Free Fall (Elite Force #4)(22)
Author: Catherine Mann

The whole ride back to base, she’d felt Jose’s eyes on her, felt his questions.

Felt the draw to be with him.

But until she had a few answers of her own, she couldn’t risk even talking to Jose. Sorting out the tangled mess of emotions inside of her would be tough enough on a calm day.

Sorting through them right now with an interrogation to get through was impossible. So the best thing she could do? Finish this interview with the teenager as quickly as possible so she could use what little time she had left with Jose to find some closure. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life feeling like her heart was cut out of her chest every time something reminded her of him.

The teen—he called himself Ajaya—cupped a canned cola with shaking hands and looked everywhere but into anyone’s eyes. “I lost my parents in an uprising when I was ten. I was sent to a school for orphans. The people who took me, they target boys like me, ones with no family.”

Mr. Brown didn’t even glance up from his iPad tablet as the kid poured out the heart-tugging story. “You speak English well. You must know the odds tell me that’s unusual for a child in your circumstances.”

“I had very good teachers at the orphan school.” He took a slurp of his drink. “I had hopes of working at the embassy. Of traveling. I did not expect to travel this way. I did not go with those men by choice.”

“How did they take you?” Still, the CIA agent didn’t show even a hint of sympathy, just total absorption in recording the information.

Mr. Brown played the distracted academic well. Meanwhile, Mr. Smith crossed his arms and tucked himself more tightly in the corner, watching, listening for the least hint of a lie. And that was also why she’d been allowed to listen in. She’d been in there. She had access to more of what went on. The teen’s eyes kept flicking to her, as if questioning why she was here, but he was wise enough not to ask.

Ajaya’s throat moved with another long swallow, his coffee-dark eyes deep wells of fear. “They pretended to be maintenance people there to fix the electricity. They made me unconscious and took me away. Next I woke up in the back of their van. But they did not work alone. They had help.”

Finally, Mr. Smith straightened, weathered creases in his face digging deeper as he frowned and looked directly into the young man’s eyes. “Help? From who?”

“From one of my teachers at the orphan school where I lived.”

***

Annie Johnson closed and locked the door to her classroom.

Most people lived for the end of the workday. Not her. She only came alive during those eight hours she spent at her desk and in front of the board—with her students. But today had been especially rough, with her eyes drawn back to those two empty desks, knowing more of her students had been snatched away by pirates and there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do about it.

She swept the cloth up over her head and started for the door, fighting back the frustration. The hallway here at the orphan school didn’t change year after year. Not really. The same bulletin boards, just different artwork and poems, same teenage themes.

Same threats.

Dropping her keys into her pocket, Annie hitched her book satchel over her shoulder and started down the dimly lit hallway. She’d come here to teach believing that she was smarter than the rest of the people on staff. Beyond her two advanced degrees, she’d traveled the world.

How arrogant she’d been.

In over a decade at the school she’d learned so much more from these kids, children who’d seen a lifetime of loss and pain before they reached eighteen. She wanted to save them all but had come to accept no one person could carry that off.

However, for the hour or two they each spent in her class every day, she could give them an escape. She could transport them to another world when she taught literature. That’s how she lived her life these days, one hour at a time. Her dreams came in smaller pockets of time rather than grandiose plans to save the world.

She stepped out into the fading sun, the dusty wind stirring her skirt around her calves. The teachers’ quarters were a short walk away, a dorm-like setup where each staff member had a two-room efficiency apartment. Her dreams were definitely more scaled down these days.

She rounded the corner of the clay building—and slammed into another wall. Or rather she slammed into a person. A man, one of her fellow teachers.

“Sam,” she gasped. “You startled me.”

Samir Al-Shennawi had moved here from Egypt a year ago to teach history. And from day one, he hadn’t hidden his interest in her.

“Annie,” he answered, not budging. “I’ve come to walk you to your quarters. You should not be out alone.”

“You’re thoughtful, but the security guards are always a shout away.”

“And I am their reinforcements.” He smiled but still didn’t budge.

Samir—Sam—was different from other men she’d known, and she hadn’t led a nun’s life during her exile here. While she hadn’t slept with him, Samir pushed her for something far more intimate than any of those other men. Friendship.

“I will walk you home,” he insisted.

“It’s only three buildings away.” She pretended not to notice the curious stares. Everyone knew Sam had a thing for her, but they also knew she’d kept her distance. “Your help isn’t necessary.”

Still, she waved for him to walk beside her.

“I do understand it is not necessary. But I will walk with you anyway.” His smile fanned creases from his eyes behind his little round glasses. “My mother would be very angry with me if I forgot the manners she taught me.”

She pretended not to notice the curious stares of other teachers and students as she passed the dining hall. “You’re a pushy man.”

“Not really.”

And that was true. He had a reputation for being a mild-mannered academic, the epitome of nerdiness. Except when it came to pursuing her. He was always quietly there, waiting with those intense sexy eyes of his.

“So then, Sam…” She smiled at him, letting herself flirt a little as a relief against the horrible day. “If I told you to go on ahead, you would?”

He walked silently beside her, staying in step along the dirt path leading to the teachers’ dorm.

Laughing, she hooked her thumb on the leather strap of her bag. “Like I said. Pushy.”

“Ungrateful.”

“Excuse me?”

He glanced down at her, reminding her he had eight extra inches of height on her. “Since we are tossing around adjectives, I will volley one back your way. Ungrateful.”