Rogan (Men of Siege Book 1) Read online

Ruger nodded and returned to his seat.

  The girl's footsteps approached ten minutes later. She'd washed her face, revealing lightly freckled pale skin. She'd worked her hair into a loose braid that hung five inches past her waist. She looked down as she slumped back into her seat and pulled her blanket up under her chin.

  "Better?" I asked her as she buckled in.

  "Yes."

  She swiped a loose strand of hair off her forehead. Her eyes held the vacant stare I'd seen many times on shell-shocked prisoners we'd rescued and released. Most of them had been men. None had delicate features like this girl. The last woman we'd extracted had been Eden…

  I handed her a protein bar. "Eat slowly."

  She took the bar and nibbled at it, finishing it fifteen minutes later.

  "The food staying down?"

  "Mmm-hmm."

  "Leaving Afghan airspace," the pilot called over the speakers.

  The tension in the cabin dropped as we all began the familiar transition into post-action mode. Six hours into the flight, the plane's engines buzzed beneath us as the girl rested her head against the back of her seat and peered out the window into darkness.

  "What's your name?" I asked her in a calm, non-threatening tone.

  She pursed her lips.

  "Need your name so I can find out who might be looking for you."

  "Vanity," she said in a scratchy, small voice.

  "Pardon?"

  "Vanity."

  "Alright."

  I booted my laptop and pulled up the CIA database.

  "Last name?"

  "Barebones."

  "Vanity Barebones?"

  The named seemed odd, but the database pulled up three deceased Vanity Barebones in Utah. Two alive in Idaho. One Vanity Barebones in Caldwell, age twenty-three.

  "Caldwell, Idaho?"

  She nodded.

  I searched the latest news from Caldwell to see if she'd made the papers.

  Caldwell residents protest the rapid growth of the polygamous Brotherhood of God fundamentalist church.

  The break-off sect established in Idaho ten years ago after the Utah-based church was broken up by scandal.

  Ervil Jeters, the church's former leader, is currently serving life plus twenty for child rape and molestation. Key evidence included DNA proving Jeters fathered children with three juveniles. Jeters maintains control of the church from prison and asserts the end of the world is upon us.

  "You said you were there with your church?"

  "Yes."

  "A missionary?"

  "Humanitarian aid."

  Fuck, those idiots thought sending her could help?

  "How'd you get captured?"

  "In Pakistan, outside a street market in Karachi. Three men grabbed me and shoved me into a van."

  "I found you in Afghanistan. Kabul."

  "Oh."

  "Did your kidnappers contact your family?"

  "Yes."

  "And?"

  "My father said he wouldn't pay the money they wanted."

  "He call the police? Washington?"

  "No."

  "What's your father's name?"

  She answered me with a stubborn shake of her head.

  "Alright." If she wasn't sharing, I'd find out myself.

  The database listed Jebediah Barebones as her father. Two Jeb Barebones resided in Caldwell. I turned the screen to her and showed her my image search results.

  "See him here?"

  She peeked over and her eyes widened. Her shaking finger pointed to a picture of a white-haired man in a field. His tall, lanky frame towered over thirty or more women and a shitload of children gathered in rows in front of him. Their old-fashioned dresses and weird hairdos made it look like a scene from a time long past, but the photo date said nine years ago. None of the women smiled. Several of them held their hands below bellies swollen with unborn children.

  A beautiful blonde child stood directly in front of her father. She wore the same clothes as the others, and her hair was styled the same, but she had a shimmering golden braid over her shoulder. She stood out as the prettiest of the group. Her dazed eyes and vacant expression looked a lot like the one I'd seen on the girl sitting next to me.

  "Your dad could've called the government without telling you."

  "No. He wouldn't want anyone in his business."

  Takoda stood and sniffed Vanity's knee. Vanity's cheeks rounded, and a hint of blue shone in her eyes as they lightened with the grin she offered Takoda.

  "Hey there. Is this your dog?"

  "Yes, Takoda."

  "Hi, Takoda. Nice to meet you."

  Vanity placed her frail hand on Takoda's scruffy head and gave her a rub. "Boy or girl?"

  "Girl."

  "She's a friendly one."

  Takoda nudged Vanity's hand, urging her to continue giving the love. "Are you a brave girl? You rescue people with these big guys? What a hero you are!"

  Takoda wagged her tail and gazed into Vanity's eyes. My faithful dog just abandoned me for this girl.

  I deepened my search into the shit going on in Caldwell.

  The Brotherhood settles in economically vulnerable communities, creating competition for already scarce jobs, and takes control of local commerce.

  The pictures churned my stomach. Before Jeters went to prison, he'd accumulated seventy-three wives and hundreds of children.

  From the FBI classified files: Brotherhood of God Church, Caldwell, Idaho: Ongoing investigation for allegations of human trafficking across state lines, rape, and WIC fraud. On hold until undercover agents penetrate the compound.

  Nothing about a hostage. Doesn't mean they don't know about her, but a promising sign.

  Falcon glanced at me as I approached him at the back of the plane. "What?"

  The seat next to him creaked as I sat down. "What are the chances this was a set-up?"

  "A set-up how?"

  "The CIA could've fed me bogus intel about Jericho's location knowing I'd get her out and kill Zulu."

  "Improbable. Too many variables. We saw Jericho there three times during surveillance. Unfortunate he wasn't there tonight, but not a set-up."

  "You're probably right."

  "Is the girl in the database as a hostage?" Falcon's gaze flicked to where Vanity slept in her seat.

  "Nope. She's off radar."

  "Good. Less mess."

  "Yep. We should be able to put her on a plane and send her home. Never happened. I gotta run it by Brightman to get clearance, but I think she'll go for it."

  "You find out where she's from?"

  "Idaho. Some fucked up fundamentalist sect."

  "No shit?"

  "She says she was in Karachi as a missionary. Jericho must've captured her there and taken her to Kabul Province where we found her."

  "Huh." Falcon scratched his head. "Is it safe to send her back to Idaho?"

  "Don't know. We can't get involved. Too risky." I pressed my hand to his shoulder. "I wanna go back for Jericho. I think Brightman will back it."

  "Fuck. We're still on the plane home, man." He swiped his hand from his forehead to his chin.

  "Operation Devil's Gate is not complete till the coward who raped and killed my wife feels the wrath of my rifle."

  "How the hell are you gonna find him? Jericho has already caught wind of the raid and crawled under a rock."

  I held up the flash drive I'd snagged from a computer during the raid.

  Falcon's eyes lit up, and he grinned his crazy-serial-killer smile as he pulled three cell phones from the pocket of his pants.

  "That's how it's done, bro. You in?"

  "You know it."

  I slapped him on the shoulder and headed to the back of the plane to ask the other guys.

  "Hey. I want to go back for Jericho as soon as possible. The longer we wait, the harder he'll be to find. You up for it?"

  Diesel spoke first. "I got a wedding in two weeks plus a honeymoon where I won't be thinking about any missions except nai
lin' my wife and burying my toes in the good kind of sand. After that, sure, I'm game to finish the job."

  Blaze, Oz, and Ruger all tipped their chins.

  "That's how Alpha Squadron rolls. All in or nothing," Blaze said.

  "Appreciate it, my brothers. I'll be in contact."

  ***

  We split up as soon as our feet hit the tarmac at Boston Executive Airport. No big goodbyes. Just a nod from Falcon as he left for his connecting flight to North Carolina. Ruger and Oz casually headed to their flight to Virginia. Blaze and Diesel waited for me by the doors to the terminal. We'd done this plenty of times and knew it was best not to draw any attention.

  I handed Vanity a boarding pass and five hundred in cash. "You'll board a plane to Boise in an hour. Use the money to get home. Tell your family you escaped on your own from the terrorists. The U.S. military got you a flight home. You don't know who arranged it or what they looked like."

  She took the pass and the cash from me and nodded.

  I pointed to the gate she'd need for her flight. "Go wait in the chairs in front of that gate."

  She turned slowly toward the gate.

  "Goodbye," I said to her.

  "Bye," she answered. "Thank you."

  Thank you she said in her sweet, innocent voice. Thanking me for what? Sending her off on a flight to Idaho to a father who kept wives as prizes, to a commune where children were forced to marry and have kids with old men? All this after whatever hell she'd endured as a hostage?

  "Wait." My voice cracked. "Wait," I said louder.

  She paused but didn't turn around.

  "You ever consider not going home?"

  Her mouth dropped open as her gaze met mine. Yes, definitely blue eyes—a striking cobalt blue offset by her fair skin.

  "What? I have to go back."

  "You're an adult. You don't have to do anything you don't want."

  She shook her head and stared at her feet.

  "Your daddy a preacher?"

  "Yes."

  "He treat you well?"

  "Why?"

  "Just wondering what kind of father sends his pretty young daughter to a war zone then won't even make the call to Washington to save her."

  She fiddled with loose strands in her braid. "My father has pressures on him."

  "Like what? Keeping up with all his wives?"

  Her head snapped up.

  "You haven't thought of leaving?"

  She bit her lip, wetness shimmering in her eyes. Oh yeah, she'd thought of it and she wanted it.

  "You don't have to go back."

  "But... my family. They expect me to—"

  "As far as they know, you're still being held for ransom. You gonna tell me you don't wanna get away from that shit?"

  "No. I do. I mean I dream of leaving."

  Like I thought. She wanted out.

  "But where would I go?"

  "Is there someone back home who could help you?"

  "No."

  "Then stay here, in Boston."

  "I don't have any money. No ID. Nothing."

  As I stared into her vulnerable eyes, a conviction stronger than any vow staked its claim in my soul.

  Vanity Barebones would never return to Caldwell.

  "I'll take care of that."

  "You'll take care—"

  "I'll help you get settled somewhere. Make sure you're safe from your father."

  "I don't even know you."

  I lowered my head and pinned her with my gaze. "I'm offerin' you a way out. Be smart and take it."

  "Why would you do this?"

  I gave her an honest answer. "I don't know." Why the hell would I take on a complication like her? Maybe Blaze was right. I was trying to satisfy the unquenchable need to rescue Eden. Maybe if I saved this girl, Eden's death would be vindicated. Of course it wouldn't. She wasn't Eden. Just another poor girl who found herself in a similar predicament. But since the situation stood before me, I had a choice to make. Instinct overrode all logic. I couldn't leave her here any more than I could leave Takoda. I'd get her on her feet somewhere. Then I'd let her go.

  "Who are you?" she whispered.

  Good question. Too late to lie to her, I told her the truth. "Master Sergeant Rogan Saxton, U.S. Army. The offer stands. You wanna start a new life?"

  "Yes," she said with a breathy burst of air. Her face scrunched up, and her lips jutted out as she pressed them together. "Yes. I want a new life."

  The desperation in her voice and the tear trickling down her cheek confirmed my suspicions about how bad things would be for her if she went home. My hands shook with an urge to wrap an arm around her back, but that wouldn't fly at the airport with Diesel and Blaze three yards away, pretending not to watch.

  I grabbed my gear and walked to the guys. "It's not safe for her to go back to Idaho. She'll stay with me till she gets on her feet."

  "You're taking her on?" Diesel asked. "She's a complete unknown."

  "It's temporary. She doesn't know anything about the unit or our mission. Dallas Monroe will help her, and then we go back for Jericho. But if we send her back to her parents, she'll be worse off than she was in Kabul."

  They scrutinized Vanity with skeptical eyes. The fragile smile that grew on her lips must have affected them too because they grinned back at her and relaxed their tensed shoulders.

  I waved my hand for her to follow us. She took three hesitant steps toward us and paused.

  "Let's go then. I'm hungry as hell and need some American welcome home food." Blaze lifted his gear and walked to the terminal exit.

  She bit her lip, her gaze darting around the space.

  Come on, Vanity. You can do it.

  An unseen force pulled her spine straight, and she strode toward me.

  Pride surged through me as if she were mine. With her hair and clothes a disheveled mess, her body skinny and tired, the beauty of her courage struck me dumb.

  When she reached me, I tilted my chin and bent low so only she could hear. "Well done."

  Chapter 3

  Vanity

  Sergeant Saxton opened the door to an apartment marked 2B. A high-pitched beeping stabbed my ears. He pressed something on the wall inside the door, and one long tone silenced the noise. He lowered his luggage to the floor and swept a hand into the room. "Come in."

  I clutched the bag of toiletries he'd bought me on the trip from the airport and peeked down the narrow corridor. The other two men with us had entered a different apartment. He'd have me alone in there. He could hurt me if he wanted to, but his calm and confident demeanor didn't raise any warning flags for me. As I'd done at the airport, I trusted the strong sense of security I felt from him and stepped through the doorway.

  "Have a seat." He pointed to a black leather couch, the only furniture in the room except for a wooden coffee table. The cushion squeaked as I sat on the edge with my new bag of belongings in my lap.

  He bent his knees and crouched down to my eye level. "Shower and change. Bathroom's there." He pointed with his thumb to a door to his left.

  "Thank you, uh... What should I call you?"

  His forehead scrunched. "Rogan. Call me Rogan."

  "The guy on the plane called you Boggs."

  "My men call me Boggs."

  "Oh."

  "Go ahead."

  I checked the bathroom lock twice before peeling off my putrid clothes and stepping into my first warm shower in nearly three months. My skin turned red from all the scrubbing, but I had to get every particle of the powdery desert sand off my body. After four shampoo rinses, the grease finally came clean from my hair.

  Alone for the first time in months, the terror of it all poured out of me in wet streams. Why had God been so cruel to me? Freeing me from my father's grasp only to toss me into the hands of terrorists. Was he punishing me for rejecting the Brotherhood and planning to escape?

  My mother's voice echoed in my head.

  I'm sorry I didn't see this sooner. Get out as soon as you can. Do not k
eep sweet. Keep strong. Make sure they are safe. Fight till you find joy.

  With a fortifying breath, I stemmed my sobs and straightened my shoulders. I'd been rescued, and for the moment, I was safe here in this stranger's apartment. A chance at freedom hovered within my grasp and crying wouldn't do me any good. My hollow eyes and stick-thin figure peered at me through the mirror. In my mother's dying words, I found my courage. The time had come to keep strong, and I would do it for her.

  I braided my wet hair and dressed in the white cotton underwear and sports bra Rogan had purchased for me. The tears threatened again as I slipped into a heather-gray T-shirt and matching sweatpants. After weeks suffocating in my dress, the cool fabric caressed my skin like silk. Never again would I take for granted the simple pleasure of clean clothes.

  In the living room, Rogan waited for me with his hip propped against the back of the couch. He scrutinized me in the clothes, his gaze stopping on the braid over my shoulder. "Drink those to gain your strength." He pointed to a six-pack of vanilla Ensure and two bottles of green Gatorade on the coffee table.

  I sat on the couch and twisted the cap off a vanilla Ensure. My first sip tasted overly sweet after only drinking water and tea for the past ten weeks, but the second and third sip went down easier.

  Takoda trotted up and sniffed my knee. A greasy residue remained on my hand after petting her. "Hey, girl. You need a bath too."

  Rogan watched our interaction with a scowl, like Takoda shouldn't have approached me.

  "Is she a German Shepherd?"

  "Belgian Malinois."

  "Isn't it dangerous for her out there in Afghanistan?"

  His eyebrows rose and mashed together. "Yes, it's dangerous. That's why you never shoulda been there."

  He peeled off his jacket and dropped it on his pile of bags next to the door. His sweat stained T-shirt stretched tight over his muscular chest and arms.

  "When shit gets hairy downrange, the best weapon to have at your side is a trained working dog at the top of her game."

  I couldn't pull my gaze from the tattoo on his massive bicep. Two perpendicular stark black lines, one disappearing under the sleeve of his olive-green T-shirt. It looked like a letter.

  "Her senses are off the charts—better than any human." He sat on the floor and unthreaded the laces to his boots with mechanical efficiency. "She wouldn't hesitate to throw herself on an IED for me." He aligned his boots next to the door and stood to his full height. A chain around his neck trailed inside the shirt, ending at a bump in the fabric between his pecs.