Digitalis (33 page)

As Colton turned toward the car, Piper and Metcalfe stepped from the terminal, dragging their bags … and holding hands. Like the happy couple their passports said they were. She pointed to something out across the road and jabbered on.

Only then did it really hit him that this was her home. Her country.

Midas tapped a stranger, handed him a camera, and asked him to take a photo. Colton gripped the straps of his bag tighter, knowing full well it was all for appearance, but also knowing that Metcalfe was probably doing this to rub it in his face. The idea to pair the two had come from Lambert, said it was for the best considering Colton’s feelings.

Colton hadn’t argued. Because he agreed. Mostly. Though he hadn’t said anything, it bugged him, the thought of her with anyone else. He shouldn’t care.

Yet seeing them together—Midas’s arm around her—did things to Colton. He ground his teeth as they strode toward a limousine. For a woman who’d declared her undying love to him just days ago, she sure seemed content to be on another man’s arm.

Furious, he gripped the padded strap of his pack tighter and strode toward the car. The driver shuttled them to a hotel. After they checked in and dumped their bags in the room, they headed down the back stairwell.

“Hey, let’s grab a bite for the road,” Max said. “Nearby, I saw a café.”

Colton’s boot slipped out from under him and nearly landed him on the concrete steps. A café … Israel … He recovered but descended the stairs a bit slower. “Not hungry.” He punched open the door and stepped into the warm, arid day.

“Well, I need to eat.”

“No time,” Colton said, nodding to the black SUV parked along the curb.

They climbed in and were greeted by a man in a suit. He extended a hand. “Daniel Ben-Haim, deputy foreign minister. Welcome to Israel, gentlemen.”

“Thanks,” Max said with a quick shake. “Got any food around here?”

Colton grimaced at his partner’s request, and introduced himself.

“Sure, I know the perfect place,” the minister said as he barreled through the city.

Focused on their surroundings, Colton tensed as they pulled to the curb of an indoor/outdoor café. Patrons sat at tables along the street, laughing and eating. His gut roiled. He searched the crowds on the street for hostiles. The cars appeared normal, but how could one pick out a suicide bomber just by looking at the outside?

“Be right back,” Max said as he leapt out and rushed into the place.

Fist over his mouth, Colton remembered how thrilled Emelie had been to be in the same country where Jesus had walked. He brought her here so she could have fun, celebrate the huge accomplishment of earning a full merit scholarship to Harvard. He’d never been prouder of his kid sister. He was young and had money from his career with the Marines. So he treated her to the all-expenses-paid trip ….

Straight to the grave.

“Just one more rugelach. Please?”

She’d loved those stupid little pastries with nuts and fruit. And just like that, she’d disappeared into the café once more to buy another …
Thud!

Heart jack-hammering, Colton flinched. Snapped out of the memory by the slamming passenger door …
door
… not the bomb that had ended Emelie’s life.

A pair of dark eyes considered him. “You okay?” The question held no mirth, no lightheartedness.

Colton could tell Max thought he’d had a flashback. Maybe he had, although to him, it was just a bad memory, a nightmare. “Just want to get there. Get it done.” Stretching his neck, Colton roughed a hand over his face. Glanced at the driver, who was watching him, too. “How long to rendezvous?”

“About an hour.”

Closing his eyes, Colton leaned back. Anything to get Max off his back and give his mind time to breathe. The jouncing felt familiar and almost comforting, reminding him of riding in the back of a Humvee and barreling through desert.

“Want something?”

“No, I’m stuffed. “

She planted a kiss on his cheek, her hands resting on his shoulder, which she squeezed. “You are the best big brother I have. “

He chuckled. “I’m the
only
big brother you have. “

“Case in point. “ With another kiss and pat, she said, “I’ll be right back. “

Behind him, brakes squeaked. He glanced over his shoulder as a hefty woman emerged and walked toward the café. His gaze shifted to the café
.

To the car driving away
.

Instinct pushed him out of the iron chair. He checked the café as the woman entered. Through the small crowd and dim lights, he saw Emelie smiling at him. She waved
.

No. The woman. The woman in the burka. He saw her reach beneath her head covering
—a bomb!

He surged forward, but his legs felt like jelly. “Emelie. No!”

Something hit Colton in the gut. He jerked and blinked.

Black eyes stared at him again. “We’re here.” Max’s eyes darkened as the driver—the deputy foreign minister—pulled into a large, gated facility. “Are you?”

Colton didn’t answer. They were just memories, bad ones, right? It wasn’t a flashback. Not a real one. Right? Swallowing hard against his thundering pulse, he tried to shake off the adrenaline still zinging through his veins.

When the car stopped, he climbed out and grabbed his bag. Trailed the deputy through the open level toward a door and stairwell. His heart hadn’t evened out, but at least the effects were fading.

“Hey.”

He ignored Max’s hissed word. Hopefully he’d leave him alone.

A hand clapped onto his shoulder. “Hey.” Max tugged him around, scowling. “What was that back there?”

“Nothing.” Colton tried to shrug free, but the hand only tightened on his shoulder.

“Bull!” Max gave him a light shove. “You came to like you were on another planet.”

Colton clamped his jaw, stared at the pile of dirt collecting in the corner under the stairs. Just like the memories that had collected at the back of his mind. If only he could sweep them into a bin.

“What happened?”

“A bad dream.”

Dawning cleared the fury from Max’s face. “You mean a flashback.”

Looking away did nothing to ease the guilt and dread pooling in his intestines. He wanted to argue, rationalize, but he couldn’t.

“Is this going to be a problem? Because I have a team out there that I’m responsible for—and you’re part of it. So tell me, Cowboy. Is this going to be a problem?”

How could he answer? There hadn’t been a flashback, not a bad one, in more than two years.

“Answer me!”

“No! I’m here. I’m doing this.” Colton shouted, his voice ringing off the high well of concrete they stood in. He grabbed the rail and propelled himself around them and up the stairs. “Get off my back.”

“I’ll ride your tail from here to kingdom come if you quit!”

Quit? Colton was quitting? Agape, Piper stood at the entrance, watching Colton jog up the stairs.

Metcalfe trotted toward the team leader. “What was that about?” Piper joined them. “He’s quitting? He can’t quit out here, can he?” The little muscle at the corner of Max’s jaw twitched as he broke his gaze from Metcalfe and completely avoided Piper. “We have an AHOD meeting upstairs. We’re late.”

Stumbling back didn’t distance her from the roiling hatred she saw in Max’s dark eyes. Somehow, she had a feeling she would never gain his approval.

Metcalfe touched her elbow. “Hey, don’t worry.” Kindness in his tone buffed out the smear of hurt. “Cowboy isn’t going anywhere but on the mission.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s what we do—the mission. Tensions are high. Words are gruff. We do the job and get it done, no matter how much we hate it.”

“He hates me?”

Metcalfe smirked. “Sorry, wrong choice of words. I meant, no matter how we feel about it. We’re soldiers. Our priority is to the mission. And I know for a fact that’s Cowboy’s priority, too.” He bobbed his head toward the steps. “Come on. Before Frogman starts yelling again.”

Upstairs, the team had gathered around a long counter. A man in a navy suit removed a folder and set it atop his briefcase.

“Bout time y’all showed up,” the Kid teased as he straddled his backpack.

Though she would wear a vest and participate as a part of the team, Piper felt anything but a part of the team as she stood here. How odd that even in her homeland she felt like an outsider. She shirked it off as the tension emanating through the room. And from Colton.

He sat against the nearby wall, arms folded. No matter the man’s rugged good looks, he didn’t look well right now. Dark circles under his eyes made them appear even more blue. The scowl seemed to have taken root in his forehead.

“Okay, listen up,” Max said. “This is Deputy Foreign Minister Daniel Ben-Haim. He’ll be our Intel and primary contact.” He nodded to two men standing next to the Kid. “The grunt with the scar is Harry Weiss, former SEAL.”

The man with white-blond hair nodded at them but said nothing.

“Next to him is John Dighton, also a former SEAL.”

“Man, a whole herd,” the Kid said.

Dighton’s gaze barely flickered to the much-younger team member.

“Don’t mind the Kid. He’s all mouth.” Max grinned. “Weiss’s call

sign is Scar, and Dighton—”

“They call me Squirt.”

“Why?” the Kid snickered.

“Those around me tend to squirt blood.” The menacing look silenced the Kid.

Laughter dribbled around the room and faded just as quick. Yet tucked in a corner, Colton didn’t smile or engage in the banter.

“Deputy,” Max said. “Go ahead.” Almost as one, the teasing died down, and the mood shifted to a much more somber note as the team focused on the suited man.

“I’ll dump the facts and then sort them for you. Here’s what we know: A key IRG general is dead; Yitshak Rosenblum is missing, as are a young woman and an assassin.”

“Are assassins ever
not
missing?” The Kid chuckled.

Everyone ignored him.

Deputy Ben-Haim picked up a stack of papers. “The first photo was taken three nights ago at a dinner party in honor of Prince Razak, eldest son of one of Saudi Arabia’s wealthiest nobles.”

Piper glanced over Max’s shoulder to the photo. With his hooked nose and thick eyebrows, the prince seemed fattened and content.

“Nearly five hundred guests attended the dinner. We believe, however, this party was a front for General Bashar al-Jafari to meet with some very important brass, businessmen, and money.”

Daniel set down the papers. “Understand that al-Jafari is a prime player, and I guess you could call him a recruiter, for the Iranian Republican Guard. We’ve long suspected him of many things but never been able to pin things on him.” Wasn’t that always the way with the wicked?

“Al-Jafari has the ear of very powerful men in many countries. Or I should say, he
had
the ear. He was killed the night of that party. Two bullets to the brain, point blank. Assassinated.”

“Killer is brave.” Max rubbed his jaw. “Five hundred guests and he walks in and kills the general?”

“The killer is a Palestinian assassin.” He flung another page onto the table. “A bounty put out by Palestinians for his head.”

“He must’ve gone solo or ticked someone off.”

“What about my father? Did the assassin go after my father?”

Deputy Minister Ben-Haim hesitated. “Please, let me work through

the information as I have it. You can draw your own conclusions.”

That wasn’t exactly comforting, but Piper still nodded.

The minister bobbed his head toward the stack of photos and papers. “That second image is al-Jafari’s daughter. Nobody knew she existed until this party. Apparently, her father intended to sell her to a prince as part of an arms negotiation.”

Midas dropped into a chair and shrugged. “She’s a beauty, but why do we care?”

“She’s missing, along with the assassin—and I mean, they’re together. His identity is unknown, and as you can see, he’s elusive.”

The photograph showed a partially concealed profile. It could be anyone of Middle Eastern descent.

“He wasn’t on the guest register, and nobody knows him. Mossad is working on his identity.” Daniel passed a piece of paper around the group. “A source spotted him at a hotel near Ein Gedi approximately two hours ago. A team has been deployed to monitor his movement.”

“What significance does this assassin or missing girl have to our mission?” Max folded well-muscled arms over his chest.

“Every significance. We intercepted a cell transmission about two weeks ago that al-Jafari had taken possession of a large package—Yitshak Rosenblum.”

Yanked into the meeting by the mention of her father’s name, Piper felt the breath snatched from her lungs. She straightened. “My father? He’s alive?”

Deputy Ben-Haim gave her a sad smile. “We do not know.”

“But he was two weeks ago?”

He nodded.

“Do you know what my father found, why he went into hiding and sent me away?” Did the desperation in her voice ring as loud in the room as it did in her heart?

“My best guess is that he found evidence, perhaps a trail of evidence, of a threat against Israel.” He sighed and licked his lips. “Miss Rosenblum, it’s my personal theory that he discovered Datan Katz, one of his associates, was connected to the IRG. Mossad arrested him right before your father appeared in the custody of al-Jafari.”