Ten years ago, roughing it like this had made me miss the Air Force. Sue us, we were comfortable. But now…? Hell, I was pushing fifty, and I just wanted to be left alone. A week out here in these stunning mountains… Maybe Quinlan was right. It would be a bit of a vacation. I’d sure packed to be entertained. Two puzzles, a few books, and my camera.
Once I’d performed final checks, everything was off, and silence blanketed the ridge, I grabbed my backpack and climbed out.
Fuck me. Spring arrived late at this altitude. It was gonna be nippy at night.
My eyes needed a couple minutes to adjust to the utter darkness. In the meantime, I measured each step off the helipad and?—
What the fuck was that sound?
I dropped my backpack and spun around as fight mode kicked in, and I had my sidearm lifted and aimed before I even registered it.
“Is someone there?” a female voice croaked. InEnglish.
“Step away from the helicopter,” I commanded. I quickly got out my flashlight, having hoped to avoid using it, and I switched it on. “Show yourself.”
“Please don’t shoot!” She appeared in the light and squinted, and she raised her hands. “I’m an American—I-I have my passport. Please don’t shoot me.”
I wasn’t gonna fucking shoot her. But who the hell was she, and had she been hiding here or in the helicopter?
I flooded her with light, taking in her dirty appearance. She was dressed like a man, but she was holding a burqa in her grasp. Disguises? If she traveled by night on her own, the male clothes made sense. Which—no. She couldn’t have been here in the mountains.
“Don’t move,” I ordered. I closed the distance between us, threw the burqa on the ground, and began patting her down.
“I’m n-not armed,” she stammered.
Arms, waist, hips… What was that—a soap bar? Some gum too. Up and down her legs, her back, and the insides of her thighs, which made her freeze up.Sorry, cupcake, wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable, but you fucking started it with your presence. There. I located her passport taped to the inside of her leg. Once I was convinced she wasn’t carrying a weapon, I holstered my gun and walked past her and peered inside the cabin. She’d come out from here. The door was open. That was what I’d heard.
“Give me the passport and tell me why the fuck you’re in Afghanistan,” I said.
She scrambled to do as told. “I’m an aid worker. My convoy was overrun almost six months ago, and I’ve been in hiding since then.”
I heard the ripping sound as she tore the passport from her skin, and she handed it to me.
I circled back to her front and opened the passport. “What organization?”
Kiera Talon Lane.
Interesting middle name.
“The Lunch Box—it’s a CLC Global branch,” she replied.
I’d heard of it. They worked to deliver food and education, especially for underage girls in regions like this one.
I aimed the flashlight at her face. “Define overrun.”
She swallowed nervously, and she looked like the definition of a deer getting caught in the headlights. Big, brown doe eyes, fear written all over. Her dark hair was up for now, but it was coming loose.
“We were coming through a mountain pass, backroads only, when we heard gunfire,” she said. Her gaze flickered, and I fixed my stare to catch every single reaction. “Before I knew it, they were everywhere. Some on foot, some on motorcycles, and some on horses. They—” She choked up a little. “I think they killed them all. I-I managed to run away.”
“How many of you were there?” I pressed.
“Six,” she said, sniffling. “Do you want their names? Most of them were from Belgium, me and one more from the US?—”
“I’ll want all those details tomorrow when I verify your story,” I replied. “What makes you think they’re dead?”
A shaky breath left her, and it misted in the air. “They were still missing three months ago,” she revealed. “I hid in the mountains for hours, and then I went back, and I-I…” This time, she couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down. “There was so much blood.”
Yeah, they were probably dead. But it must’ve made the news back home. Sometimes, I avoided the news at all costs because the world was fucking depressing, but I should’ve heard… Regardless, I was 100% certain I would’ve heard about this ifanybody had demanded a ransom. Ransom was like a trigger word that echoed through private agencies.
