Falcon: The Quiet Professionals Book 3 (22 page)

Peeling herself off the ground, Cassie squinted up at the intruder.

The man’s shoes scritched as he turned to her. “What in blazes are you doing here?”

“Now, Candyman.”

On a knee, Sal bent over the flower bed, his gaze skimming the small plaza in front of the two high-rises. The blue jumpsuit felt strangely baggy since he was more accustomed to his tactical gear and having a vest and weapons strapped to his person.

He squinted across the street from Takkar Towers to where Eagle and Harrier sat in a car, guiding what should be a simple mission.

Sal pushed up and lifted his bucket as he made his way north, toward the fountain. Another dozen feet. But there was a lot of firepower on the other side of that glass. And some out here.

He went to a knee again, plucked some leaves and dead grass from the flower bed—which really wasn’t a flower bed. At least not what they had back home with mounds of lush mulch and a million different flowers. Things were drier here. Not as much expense dedicated to trivial things as flowers. Yet, thankfully, Takkar had a welcome area that included enough of a garden to provide Sal this quiet insertion.

“Any day now, Candyman,” Sal muttered as he once again stood. He lifted trash from the ground and veered left. The stone lip of the fountain shielded it from the small bed with flowering shrubs. He eyed the brick blocking it from the path. Traced it. Saw that one pushed up higher than the others. Quickly, he scanned the others to make sure this was the one.

“Eyes on target. Candyman—”

Shouts erupted. A small crack.

Bin in hand, Sal moved swiftly toward the shrub, his chin tucked but his gaze out, using his periphery to guide him to the bricked wall that was no more than a foot high. He knelt. Plucked a few leaves from the shrub. Let his arm lower to the brick as he watched a commotion inside the lobby. Guards were running. A crowd formed.

Brick scraped his knuckles as he dug his fingers in and pried it free. A guard floated toward the windows. Sal hurried, praying the guard wasn’t focusing on him. They didn’t need the attention. Didn’t need more trouble.

“Falcon, you have trouble headed your way,” Eagle voiced through the coms.

“I see him,” Sal said, lowering his head slightly and reaching with his other hand to collect some trash. His fingers dug through the arid soil. Pushing. Prodding. Where was it?

“He’s outside,” Eagle said.

Sal gritted his teeth. Crammed his hand into the spot. Felt the rough edges of something. “Distract him,” Sal hissed into his coms as he pushed harder. His fingers closed around the corner of the package. He tugged it free. Angled his shoulder to cover dropping the book into the bucket.

“You!”

Sal stood and turned his back. Started walking. Some sixth sense told him to hide the package. He lifted it from the bucket and tucked it into his jumpsuit.

A hand caught his shoulder turned him. “What are you doing?”

With a gasp, he leapt back and dropped the bucket, feigning shock. He let out a gargled cry as the dirt and flower bed litter danced over the clean plaza.

Gunfire cracked the relative quiet—another diversion by his Raptor teammates. A contingency for exactly what had just happened.

“Keep moving, Falcon,” Eagle spoke quietly. “Veer around the east side of the building to avoid another guard.”

Sal did as instructed, trusting his team implicitly. As the building’s shadow fell on him, he heard voices. Urgent voices that slowed him. He glanced around a jutting section of the building. And froze.

A triangular indention and trees with waxy flowers almost hid her. But not quite. Cassie. Sal stopped, backtracked a half-dozen steps to hide behind another tree as he monitored the exchange.

Hands slicing the air, the man wasn’t happy. Shoulders tight, he leaned into Cassie. Her brows were knitted and she scowled as she folded her arms over her chest.

He thrust a hand toward the street, as if telling her to leave.

Cassie held up a hand and made a jerking gesture.

An argument. They knew each other. Well enough for her to be at odds with him and still speak her mind. What was she even doing here?

“Falcon, why aren’t you moving?”

Sal shifted back, trying to negotiate a better vantage point by which he could identify or at least see the man’s face. No good. He’d have to be on top of these two to see. “Candyman?”

“Go ahead.”

“You inside?”

“Roger.”

“Can you see the eastern exit?”

“… negative.”

Sal tightened his lips in frustration.

“Falcon, what’s going on?”

These two had history or something. This wasn’t a casual acquaintance. And for her to be here, at Takkar Towers, a place that all this trouble seemed to keep coming back to…

Since he couldn’t see the guy, he’d have to force the two to expose themselves. He’d have to show his hand. Get Cassie to react.

Sal stepped from behind the tree. Too intent on her argument, she didn’t notice him at first, so he took another step. Waited.

Cassie glanced over, and without looking away, she said something to the man.

Come on, turn around. Show your ugly mug
. Why would Cassie be with someone here? Why were the two bent on concealing the man’s identity?

The man navigated around her and entered the building. Sal broke eye contact to trail him, figure out where he was going. But the man immediately turned right, vanishing through another door. Obviously trying to hide his identity.

Sal slid his attention back to Cassie. Gave her a long look.

She said nothing. Simply wrapped her arms around her waist and started for the parking garage just beyond the spot where she’d stood.

“Falcon? You turn to a pillar of salt or something?”

“Pick me up. South side,” he said as he hurried down the sidewalk. He didn’t know what game she was playing, who she was messing around with—
is that what it was? An affair? Wouldn’t be the first time
. But she
would
tell him.

Sal vowed to drag those secrets from her or ruin her permanently.

CHAPTER 18

Kandahar Airfield, Afghanistan
2 April—0840 Hours

D
ean entered the Command building with Zahrah at his side. Dating six months and he couldn’t remember a day without her. Didn’t want to think of a day without her. “Just remember,” he said, motioning for her to walk ahead since the corridor was narrow leading to the cubicles, “you’re mine.”

Zahrah turned, her smile warm and inviting. She wore the hijab still, out of respect for those she worked with and for. “Why? Are you expecting trouble?”

Dean slipped his arm around her waist and tugged her aside. He couldn’t get enough of her. Couldn’t see enough of her. “There are soldiers around here who haven’t seen a pretty woman in ages.” If he could just somehow memorize her features, her smile. He tried. Every chance he had. “Then you show up and they lose their good minds.”

Her hands slid up his arms, sending a rush of heat through his body. “Is that what happens to you when I’m around?”

Dean kissed her, tasting her sweetness. Savoring the beauty she was, inside and out. “Every time.”

Voices drew his attention to the cubicles. There, he spied Sal at his desk, hand over his bearded mouth as he stared at his computer. He looked ticked.

“What’s wrong with Falcon?”

“When isn’t something wrong?” Dean sighed. “C’mon. Let’s see what he’s got.”

They made their way over to him.

Sal punched to his feet. Smiled and nodded at Zahrah. “Double Z, good to see you again.”

“You okay?” Dean asked.

“Sure.” Sal frowned. “Why?”

“You looked like you were ready to take someone’s head off.”

His friend’s expression said “I am,” but Sal shook his head. “Just… trying to figure this out.” He lifted a small brown leather-bound journal. “Here.”

Dean took it. Flipped through it, eyeing the Arabic script, angling so Zahrah could look at it with him. Having her close, safely nearby, gave him a sense of strength he couldn’t understand. Just knew that he liked it. A lot. Liked her a lot. Scratch that. He
loved
her. More than anything else.

She leaned in, her body pressed against his arm as she studied the dirtied pages. Creamy olive complexion. Dark brown eyes. Pert nose. Calm, but fiery demeanor. “Can you read it?”

She scowled, meeting his gaze, and took the book from his hands. “Of course I can.” Turning, she began muttering words in Arabic.

“English, please?” Dean said around a smile.

She arched her dark brow. “In a minute.” That’s when she moved to the printer and tugged a few sheets of paper from it. She lifted a pen from Sal’s desk. “May I?” But Zahrah didn’t wait for an answer.

Dean couldn’t help but notice the way the other soldiers and personnel eyed her. Watched her. Especially that SEAL who had the same fire Hawk had. The one who’d sparred with Hawk. “Schmidt.”

The guy jerked. “Yeah?”

Dean shot him a glare. “Get to work.”

The SEAL grinned.

Yeah. Dean needed to marry her.

“You have a minute?” Sal asked quietly.

Dean hauled his mind back to the moment, away from Zahrah. “Sure.”

Sal moved to a corner and shifted to face him. “I think I might know where our leaks are coming from.”

Now his friend had his undivided attention. Dean planted his hands on his tac belt. “Go on.”

“Mr. Russo,” charged a crisp, clear female voice.

Dean glanced to the side where Lieutenant Walker strode across the room.

The fury emanating off Sal was so thick, Dean was sure he could touch it.

“Excuse me, sir,” Walker said, acknowledging Dean as she turned to Sal. “May I talk to you?” She joined them, her expression as tight as that bun on the back of her head.

“I think you’re already doing that.” His tight words didn’t have the sarcasm normally expected. And his hands were fisted. His lips taut.

“Privately.” Lieutenant Walker swallowed hard. “Please.”

Sal’s nostrils flared before he gave Dean a nod then stalked from the room. When Walker didn’t follow, Dean tilted his head toward her. “You’re losing seconds, Walker.” He bounced his eyebrows in the direction Sal had gone.

She opened her mouth. Shut it. Started forward. Stopped. “H–how do I get through to him?”

Pulled straight by her question, Dean couldn’t stop the laugh that shot out of his trap. “Why would you ask me?”

“You’re his friend. He respects you. Listens to you.”

“Maybe that’s it,” Dean said. “Respect.” But he didn’t dare say any more. This felt like he’d stuck his boots in quicksand. “Excuse me.”

“Make it good or don’t say anything.”

The unusually warm spring had nothing on the heat in Sal’s words or the fire in his eyes. “You should remember that I am your superior officer.”

Sal’s left check twitched.

And instantly Cassie regretted her words. She glanced away. “Look, I’m sorry. You don’t make having a conversation easy.”

“So it’s my fault.”

“Why does there need to be any blame? I want to talk to you.”

“Then talk.”

She used to love this about him—his intense, direct nature. But not tonight. Not anymore. Not when it had so much venom. “Will you ever—?