Free Taking Fire by Cindy Gerard Page B

exoneration. I always thought those charges were bogus; it never made sense that they charged you in the first place.”
    Jensen’s expression invited both venting and a sympathetic ear if he needed it. Maybe if he were good and drunk, he’d indulge in a little info share. But when he was sober, he rarely talked about the Operation Slam Dunk debacle.
    â€œWater. Bridge,” he said with a dismissive shrug. “In the meantime, I’m good. Apparently, not as good as you.” He made an appreciative scan of the lavishly furnished office. “You’re clearly top dog in these parts.”
    Jensen sank down into his cushy desk chair. “The doghouse may be fancy, but I’m still guarding a junkyard.”
    â€œSo I’ve heard. That’s why I’m here.”
    Jensen narrowed his eyes and studied Taggart’s face as if he’d mistaken him for someone else. Then he figured it out. “No shit? You’re the big-shot, hush-hush badass the Department of Defense sent to bust my chops?”
    â€œDrew the short straw, yeah.”
    â€œHuh.” Thoughtful, Jensen reached into his top desk drawer, pulled out two glasses and a bottle of Scotch, then poured them each two fingers.
    â€œAll the straws seem to come up short these days,” Bobby added after tossing back the Scotch. “You okay with me trying to poke holes in your operation?”
    Oman wasn’t exactly a hotbed of terrorist activity, but given its strategic importance at the mouth of the Persian Gulf and the volatility of the entire Middle East, the State Department wasn’t taking any chances. So the DOD had deployed the International Threat Analysis and Prevention team to assess the embassy’s security, recommend upgrades if necessary, and authorize the resources to ensure that it got done. Because Mike Brown and the rest of the ITAP team were running training maneuvers in Central America, Bobby had caught the first flight over. And since Jensen was in charge of security here, Bobby was going to be tromping mud all over his nice, clean floor.
    â€œWell,” Jensen said, “I’ve got a good team here. We’ve got a solid plan in place. But if I’ve got problems, I want them found. I don’t want a Benghazi disaster on my watch.”
    â€œDitto.” Bobby leaned forward. “So where do you want me to start?”
    â€œYou mean right this minute? Well, that’s a big hell no. We haven’t seen each other in five years, it’s almost six o’clock, and we need to catch up. So you can attack the defenses first thing in the morning. Tonight we’re gonna go tie one on for old times’ sake.”
    â€œAll right,” Bobby agreed, although if he wasn’t going to work, he’d rather get some shut-eye. “I guess I’m in.”
    â€œGreat. Just give me a minute to deal with some of this paper.”
    Bobby sank back into the chair as Ted rifled through the stack of paperwork on his desk. Maybe his friend was right. Maybe a stiff drink, some “good ol’ days” conversation, and then a good night’s sleep were in order. Especially after the ridiculously long flight with the requisite delays and jet lag.
    It was funny how they’d ended up together again. After Jensen had retired from the military with a stellar record, he’d joined the diplomatic service. After Bobby had been booted out of the Army on a trumped-up less-than-honorable discharge, his only opportunity to stay in the action had been with Fargis, the private military contractor he’d worked for in Afghanistan. Yet now he worked for an elite covert branch of the Department of Defense. How was that for irony?
    A female voice from the hallway yanked him from his thoughts, and he snapped his head around. An ice-cold knot instantly tightened in his gut.
    It couldn’t be.
    But it was. He’d recognize her voice from the grave—even though he hated to