Halfway Between, Page 2

  Eleven dirty bombs,

  Ten death threats,

  Nine tours of duty,

  Eight drones a flying,

  Seven rescue missions,

  Six ghosts appearing,

  Five grenade pins,

  Four 9mm,

  Three Black Hawks,

  Two cartridge shells,

  And a dead terrorist killed by Team TEN.

  Oh yeah, that should be sung by young and old in the spirit of the holiday. Well maybe not young, they would sound a little blood thirsty, and the normal parents would never allow it, but hey, a man could dream.

  Drake opened one eye and looked around the jet plane and saw his friend’s—dead and alive, all quietly sitting absorbed in their thoughts. Vince was playing with the television trying to find something entertaining like Green Zone or TAPS, to watch.

  Drake went back to his thoughts, they were of the man he was trying to save, whose brother was killed in action—and Drake's best friend. So much had gone down since they had gotten released from duty. Even though they were retired, somehow a crazy psycho had found out who they were, along with who their family members were. Now they were in a fight for their life, trying to save their loved ones who never imagined they would have to go into hiding because of them. It sucked.

  Now Joel was MIA, an FBI Agent who should never be off the radar for this long. This had Drake worried. What if he was too late? He would never forgive himself for not pulling Joel to the ranch when he had the chance. He had already let his best friend die, what the hell else could he possibly fuck up. Not this, Drake refused to let Joel down. No matter the worry in the back of his mind, he had to think that Joel was still alive or like Marie, he would have shown up to haunt Drake’s ass as she had done Gage.

  The last mission that had been just him and "Frogman" had been intense. They had been tasked to take out a boat as it arrived to dock in the Middle East. As Drake began to think of the mission, he felt a hand on his shoulder, not quite ready to acknowledge it was his turn, he knew it was Brian sharing the memory with him.

  “Dude, I hate the fucking docks, they smell like fish, and something else I don’t want to know. I think somehow all the pee and stuff in the ocean has settled right here,” Lobo complained.

  “Really? You had to go there?” Frogman groaned. “Man, I don't think about that shit when I am in the water, and then when you say it, I am so gonna think about it. Asshole.”

  Frog was their waterman. Whenever there was a mission involving water or water rescue, they called him. Of course, the others were perfectly trained for this as well. But Frog—he was the best in the water. He was the anchor in the boat, they were lucky, with his muscular frame, he could catch them when they had to make a fast escape and were doing a water pickup. He was also their QRF, he could look at a target and tell you exactly what was going down so they could complete their mission. It was kinda creepy, especially with his copper hair and green eyes.

  Drake snorted, they toyed with the idea of calling him "Lucky", as a call sign, for the leprechaun on the cereal, but they had to settle on Lobo because he howled after every mission. He was just as muscular but with almost white hair and gray eyes, making him look menacing. His humor was sarcastic and smart-ass, he was the comedian of the group except when came to missions. He could switch into work mode in a heartbeat, like right now as he saw three men round the corner on the dock, the one they were supposed to be blowing up.

  “Fuck, three civilians,” Lobo said, pulling his teammate back into the shadows.

  “This dock is closed today,” Frog growled.

  “They have aprons on, maybe from the canteen that is on the far end of the dock,” Lobo said.

  “Shit, I thought it was closed, the signs said not open until tomorrow,” Frog said, the restaurant was going to be in the blast zone, there was no way it could be avoided.

  “You got this?” Lobo asked.

  “Yeah, what are you gonna do?” Frog said and looked down at his watch, setting the explosives on the underside of the dock, and then getting out was going to take around fifty minutes. They needed to clear the area before then.

  “What I do best,” Lobo laughed and Frog rolled his eyes. When Lobo said that, it meant he was going to do something crazy.

  “Great,” Frog sighed. “Meet at the extraction point in no less than sixty minutes, and if there is a problem radio. We can’t waste time. The guards are patrolling every two hours. We need to do this and get out before this shit turns nasty.”

  “No problemo, we have a secret weapon,” Lobo laughed.

  “What is that?” Frog said.

  “My magically delicious friend, duh,” Lobo said and rubbed his hand on Frogs head. “Just feeling the gold.”

  Frog shook his head and then looked at the three men who finally stopped and lit a cigarette talking animated.

  “Fuck off,” Frog said, “get busy.”

  Lobo laughed and faded back into the shadows, a small space between buildings that no one really used do to the same fact. Lobo could fit into the tightest space and only use muscles to move, it was a little creepy.

  Frog slid down the wall and waited. His partner would do what he had to do in order to let him slip into the water. Frog smiled at the thought of his best friend. He was entertaining, Frog never thought he would find another friend he could bond with other than of course his brother. Frog and Joel had been through a lot. The death of their parents was devastating, but instead of going wild and loosing focus—together they made themselves into men their parents would be proud of.

  Joel and Lobo were his best friends, there was no one he trusted more than these two men. He knew if he had a problem they would drop what they were doing and be there, that type of friendship had gotten him through some tough times.

  He watched as his partner stumbled out of the shadows toward to three men. Frog strained to hear what the fuck Lobo was saying.

  “Hey man, I have an issue here, cut myself on the metal over here, you guys have a Band-Aid or something?” Lobo asked in a slurred voice as he staggered. Frog looked to where his friend was clutching and he grimaced. Damn idiot, now they were going to have to sew him up if he was seeing it right. Lobo had cut his thigh and was bleeding through his pants, he grimaced when he saw the blood coming through his hand and he noticed the three men were also concerned because they put out their second cigarette and ran to him.

  They spoke in the language of the country, he tried to follow as they spoke rapidly.

  “Sir, we need…over there,” one man said.

  “Medic…on site,” another one said as they helped him to the lane that would take them to the canteen. Frog was glad he could hear at the distance he was located.

  He waited until they were out of sight, and then checked the other direction before pulling off his clothes to reveal the wetsuit he wore underneath. Grabbing the waterproof bag that held the explosives, he put his mask on and slipped silently into the water.

  Damn Lobo for saying that, now he made sure to keep his mouth sealed tight around his air, there was no way he was swallowing this water. It gave him the heebie jeebies even thinking about it. Frog swam quickly to the bottom of the dock, placing the charges in fifty-meter increments to ensure this bitch was going to be gone.

  He looked at his watch, damn it, he needed to move. He hoped that Lobo found a way to get the fuck outta there or he was going to kick his ass…

  Chapter One

  Joel looked into the mirror. He looked like shit. Since he had been on the run with nowhere to go, he had been staying on his snitch’s couch. He lived on the other side of San Diego, his nice empty apartment waited for him, but it was too dangerous to actually go back there.

  From what he could figure out, somehow, the case his higher ups put him on was from a gun trafficking ring. Not a problem, he went to Houston, did his research, then the people he wanted to talk to were killed. So it was going to be all paper trail. Joel stopped off at the Fed Buildi
ng in Houston to get the info, and was there for hours, digging and accessing their files about the couple he was investigating. He walked out the building with files in his hand, and suddenly someone opened fire on him.

  Joel had dropped to the ground but not before a bullet had ripped through his shoulder, he still had the brace and bandages to change. Pissed him off because he had called in for help to his boss, only to discover that someone in the office was dirty. They had not passed on the message; his boss had been stunned to hear he had been shot when he called his home from the hospital. He had wanted to send someone he trusted to bring him in. Joel refused, saying he would be in touch.

  Seriously, at that moment, he thought he would go to his brother's place. Then he remembered, his brother was dead. He had tried to call Drake to see where his new place was in Wyoming but the phone went to voicemail. So he did the only thing he could think of and called the Commander.

  He had been shocked when he found out about all the shit going down. Joel didn’t know where the fuck to go, so he went to the one place no one would look for him. To the snitch he used time after time to get his information on the streets. Carlos ‘Dog’ Alverado had been welcoming. But when Joel had seen the place, he knew there was going to be issues. Shit, he refused to eat anything in the penicillin filled fridge. So he had been forced to use the money he had on hand to send the guy to the diner on the corner. They weren’t fancy but they made good coffee. After a few days, he had actually ventured out to the diner. Now at least he felt safe enough to get out of this hovel.

  He stared at the blurred image in the mirror, the cloudy stain from non-cleaning had made it impossible for him to shave himself. Therefore, he looked like a scruffy serial killer at that moment. Joel shrugged, who cared, he would shave when he was safe.

  Since he had spoken to the Commander, he hadn’t called anyone again. Paranoid that someone there was going to be dirty as well, after reading the reports he knew that they had moles in the FBI, and at the Coronado base. Whoever was involved was mighty powerful. The names he connected was gonna be an ass-puckering moment when they finally came out.

  Two weeks he had waited and now he was out of money. Instead of going to an ATM himself, he sent Dog. Hopefully he wouldn’t empty the account but at this point, beating the shit out of the guy would be a great stress reliever.

  He heard the door open and walked out into the small living room where his snitch had just entered. The apartment was the size of just his living room, and he was beginning to get claustrophobia.

  “You get it?” he said.

  “Fuck ya, told you I would and even got you a receipt so I can prove it, your threats kinda scared the shit out of me. Here,” Carlos said and handed him a small wad of cash wrapped in the receipt. Joel counted it out and handed the guy a couple of hundred dollars.

  “For you, see if you can play nice. Now I gotta go to the diner, I will be back in an hour,” Joel said. “You know the drill.”

  “Yeah, yeah. If you don’t come back in an hour—call the number you gave me—ask for Dallas and tell him what is going on,” Carlos drawled.

  Joel had gotten Alex’s parents number from the dude he was going to meet. The strange little man at the family support. Mr. Grimm, no seriously that was his name, gave it to him this morning when Joel had called in asking for someone to call in case of an emergency if he needed it. They gave that number, Joel saved it in his phone and planned to call later. Mr. Grimm asked to meet him because he needed to explain a situation.

  He had agreed, gave him the diner's name, and was set to meet him in thirty minutes. Joel just wanted to know what the little man had to say. “Kay, I am out of here. Check the clock.”

  “Fine,” Carlos said.

  Joel went down the stairs, he checked before he started into the street, all was clear. He was glad they had actually waited, no one could possibly trace his withdrawal that fast, get to the diner, have his meeting, and get the fuck out. He would lay low and then come out when he was sure no one had traced him.

  He walked briskly to the diner, sat at the same table he had every day since he felt comfortable to come out. The waitress popped her gum and smiled at him.

  “Coffee, honey?” she called out.

  Joel nodded and slid into a booth. He carefully watched the door, he wanted to get this over and done with.

  The waitress came to his table. “Here you go, honey.”

  “Thanks,” he murmured.

  He sipped the coffee and almost groaned aloud, they had great coffee. He sipped the cup and continued to watch the door. Then he saw the uptight, little man walk through the door, and nodded when he caught his eyes.

  “Nother coffee?” his waitress called and he nodded. “Be right there with a refill too.” She laughed.

  If Joel hadn’t been too focused on the meeting and getting out of there, he would have seen the man sitting at the counter, staring at him intently. He sat right by the coffee maker and cups, when his waitress poured the cup for him, and turned around to get the cream, the guy had put something in the full cup. Then sat and waited.

  “Joel,” the man said as he slid into the booth.

  “Hey,” Joel said and pushed his empty cup to the side while the waitress sat his full cup in front of him and then down another cup for the little guy.

  “What’s up?” Joel said after the waitress walked away.

  He felt like he was sweating, maybe it was too hot for his jacket, but Joel wasn’t going to take it off. He looked around and blinked a few times. Then his gaze settled back on Mr. Grimm and he waited.

  “It has come to our attention that you are in a bit of a fix,” Mr. Grimm said.

  “Really? What fix am I in?” Joel said slowly.

  “Certainly you aren’t going to play games here. We get all the reports, you need to come with us. We have a few questions about some missing files,” Mr. Grimm said.

  Joel sat back and narrowed his eyes. He looked out the door and saw the suits that could only be associated with the FBI. Fuck, they had traced him how? There was no way they could have found him.

  “I think you are out of your fucking mind if you think I am going anywhere with you. Give me a time and place I will show up. Until then, fuck off and leave me alone,” Joel said. He even surprised himself with what came out of his mouth. What the hell was wrong with him? His vision was doing weird things.

  “Joel, don’t make matters worse," the little man said and stood.

  He seemed to grow right before his eyes. What the hell was going on? Mr. Grimm had some mad muscles on him. He was going to have to make a run for it.

  He looked around the diner, one way in one way out. Joel had to make his own exit. With what he thought was a fluid motion. He grabbed the stool closest to him and threw it through the window and jumped out. He could feel the cut on his leg but ignored the pain. He felt a few more tears to his skin and took off in the opposite direction of the two suits who stood there stunned.

  He found himself on the next block, no one followed him, which puzzled him but there was no way he could actually stop. He needed to get somewhere new. A hotel or something. People walked around him, staring at him.

  Joel turned and walked to the edge of the street and then stopped—his brother was standing right next to him. What the fuck was going on. Brian was dead.

  “Hey, bro, long time no see,” Brian said. “Grab a cab and go to the base.”

  Chapter Two

  Harper Bret walked into her office and wanted to scream, she had gone through her classes and became a profiler for the San Diego Police Department. Of course, she still had to go through regular police training and right now, she was low person on the totem pole. So when everyone called in sick, and the others out on calls, she had been notified she needed to be in the office to take calls. Harper had been pissed. Instead of being at the huge homicide scene the others were at, she—the actual profiler, was stuck here in the office. All because of the arrogant prick LT who had a h
ard-on for any woman in the Homicide Division. Said they were too emotional to see a dead body.

  Harper wanted to laugh. Really, she had been with the FBI for several years before she changed jobs. They had never seen a ritualistic killing of a child—she had—and it still haunted her. However, break her—never. She was the master of internalization. She put on a front, or as most people said, she channeled her ‘Inner Mistress of a Bitch’ too well sometimes.

  That was her nickname around the department, one she was sure the LT started—the miserable son of a bitch. Ever since Harper started, the muther fucker had been trying to get into her pants. Although she didn’t see it, she apparently was attractive. How shit like that seem to matter when you smelled like a corpse at the end of the day, she didn't know. So she didn’t put on makeup, or do her hair, unless she was going out. Which meant maybe once a month, she had moved to San Diego only six months before, and she had met very few people and since she hung out a bunch of janky-ass pricks, it meant for a lot of lonely dinners.

  She looked around the steel gray room and shook her head, there were a variety of boards that were for the current cases. She frowned as her eyes landed on one she hadn’t seen before—a woman. As she walked closer, she saw her husband had died in the service, and she and her child were alone. Jesus, a child all alone in the world. She looked at the notes, the hit looked professional. Harper wondered how she had missed this coming in. She should have been read in, but once again, she saw the old boys club raising its nasty head.

  Harper walked to her desk and flopped down in her chair, whatever, they would come around, or she would kick their asses. She planned only to give them a few more months before she did it. Harper was working out, getting ready to take one of them down during training. That will make them shut their mouths if she bitch slapped one of them in the training room.

  Harper was five foot four with long red hair, her mother before her death referred to her as her little pixie. She would roll her eyes, but she secretly liked the reference. Her father had been a retired SEAL, she knew exactly what it was like growing up in a home where your father had seen so much it had hardened him. She loved him, and when he died, she had been ripped apart. But she had also seen the effects of PTSD without having to serve.