Page 4

Cobble had slept the afternoon away, and continued snoozing into the early evening. Missy knew that was good. Sleep would help Cobble heal. Physically, at least. Mentally, she wondered how he would eventually fare; if some kind of internal, protective instincts would keep him from remembering exactly what had gone down in the UN offices, even after his body had fully recovered.

Missy hoped not. She needed intel. Something sketchy was going on, and…

Well, yeah. A lot of dubious shit was happening in South Sudan. But this incident? This was personal. Missy had lost five good men, and…Cobble was hurt. Cobble, whom Andy admitted she’d been crushing on pretty hard. Not that she could do anything about it. Fraternization was frowned upon between officers and the enlisted, but still, it hardened her resolve to avenge him and the rest of Squad C. She wasn’t about to let the massacre get swept under the carpet because her higher ups had bigger issues and “supposedly” more important houses to clean.

The evening nurse left after taking a snoozing Cobble’s vitals, assuring Missy that everything looked perfect, which—every time—was a huge relief.

Missy got up and stretched. Why not take this opportunity to grab some food?

What she’d really love to do, would be to head back to her dorm for a shower and a change of clothes. She’d been stinking it up in the same uniform for nearly thirty-seven hours now, and could do with some freshening. But some part of her brain was insisting she not leave Cobble alone. Not just because she got to look at his handsome face for hours on end, but because she had a bad feeling in her gut. For what that was worth, Missy was going with it.

Right now, however, her stomach was growling, and that needed to be taken care of. Hunger was not something Missy could ignore. She tended toward hypoglycemia, and her blood sugar levels—she could tell by her jitters and the way her mind tended to paint everything with a negative brush—had been all over the place since she’d arrived at the hospital.

Some lovely volunteer aides, taking pity earlier, had given her snack bars and chips to tide her over, but those empty calories hadn’t fueled the protein-needs her system demanded.

She stopped the first orderly she saw after leaving Cobble’s room.

“Is there anyplace I can get some real food around here?” she asked.

She hoped maybe food trucks might be parked outside during meal-hours. Even a local tent-pop-up would suffice.

“The cafeteria isn’t up and running for guests yet, as you know,” the familiar young man said.

Indeed. This place was damned new, and other than the kitchen staff making rudimentary food for the patients, they weren’t operational enough to take care of anyone else.

The guy continued. “But there’s a pretty good vending machine down this hall and to the right that dispenses hot soup,” he told her with a smile. “And the one next to that has all kinds of crackers you can choose from.”

“Thanks,” she told him. “I guess that will have to do.”

At least until Cobble’s cousin arrived, and she felt comfortable leaving to find something that might stick to her ribs.

Glancing at her watch, she realized Smalley’s appearance could be any time now . That was good. Then Missy would feel comfortable enough to go back to her dorm for that long-awaited shower. Once she was clean, she’d scout out some really good local cuisine. Maybe some of those yummy sorghum pancakes she loved to eat in the morning, accompanied by a large bowl of kajaik stew, to which she’d become addicted.

Her stomach yowled thinking of the delectable dishes.

Yeah. Tough luck stomach. You’ll have to wait for something that good .

As unpalatable as soup from a machine sounded, it was her best option right now, especially if Mr. Smalley got held up and she had to pull another all-nighter.

Missy passed a few familiar nurses on the way down the hall to whom she gave greetings and waves, but she also ran across a few aides she didn’t recognize. Which was normal. Care attendants, special volunteers; they all came and went. So she didn’t give anyone in particular too much thought until…

One woman didn’t look quite right, and gave Missy pause.

She wasn’t sure what, exactly, caught her eye.

Perhaps it was the way the woman stared at each door in passing, silently mouthing the room numbers as she passed. Or maybe it was the small tray she carried, covered with one of those papery blue drapes that often held meds and sterile equipment.

She’d never seen anyone but nurses carry those around.

A newbie? Perhaps . But the woman wasn’t in a nurse’s scrubs. It almost looked like the “uniform” she sported was from a completely different era . Odd.

And why was she toting around that tray that looked…important? The care attendants she’d come across were more about refilling pitchers with fresh water and cranking beds up and down. Something about this woman seemed seriously…off.

On a whim, Missy forwent her anticipated soup, turning to follow the stranger. She kept a good amount of distance between them so that—

Shit .

Why wasn’t Andy surprised when the person in her sights stopped in front of Cobble’s room. The woman gave a weird, satisfied nod, looked around to see if anyone was watching, then let herself in.

What the fuck?

What did that bitch want with Cobble?

Missy picked up her pace, reminding herself that Cobble’s regular nurse had just been in to see him not ten minutes previous, and from what the attending had said, there hadn’t been any new meds ordered. Cobble shouldn’t be requiring anything else.

Missy broke into a run, causing a few people to raise their brows, but she didn’t stop. She had a bad feeling about this. She wished she had her M9 on her, but hospital protocol mandated that no weapons be carried on site unless authorization was received from some unknown ruling board.

Since Cobble’s—along with Missy’s—arrival had been an emergency, security at the door had taken and held onto their weapons.

Bursting into Cobble’s room, Missy paused, taking in everything in a blink.

The woman was lifting a syringe from the tray that she’d laid on the overbed table, clearly preparing to administer it to Cobble’s IV.

Not happening.

“Stop!” Missy yelled from across the room, which gave the woman pause.

With her intent almost fully on the intruder and their momentary standoff, Missy noted—in her side vision—that Cobble had been startled awake. Not that he’d be aware of any danger, or was in any condition to combat it, so it was a good thing Missy didn’t need his help. She’d excelled in all her Army, hand-to-hand training, and should easily be able to take the woman down, even though the interloper was much taller and weightier than Missy.

The woman sneered at Missy as if she’d taken her measure and found her lacking, then she boldly fumbled with Cobble’s IV.

Missy knew it was now or never.

She threw herself toward the intruder, covering the seven-foot separation between them in seconds, tackling the woman from behind. Her hit sent them both crashing to the floor, luckily away from the bed and all Cobble’s vital paraphernalia.

Missy punched her opponent in the face, and it stunned the woman. Given a short window of opportunity, Missy chopped at the fake nurse’s wrist in hopes of sending the syringe sailing. But somehow the bitch—who was now bleeding profusely from the nose—managed to hang onto her sharp weapon.

“Let. It. Go.” Missy snarled. Bam, bam, bam .

And… Shit.

Not only was the stranger not giving up whatever she’d been about to administer to Cobble, she was now snapping her teeth at Missy as they rolled around struggling for dominance. While Missy was busy avoiding those bacteria laden chompers, the woman continued to attempt jabbing whatever was in that hypo-cocktail, into Missy.

Oh, hell no .

A rapid knee to the woman’s gut stopped that line of attack, making the bitch gasp in pain, but she continued the struggle.

“Andy,” Missy heard Cobble say groggily as she fought the oddly strong lady. “Are you okay?”

“Hit the call button,” Missy yelled to him, eventually able to straddle the woman to gain the upper position. She forced the hand with the syringe down to the floor where she beat it against the linoleum again and again.

“I. Said. Let. Go.”

Finally, the woman’s hand opened and the syringe tumbled out, but the tenacious female hadn’t given up her fight.

In one last, desperate attempt to free herself, the miscreant bucked her hips, trying to dislodge Missy.

Missy smirked. Right. That move was something she’d learned to counter during her close-quarters-combat 101 classes, and she easily kept the woman pinned.

After a few more fruitless struggles, Missy’s adversary finally lay still.

“Who are you and what were you doing in here?” Missy heaved, catching her breath not from lack of oxygen, but from the after-effects of the adrenaline that still flooded her system.

The woman simply sneered, spitting blood up at Missy.

Seriously ? Missy snarled. “Do that again, and I’ll make sure you lose teeth.”

The woman became passive once more, but Missy could see the gears turning, and knew her adversary hadn’t given up.

Missy called to Cobble, not moving her gaze away from her captive. “Did you ring for the nurse?”

“I…I’m trying,” he grunted, and she risked a quick peek.

Oh, hell no. Cobble was teetering dangerously, perched on the side of the mattress.

“She must have thrown it away from me,” he clipped from between clenched teeth.

Missy could see him struggling, and… shit! Cobble wasn’t supposed to be out of bed yet. But being the soldier he was, Cobble wouldn’t give up. Missy knew that.

“Stand down,” she ordered, panicked now for two reasons. If Cobble hurt himself—

“What the hell?” A distinct growl came from the door.

“Chuck?” Cobble’s strained greeting turned to a sigh of relief as he collapsed back onto the bed.

“Perfect timing.” Missy hissed as the woman beneath her struggled anew to get free. “I told you not to move, lady.”

She aimed her next query over her shoulder, toward the newcomer. “Mr. Smalley, I assume? I have one question. Did they allow you to bring in your service weapon?”

“As a matter of fact, they did. And I have it trained on your captive, as we speak,” he snapped. “Now, who are you, and do you want to tell me what’s happening?”

“Second Lieutenant Millicent Andriopolos at your service, sir,” she clipped out. “I was in the hall when I saw this woman acting suspiciously. So I followed her. I watched as she entered this room, and because she is not one of the staff with whom I’m familiar, I quickly stopped her from trying to administer something to Cobble, via his IV.” Missy canted her head toward the syringe laying on the floor.

“Good work, Lieutenant,” Smalley praised, although clearly angry at what he’d walked in on after a…what? Twenty-four-hour, plus, trip?

He turned part of his attention to Cobble. “You okay, Sawyer?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Cobble answered. “A little disoriented because my head is spinning, but I don’t think anything’s damaged.” He gave a wry chuckle. “At least not any more than it was before.”

“And that’s thanks to your LT,” Smalley allowed, then addressed Missy again. “I think it’s safe for you to get up now but take it slowly while I keep my weapon trained on our perp,” he cautioned. “Then we’ll find out what this is all about.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Missy answered, slowly releasing the iron grip she had on the woman’s arms, then carefully easing to her feet.

“Okay,” Smalley ordered, pointing his gun directly at the woman. “Now, you. Get up.”

Before either Missy or Smalley could discern her intent, the intruder lunged for the syringe, picked it up, and jabbed it into her own leg, depressing the plunger. She gave them an evil, bloody smile.

“You’ll get nothing out of me,” she hissed, before her body convulsed, her eyes rolled back in her head, and she went limp.

Missy scrambled for the call button, depressed it, then dropped to her knees beside the culprit and began administering CPR

“Come on you bitch. Don’t die. We need answers.”

Bad Romance played in Missy’s head as she matched her compressions to the song’s beat.

Staff began scrambling in, but she ignored them until the young orderly she’d spoken to in the hall earlier, indicated he would take over for her. But by that time, it was clear to Missy that there’d be no reviving this one, but she swapped positions anyway.

Damn the dead woman . She’d gone out by suicide rather than answer questions.

Security eventually arrived, then the local police, all of whom postured and brandished their guns around, scowling at everyone in the room like they were all criminals, until Smalley had finally had it, and snapped.

“Enough!” he shouted.

Everyone instantly obeyed; such was the power in his voice.

“Who’s in charge, here?” he barked.

One officer stepped forward, and Missy bit back a groan. The guy didn’t look old enough to shave. She knew that’s what you often got when a new regime came to power. Out with the old and in with the new, even if the fresh forces weren’t at all qualified for their jobs.

“Sargent Deng, sir.” The boy/cop saluted, and Smalley glanced at the ceiling as if gathering patience.

“Agent Charles Smalley with the United States FBI,” he finally informed the officer, flipping out his credentials as if he’d done it hundreds, if not thousands of times. “I’ve been in touch with your new President Kiir, and have been given top security clearance by him and his cabinet. What I need from you should be simple. I hope,” he muttered. “We require a detective, and a forensics team.”

“I understand,” the young officer acknowledged. “Our NPS has such things, but they are in Juba.”

Again, with Juba , Missy sighed. She knew that NPS meant the National Police Service, but Juba? It seemed like it was the seat of everything, and if you were as far outside that city as they were, you were pretty much on your own.

Smalley immediately dismissed that avenue of action.

“Lieutenant?” The agent addressed her. “Do you have a local Army unit that can investigate this?”

Well, she did. But considered how they’d brushed over the ambush of her platoon, she didn’t have much confidence in them. How did she let Smalley know that?

“I, uh… They’re pretty busy with what they deem are priorities these days, so…depending on them for help might not be your best bet.”

“Goddammit,” Smalley barked. “Doesn’t anyone…? You.” He pointed at a doctor who at least had gray hair. “Do you have a chemist or a pharmacist on staff?”

“We do,” the man answered evenly. He eyed the syringe which had been knocked from the woman’s thigh, onto the floor. “You want to know what is, or was, in that, I assume?”

“That would be a good place to start,” Smalley nodded.

Cobble’s cousin went to the counter in the corner of the room and withdrew a pair of Nitrile gloves from a box sitting there. Snapping them on, he handed another pair to the doctor who’d responded, then went over and picked up the spent, polypropylene cartridge. He gave over the evidence to the doc while addressing the young officer. “We’ll find out what substance we’re dealing with, then I’ll notify your superiors. In return, I want an ID on this woman from you. Do I make myself clear?”

The FBI agent’s tone and his face brooked no argument.

If Smalley were giving Missy that look, she’d jump fences to do what he wanted.

Apparently, the officer in charge came to the same conclusion.

“It will be done, sir.”