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She nodded and turned back to the rosters. When she received each notification, she knew exactly where she was and what she was doing. The pain, the agony of anger, guilt, and rage at the treachery—every emotion was sharp and vicious and drew psychological blood. Did she want the pain to ebb? Yes. Would it? She glanced at Ronan. She hoped it would.
CHAPTER 7
Ronan knew the pain Fleur was going through, and although he wanted to help her get through the emotional pit she was in, all he could do was be there for her. He could be the one to hold her hand as she worked through it. Damn, there he went again, picturing them as a unit. It was a concept he’d never bounced around his head before. But with this woman, he couldn’t seem to shake the idea that he was supposed to be the hand she held. He was glad no one could read his thoughts. He was thinking in flowers and hearts, and he wasn’t a flowers or hearts type of guy. What the hell had infected him? She had. Obviously. He mentally rolled his eyes.
True, he wasn’t a doctor by any stretch of theimagination, and his brother Deacon had always told him his empathy tank was usually empty. It wasn’t now. Especially around her. He was guarded, true. But that worked for him. For him to truly care, he had to know people. He had his team and his extended family. Strangers were usually held at arm’s length. Fleur was an obvious exception. Something about her just clicked with him, and yeah, he’d crumbled her assumptions that she was the only one who’d suffered or known people who’d been through hell. But to the woman’s credit, she’d screwed her head on straight and showed up. That single factor told him all he needed to know about her. He’d found that people rarely took responsibility for their actions, offenses, and assumptions by flinging blame and making themselves victims. Fleur realized what she was doing and stopped that shit.
He was impressed with her resilience, which was needed to get through the cluster-fuck of an assignment she was currently working. Not many people would.
“There’s a drawdown here.” He motioned to the rosters he was looking at.
“Yes, we were scheduled to downsize and eventually close. We’ve gone from over ten thousand IDPs to just over four thousand. We moved sixthousand people to new camps or into Turkey and through other agencies to countries willing to take them.”
“How long would it take you to move four thousand?”
“Depending on the vehicles we could use and how fast we coordinated their movement …”
He watched as she rolled her bottom lip with her teeth and thought. “Running concurrent convoys with one out and one in, I could get them out in two months, but that would be pushing it. And we don’t have the resources.”
He leaned forward. “What would you need to do that?”
“Ha. Well, more vehicles, drivers, fuel, and some way to contact international organizations willing to help take in the people we can’t place in the other IDP camps.”
If they could determine where the intel was coming from, they could get the vehicles and supplies through Al-Tanf Garrison. The long pole in that tent was figuring out how these particular convoys were targeted if they’d been moving people for over a year. But maybe it wasn’t the “how” they should be looking for. Perhaps they should also look for the “why.”
“The convoys you were moving this year, were they comprised differently?”
“Comprised? I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“Did you change how many people you moved?”
She shook her head. “Always the same amount of people. Between two and three hundred, depending on status. Families take up more room. They have a few possessions, which takes away seating for others.”
“No changes. Okay, I’ll toss that idea.”
“Which was?” she asked as she wrote names on her tablet.
“Maybe they were targeted because of who you were moving.”
She looked up at him and shook her head. “It is always a mix between families and unattended women and children.”
He leaned back and stared at the duty rosters. He tapped his ear. “Dude, you there?”
“No, it’s me, Tink. Dude is offline chasing satellite intel. What can I do for you, Skipper?” Tink’s Smurf-like voice made him smile.
“Hey, Tink, how was the date?”
“Did Dude tell you guys?”
“Yes,” Wraith said in his low growl.
“I’m going to slap that man silly.” Tink huffed. “Ihad a wonderful time, and he was a perfect gentleman. Now, can I help you with something?”
Ronan chuckled. “Just make sure he stays a gentleman, and we won’t have any problems. But to answer your question, I need you to check on something for me. Has there been a shift in the events in-country in the last seven or eight months?”
“Political, economic, status of fighting between factions, those types of things?” Tink asked as she typed.
“Roger that,” Ronan confirmed.