Code Name: Ghost Page 2

  “You can do this, Anna.”

  ♦

  Bypassing the second floor where my office is, I move up to the communal kitchen on the fourth. That’s where the best coffee is, and there are usually pastries someone brings in.

  I’ve been working at Jameson Force Security for only a few months. This was Jimmy’s gig originally, and I was just the wife. His former experience as an Army ranger made him a prime candidate as one of their mission specialists for the private contracting work they were hired for. He was killed on a job the company was hired for by our own government—to go into Syria and rescue some aid workers who were taken hostage.

  My role is far less glamorous, but one I’m cut out for. I was in administrative services during my enlistment with the Army, which translated well into becoming the owner’s secretary. Kynan McGrath and his wife Joslyn were so supportive after Jimmy died. They were constantly reaching out to me, checking on me, and making assurances they would help to take care of my daughter and me forever.

  That’s not something I actually wanted, but Kynan didn’t hesitate to agree when I asked for a job. I needed something that made me feel worthy. Strangely, going to work for the company in whose service my husband was killed was exactly what I needed.

  Jameson is an interesting company. It was started in Vegas by Kynan’s best friend, Jerico Jameson. He sold out to Kynan a few years back. Kynan moved the headquarters to Pittsburgh, wanting to be on the East Coast and closer to his government contacts in D.C.

  The company handles a wide variety of security services. We have crack teams that can do something as simple as in-home installations of high-level alarm systems to mission groups that covertly go into hostile countries to rescue people. We do a surprising amount of that kind of work because our government’s metaphorical hands are often tied as to where they can send our troops. In those instances when they need something done—and it has to be black-ops and off the books—they will hire a private security firm. It’s with a moderate amount of pride they most often turn to Jameson.

  My mom doesn’t understand how I can work for the company that got Jimmy killed. I’ve tried to explain it to her, but she’ll never get it. Jimmy wasn’t able to complete his mission. He gave up his life for something extremely important—saving innocents. If there is any way I can help this company achieve their directives, I feel like I’m helping Jimmy accomplish his.

  Moreover, Jimmy wasn’t the only one who was lost. His teammate, Sal Mezzina, was also killed. Perhaps even worse, their other teammate, Malik Fournier, was captured and held as a prisoner for months.

  Malik has been rescued, though—just over two weeks ago—and I’m not sure I can explain what a burden that knowledge has lifted from my shoulders.

  For some reason, I became heavily invested in the search for Malik. For months, Jameson put forth hundreds of thousands of dollars into covert trips into Syria. We paid off informants, went against our government’s express wishes to stay out of any rescue attempts, and scoured the country for him. It was only after Kynan offered a million-dollar reward for credible information as to Malik’s whereabouts—dead or alive—that we got solid evidence of his imprisonment.

  Kynan made the bold decision to send our own team in, eschewing help—or some might say hindrance—from our government, which has to play by certain rules—and rescued Malik from his captors.

  The news made me happier than I can remember being in a long time. I truly felt Jimmy and Sal had guiding hands in our team successfully bringing Malik home.

  Malik’s been in Montreal for the last two weeks, recuperating at his family’s home. He enjoys dual citizenship between the United States and Canada with his mother being an American and his father a French-Canadian. I expect anyone in his position would want to be home for a while after what he’s endured. Kynan says he’ll be coming back to work soon, and I can’t wait to lay eyes on him. I need to assure myself that miracles can occur, and perhaps Jimmy’s death wasn’t all in vain.

  True to my expectations, there’s a box of donuts on the counter of the large kitchen that bleeds into a living area. This floor of the Jameson building holds a handful of personal apartments, which some of the single guys live in, the kitchen where we have large team meals and get-togethers, and a plush living area complete with comfy couches, recliners, and a big-screen TV. I’ve heard Kynan throws a hell of a Super Bowl party here.

  Glancing at my watch, I see I have another fifteen minutes before I need to be downstairs for my morning meeting with Kynan, where we’ll go over his schedule and my duties for the day. I make myself a cup of coffee, nab a maple donut, and sit at the kitchen island, surfing my phone. There are already three texted pictures of Avery from my mom, and I examine them with a grin for a few moments while I nibble at my donut.

  The refurbished freight elevator arrives on the fourth floor, and the gate slides open. I don’t even bother glancing up from my phone, figuring it’s Kynan coming up for a donut and some coffee.

  “Hey, Kynan,” I say as I flip back to the first photograph of Avery blowing a little spit bubble. “Check this out.”

  I lift my head, turn the phone to hold it outward, and gape in shock at the man who just came off the elevator. He’s carrying a large military duffel over his shoulder.

  Malik Fournier.

  We’d only met once before—the night before he and the team left on their mission—but the changes between that man and the one standing before me now are significant.

  Malik was a big man, and he’s still incredibly tall. But he was brawny when I’d met him before. Packed solid with muscle he’d appeared to know how to use. The man before me is much thinner, although I imagine he’s gained some weight back over the last almost two weeks he’s been at his parents. His cheeks are slightly sunken in, and his eyes have dark circles under them. Perhaps it takes longer than two weeks to catch up on the sleep he surely missed while being held prisoner.

  I know it was bad for him there since I had asked Cage to give me all the gory details when he returned to Pittsburgh after the rescue. He’d balked at first, but he’d finally caved. That’s because Cage has become an incredibly close friend over the last several months, and he knows more than anyone how much I’ve tied this rescue of Malik to the final peace I need to move past Jimmy’s death.

  Cage had told me all the details. After he’d finished, I’d wished he hadn’t. I just can’t imagine how anyone survived that type of experience.

  And yet… seeing him standing before me now—not back to normal but still so very strong in his own right for surviving captivity—and it affects me the way I knew it would.

  It’s a balm to my soul, knowing what an absolute miracle he is to have survived. While it doesn’t make Jimmy’s death any easier to accept, it definitely replaces a portion of my grief with a genuine happiness that Malik has overcome practically the impossible.

  We stare at each other for a long moment, then Malik’s gaze drops to my phone. “Cute kid.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Malik

  Of course she’s a cute kid. She’s a product of Jimmy and Anna, and they were an extraordinarily good-looking couple. I’d only met Anna once before the mission, and that was at a Jameson get-together for drinks the night before we flew out. I’d been working and training with Jimmy for almost a month, but I’d never met his wife before that night.

  I know all about the little girl facing me on the screen of Anna’s phone. From the moment I’d been rescued by my Jameson teammates, I couldn’t stop asking questions about everything. I made Cage recount to me in painstaking detail everything he knew about Jimmy and Sal’s deaths so I could compare it to my own recollection. How they died and how their bodies were recovered. Sal bled out from a bullet wound to his femoral artery while Jimmy died from a shot to the neck.

  The guilt for those two deaths is crushing to me, and there’s nothing I can do to assuage it. Perhaps that’s why I’m overly curious about Anna and her baby, Avery. How does a woman survive losing her husband and bearing his baby all within a matter of weeks? As I stand before her right now, seeing an easygoing, welcoming smile on her face, I have to think it might be somewhat of an act.

  It makes it a bit awkward for me.

  Over the last two weeks, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. At first, I was mostly resting. Then a hell of a lot of eating, trying to nourish my body. Spending time at home with my parents in Montreal was exactly what I needed as I come from an incredibly close-knit family that knows me inside and out. There was no hovering or overcompensating. I can’t even imagine the pain and grief my parents and siblings have been through, but they didn’t fuss over me as they knew I would have hated it.

  My siblings came in at separate times to check in on me. Max and Lucas both play professional hockey, so they snuck in for a visit when they played Ottawa. My sister Simone and her husband Van—a retired hockey player for the Cold Fury—came in for an entire week, but, like my brothers, they weren’t in my face bemoaning the fact I’d been a prisoner in the Middle East for five months. Van and I played a lot of Xbox together, and Simone cooked all of my favorite foods. My parents stared at me a lot, but I couldn’t really blame them. I’m sure they’re having as hard a time as I am believing I was actually rescued.

  But then, it was time to return to Pittsburgh.

  To my job.

  It was the only time my parents got vocal, expressing their concerns. While they hedged it in terms of “maybe you should stay and rest some more,” I know they’re scared I’m going to go back out on a dangerous mission and die.

  I totally get it, but they also know one thing about me. I never run from fears, and I don’t hide from “what if’s”. I confront things head-on, and the only way I know how to put Syria behind me is to put Pittsburgh and my job right in front of me.

  I made a slight detour though, flying to New York to visit Sal’s family. He wasn’t married and didn’t have kids, so it was a somber visit with his aging parents who were incredibly stoic about his death. They were quite surprised to see me on their doorstep, but they welcomed me in. We spent an afternoon talking about Sal. I didn’t know him all that well, but I would have given my life for him. They never asked me what happened the night he died and I was taken prisoner, which is a good thing. I haven’t been debriefed yet, and I wouldn’t have been able to give them any details. I’m glad I didn’t have to tell them it was my fault he died along with Jimmy.

  And as I stare at the picture of Jimmy’s daughter, Avery, I wonder if there will come a time in her life where she’ll know my role in her father’s death. Anna may or may not choose to tell her the details, and I have no clue exactly what Anna knows yet. She’s a little bit different seeing as how she works here and would presumably be privy to some details.

  Regardless, until I get my official debrief with Kynan, I can’t tell her what I did or didn’t do out there in the desert. I can only hold my grief and guilt in tight for now.

  My gaze lifts from the photo of Avery to Anna. She’s an incredibly lovely woman with golden hair and unusual blue-gray eyes that seem to change depending on the lighting. In the bar the night we all had drinks, I thought they were a dark cornflower color, but under the fluorescent kitchen lights, they seem almost silvery with a hint of sky blue.

  “So… you work here now, huh?” I ask, which is about as lame a greeting as there could ever be. I know she works here because I asked Cage about her, needing to reassure myself that I hadn’t destroyed her when I let her husband die.

  “Yeah,” she says with a light laugh, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear and setting her phone down. Her expression turns a bit sad, and she drops her gaze for a moment. “I just had to be a part of all this after…”

  Her words hang heavy in the air, and a knot forms at the base of my throat.

  “I bet that sounds silly, huh?” she replies, eyes coming back to me with an attempt at an easy smile.

  “Not at all,” I reassure her, then figure this is as good a time as any to say the most important thing that needs to be said. I give a cough to clear my throat. “Um… listen… I’m really sorry about Jimmy. I can’t imagine how hard it’s been on you.”

  I brace, thinking tears might be coming, but I’m surprised when her expression softens, her fingers playing along the edge of her phone as she averts her eyes. “It’s been tough on you, too. I’m really happy you’re back. It sort of makes all of this a little more…”

  Again, her words trail off as if she’s not quite sure what any of this means. I know the feeling…the loss of direction and wondering what the hell fate was thinking when it cooked up these circumstances.

  After what seems like an eternity, she lifts her head and meets my gaze again. I don’t know this woman at all, yet, because of what happened in the desert, she and I have a thread tying us together. It seems like a monumental moment, and I have no clue how to acknowledge that.

  Instead of saying something vague or trying to redirect the conversation into safer territory, I have a moment of brutal candor. “It’s hard to talk to you.”

  Anna blinks in surprise before she frowns.

  I shake my head, holding a hand up to explain. “It’s just… I’m alive and Jimmy’s not. I hope you know that given the chance to do any of it over again, I would have traded places with Jimmy in a heartbeat.”

  Straightening, Anna regards me with alarm. “I’d never ask that of you. Or anyone for that matter. And you can’t be thinking like that. Be grateful you’re alive. You have to celebrate that, Malik. I know I do.”

  Yeah… that’s easier said than done. Poor Anna, who’s struggling with the death of her husband and raising a baby on her own, won’t ever understand how I’ll never be able to get past Jimmy’s death.

  Managing to pull off a smile acknowledging her words, I punctuate it with a dip of my head, hoping it’s enough to put her off the scent of grief and guilt.

  I nod down the hallway past the kitchen to where the individual apartments are located. “I’m going to be staying in one of the apartments for a while. Kynan just gave me the key, so I thought I’d get settled in.”

  There’s a bit of finality in my tone, indicating the conversation is over. Nodding, Anna grabs her coffee. “Yeah… sure. I didn’t mean to hold you up, and I have to get down to work. Demanding boss and all.”

  I watch as Anna grabs her purse, another donut, and her cup of coffee. Another smile, to which I lift my chin, and she’s gone.

  And weirdly, even as difficult as it was to talk to her, it was the most honest conversation I’ve had since my rescue. A part of me wants more.

  ♦

  Getting settled in my new apartment took all of five minutes. I’d only had to dump my clothes in the drawers and poke around the kitchen cabinets to see how well supplied it was. When I first came to Pittsburgh to start at Jameson, I had not had time to find permanent lodging. I was sleeping on an old Marine buddy’s couch who lived on the outskirts of the city. And then I was chosen to go directly to Syria for the hostage rescue attempt. It didn’t seem like a fast transition to me, having left 2nd Recon in the Marines to rescue an ex-fil in the Middle East. To be honest, it seemed like old hat to me.

  Now I have no clue what the future holds, but for the immediate time being, it’s Jameson, which makes this offer of an apartment nice and handy. I could have stayed with the same buddy as before, but honestly… I kind of want some privacy and alone time.

  Regardless, I’m here to get back on that metaphorical horse and be a valued asset to this company. It’s essential I succeed here because all I’ve had so far is failure, which says way too much about me that’s hard to accept.

  A knock on my door startles me, mostly because I’ve been living in a hole in the ground for five months. The concept of closed doors and boundaries is a bit foreign.

  I move through the small living room to unlock the door, swinging it open. Kynan stands there. I silently invite him in by moving away from the threshold.

  “You settled in okay?” he asks as he enters.

  “All settled and ready to rock and roll,” I reply, shutting the door and twisting the lock. That’s not habit in any form, but caution. Or maybe it’s just pure love of the fact I have an actual door that locks.

  Kynan goes directly to my couch and sits, nodding toward a chair that is set perpendicular to it. The apartment is small but lushly appointed. The furniture is high end, there’s crown molding in every room, and the appliances are top of the line. It’s the nicest place I’ve ever lived on my own.

  I take a seat, only perching my ass on the end and folding my hands before me, elbows to my knees. Expectantly, I look at Kynan.

  “We’re going to debrief at 0800 tomorrow,” he says bluntly.

  I nod, maintaining eye contact. Last thing I want to do is to go through what happened, but it’s an essential part to every mission. It’s where we learn from our mistakes, officially document what happened, and bury those things that can’t be publicly known even to the government that hired us.

  “Not a problem,” I say. “I’ll be able to get my written report done pretty soon after that.”

  Kynan nods in return, rubbing his hand thoughtfully along his jaw as he studies me. Finally, he says, “I’m going to have Corinne sit in on it.”

  My jaw tightens slightly. “That’s not standard protocol.”

  “Maybe not in the military sector, but it is in my own private company,” he replies without any give to his tone.

  Fuck.

  Corinne Ellery is Jameson’s resident psychiatrist. I had to interview with her and do some personality testing before I was offered a job here. I’m not stupid… I know he wants her there to evaluate how I’m dealing with my captivity.

  “On top of that…” Kynan continues, and I can tell there’s more coming that I won’t like. “For the foreseeable future, you’re going to undergo counseling with Corinne. Until such a time she feels you’re ready to go back into active duty, you’ll ride a desk.”