from him, couldn’t fathom what it was like to be in her position.

Her sister had just attempted suicide because of them getting engaged. What the hell would Charity do if they went through with it and got married?

Liam met her gaze once more, his expression so guarded it scared her. She had the awful premonition that she was on the brink of losing him too. One false step here on her part and he’d be gone. “Are you going to put it back on?”

His tone was even but she knew he was really asking if she’d changed her mind about the engagement. The honest answer was, maybe. At least for now. She couldn’t take any more pressure from either side tonight. “Please try to understand, I can’t wear it right now. Just—I need some time to sort everything out.” And figure out what decision she would be able to live with for the rest of her life.

Because she already knew that’s what it would come down to: Liam or her family, one or the other, no way around it and no hope of having both. Forever.

He acquiesced with a tight nod, clearly not liking the idea. “I’ll wait in my truck until you see Charity, then take you home after. I don’t want you driving right now. I’ll stay at your place tonight and we’ll talk this all out once you get some sleep. Things will look better in the morning, once everyone has a chance to cool off.”

It killed her that such a strong man was practically begging her to let him stay and help. She took his face between her hands and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. He seemed surprised by the move but before he could react she pulled away. “I don’t think that’s a good idea tonight.”

His expression hardened. He studied her for a long moment, his silence raking across her already raw nerves. “So what—you want me to walk away and wait for you to make up your mind if you still want to be with me or not?” He ran a hand through his hair in agitation. “Not three hours ago you promised to be my wife.”

She flinched at the hurt in his voice but before she could respond a woman appeared at the far end of the corridor, holding a binder. Honor stepped back from Liam as the woman smiled at her. “Are you family members of Charity Girard?”

“I am,” Honor said.

“Are your parents here as well?”

“Yes, inside.” She indicated the private room with a nod.

“Great. I’d like to talk to all of you if you have a few minutes.”

Honor glanced at Liam. The woman knocked once on the door and pushed it open. Her mother stood up and saw Honor there. Her face brightened with hope but she studiously ignored Liam standing next to her, as though he didn’t exist.

God, she couldn’t do this.

Taking Liam’s hand, Honor faced him and squeezed hard. Even though she was torn and this whole situation wasn’t fair, she was at least partly responsible for what Charity had done to herself. No matter what her faults, she loved her sister. Charity was the reason she had to stay here.

“I need to stay with them.” And at least try to work this out. Even though she already knew it would land her in the exact same position she was in now. In a no-win situation.

He nodded once, but she could tell he was conflicted about leaving. And he was remote now, already pulling back from her emotionally in case her decision didn’t go the way he hoped. That made her feel even worse. “You’ll call me if you need anything?”

A fresh wave of tears blurred her vision. “Yes, thanks. Love you.” She did, with all her heart, and it was important he know that, no matter what happened later.

His expression softened slightly but his gaze remained wary. “Love you too.” He didn’t smile or try to touch her again.

Watching him walk away, a bolt of fear shot through her. She was seized with the sudden urge to call his name and sprint after him. If she did he’d be waiting to catch her when she jumped into his arms, then he’d drive them away from here, away from her crazy family. An impulsive part of her wanted to say to hell with them. She would marry Liam and they’d spend the rest of their lives together.

It would mean losing her sister forever, and never seeing or speaking to her family again.

Honor slipped her hand into her pocket and curled her fingers tight around the ring hidden there. In the end, loyalty to Charity and her guilty conscience kept her rooted in place. She stayed where she was, dreading the thought of what was waiting for her on the other side of that door behind her. And even more terrified that the awful decision looming before her had already been made.

Chapter Eight

Seated at a desk in a bombed-out schoolhouse in a village high up in the mountains of the tribal region, Safir scanned his laptop. The device was heavily encrypted, giving him security and the time he needed to gather his intelligence. Anyone trying to trace his location via the satellite feed he used to remotely access his social media accounts and e-mail would be bounced around Afghanistan and Pakistan, and possibly farther than that. They’d never lock onto him.

He was careful and methodical, two traits that allowed him to be effective. Since the onset of this war he’d known his role was not necessarily as a martyr of Islam, but as a new kind of leader in this ever-evolving struggle.

His plan would take the fight from the battlefields of Afghanistan and Pakistan and make it global, hitting the U.S. and their coalition allies at home by attacking both soft and hard targets. Malls. Large public events in major cities that drew a large crowd. Professional sporting events. Police stations. Military installations. Public transportation. Government buildings.

And, in time, the coup de grace: A catastrophic cyber attack that would shut down the power grid and cripple the financial systems, paralyzing the West.

But first he had a decisive blow to strike against the Americans.

They deserved their fate, delivered by him and others unwilling to allow the U.S. to control the world with their morally corrupt and greedy agenda. Safir saw it as his duty to give them a taste of what innocent Muslims the world over had suffered at their hands. Islamic Law, even the Bible, dictated that an eye for an eye was just punishment, and that’s precisely what he wanted to exact from the enemy.

Revenge. The opportunity to settle a personal score and avenge his family.

That and his hatred of what the intelligence agencies had done to him were the core of what drove him to pursue this holy war, rather than stay in the UK and make a comfortable living as a software designer for a company on the Forbes List.

The chance to hit America where it hurt the worst, and where it feared the most, was an unquenchable fire that burned deep in his belly.

He was only weeks away from making it happen.

Safir sat up straighter and cracked his neck from side to side, pushing back the anger trying to bubble its way to the surface. Since the attack on Bagram yesterday afternoon he’d been getting continual updates from various sources throughout the region and others scattered around Europe and North America. People heavily invested in their fight, who were eager to punish the West for their treatment of Muslims.

All the attackers had either been killed or captured, exactly as he’d expected. The local Taliban commanders had insisted upon the brazen daylight attack to show their men were unafraid and willing to become martyrs. Safir had used the opportunity to study the Americans’ response, and then gauge how the rest of the world reacted. He’d been neither surprised nor disappointed by the result.

With a few commands typed into the program he added the last of the video clips he’d edited earlier. Mostly scenes taken from smart phones during the attack, showing the attackers’ bravery in the face of overwhelming enemy force and superior firepower. He’d chosen the clips carefully and spliced them together into a video adding music and poignant lines from the Holy Quran.

He played it back twice and made some adjustments, making sure that all the metadata from the shots were removed before sending the file to the various social media sites he utilized. Within a few hours the video would be circulating around the globe, picked up by the media, intelligence agencies and supporters alike.

Pleased with the end result and confident that this latest piece of propaganda would garner them more sympathy and funds from abroad, Safir packed up his few items and left the schoolhouse. Outside, the sun was sinking behind the mountains. Three of his most trusted men were standing guard at the top of the trail that wound its way up the hill from the rugged road below where the truck was waiting. His lead bodyguard, Anwar, was dragging a man up the hill toward them. The man’s hands were bound behind him and he had a hood over his head.

“What’s this?” Safir asked Anwar in Pashto.

“Caught him watching us then trying to sneak down the mountain. He had this in his pocket.” His bodyguard handed him a badly creased piece of paper.

Safir unfolded it and scanned the contents. It named the village he was standing in, and the number of men Safir had with him. He nodded at Anwar and the man pulled the hood off the prisoner. “Who sent you,” Safir demanded in a cold voice.

Probably a year or two younger than him, the man shook his head, his eyes wide with fear. “No one. I heard people up here and came to investigate.”

“For the Americans.”

The man shook his head, his expression growing frantic. “No, please—”

Safir drew his pistol and shot him between the eyes. Anwar gasped in surprise and dropped him. The man hit the ground with his eyes half-open, his arms still secured behind his back.

Holstering his weapon, Safir turned and headed down the trail. “Get rid of him,” he said over his shoulder to Anwar. He had no tolerance for would-be spies. After Rahim’s death, they were being as careful as possible.

His best friend, Qasim, gave him a questioning look but didn’t say anything about the murder. “It’s done?” They’d met at university two years ago. They both had family from the same region in Pakistan and when that drone strike had collapsed the apartment building last June, it had killed dozens of innocent men, women and children in addition to the high-value-target the U.S. had been hunting.

Dozens of innocents including members of both Safir’s and Qasim’s families.

After that, their bond had been permanently cemented and they’d both vowed to go back home and support the fight. But their sympathies to the jihadist plight had quickly garnered the attention of the CIA and MI6.

“It’s done,” he answered with a nod. He was still angry that someone had been paid off to spy on him. At least the man was dead. By nightfall they’d have more than enough money in their offshore accounts to pay Omar and the insider they needed to mount this next attack.

Qasim gave a satisfied nod and walked to the truck. He climbed into the back beside Safir and waited while Anwar disposed of the body. They were about two kilometers down the steep, bumpy road when Safir’s satellite phone rang. Anwar directed the driver to pull over. Safir stepped out and walked a short distance away behind a group of large boulders at the side of the road to offer concealment while Qasim and Anwar stood watch, brandishing their AK-47s.

“My contact says we have someone sympathetic to us on the inside,” the man said in Urdu when Safir answered.

He’d been waiting weeks for this confirmation. “How reliable is this source?”

“He has never failed me before.”

“Does he work at the base?”

“Yes. He works for the Americans.”

Did he. “Doing what?”

“Menial things, mostly labor, cleaning.”

“And who is this sympathetic person?”

“An American soldier.”

Safir’s interest sharpened, but he was still skeptical and he wanted clarification. “He’s in the Army?”

“I did not ask. Perhaps the Air Force. It doesn’t matter.”

No, it didn’t. “He’s willing to help us in exchange for money?”

“Yes. Five hundred thousand U.S. dollars.”

A significant amount of money, but surely not enough to buy his cooperation in something like this. It had to be a trick. “And for that he’s willing to commit treason against his own people?” It made him suspicious.

The man grunted. “I don’t know why he’s willing but he obviously needs the money and I don’t care why. All I am certain of is that this is a great opportunity for us.”

“Agreed. How do you plan to proceed?”

“I’ve asked my contact to get more information about him, and how he wants to do the money exchange. It will have to be done on base in a casual setting so as not to raise suspicion.”

Safir wasn’t convinced it would work, but it was worth a shot. “And then?”

“Once I have the intelligence I need from him, I can begin my preparations.”

Sounded promising. “What time frame are you aiming for?”

“As soon as possible.”

The man’s confidence and enthusiasm were a welcome change from the low morale Safir had been dealing with for the past few weeks. Stepping into Rahim’s shoes had not been easy and aside from the security issues, lifting his followers’ spirits proved the most difficult. They all supported and rejoiced in the foreign attacks happening abroad by their fellow jihadists and the continued combat deaths of coalitions forces still in Afghanistan. It wasn’t enough. And after today’s defeat, a decisive victory was more important than ever.

Safir gazed out across the wide valley below. The dying rays of the sun glowed along the edge of the western horizon, painting the landscape blood red. The same color of the blood they planned to spill in America with this next critical operation. “Contact me once you have a plan in mind and I’ll review it.”

A taut silence crackled over the line for a long moment. The seasoned and well-respected commander was known as a lone wolf who didn’t like to involve others and certainly hadn’t answered to anyone since he’d taken command of his men. But he was well aware of what Safir could offer if they worked together. “All right,” he grudgingly agreed, and hung up.

Safir followed the others back to the truck. Qasim was quiet but Safir could tell his friend was curious about the conversation. He’d fill him in later, when they were safely hidden away. As they reached the valley floor the driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “Where shall I take you?”

“To the drop off point near the village where I stayed last night.” He, Qasim, and Anwar would stay in Behzad’s village one last time.

The man frowned. “Is that wise? Staying in one place for more than—”

“It’s fine. One more night won’t endanger us any more than we already have been.” In fact, it was likely that three or four more stays there wouldn’t be a problem. This area was so remote that no enemy patrols had been sighted in over three weeks. Probably why they’d had to send a spy up here.

As long as he did what he could to limit his exposure to drones and satellites, he’d be fine. Unlike Rahim, he wasn’t in this fight for the fame and the glory. Besides, he liked the old man Behzad. Staying amongst the villagers and their strict interpretation of Islam was a comfort. It reminded him of the family he’d lost, the old-fashioned values he’d been raised with that he was now fighting to defend.

He would avenge them soon enough.

****

Liam covered a yawn and sat up straighter on the bench seat as he added another plate to the leg press machine. He’d slept for shit last night and though he was tired enough to attempt a nap this afternoon, he knew it was pointless. His mind was going a million miles an hour and had been since he’d left the hospital yesterday afternoon.

He’d thought about going to see Honor at her B-hut, then thought better of it. He’d seen her injuries with his own eyes so he knew she’d be okay, and she’d made it clear she’d wanted him gone. Maybe in a couple days he’d reconsider it. Right now he just wanted to stop thinking about her and clear his head before the mission tonight. Because soon enough he’d be out hunting the cell responsible for the attack yesterday.

The gym was busy as always, nearly every machine occupied. He did five sets of ten, gritting his teeth on the final set as the damaged muscles in his left leg screamed in protest. By the time he was done he was coated in a thin layer of sweat and his legs felt weak. He got up to stretch his back and walk around a bit to loosen the muscles in his thighs, and noticed someone walking toward him.

Ryan Wentworth, a combat controller he knew from around Bagram. The guy had raised some eyebrows when he’d gotten together with a female Spectre pilot. Ace was a Senator’s daughter, and one of Honor’s hut-mates.