jaw.
He smoothed his palm over her. “You feeling anything?”
“Plenty,” she said. “But there’s no more glass.”
He breathed a sigh, then cleaned the area with disinfectant, dabbed on antibiotic cream, and pressed on several Band-Aids.
He rose and backed out of the room. “I’ll wait outside until you change.”
He closed the door and went to the window to look out at the front of the building, his shoulders tight. There was nothing out there. No movement. Just cars passing. He found bottled water in the fridge and drained the contents of one. The backs of his fingers touched his nose and pain rushed up, down, and along the ridge into his eye sockets, forehead, and his nostrils. He winced.
He heard the patter of bare feet on the hardwood, and Anna came into the kitchen. She took one look at his nose and sighed hard. “I’m sorry about hitting you.” She slipped by him and grabbed some water, too. She took several long gulps. “Is it broken?”
“No. Luckily. But I’m going to have black eyes, I think. I’ll look like a raccoon.”
A small smile curled her lips. “You could never look like a raccoon, Oliver.” She tilted her head. “Maybe one of those scary Celtic Scots.”
He wasn’t going to ask what that meant.
“You just have to tell your teammates you got beat up by a girl.”
He went to make a haha expression, but it hurt too much. “So, Anna. What the hell is going on?”
She sobered and leaned against the wall, closing the fridge. “I’m not a National Geographic photojournalist.”
“You’re not?”
“No. I’m a CIA officer and you just crashed my classified op.”
“Well fuck,” Dodger said succinctly.
3
Everything was red, blood-soaked. No matter how much he wiped at the blood on his hands, more accumulated. Surprisingly there was nothing but calm. It was finally over. He’d done what he had to do. It was his only option. He’d been pushed into a corner where there was no escape. Just action. Only action.
“2-Stroke!”
He opened his eyes to find Fast Lane bending over him, shaking him awake.
“LT?” 2-Stroke said, his voice raspy, his heart pounding.
“Where is Dodger?”
“What? He’s not back?”
“No.”
2-Stroke sat up and found the team around his rack, their expressions concerned. “We split up. I stopped at a store before we headed back. As far as I know, he came straight to HQ. He should have been here before I got back. I just assumed he was here. I hit the rack. Jet lag.”
The guys shifted and 2-Stroke felt nothing but the residual memory that stemmed from his dream. He should have stuck with Dodger. If anything happened to him, it would be on 2-Stroke, not Fast Lane. Never leave your swim buddy. A sick feeling formed in the pit of his stomach. His need for privacy had somehow put this whole op in jeopardy.
Damn, just what Fast Lane needed when his leadership was in question.
“I don’t know what happened to him. That’s on me.”
Fast Lane squeezed his shoulder and shook his head. “Relax. We all need to take a breath. If there’s anything I know about Dodger, he can take care of himself, but that doesn’t mean I’m not concerned.” He looked around the room. “Any of you heard anything from him?”
There was a unanimous shaking of heads.
“Okay, how about anyone know anything personal about why he would have not come back?”
Again, with the head shakes.
“Okay, Pitbull and Dragon, head out and look around. The rest of us will keep this mum for now.”
“Dodger would never go off the rails during an op unless he was incapacitated,” Saint said. “He’s a professional.”
“You think someone snatched him?” Hemingway asked, looking out the window to the quiet square below.
“It’s possible.”
“LT. I want to go with Pitbull and Dragon.” 2-Stroke got up and pulled on some black tactical pants and an olive green T-Shirt, then slipped on socks and a pair of black boots. He ran his hands through his hair. The feel of a hand on his shoulder made him look up.
“Negative. I need you with me.”
“Yes, sir,” he said.
“Don’t beat yourself up, man,” Pitbull said. “Let’s put our energy toward finding him.”
2-Stroke rose and nodded curtly.
“Whatever the reason, it’s sound. Dodger wouldn’t do this unless it was necessary.” 2-Stroke was aware of the penalties for being UA, and length of absence sure was one of the criteria, but it wasn’t a blanket policy, which was in Dodger’s favor. They took each Unauthorized Absence infraction on a case by case basis. His main worry wasn’t Dodger’s punishment,