Deadly Aim (Bad Karma Special Ops Book 2) Read online

  “Today?” Stephanie pressed as they sat.

  “No, uh …” Kristie shot Ray a help-me look. Neither man said a word. She shouldn’t have said anything. After what Major Sun had told her, she didn’t want to think about Colombia.

  “I’m not getting details, am I?”

  Ray just shook his head at his wife; Mack chuckled.

  “What brings you to Fort Bragg then?” Stephanie took a sip of her margarita.

  “I had a meeting.” Kristie picked up the menu. She could catch up now and go back to Ray and Stephanie’s after dinner to talk. “How’s Alexis?”

  “Sixteen going on twenty-two and giving me gray hairs,” Ray remarked dryly.

  Stephanie rolled her eyes and laughed. “He doesn’t like the idea of boys calling and asking her on dates.”

  “I know what those boys are thinking.”

  “He’s threatened to meet them at the door armed like Rambo.”

  Ray shrugged. “Came all the way up here for a meeting? Did it go well?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. Are the burritos good?”

  “They’re okay, but the fish tacos are the best. Who were you meeting with?” Ray didn’t give in to her deflection.

  She presumed Major Sun was responsible for Colonel Ball’s decision to interview her. But could Ray have played a role? Would he even know the colonel? “Colonel Ball with the 82nd Aviation.”

  Ray didn’t flinch or even raise an eyebrow.

  “Would you two quit talking in circles?” Stephanie demanded. “Why exactly are you here?”

  Her relationship with Stephanie straddled friend and family ever since Stephanie headed up the Family Readiness Group when they were at Fort Lewis together. Sometimes Stephanie filled the role of second mother. Sometimes older sister. Sometimes favorite aunt. Always trusted friend. Was there a way to dodge her questions through dinner? Kristie shifted her attention to Mack.

  “Well?” Stephanie said, not taking the hint.

  “He wanted to speak with me about a position in a unit here.”

  “Really?” Stephanie gasped. “I’d love that.”

  “I’m not sure it’s going to happen.”

  Stephanie’s smile wilted. “Why not?”

  “Because I want a MEDEVAC position, and he offered me a spot as an instructor pilot. It’d be more of a lateral move to a slightly more elite unit.”

  “If they know you want MEDEVAC, why would he offer you a lateral move?” Ray sounded indignant on her behalf.

  “Apparently, he was given a redacted version of a recent mission report and thought I’d be a better fit in the 82nd.”

  “If that’s the reason, then that would make you a good, or an even better fit for MEDEVAC,” Ray commented.

  Kristie didn’t want to get into this here. Or now. Or ever, really, but if Ray had been the one to give the report and recommend her to Colonel Ball, she’d better explain. “Because of how Eric died, there’s concern whether I should fly MEDEVAC.”

  “That’s not fair.” Stephanie laid her hand on Kristie’s arm.

  No, it wasn’t fair that one damned bullet killed her husband and shattered her dreams of a family. Or that the same damned bullet now threatened to steal the one dream she had left.

  “Why should that matter?” Mack asked.

  A glance at Mack confirmed he had no clue. Kristie stared at the ugly white acoustic ceiling tiles. She swallowed and blinked away the burning in her eyes.

  “Are you ready to order?” The waiter appeared in time to give her a reprieve.

  “I could use a frozen strawberry margarita.” Though a generous shot of whiskey might give her more fortitude. “Y’all order, that’ll give me a sec.” Her gaze roved erratically over the menu.

  “Give us a few more minutes,” Ray took command.

  The waiter backed off, and an awkward silence ensued.

  “Forget I asked.” Mack shifted in his seat. “It’s none of my business. You weren’t expecting me here tonight, and clearly, you wanted to discuss things with your friends. I should go and let you all, um …”

  Great. Letting everyone keep tiptoeing around what happened didn’t help. If she was going to convince Colonel Ball, a shrink, even herself, that Eric’s death didn’t define her, she needed to embrace the suck and slog through it. It wasn’t like she hadn’t shared this story before. “No. Don’t go.”

  Mack perched hesitantly on the edge of his chair.

  “Eric’s Ranger unit helped rebuild schools in Nangarhar province. He was part of the group that delivered the supplies the FRG collected to stock the school. I heard the kids were all excited about the school opening and came to help,” she rambled. “Only some backward-thinking assholes, who weren’t happy about kids getting educated, attacked. In the firefight, Eric and another Ranger were hit protecting the kids.”

  She paused. Even though his buddies hadn’t given her all the details of what went down that day, she pictured Eric grabbing kids to get them to safety. “The area was deemed too hot for a MEDEVAC to land right away. Eric bled out while waiting.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  The sympathy in Mack’s tone, in his eyes, was genuine. Anyone who’d served for even one deployment had lost friends.

  “Sounds like the kind of soldier I would have liked to serve with,” he continued.

  That made her smile. “Thank you.” Mack hadn’t said something like, “He died a hero.” He understood. Probably because he and Eric were cut from the same camouflage cloth.

  “Does the colonel know you wanted to fly MEDEVAC even before that—not because of that?” Ray asked.

  At this point, she might as well tell them everything. “In addition to the fear I might take unnecessary risks, the psychologist I had to see before I could deploy put a note in my file that indicated flying MEDEVAC missions might serve as a constant reminder of Eric’s death. Therefore, I would keep grieving instead of moving on to a mentally healthy place.”

  “That’s ridiculous to base decisions on a psych eval from over a year and a deployment ago,” Ray groused. “You may, uh”—he glanced at Stephanie, then leaned closer to Kristie and Mack—“not be afraid to take risks, but you weren’t reckless. I’d vouch for your abilities.”

  “Me, too,” Mack said.

  “You two may be a little biased. Colonel Ball said if I took the slot in the 82nd, and after time and another psych eval, if I still want MEDEVAC, he’ll make it happen.”

  The waiter approached with her margarita, and they ordered rather than send the guy away again.

  “I was going to say don’t take it, but I want you here, and if you could get transferred, then maybe you should accept,” Stephanie said.

  “I’m waiting to hear about transferring to MEDEVAC at Fort Hood or Fort Drum, but that may not happen thanks to the note in my file.” Kristie took a sip of her drink. “Colonel Ball needs my decision by the end of the week.”

  “That’s hardly standard Army operating procedure,” Ray remarked.

  “No, but the replacement he had lined up got hurt, and with vacations starting up, he needs someone ASAP. Like next week.”

  “Between Fort Hood, Drum, and here, where do you want to be?” Mack asked.

  “Well, I’d love to be going to Schofield Barracks in Hawaii or Germany, but it appears those aren’t options. Of my current options, here,” she admitted.

  “Do you have any doubts about your ability to convince him you deserve a MEDEVAC slot?”

  “No.”

  “Didn’t think so. Take the position here.” Mack sounded exactly like Eric with his confidence in her and his reasoning. Though he couldn’t be a factor in her decision, she couldn’t deny that her attraction to him didn’t help. But no dating Special Ops guys for her.

  “Colonel Ball’s timeline doesn’t give me time to find a place to live, and there’s no temporary housing available on base or at the Landmark Inn. I’m not comfortable signing a lease off post just to have a place immediately.”
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  “I know where you can get temporary housing,” Stephanie said adamantly, looking to Ray. He nodded. “The Lundgren Bed and Breakfast will give you plenty of time to find something permanent.”

  “I can’t impose like that.”

  “You’re not. You’re invited. We have a spare room, and I’d enjoy the company.”

  “That’s sweet, but, uh …” Kristie grasped for a solid excuse.

  “You’d be doing us a favor,” Ray said.

  “How’s that?”

  “You could house- and pet-sit when we go to the beach.”

  She laughed. “That’s a stretch.”

  “Yeah, well, now you’re out of excuses. Don’t force me to make it an order. My wife likes to get her way.”

  Stephanie leaned in and covered Kristie’s hand. “Look, it’s time for a fresh start. Here you’d be near family and friends.”

  “True,” Kristie agreed. The senior pilot in C Company was a friend from her Fort Lewis days prior to flight school. “I’ll think about it.”

  The waiter arrived with their appetizer in time to save her any more pressure—temporarily. Her eyes locked on Mack’s muscled arm when he spooned queso onto a small plate. She had to order herself to look away.

  With the airfield on the opposite side of post from the Special Operations training grounds, it was conceivable she’d never cross paths with Mack. Sure, there were elite units at most bases, full of alpha males—the type she was drawn to—but Fort Bragg was the largest military installation in the world. While Fort Carson had a Green Berets unit based there and Drum had 10th Mountain, Fort Bragg had their type in spades and clubs and diamonds. The 82nd Airborne. The Green Berets. Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta.

  Could she really avoid three or four thousand best-of-the-best combat soldiers? No. No. And no. If—if—she came here, she’d definitely have to stick to her guns and avoid theirs.

  Nine

  Two days later, and one day left to make her decision, she stared at the envelope on the kitchen table. Kristie, in Eric’s familiar hand, was written across the front of the “Do Not Open for 614 Days” letter. She’d almost gotten up last night and opened it after midnight, except she might not have slept after that, and she had to fly today.

  Waiting had been torture, but it was finally time.

  She filled a mug with coffee. Why was she stalling? Because she didn’t want to face the finality. The last words from her husband. An ache spread through her chest. She carried the letter to the living room to sit in his favorite spot on the couch.

  Reminders of Eric filled the room. The huge high-definition television for watching football. The pictures atop the fireplace mantle—one from their wedding, and one of them on their honeymoon. The scenic paintings they’d bought and hung. A tradition they’d started on each anniversary trip. There were so many places they planned to go that would have filled the blank spaces on these walls.

  She drew air into her lungs, and with Eric’s pocketknife, slit open the last letter from her husband.

  This one was longer than the first. His handwriting not quite as neat.

  Hey Darling,

  How are you doing?

  She paused, letting the words wrap around her as if hearing Eric’s smooth voice. Warmth began to radiate from deep inside, thawing the chill that made her hands icy.

  I know it’s been a while now. You did wait to open this letter, didn’t you? I started to say wait one year. Maybe I was thinking of something I read requiring a widow to mourn and wear black for a year—then I thought, well, that’s stupid, and they don’t make black camouflage uniforms. It’s not like you hit some magic date and things magically get better. The anniversary might be hard anyway, so I started thinking further out, sometime after your deployment.

  By now, you might be married again.

  Not hardly.

  Could even have kids.

  I wish. Kinda hard without the husband. Without you.

  I’m okay with that. I hope you haven’t dodged your promise. I know you’ll never forget me, and you’ll never find anyone exactly like me, but what we had together, you can have again.

  No. You were my one.

  I don’t want you to be alone—to think flying is enough. I want you to do the things you love. Fly, dance, travel, laugh. Don’t sit around missing me. Yeah, I’m telling you this because you can be kind of stubborn sometimes—but I’ve proved I’m more bullheaded. Don’t bother fighting me.

  A light laugh escaped. On the rare occasion they disagreed, he usually won because he was almost always right. His analytical nature consistently beat her emotional one. What she wouldn’t give to have him here to fight with—though his being here would negate any need to have this “fight.” Even if he was wrong this time.

  Don’t settle, either. Not for someone who doesn’t get you. Who doesn’t make you smile or give you a reason to stay on the ground. I want you to be happy.

  I love you,

  Eric

  P.S. Remember when I invited you to go home with me for the 4th of July after we started dating? I called my folks to let them know you were coming, and my mom asked if things were serious between us. I told her I was going to marry you. Surprised myself when I said it. And that I meant it. I never told you this, but I’ll never forget that day. It was June 14. (614)

  He hadn’t told her because she wouldn’t have believed he’d say that.

  She read the letter again, laughing at some of the things he wrote. Typical Eric. She found the humor that first attracted her to him in this letter, serving as his last gift.

  She missed the hell out of him, but she wasn’t sitting around mourning. She went out and did things. If she hadn’t spent a year in Afghanistan, she might have taken a trip with friends. She didn’t depend on a man to entertain or provide for her. She was okay on her own.

  A certain kind of attention from a man on occasion would be nice. Other than Mack, no man had piqued her interest, but she was happy and living her life. She had flying and …

  and …

  She. Had. Flying.

  She sighed in surrender. Had she volunteered for the Colombia assignment to let her teammates stay home with their families? Or was it because she didn’t have anything to keep her here?

  Crud. Eric knew her too well. He was calling her out from beyond the grave. She finished off her cup of coffee and went to the kitchen for a refill. Okay, so there were a few areas where she held back, but it sucked to lose the man you loved and planned to spend life with. No one should expect her to snap her fingers and be over it. It might help if she went on the adventures she and Eric planned on doing together. Start small. Like a paddleboarding lesson or join a kayaking group.

  Or go big and move to Fort Bragg.

  Even though moving closer to them would sway her family’s input on the decision, she picked up the phone and typed the number. After a beat, her mother’s familiar voice greeted her.

  “Hi, Mom. Is Dad home, too?”

  Ten

  Mack rolled his shoulder until it popped. Damn Vincenti and his grueling workouts. They all took turns leading morning PT, but the days Vincenti led were nicknamed Groan Day for a reason. His buddy was a workout fanatic, and even though he was limited in participating while his arm healed, he hadn’t gone easy on the team.

  After changing into their uniforms, Mack and the guys filed into the team room per orders. Still no sign of Ray to find out if Kristie decided to take the position here. He wouldn’t ask in front of everyone.

  A few minutes of shooting the bull passed before the door swung open, and the chief entered. The mood in the room shifted as the men studied the camouflage-clad stranger who followed Chief Lundgren.

  The soldier’s dark-blond hair stood at attention from styling products. His movie-star-pretty face was clean-shaven, and his straight teeth gleamed in the bright room. His name patch read Grant, and Mack pegged him as a West Point grad lieutenant until he noted the rank chevron on his chest.


  Grant didn’t speak or take a seat but remained at Lundgren’s side as the chief launched into the morning debrief.

  “The report I received this morning is that Hunter’s stable enough to be transported back stateside.”

  “Good. Especially with Herrera still crawling on the face of the planet,” Vincenti grumbled and rubbed his arm.

  Mack didn’t disagree aloud. He wasn’t scared of Herrera’s need for vengeance, but he wouldn’t mind getting an eye on the cartel boss—through the scope of his sniper rifle. Time to put Herrera out of his mind and focus on what lay ahead.

  “However, due to his injuries, Hunter’s return to the team is uncertain. We need a medic to make us deployable. This is Staff Sergeant Devin Grant. Grant, this is B Company.” Ray pointed a finger to Mack. “Sergeant First Class Mack Hanlon, weapons and team sniper. Sergeant First Class Tony Vincenti, operations and best undercover man in all of Delta.”

  “Only As he got in high school were in Spanish—because he was already fluent in Italian—and drama. He’s an ac-tor.” Juan Dominguez gave a flourish of his hand in Tony’s direction.

  Tony flipped him off. “You’re an ass, Dominguez.”

  Ray rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Colonel Mahinis told you that you were joining one of the most elite teams under SOCOM, right?” Sarcasm laced Ray’s deep voice.

  “He did.”

  Grant didn’t appear to doubt it, despite the two men clashing. Mack kept his mouth shut. Tony could act. He was a quick, creative thinker, and with his dark, Italian looks and hooked nose from a few breaks, he could pass for a half-dozen ethnicities with stage makeup and the right accent.

  “Staff Sergeants Walt Shuler, operations. Lincoln Porter, engineer. AJ Rozanski, communications. Kyle Lin, intel, and Juan Dominguez, also weapons.” Ray pointed to each man in turn.