Under Fire

The second they all stepped off the back ramp of the cargo aircraft, they’d been split up for questioning. Although she didn’t understand why she and Brandon were placed with the general. She would have thought they would be separated in order to compare their stories. But no one had second-guessed the senior ranking officer when he’d issued the order for loading up. At least someone had had enough sense to send the dogs with Catriona.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Ms. Flores.”

“Dividing us into smaller groups for questioning, divide and conquer… Okay, it’s a cliché, but I’m a little nervous here, sir.” All this time, had Liam been cracking jokes to cover nerves or help others over theirs? She wished he was with her now so she could ask. Hell, she just wished he was here with her. Period.

In spite of the assurance via email from Special Agent Cramer, Rachel had a seriously creeped-out feeling, much the same as when she’d driven onto base a few days ago. She scanned the lines of parked aircraft, checking the rearview mirror. Brandon sat in the back alone. In the distance, the other Humvees drove in the opposite direction, Liam tucked away inside one of them. “Why aren’t we following them?”

“Because we’re going somewhere else. Information will be relayed to you on a need-to-know basis, and right now, you don’t need to know shit.”

His final word snapped her upright in her seat. Her instincts shouted something was wrong here. Way wrong.

She glanced up at the rearview mirror again at Brandon in the back. He looked as confused as she felt. And then his body tensed. His eyes narrowed. And she realized he was about to act.

The general’s left arm whipped around in a flash so fast Rachel barely had time to register the black gun in his hand. He reached over his right shoulder and—

Pop. Pop.

General Sullivan shot Brandon.

Rachel screamed. Panic and shock crackled through her body, threatening to immobilize her. She shook off the fear and scrambled over the backseat. She had to get to Brandon.

One look at him and it was all she could do not to scream again. Blood bloomed across the front of his shirt. He lay slumped in the backseat, already pale. Panting, he clutched his stomach. She reached out—

The general grabbed her by her waistband and slammed her back in place. Her head banged against the door. Stars snapped in front of her eyes and nausea welled at the acrid scent of gunfire and blood.

She sucked in deep breaths, willing the world to steady again. “What in God’s name are you doing?”

General Sullivan jabbed a gun into her side and snarled, “Don’t even think about running. This is a restricted area where deadly force is authorized. The guards will shoot you on sight.”

“I just want to get back there to help him.”

“Not gonna happen, ma’am.”

Ma’am? His show of manners in the face of such horror jarred her. She slumped back in the passenger seat and watched as the general rolled down the window and waved at a security vehicle heading toward them. The cops must have recognized him, because they pulled a U-turn and headed back up the parking ramp.

That easy? He was driving wherever he wanted? Shooting people?

But why? Panic popped through her like those bullets that had torn through Brandon’s flesh. Gut-wrenching guilt piled on top of her fear. He was bleeding to death, and it was all her fault for encouraging him to spill his story. And now she was grateful deep inside her that Liam wasn’t here, because if more of those bullets had torn through him… She bit her trembling lip until she tasted blood.

The general steered through the entry control point and turned in the opposite direction of the security patrol. He headed toward some dark airplanes with large propellers. He swerved the Humvee sharply and Brandon groaned from the back.

Sullivan popped another shot over the seat into Brandon.

Her ears rang, but the vehicle was silent. Dead silent.

As much as she wanted to squeeze her eyes shut and cry, she forced herself to look in the rearview mirror, to assess whatever she could about Brandon in case she was given even a split second’s chance to help.

The latest shot had torn into his shoulder. His left shoulder. Near his heart. His eyes were closed and, dear Lord, she couldn’t tell if he was still breathing or not.

The general slid the Humvee into park between two large generators. Her whole body trembled with rage and injustice and grief over Brandon’s murder until it exploded from her.

She launched herself at General Sullivan, nothing left to lose. “You bastard! You godforsaken piece of shit traitor!”

Screaming, she kicked and clawed, hoping someone would hear her before it was too late. And if not, at least she would leave some scars on Sullivan for the world to see.

The butt of his gun slammed into her jaw. Pain blasted through her. So much. She hadn’t even known it was possible to hurt this bad.

He pinned her to her seat and his evil eyes bored straight into her. “Keep it up, bitch, and we can really celebrate.” His gun dug into her neck, his erection pressing into her stomach. “I like my women with fight in them.”

She went very, very still.

Sullivan smiled, blood dripping from one of the four welts she’d clawed down his cheek. “That’s what I thought.”

He grabbed her arm and hauled her out of the Humvee. She dragged her heels and started to struggle until he pushed the cold steel of the gun against her forehead. He was clearly taking this to the death, so she might as well fight.

And in that moment she realized how right Liam had been earlier. She was a fighter. She hadn’t stepped off, just taken a breather. But Liam was wrong about their not having what it took to build a future together, and she intended to do everything in her power to stay alive and grasp that future with both hands.

Her fists clenched at her side.

The general yanked her arm with brutal strength. “Don’t give me a reason to kill you now. You wouldn’t be the first bitch that got in my way and paid the price.”

Timing. Timing was everything. She needed to wait for the right opportunity. She forced herself to relax in his steely, repugnant grasp. “Where are we going? What are you going to do with me?”

“Shut up. Be a good little girl and you won’t get hurt. I don’t have time for this. Now walk!” He shoved her forward past the open back ramp of some kind of cargo plane and toward the rear wheels.

He kicked the wooden chocks out from the rear tires and dragged her under the aircraft to the other side, where he kicked out the chocks in front of those wheels.

“You’re stealing a plane?”

“It’s on alert for possible rescue missions, so it’s all fueled and cocked on. I’m a general. Nobody questions me.” He started up the ramp, yanking her until her feet tangled. “Come on.”

That was his plan? Bravado, and pull a Steve McQueen with a military aircraft? If so, there should be help on the way soon. She could seriously use some of that Chuck Norris whup ass right about now.

She searched the late-day horizon for the security vehicle’s taillights, just barely visible in the distance.

General Sullivan laughed. “No help there, little lady. We will be out of here before they even know it.”

He dragged her to the entry door on the side of the airplane and pushed her ahead of him roughly. “Turn left and head up to the cockpit.”

She moved forward in the dark toward the murky light-illuminated windows ahead, hearing the aircraft door closing behind her.

“Get in the right seat. Now! That’s an order, understand?”

“Okay, I’m listening, behaving.” She crawled into the copilot’s seat and sat down.

He kept his eyes on her while he climbed into the pilot’s seat on the left. “Put on your seat belt and the shoulder harness.”

Strapping herself in, she willed her hands not to shake, to show no weakness. “There’s not a chance in hell you can get away with this.”

“Your opinion is duly noted. Not that I care.”

He leaned over and pushed the gun into her face. While staring at the gun touching her nose she heard a click. She flinched, and oh God, the squeak of fear had come from her.

General Sullivan smiled, the scent of breath mints and overpriced aftershave thick and cloying. “That was your harness locking into the seat so you won’t be moving around.”

He turned back toward the panel in front of him and started touching different controls. He seemed to be searching for something.

Does he even know how to fly one of these? “What are you looking for?”

“Why do you keep talking?” He resumed his scan of the cockpit.

“You don’t actually know how to fly one of these, do you?” Hysteria bubbled through the horror. She had a deep understanding right now of how Liam must have used humor in the past.

“Listen, bitch, I am not only a general. I am a fighter pilot.” His voice rose with increased agitation. “I can certainly fly one of these trash-hauling sorry excuses for an airplane.”

“Okay, okay”—she patted the air—“calm down.”

If he did get this thing off the ground, she certainly didn’t want him crashing the plane. Although if it took him long enough to figure this out, surely someone would come and stop this insanity.

He seemed to find what he was looking for and started flipping switches. The instrument lights came on, bathing the cockpit in a red glow.

The general looked out the windows and said, “Nobody around. Time to roll.”

He moved levers until an engine coughed to life. The cargo plane jerked into motion, moving forward toward the dimly lit runway ahead even as the general wildly manipulated controls, starting the rest of the engines. By the time they reached the runway they had a head of steam. He was figuring this out too fast. She needed more time. Where was help?

The general overshot the center of the runway and ended up almost on the grass.

“Piece of crap airplane,” he mumbled. “Steering’s screwed up.”

Felt like operator error to her. But best to keep that to herself. The last thing she wanted was more of Sullivan’s attention.

As she held herself still and quiet, she wondered what had happened to Liam and the others. If the corruption went this high up the chain, there was no telling how deep it went.

Sullivan veered back in the center and pushed up the throttles. Lights flashed ahead. Her stomach lurched. A security vehicle drove toward them about halfway up the runway.

Someone had figured out this was wrong. Someone knew. She wasn’t completely isolated with this maniac.

Except the airplane and the security vehicle were on a collision course, playing chicken in a game where no one seemed ready to give up. She threw her arms up in front of her face…

Swoop.

The nose lifted off the ground.

The plane bucked as they climbed. Up and down. Side to side. As the general turned the yoke back and forth quickly.

Good God, was an aircraft able to do this and stay airborne? Never, never, never again would she complain about turbulence during a flight. That was nothing. This guy was going to crash at any minute.

She’d put herself in dangerous situations her entire adult life. But not until this moment had she realized she’d done so hoping to join Caden. What a helluva time to realize how very much she wanted to live so she could fight to win back the man she loved—Liam McCabe.

***

Brandon’s body was on fire with pain.

His mind fogged with images of the bombing in the Afghan marketplace. Was he back in that nightmare, in some cosmic do-over loop where he screwed up again and again? He coughed, tasting blood. Clamping a hand to his chest, he felt the pulsing stickiness. If he just closed his eyes, he could sleep. As he’d done last time. Surrender to the pain.

Wake up in the hospital. Marked. Discredited.

Groaning, he rolled to his side, seat belt jabbing into his side. Seat belt? Not the marketplace.