Being left for dead by his comrades topped the list of bad breaks in the last seven days, but the betrayal by the army itself caught him completely off guard. Since his narrow escape from Iraq into Turkey, he tried not to focus on why this had happened to him and come up with a plan. A pity party wouldn't help anything. He was glad he didn't have a family back home that would have to endure all the rumors, the smearing. Dak lived a fairly solitary life, with only his sister and parents in the Florida Panhandle to consider. He loathed the lies they were being shoveled now, but he couldn't risk contacting them to tell them the truth, to fill them in on how the military they'd all sacrificed to serve was now tarnishing his name and trying to hunt him down like an animal.
No, he couldn't contact his parents, or his sister. Someone would expect that. Did they think he would be that stupid? Probably not. Whatever they thought, he was on his own.
That was why he came to Istanbul.
After he crossed the border, Dak stopped in Tatvan to lie low, get some new clothes, and figure out a plan. His assumptions proved correct when the colonel and his search parties went farther east on their hunt. Dak knew eventually they would recall those troops and resources, and then things would get dicey.
Dodging a bunch of newbies straight out of basic was one thing, but when the colonel had no choice but to call off the search, he would use more covert means to locate the AWOL Harper.
The colonel had a reputation for bending the rules and didn't try too hard to conceal it. He knew enough people to pull some of the best talent in the military for dark ops, missions that no one else could do. It just so happened that it was five of those guys who threw him into this boiling cesspool of a mess.
It could be worse, he thought. At least the coffee is good.
Maybe too good. He felt his bladder expanding and knew he'd soon have to vacate his table and head to the restroom.
"Come on," he breathed. "Where are you?" The need for a caffeinated buzz had turned on him.
The seconds ticked by as if pounded out by some brawny, muscle-bound blacksmith on an anvil. After another four minutes, he was about to surrender to the breaking dam when he noticed a young woman walking purposefully down the opposite sidewalk.
Her gait betrayed a sense of confidence and professional hustle, as is so often the case with people working in the tech industry. The brown satchel hanging from her shoulder dangled wildly as she strode, bobbing up and down with every step. Her carob-colored hair jiggled slightly with the same cadence.
"There you are," Dak said, rising slowly from his seat. He flipped two bills onto the table and set the empty mug on top so they wouldn't fly away in the breeze.
His eyes never left the young woman in the black, loose-fitting blouse and sandy-brown linen pants.
He moved like a panther, stalking its prey through an urban jungle. His shoulders tilted and twisted as he dodged pedestrians walking in both directions. Nearing the crosswalk, the light fortuitously turned red, and he darted across the street amid the flood of people.
The young woman neared the door to her apartment. As far as he could tell, she hadn't detected his presence.
She ascended the steps to the building and stopped at the brightly painted red door. Dak slithered through the oncoming foot traffic, covering ground faster now. The target slid her key into the door and he let go of caution, bumping and nudging past people, leaving angry scowls and profanity he didn't understand in his wake.
The woman entered the building and the door slowly swung behind her, catching on the pneumatic cylinder overhead to slow its speed and prevent it from slamming shut.
Dak flew up the short staircase and caught the edge of the door before it closed.
He breathed heavily for two seconds before shoving the heavy door open. When he did, a surprise awaited him.
The woman stood steadfast with one hand on her hip and the other holding a Glock with a brushed metal slide atop the grip.
Dak sighed and shook his head.
"How did you know I was here?" he asked, unmoving.
"Normally, when someone has a gun pointed at them, they raise their hands."
"Well, this isn't normal. Or maybe it is for you. It's been a while."
She inclined her head. "Yes, it has, Dak. What, two years now?"
Dak stared at the woman he'd loved; it was the best four years of his life. Even with a gun in her hand, and definitely chambered, her stunning beauty shook him, just as it always had.
"That wasn't my call, Nicky," he said.
"You think it was mine?"
"You know I don't."
"Actually, I don't know that, Dak. I don't know why you left. I don't know why you're here now, but what I do know, is that wherever you go, trouble follows. And trouble isn't something I need right now." Her voice quivered in the way only a conflicted heart could.
When Dak left to join the military, she begged him not to, told him she could support them both. He wasn't okay with that. Not that he was opposed to her shouldering the financial burden, but he felt he should pull his weight, do his part—Dak was taught to take care of himself and those he loved. Only later did he come to regret that stubbornness, a relic of decades past. Many were the nights he'd wished he could unhinge his arrogance, his pride—go back in time and make it right. Those feelings led him to join the military anyway, the ultimate sacrifice to take care of those he loved. His sense of duty didn't help.
