Under Fire (Elite Force #3)(71)
Author: Catherine Mann

At least everyone else seemed pumped. Excited about the success so far. And the dog-sitter chick—Catriona—was having a blast learning how the headset worked.

“So,” she said, testing the speak button, “why do you guys have so many nicknames? Like why do you sometimes call Wade ‘Brick’?”

Rocha raised his hand. “I got this one. I’m called Brick because I’m thickheaded. And my last name, Rocha, means rock in Portuguese, so it all kinda fits. Cuervo over there got his because it just fits with his name Jose, and it just so happens, in his early days in the air force, he had a particularly memorable evening thanks to a bottle of tequila.”

And wasn’t there a sad irony in that? An alcoholic forever being stuck with a booze name.

Rocha continued. “Data, back at base, is a computer and math genius. He’s one of our younger team members and used to be called Fang, which is what we name every fresh-faced kid who joins us. It means, uh, ‘frick, another new guy.’ But not actually ‘frick.’”

Laughter rumbled over the airwaves. Rachel’s eyebrows went up as she rested her hand on the boxer puppy’s head.

Liam shrugged and looked away from the wide brown eyes—on the woman and the dog. “The name Fang goes to the next new guy, and the old Fang gets an official name. Our Fang while we were in Alaska became Data once the latest PJ joined the team.”

Rachel snagged his eyes and held, giving no ground. “So you were once Fang.”

“Back in the dark ages, yes.” His knees ached almost as bad as his chest.

Rocha filled the stretch of silence. “Now we call him Walker, as in Walker, Texas Ranger. Because he used to be a ranger, but it was an Army Ranger. You should hear his Chuck Norris impression. Priceless.”

“But so good”—Cuervo leaned forward as casually as somebody telling a frickin’ fireside tale—“you might actually think he’s really Chuck Norris in disguise. Seriously, Major McCabe is so awesome he can make fire by rubbing two ice cubes together.”

Rocha nodded. “When you open up a can of whup ass, Major McCabe jumps out.”

Sunny held up her hands. “True story, I hear the bogeyman checks his closet at night for Liam McCabe.”

Laughing, Catriona said, “Wait, wait, how about this one. Major McCabe can make onions cry—” She squeaked to a stop as the aircraft jerked slightly in flight.

The CV-22’s engines slowed, the whine increasing to a roar as the rotors tilted upward. Humor faded like the air in rapid decompression as they landed.

The CV-22 settled without so much as a jolt, and the pilot called the all clear to begin unstrapping, which, thank God, brought an end to the Chuck Norris jokes.

Yeah, great. He was already a damn legend. Life as he knew it would be over after this final mission wrapped up.

His gaze shot back to Rachel and he wondered how it could have been for them if they’d met and connected ten years ago, back when he was at the top of his game. If they’d had time to build a foundation together.

If he even knew how to do that.

The back ramp lowered, the gaping hole revealing the runway. Familiar stretches of pale concrete and stark utilitarian outbuildings glowed with the orangey haze of the setting sun. Only the sea air and an occasional palm tree differentiated it from other landing strips.

A small greeting party waited in a roped-off area, led by General Ted Sullivan along with Captain Bernard from the OSI. Wind rippled the captain’s uniform as he stood flanked by a half dozen security cops toting M16s. As if that weren’t enough firepower, four Humvees were parked behind them, each equipped with a turret with a SAW—squad automatic weapon—mounted on top. Given Sylvia’s assurance things were being kept low-key, Liam did not have a good feeling about this.

His battle-honed instincts went on alert. They were either being highly protected—or were about to be taken into custody.

***

“Divide and conquer,” Rachel said, bracing a hand on the dash of the Humvee as General Sullivan sped down the flight line, dusk closing in like a fading camera shot.

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.