Free Fall (Elite Force #4)(5)
Author: Catherine Mann

Shit. Why did they have to sit around here with their thumbs up their asses reviewing footage? They needed to get to her. Now.

A guard tossed another limp body on the floor, the resulting groan from the guy the only sign that their latest inquisition had left the student alive. The guard’s shaved bald head gleamed from the bare lightbulb swinging from the ceiling. He wore camouflage pants and a T-shirt with the sleeves cut, no military rank visible. Ammo straps crisscrossed his chest. A rifle hung over his shoulder.

A blade was sheathed at his waist in a belt holding more bullets.

Stella’s eyes went wide with perfectly played innocence and horror. “I don’t know what you want from me. I’ll tell you everything I know. Can I just have some water first, please?”

The guard hooked his hand on the strap of his automatic rifle slung over his shoulder. “We want to know who you are.” His accent was clearly local, Somali most likely. “Why were you and your fellow spies on our property?”

“I’ve told you already. My name is Stella. I’m a foreign exchange student. These are my friends in the same program, but we’re all from different schools. We were on a day trip when you found us, a study on ways to improve distribution of food during a famine. We only wanted to help.” She backed step by step until she bumped a table of ancient pottery. “I’m begging you, can I just go home?”

“You must think we are very stupid.” The bald guard blocked the doorway out. “I do not like to be insulted.”

“I don’t like being taken captive.” Her hand slid to the table, her fingers closing over a broken handle off a cup. She tucked the remnant into the back of her waistband. “I want to call my embassy.”

She tugged her T-shirt as if for emphasis, effectively hiding her makeshift weapon. Pride filled him. Damn, she was amazing.

His mind raced back to the first time he’d seen her when he’d hauled himself out of the sea and into the rescue boat. She’d been at the wheel, holding the boat steady against the hammering waves, unbending with the wind tearing at her fiery red braid. There’d been bullets, a blown up chopper, and blood streaking down her face.

Not a romantic meeting by any stretch.

Their sprint through the marketplace to the embassy had left them both weary as hell, wrung dry by the job. Afterward, he’d found her on the embassy roof, grieving for the aircrew of the downed chopper. That explosion had shaken him more than a little too.

He’d been planning to have his one cigar a month to decompress. He’d taken up smoking when he kicked the booze, then had to kick nicotine as best he could. One cigar a month when stress got to be too much wasn’t the best option, but it didn’t drag him back under the way one drink would. So he carried a Cuban smoke in his pocket at all times. He’d had it half out when he stepped onto the roof… and then he’d found Stella.

He hadn’t smoked a cigar since.

Their attraction had been immediate. Explosive. Their five-month affair had been frenetic as they “dated” wherever their paths crossed on missions and assignments throughout the Horn of Africa and farther along the Eastern region, even over as far as Uganda. They’d lived on the edge, drunk on an edgy attraction that provided a greater high than could be found in any bottle.

Until they’d crashed. Broken up. Ripped each other’s heart out.

A quick elbow jab to his side brought him back to the present. He looked sharply at his team bud—Tech Sergeant Gavin “Bubbles” Novak—nodding toward the images again. Screen three filled with a male stretched out on the floor, a student beaten to a pulp for information who appeared to be hanging on by a thread.

Stella knelt beside the pummeled student, her hands going to each wound as if to make sure to document every injury for the rescue team watching. Her gaze was so intense.

Something tugged at him, but he couldn’t pinpoint what. From her position, her back to the enemy’s camera, she clearly meant to hide something from her captors watching. She stared up into the bug, her blinking strange, erratic. Was she drugged? He watched closer, searching, slowly realizing…

Holy crap, there was a pattern.

Jose held up a hand, snapping his fingers for attention. “Agent Smith, get a close-up on her face there. Do you see? She’s blinking.”

“Yeah, and your point, Sergeant?”

“She’s blinking Morse code.” The longer he looked, the more certain he became. “Like the Navy pilot captured during the Vietnam War. He blinked ‘torture’ in a televised interview.”

“And you think she’s doing that now.”

“Stella’s a code breaker. You know that from her file. But you wouldn’t know she talked about stuff like that all the time.”

They had talked about it. And that had to be why she’d hedged her bets in trying to get him here to watch the footage. A long shot? Maybe. But her situation called for extreme measures.

Jose sat up straighter. “And there. She’s tapping her fingers, but always away from the bad guy cameras.”

“Tap code? Like the language the Vietnam prisoners used to talk to each other from cell to cell?”

“Right. She’s trying to communicate, to give us as much information as possible.” Damn it. If they’d seen this earlier, the information would already be decoded. Now… “Who knows what else she may have uncovered?”

Mr. Smith scratched his bristly chin. “Weighing the risk of waiting against missing some info she may be sharing, we can’t afford to delay. You’ll go in and we’ll feed her messages to you as we unlock them,” he said with surety, but his forehead creased with concern. “Is your personal baggage with Agent Carson going to present a problem?”

How much did Smith know? The breakup last month had been bad. It had hurt like hell—still did. But it had been quiet as well as permanent. He’d come to grips with the fact he would spend his life without her.

But he could not, would not, accept a world without Stella Carson in it. “I’m as focused as I’ve ever been. I know my job and I’ve been tasked to get all the hostages out alive.”

“That’s what I needed to hear.” Smith turned from the image of Stella on the main screen. “Gentlemen, time to roll.”

Jose stole one last look at the only woman he’d ever loved, soaking in what could be his final glimpse of her alive. The door behind her opened again. She pressed her back to the wall. Fast. Her eyes alert.