Free Operation Zulu Redemption: Hazardous Duty - Part 3 by Ronie Kendig Page A

Greece?”
    “That’s not fair.”
    He smirked. “You’re right. It’s not. None of it. But here we are.”
    Heart aching, Annie lowered her head. It was too much to take in. Too much to process. That he was here. That she had a lot of truth-catching-up to do.
    Sam edged in closer, his hands catching her arms and holding her in place. He peered down at her with those rich, dark eyes of his. The last few days had to have been rough on him because his five o’clock shadow looked closer to midnight now. “Just tell me what happened between us was real.”
    “Sam. . .”
    “Just tell me that, and we can sort out the rest later.”
    “Ye—” The word caught in her throat, forcing her to swallow.
    “Hesitating? Seriously?”
    “Sam, there’s a lot happening. A lot of deadly things.”
    “Yeah, I know. My car was rammed off the road. I was there the night—shortly after a heavy make-out session with you, if I remember correctly—that a sniper tried to take our heads off. I
get
stress. I
get
combat.” His eyes darkened. “I don’t get your reticence about us. Was I just convenient?”
    Annie stepped back, flaring her nostrils. “Don’t do this to me.” She set her jaw. “Give me time, Sam. I can’t sort through anything right now. I haven’t had time to think, and being sarcastic about us doesn’t help.”
    “But you want to work it out?”
    “Yes.” Annie blinked, not at his smile that ensued but at the doubts that lingered in her mind.
I think so.

Nuala
Lucketts, Virginia
4 June – 0930 Hours
    Being an introvert always put her on the outside of conversations and goings-on. But it also left Nuala very intuitive and perceptive of others’ feelings. Rarely did people ask what she thought—not that she’d volunteer her inner workings because she’d never forgive herself for hurting someone, and she’d die inside a little if she was wrong and humiliated herself. They viewed her as quiet, maybe even demure. Thankfully, at least one person in this underground bunker saw her strength. It wasn’t the six-pack abs or bulging bicep strength, but one at the center of her being. A strength that wouldn’t let her quit or give up. It challenged her and pushed her to do better,
be
better.
    Maybe if she’d been better or stronger Boone might’ve chosen her instead of Keeley.
    Which wasn’t a fair thought. Because Keeley had everything Nuala didn’t—confidence, humor, an outgoing personality, and. . .Boone.
    An old, familiar ache wormed through Nuala’s chest.
    Stop.
    He’d made his choice. And they were a happy couple. Everyone involved with Zulu knew that. Though it went against regs, nobody opposed them dating. It was a tough gig. Much like it must be for Carl and Sharlene Loring, who sat at the table with Téya. Their single-digit kiddos were on the floor of the lounge area, watching TV. The little girl multitasked between the cartoon and the coloring pages Houston had printed out and turned over to her with his array of colored pens. How did two people work in a missionary setting with two children and come out of it happy?
    But. . .were they happy? Nuala eyed the two. Mrs. Loring had brown hair and matching brown eyes. Her husband had a Swiss appearance with his blond hair and blue eyes. Tall and lanky, he was taller than his wife even when seated. Right next to each other. And yet, his hands were on the table.
    Though Mrs. Loring looked distressed, Mr. Loring offered no sympathy. Nuala wouldn’t deal with that. She needed a man who would devote time and concern for her. Understand her idiosyncrasies and fears, then offer encouragement. Strength.
    Boone often did that.
    Stop. It!
    Nuala shifted in her seat suddenly, drawing the attention of the Lorings and Téya, who sat at the other end. With a fake smile plastered on her face, Nuala met their curious gazes. “Anyone want a glass of water or tea?”
    “Water, please.” Mrs. Loring gave a relieved smile.
    “Look,” Mr. Loring said, not