Brynn Kelly - Edge Of Truth

“Oh yeah, that’s him.” So Flynn probably wasn’t faking the military thing. “He’s a good buddy of one of my brothers. God knows why. Last I saw him, he’d bleached his hair.”

“That’d be right.”

“Have you trained elsewhere in the States? Maybe that’s where I’ve seen—”

He held up his hand, listening, as a car engine surged and fell away. “We’re near a road?”

“Yeah. Not a lot of traffic but it seems to be a public road. I’ve heard children’s voices, buses, donkeys...”

He scanned the room for the twentieth time. “So what stopped you signing up, like your brothers?”

Wow, he was as seasoned at changing the subject as a politician. “Hard to be a lefto, greenie conspiracy theorist and shoot people.”

“You forgot the tinfoil hat.” His lips pulled up into a lopsided grin. It made him look boyish. Cute, even. Green—his eyes were green.

She pulled focus. Like it mattered. “I was more interested in keeping the higher ranks honest than doing their bidding. I saw the crap my mom and brothers had to put up with.” She left her Bronze Star–winning father out of it—he’d been the type to serve up the crap, while cheating on her mother on every tour. “Mom was only too happy to send me to college to keep me out of uniform.”

“Bet she didn’t imagine you’d be the one winding up here.”

“Guess not.” Or the child who’d bring killers to her door. What was her mom doing now? No one in the family would sit back and wait for the authorities to act, despite their respect for the chain of command, but she’d know Tess’s abduction had put her at risk. It was only after she’d put Tess in touch with Latif six months ago, while he was still working as an IT security analyst at Denniston, that the conspiracy had started to become clear. And now Latif was dead—“collateral damage” in a drone strike against al-Thawra, as if that could be believed—despite Tess’s promise to protect him, and the evidence he’d left behind was her only hope. Too many deaths already.

Flynn pushed a finger through the gap he’d widened in the floorboards, then retracted it, his forehead wrinkling. Was he planning to yank the whole floor down?

“What do they do—your family?” he said.

Warning bells jangled—was he fishing for information? Something to hold over her? But, hey, her family was no secret—Rolling Stone had profiled the entire clan last year on the third anniversary of her “American hero” father’s death.

“My brothers are Special Forces—all three of them. Mom’s in Intel.”

“Is that why you’re obsessed with this Somalia story—you’re afraid your family will be deployed there?”

“I don’t like to see any soldier go to war without a very good reason.”

He ran a hand over the boards. “Neither do I. Hell, I could end up deployed there... So this dossier—can you do your story without it?”

A chill tiptoed up her spine. “My bosses would never run it without hard evidence—it’s too damning, too dangerous.”

“So you need to get it back.”

“I don’t imagine that’s an option.”

She picked up her MRE. Maybe force-feeding her stomach would stop it churning. This guy might be radiating mixed messages but at least he brought hope.

“How long have you been in the legion?” she said. If he was hiding something, she’d catch him out. If in doubt, ask the same question ten different ways until they got flustered. The Human Lie Detector, Quan called her.

Half a minute passed. He poked and prodded and shifted the floorboards. “Nine years,” he said.

She waited. Nothing. Sheesh, the guy didn’t offer much.

“How old were you when you signed up?”

Another pause. “Twenty.”

She pretended to focus on opening a packet of gray mush that claimed to be oatmeal. That made him three years younger than her. With his cynicism and frown lines she’d have picked older. “I thought you’d transferred from the regular army?” She forced an offhand tone. She sensed him stilling, imagined him looking down at her and frowning as he assessed the question.

“Yeah, that’s where I signed up, L’armée de Terre. That’s what I meant. I transferred to the legion after graduating the academy.”

“And where did you do your officer training?”

“Sunshine, we could be here for weeks. You wanna wear me out the first day?”

“I’m just interested—and I’m trying to figure out where I’ve seen you before.”

“I told you—one of those faces.”

No, that wasn’t it. Maybe a less direct approach... “I’ve never been to Corsica. Is it much different from mainland France?”

Pause. “It’s peaceful. People don’t ask questions.”

She smiled, the movement unfamiliar on her lips. He was probably right, at least within the legion, where “Don’t ask, don’t tell” took on a far wider meaning. The legionnaires she’d met all had Flynn’s cagey look, the sideways glances, the spare details, as if the ghosts of their pasts were about to jump them and haul them back.

Something shot across the floor. She gasped, clutching her chest. “Damn mouse.”

“There’s a nest in the corner. You want me to get rid of them?”

She screwed up her face. “I don’t know. We’ve been together awhile now. I was present at the birth.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve named them.”

“Minnie and Mickey and...Huey, Dewey and Louie.”

“Pretty sure those last ones are ducks. How about I send them to a happier place and I’ll be your friend instead?”

“Let them be. They’re trapped here, too.”

What just came out of her mouth? She was fighting for the rights of mice now? There it was—proof she’d gone crazy.

“Just what I need to be stuck with—a vegan, lefto, greenie conspiracy-theory crusader. Trust me, not all life deserves to be preserved.”

“I’d rather not have a pile of bodies rotting in the corner—the smell is bad enough already. Unless you’re sizing them up for lunch?”

“Couldn’t eat another thing. Don’t worry, princess. I won’t kill them if you don’t want me to. I’ll repatriate them.” He raised his chin to indicate the newly widened slats above his head.

“They won’t fit through there.”

“The fuckers can get in anywhere. They go flat as paper. You wanna help? Tip the mattress on its side to block their escape that direction.”

As she hoisted it up, he ripped open a packet of peanut cookies, crumbled one and threw the remains into a corner.

“You’re assuming they’ll recognize that as food.” She found herself whispering, like the mice could understand English.

He crouched, motionless, the shape of his butt outlined by his faded trousers. How good had that felt under her hand last night? Round, but firm and muscular. She nibbled her lip. Small pleasures were about all she could hope for.

She spent far too many of the next ten minutes admiring his rear view. Finally, the mother mouse scampered to the crumbs. The babies weren’t old enough to venture from the nest or Tess might not have come over all Cinderella.

“Okay, very slowly, bring that mattress closer.” Flynn inched in until he was between the mother and the nest, as Tess slid the rectangle of foam along the floor, flush against the wall, closing in. Each time the mother looked up, twitching, they froze. Time ticked by. His thighs had to be killing him, quads of granite or not.

Tess stumbled. The mouse took off. In a blur of desert camos, Flynn flung forward and shot out an arm. “Got it.”

Dang, he had the reflexes of a cobra.

“Grab the babies, one by one, and ease them through that gap up there.”

“I can’t reach that high.” Thank God. She wasn’t squeamish, but wild mice weren’t on her preferred list of things to handle. Flynn’s butt, on the other hand, was currently sitting in the top ten. Top five. Top—