Who I Am

By Claudia Hall Christian

In Who I Am, Alexandra Hargreaves struggles with the mantle of the Fey. In her mind, the Fey defined her beloved Fey Special Forces Team killed two years ago under Paris. Most people believe the myth that the Fey is a man. As a group of men gathers to block her progress forward, Alex becomes the Fey for the first time.

Back cover copy:

Who am I? Who am I really?

Only the world famous Fey can manifest a team to rescue hostages around the world. In Who I Am, Lieutenant Colonel Alexandra Hargreaves suspects she is not the Fey.

As Alex grapples with doubt, her world fills with turmoil. Joseph Walter is shot. A traitor infiltrates her team. A Senate sub-committee pulls their funding. And a secret from the past threatens to destroy her family. In the midst of the chaos, Alex leads her team to find a missing UN field operative and destroy a child prostitution ring.

In the end, Alex discovers her biggest obstacle to becoming the Fey. Herself.

As readers of the Alex the Fey thriller series have come to expect, Who I Am is a tense, dangerous adventure with heart pounding relationships you will never forget. If you love a strong female character caught in a suspenseful mystery with plenty of action, Who I Am will not disappoint.

Who I Am is the third book in Claudia Hall Christian’s Alex the Fey thriller series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cook Street Publishing cookstreetpublishinggmail.com
• Release date: Feb 5, 2011
• ISBN: 9780982641750

Claudia Hall Christian

Claudia Hall Christian writes stories about good people caught in difficult situations. Her stories are addictive, heart pounding, and intense. She is the author of the Alex the Fey thriller series, the Queen of Cool, the Seth and Ava Mysteries, Suffer a Witch, Abee Normal Paranormal Investigations, and the longest consecutive serial fiction ever written, Denver Cereal. She lives in Denver where she keeps bees, gardens, hangs out with her Plott Hounds, and husband

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

September 30 — 8:35 P.M. AST

Tuesday night

Kirkus Airbase, Northern Iraq

Where are you? she whispered.

Her image was all but lost in the warped tin mirror.

Are you in there?

She wiped the steam off the mirror. Leaning forward, she smiled. Her familiar reflection smiled back. She dragged a thin towel through her close brown crew cut, the only remaining hair on her tall, thin body. Every other piece of body hair had been mercilessly yanked out by an evil waxing goddess in Istanbul.

She rubbed the towel over her left arm and the blue fairy tattoo that lay under her bicep. Her thumb traveled the edges of the tattoo. Sighing, she dried her right arm where the green Vivaldi ‘F’ armband tattoo marking her as a member of the Fey Special Forces Team. In her haste, the towel knocked the diamond that filled her belly button askew. She pulled the towel over her bumpy, scarred left hip to dry her leg. Drying her right leg, she marveled at this leg’s lack of scars, tattoos, or injury.

As dry as she was going to get with the towel, she looked at her reflection again. Her scalp shone red from scrubbing away the sweat, sand, and filth left by the long black wig. She stepped over the pile of scarves and the blue burqa to get to the toilet.

A fist pounded and a man’s voice yelled through the door: Are you going to be in there forever?

She closed her eyes.

One glance at the British soldier and she knew what he’d endured. Retrieving hostages was her specialty; and her curse. She needed time, and a long shower, before she felt like herself again.

She stared at the door and bit her lip. Shaking her head at the men on the other side of the door, she stepped into the shower again. Standing under the blistering hot water, her memory replayed the last twelve hours.

Her team had left her three miles away from the camp. Not wanting to attract undue attention, she’d spent more than an hour meandering up the rugged road and through the tribe’s camp. Intel predicted the tribal leader would be sitting down to his lunch after mid-day prayers. The fresh California oranges which lined her robes had bought her safe passage to his table.

Sir, may I offer you an orange? she asked in Arabic.

Covered head to toe by the burqa and scarves, she lowered her eyes.

This is not possible. The man threw his utensils down.

Surely, you’ve heard that I have returned.

Acknowledging their past transaction, she dared to raise her eyes.

I heard something.

Two jihad soldiers ran to the man’s aid. He shook his head at them.

She wouldn’t be standing here if eleven men weren’t watching us, the man said.

Twelve, she said.

She threw an orange into the air. One at a time, twelve silenced bullets pierced the skin of the orange. The man and his soldiers ducked away from the spray of orange juice.

That’s a terrible thing to do to such a beautiful orange, the man said.

You know why I’m here, she said.

The man nodded.

He has not been harmed or fouled in anyway, he said.

That’s good for you, she nodded.

She held up two fingers. From the edge of the encampment, Captain Andrew ‘Trece’ Ramirez and Captain Christopher ‘White Boy’ Blanco crept forward. Even in ordinary fatigues, the men’s barrel chests and twenty inch arms intimidated the Iraqis.

Nervous, the young men moved their hands along their weapons. Their feet shifted back and forth in the sand. The jihad soldiers’ eyes flicked from the men to their leader.

Take them to our guest, the man said in rapid Arabic.

Trece and White Boy followed the soldiers into a broken cinder block building behind them.

What will I tell them when they ask? he asked.

What did you tell them last time?

Food is hard to pass up, he said.

She shrugged. Trece and White Boy dragged the British soldier between them. Captain Matthew Mac Clenaghan and Captain Vince Hutchins appeared from the brush to help carry the British soldier.

Didn’t feed him, she said.

Who has extra food in these difficult times? the man asked. Trade is non-existent. The war keeps industry away. We were poor. We are starving now. Not even you can expect us to overlook a gift from Allah such as this British filth.

You almost bought yourself a sure death, she said. No one wants to deal with you anymore.

He was a gift from Allah, he nodded.

You know the drill, Alex said. Air drop in two hours then again in two weeks. Don’t shoot at the plane. These days, they’d rather bomb everything in their path.

So noted, he said.

The shower door opened with a gust of cool air and the scene from the Iraqi sand vaporized. She opened her eyes.

You’re baking yourself, Arthur Raz Rasmussen said. Come on.

He held a clean towel for her. She stepped into the towel. A beautiful man with caramel colored skin and grey eyes, he wrapped her in a tight hug.

What’s got you? he asked.

His tone was low and nurturing, kind and loving. She looked up at him. Raz. He was her partner, friend, housemate, and the person who had saved her from death.

Did you hear what he said when I was leaving?

Gift from Allah?

The Fey lives, she whispered.

He’s fed his tribe for a month, at least, Raz said. He should be grateful.

It was more like the way he said it.

Breathy and low. I noticed that, he said.

I’m haunted by the words – the Fey lives.

You do live, Raz said.

If the Fey ever lived, he died in Paris three years ago, she said. The Fey is a myth, a fantasy created to cover the actions of an entire team. And anyway, everyone knows the Fey was a male Special Forces officer.

Laughing, he kissed the top of her head and held her tight again.

Come on, the boys want to shower, Raz said. They’re pissed at you.

Officers quarters. I’m the officer. She pointed to her chest. How did you get in?

Eoin’s been teaching me about locks, he said.

His hand stroked her chin. Without another word, he left the bathroom.

She leaned forward to wipe the steam from the mirror to check again.

No Fey here.

Nodding to herself, she picked up her clothing and left the tiny bathroom. The men standing on the other side of the door applauded. Through her team’s moaning, groaning, and even their rowdy dinner, three simple words echoed in Lieutenant Colonel Alexandra Hargreaves’ mind.

The Fey lives.

She had no idea what they meant.

FFFFFF

Eight days later

October 8 — 8:35 P.M. EDT

Wednesday night

Private conference room, Arlington, VA

Chief Petty Officer Royce Tubman felt the air change. About fifteen minutes had passed since he answered the knock on the apartment door. The man had shoved a hood over his head. A cell phone rang and a familiar voice told him to go with the ‘gentleman.’ The man had pushed him into a waiting car. They’d driven for almost twelve minutes. A larger, more thuggish man had taken him from the car and pushed him into what sounded like an empty office building.

Stairwell, the thug grunted.

The young man started down a long stairwell with four landings. The thug pulled him to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. The sailor stood facing a wall while the thug spoke with another grunting voice. The sailor heard a door open and was pushed through the door. They turned left, then right, and continued down a long hallway. The thug pushed him into the wall while he negotiated some kind of lock or security.

They’re waiting for you, the thug grunted. Any screw up and you’ll deal with me. I don’t like Navy pricks.

The thug opened the door and yanked off Royce’s hood.

Ah, Chief Petty Officer Tubman, said a man wearing a US Army dress uniform. He stood in a circle of light from an idling projector. We’ve been expecting you.

Royce gave a curt nod. In the dark room, Royce made out five male figures. He’d expected six. The thug pressed him around the table to an empty chair. Pushing Royce into the chair, the man held his hands on Royce’s shoulders for just a moment longer than necessary. The US Army Captain across the table from him nodded and the thug went to stand beside the door.

Shall we begin? the man at the front of the room asked.

Shouldn’t we introduce ourselves? A loud voice with a thick Texas accent came from Royce’s right. I’m Cee Cee Joiner.

The large man and held his hand across the table to Royce. In his left hand, he held a wide white cowboy hat.

Chief Tubman.

Royce shook the large man’s hand. When the man sat down, he stuffed the white cowboy hat on his round head. The man took up the entire end of the table with his girth.

Captain Irwin, the Captain across the table said. Retired.

Sir, Royce said.

Eniac, the man sitting next to him said.

The man held his hand out and Royce shook it. Eniac’s hand was small, soft and a little damp. When Royce let go, Eniac took off his thick glasses and began a ritual of cleaning them. Royce discretely wiped his hand on his service khaki pants.

Major… the man at the front of the room coughed into his hand.

Major Stonewall. It’s nice to see you again, Royce said.

Yes, we met in Georgetown, the Major said.

Thank you for extending the invitation, Royce said. I’m anxious to hear what you’ve planned.

Let’s get started, Major Stonewall said.

I didn’t catch your name, Royce said.

You didn’t, a breathy man’s voice came from the shadow in the front. You won’t.

I’m sure Chief Tubman doesn’t mind, Major Stonewall said.

No sir, Royce said.

When the screen changed to show three smiling pictures of middle aged men, Royce leaned back in his chair and let out a breath. He’d made it this far. His eyes took in the men around him. He knew there was no Major Stonewall in the US Army. Captain Irwin wasn’t retired. He was dishonorably discharged. Cee Cee Joiner was near the top of the CIA’s ‘Most Wanted’ list. And this Eniac was a mystery. No one seemed to know anything about him. Royce glanced over to find the man staring at him. His eyes appeared twice their size through his thick lenses. Royce nodded and turned his attention to the front of the room.

These three men.

Major Stonewall’s disdain filled the conference room. His index finger punched the air toward each smiling photo.

General turned Senator Patrick Hargreaves, Benjamin Doucet known only as Benjamin or Ben, and the mysterious Steven Pershing. These three men created the abomination. We will destroy it.

The man paused for effect.

As a General, Patrick Hargreaves pushed every barrier, questioned every rule. As a Senator, he’s upended the power structures in Washington. When his daughter wanted to be a Green Beret, he did not hesitate to make it happen.

Major Stonewall’s voice rose with a kind of cartoonish fury. Royce looked around the room. For the first time, he realized that without their ring leader, the mysterious sixth man, these men were jockeying for position within the group.

This man… He pointed to the photo of Benjamin. He was once the best intelligence agent in the world. He trained the abomination from the time she was a child.

So did Pershing, Captain Irwin said.

All because Patrick Hargreaves had to prove his point, the wheezing voice near the front said.

And what is the point, sir? Royce asked. His orders were to be mildly confrontational. Give in too fast and they won’t respect him. Protest too much, and they’ll kill him.

Hargreaves believes women should be allowed in Special Forces, including the Green Berets. Major Stonewall spit out each word. He worked to control of himself.

But sir, Alexandra Hargreaves wears a beret, Royce said. It would seem General Hargreaves was correct.

The man at the front nodded to the thug standing next to the door. The thug lifted Royce by the shoulders of his service khaki jacket.

I don’t mean to ruffle your feathers, Royce said. I’m just trying to understand.

The thug looked at Major Stonewall. The man nodded and the thug dropped the Navy officer in his seat. The thug threw a bruising punch at Royce’s arm then moved back to the door.

This woman has been successful. We don’t argue that, Cee Cee Joiner said.

She’s had every advantage, Major Stonewall said. How could she not be successful?

She should never have been allowed to be Green Beret, Cee Cee Joiner said. It’s just wrong.

We meet today, on the anniversary of our failure, to remember that nothing less than annihilation will suffice, the breathy voice from the front of the room said.

You cannot pin that on me. Cee Cee Joiner jumped to his feet. She should be dead!

No one blames you, Major Stonewall said. We know Benjamin saved her life.

These men! Captain Irwin jumped to his feet. "Every single time we get ahead these bastards intervene. We spent a year wearing her down. Our operatives had her and she slipped away!"

Major Stonewall cleared his throat to regain control of the room.

Why don’t we take a moment to tell Chief Tubman why we are here? Major Stonewall asked.

Captain Irwin and the Texan exchanged a look and sat down.

"That… woman stole from me, Cee Cee Joiner said. To add insult to injury, she had the nerve to remove my father from his care facility. My own father!"

Unwilling to give way to Joiner’s indignation, Major Stonewall asserted himself.

My reasons have to do with the travesty of allowing a woman to invade the Green Berets, Major Stonewall said.

I have legitimate military projects that cannot be funded because this woman’s operation is so expensive, Eniac said. We could run four, maybe five, legitimate military combat operations for the cost of her little search and rescue operation. It comes down to money, gentleman.

And waste. We have the finest military in the world. But it is a combat military, Captain Irwin said. Our soldiers know they might die in some enemy prison camp. Their duty is to die and die well. This extraction team is a waste of resources.

Besides, with modern technology, most of this work can be done via drone for a fraction of the cost, Eniac said. Sneering at the young Navy officer, the man added, Why are you here?

I despise the presence of women in Navy Special Forces, Royce repeated what his file said about him. But more than anything, I loathe the Admiral’s weak attitude toward women.

No stranger to theatrics, Royce’s fist pounded the table to emphasize his point.

Our young friend is attached to the Admiral in charge of Special Forces, Major Stonewall said. He is a member of the special assassin team created by President Bush.

You have to fight their inclusion from the very beginning, sir, Royce said. Once they invade, the entire unit is diminished.

The Captain snorted in agreement.

We must keep our focus on our bottom line here, Eniac said.

And what is our bottom line, sir? Royce asked.

We will eliminate the abomination, Major Stonewall said.

How do you propose doing that? Royce asked. The scoff in his voice mocked the men’s capability to change anything. They bristled at his slight. Royce raised and dropped a shoulder in a subtle challenge. These old men would have to prove they could do anything.

Go ahead, Major Stonewall said.

We have an operative deep within her trusted group, Eniac said.

We’ve flooded her group with candidates for the new team. Major Stonewall’s voice was smug with his accomplishment

We’re all set to pull her funding, Cee Cee Joiner chuckled. She’ll have beg the Senate for funds.

We’ll take her family from her, the breathy voice said.

We’ll keep her running from fire to fire, Captain Irwin said. She won’t be able to build her so called team.

We’ll have time to get our own program going, Eniac said.

The men looked at each other with pride. Royce nodded as if he agreed they would be successful.

We have different reasons for wanting this to happen, young man, the quiet, breathy voiced man near the front corner of the room said. Captain Irwin wants to return to a pure, male, Special Forces. Mr. Joiner wants his money. Eniac is interested in proving his technology makes her obsolete.

"And I want to repair a travesty that happened on my watch," Major Stonewall.

He can’t forgive himself for being ordered to place a Beret on her head, the breathy voice laughed then coughed.

And you sir? Royce asked.

I want nothing less than Alexandra Hargreaves’ head in a bag.

The men fell silent. A wheeze like sigh came from the corner of the room.

I’ll have to settle for her utter and complete ruin, the breathy voice said.

Chief Tubman has been assigned to intern on her team. Is that correct?

Yes sir, Royce said. I start after the first of the year.

Good work, Captain Irwin said.

Then we are in agreement? Major Stonewall asked. "Chief Tubman will join our efforts?

The silence was deafening. For a moment, the room itself seemed to hold its breath. When Captain Irwin nodded, the other men followed suit. Royce smiled as if he’d won an award.

Their plan was set into motion.

F

CHAPTER TWO

Twelve weeks later

December 31 — 2:35 P.M. MDT

Wednesday afternoon, New Year’s Eve

White River National Forest, Colorado

Alex felt a tug from the rope around her waist, then another. Her husband, Dr. John Kelly Drayson, was signaling they should stop cross-country skiing. She wiped the snow and ice from her goggles. Bending down she checked to make sure Maggie, their liver colored English Springer Spaniel, was still wearing her boots and jacket. Maggie rubbed her face against Alex’s leg then romped forward to John.

They were three days into a cross country ski trip. They’d had skied from hut to hut along the Continental Divide. Rather than their usual raucous New Year’s Eve party, they hoped to spend a sedate New Year’s Eve in the plush cabin owned and maintained by the Tenth Mountain Division Special Forces Team. Her identical twin Max was to join them tomorrow for a weekend at the hut.

They were having a wonderful trip.

No cell phones. No computers. No super-secret conferences. No GPS. Just the two of them in the middle of the glorious White River National Forest. Everything, even the food, had been amazing.

Then the blizzard struck.

It had started snowing a couple of hours ago. The light dusting of snow turned to blowing ice as they rounded a treacherous mountain pass. Blowing ice had become full blown white out an hour ago. They took turns breaking trail, but it was slow going. Strong, physical people, they fought against the fierce wind and blowing snow on hazardous mountain passes. Past the narrow cliffs, Alex tied a rope around their waists to keep them close together.

She heard John yell something. Throwing on her goggles, she trotted toward the sound. A tall fit man, he stood like a beacon on a gentle rise. He shouted, but his words were lost in the howling wind. Leaning forward, she peered through his goggles to see his stunning cobalt blue eyes. Their eyes caught and she felt the warm flush she’d felt when she’d met him in Max’s bathroom all those years ago.

What? she screamed to regain her balance. She pointed to her ears.

He leaned forward to shout in her ear.

Is that it? His rich London accented words mingled with the howling wind.

She peered forward. A line of steam came from what looked like a chimney. Looking at her compass, she nodded.

It might be. Let’s see if we can get there, she said. Worst case, we can take shelter for a few hours before heading out again.

We have to be close, John yelled.

She shrugged. She had enough experience cross country skiing in snowstorms to know they could be miles off their target.

We need shelter, John said. Maggie needs a rest.

They turned to look at their nine month old English Springer Spaniel. Maggie jumped through snow drifts toward where they were standing. She gave an exuberant bark then romped off. Alex laughed.

Let’s try it, Alex said. I’ll lead.

Alex took the lead in front of John. Setting her sights on the chimney, she worked her way up a wide unprotected bowl. The storm hurled heavy winds, snow and ice at them. For protection, Maggie fell in line behind Alex. John followed close behind.

Alex kept her head down. More than once, she stopped to brace against the wind. They made slow progress. Feeling the wind slack, she looked up. As if by some miracle, a large cabin appeared in front of her.

She jog-skied the rest of the way. John came up beside her.

Like the previous cabins, her Sergeant had prepared for their arrival. The solar powered lights and heat were on. She stepped out of her skis and untied the rope between them. Bending down, she took the key from under the mat and unlocked the door. She dropped her backpack inside the cabin door.

Wait! John said.

He lifted her into his arms to carry her across the threshold. At the front door stood a table with a bottle of champagne on ice on top.

Happy New Year read the card in her Sergeant’s handwriting.

John brushed his lips against hers. His simple movement ignited their passion. The kiss grew deeper and more insistent. After a heart pounding, intense day, their desire leapt in an affirmation of life. He carried her through the cabin. They fumbled, kissing and laughing, up the open staircase to a wide sleeping loft.

Unwilling to wait to remove layers of her clothing, he yanked down her ski pants. Their mouths and bodies joined in fierce union. Fighting, pushing, pulling, they rose fast. They were very close when Alex started laughing. John joined. Laughing at themselves, they slid over passion’s cliff together.

Hobbled, Alex bent over to unlace her cross country ski boots. His surgeon trained hands stroked her bare behind.

Look at the view, he said.

Stepping out of her boots, she looked across the bed see a wall of glass. The raging blizzard created a snow globe around the bed. John pulled her to him. She rested her head on his shoulder.

Let’s warm up, he whispered.

They stripped off the rest of their clothing and dove under the down blankets. Maggie hopped on the bed beside Alex. John held out his arm and she tucked herself against him.

Stimulating day, he said.

Thrilling, she said.

Thank you for making this possible, he said. I miss the days when I had you all to myself. I…

She kissed him quiet.

Your new work is exciting, she said. We just have to be better at making time for each other.

I miss you terribly, he said. I’m there, in surgery, working on some alcohol drenched idiot, at three in the morning and all I think of is why the hell I’m not at home in bed with you. I’d rather be the student than the doctor. Any day of the week.

You love your work, she whispered.

I love you, he said. I miss you.

And?

Yes, yes, I love the work, but…

How should we celebrate our survival today? she asked.

He pulled her on top of him. With much less haste, they made comfortable, intimate, deeply sensual love. With a final sigh, John fell sound asleep. Certain she’d never sleep a wink, Alex closed her eyes. She woke two hours later when John carried their packs upstairs. They showered, dressed, and went looking for food.

Filet mignon? John asked.

The Tenth gets a couple bison at the Stock Show every year, Alex said. We must have drawn the filet. Look, there are even some of Maggie’s favorite treats.

You’re assistant is brilliant, John said. I think there’s a barbecue outside. Shall I barbecue our dinner?

She went to the sliding glass window to peer out on the deck.

There’s a hot tub!

Oh love, it’s dumping snow.

Alex stripped off her clothing and ran across the snowy deck. Shaking his head, he grabbed the bottle of champagne and joined her.

FFFFF

The next morning

January 1 — 11:35 A.M. MDT

Thursday mid-day

White River National Forest, Colorado

Good morning. John jogged down the steps from the sleeping loft. Have you been awake long?

An hour or so.

Sitting on the couch next to a roaring fire, Alex looked up from the novel she’d plucked from the bookshelf. The storm had passed leaving a fresh field of snow in its place. The bright winter sun gave the room a glow that matched Alex’s happy face.

I wanted to let you sleep, she said.

Lovely. Has Maggie been out?

She went out when I got up, Alex said. What would you like to do today?

Let’s see… my list for the day… make love to the wife. Done. He made a show of scratching the stubble on his chin. That was the only item on my list. It didn’t specify the number of times. Shall we start over?

Remembering this morning’s passion, Alex flushed. He held out his arms and she stood to hold him. In the silence of the mountain cabin, they heard only the roar of their beating hearts. He nuzzled her neck.

Breakfast? he asked.

Eggs, bacon, toast, she said.

He groaned.

You can tolerate a little cholesterol, she laughed.

I can, he said. You don’t seem the worse for wear from last night’s festivities.

No sir, she said. French metabolism. And you?

Irish metabolism, he laughed. Come love, let’s eat.

She followed him into the kitchen. He took eggs, bacon, and bread from the refrigerator. She found a toaster and plugged it in.

There’s a stack of snowshoes in the closet, she said. I thought maybe we could go out with Maggie after breakfast.

Alex put two pieces of bread in the toaster. Pressing down the button, she turned around.

Why don’t we go now?

John raised an eyebrow at Alex. He cracked the egg in his hand and tossed the shell into the trash.

Breakfast? he asked.

He nodded toward the bacon cooking on the stove. His eyes followed her as she flew around the counter. He leaned around to see her open the closet by the door.

I know there are snowshoes in here that will work.

John turned off the stove. He went around the counter to her. Alex’s head was deep into the coat closet.

Love?

When his hands touched her hips, she threw herself into his arms.

What is it? Alexandra, you’re crying. What happened?

You can’t hear it. Can you? she asked.

Placing his hands around her face, he wiped her tears with his thumbs. He kissed her lips.

I… miss you so much, she whispered. I’ve seen you barely at all in months and… I was so excited about our time together. I’ve been looking forward to these few days for months and…

What’s happening? he whispered.

A helicopter is coming in this direction, she said.

How much time do we have?

Ten minutes, maybe fifteen, she said.

He gave her a pulling kiss then held her close.

It could be something else, he said.

How likely is that? she asked into his shoulder. It’s a Black Hawk.

Let’s have breakfast, he said. If we must leave, at least we’ll be well fed.

He put his arm around Alex and led her to the kitchen. Between kisses, they made quick work of cooking breakfast. They were sitting at the picnic table in the kitchen when a Black Hawk helicopter landed next to the deck. Dressed in digital fatigues, her team jumped from the helicopter and moved toward the cabin.

Damn, this is nice, Trece said as he came through the sliding door.

At the sound of Trece’s voice, Maggie raced down the stairs barking and wagging.

Green Berets only, she said.

Ooh excuse me, Trece said. Maggie’s here. She’s not a Beret.

She’s honorary. Alex nodded toward John, Like this one.

Bending to pet Maggie, Trece backed into Matthew.

Get out of the way, Matthew said. "Bacon! Is there some left?

I thought you were a vegetarian? John asked.

So does Erin, Matthew said.

Matthew lifted a piece of bacon off Alex’s plate. Alex slapped at his hand.

Where’s my brunch? Captain Troy Olivas asked.

Make your own, Trece said. Opening the refrigerator, he said, There’s plenty for everyone.

Trece began taking food from the refrigerator.

I want bacon, White Boy said.

Yeah bacon, Troy said. Lots of bacon.

Bacon, Matthew said.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? Alex yelled.

Surprised, the men turned to look at her.

We have no idea, Trece said. Where’s the Clone?

Alex, Max said.

Alex whipped around to look at her identical twin. Their faces brightened at the sight of each other.

It’s Colin, Max said. Worse than you thought.

Alex nodded. She turned to find John standing next to her. She tucked herself into him.

Is he alive? John asked.

Not that bad, Max smiled.

Colin? Troy asked. What’s Colin? Wait, we’re not here to spend the day in this great place?

We need to go, Max said.

Alex looked up at John and he kissed her nose.

Go!?! Trece said. What about bacon?

I’ll owe you, Alex said. Where’s Raz?

He’s monitoring the situation, Max said.

Joseph?

He’s with Colin.

Alex nodded.

I’ll get our packs, John said. Andy, would you like to help me?

Grumbling, Trece threw the food back in the refrigerator and followed John. John pointed to their cross country skis. Trece and White Boy followed John to the sleeping loft.

What’s happening with Colin? Troy munched bacon from John’s plate.

Alex scowled at him.

Finders keepers, Troy said.

All’s fair in love and bacon, Matthew picked up the last piece of bacon from her plate. Taking a bite, he said, Sorry about this.

Shaking her head at Matthew, she turned to Max.

How bad?

Let’s just say we need to get there, Max said.

Alex started cleaning up. Matthew washed the dishes in the sink. White Boy came through the kitchen with their cross country skis. He threw the boots at Troy. Troy carried the boots out to the helicopter. John and Trece came down the stairs with their packs. Trece took the packs to the helicopter.

You’ll drop us back when we’re done? John asked.

Sure, Max said.

John laughed at his best friend’s lie.

Come on Maggie, John said. Maggie?

He watched Maggie duck her head then hop into the helicopter after Trece.

How does Maggie know how to get into a helicopter? John followed Max out the door. How is that possible?

Alex trotted to the fireplace to bank the fire. For a moment, she thought about sliding closed the door and letting them go by themselves. Sighing, she picked up the card John had given her for New Year’s Eve. She stuffed the card in her back pocket and took one last look at their peaceful haven.

Come on! Max yelled from the helicopter.

Alex grabbed her jacket, slid closed the door and ran to the chopper. Jumping in, she took a seat next to John. She grabbed a headset from the rack. Over the feed, she heard Joseph updating Raz on Colin’s condition.

Last fall, they had been charged to keep an eye on her brother Colin Hargreaves as part of a program that keeps tabs on dangerous ex-military. Since being buried alive in the Mariscol Mine, Colin’s drinking problem had turned a corner to alcoholism. Somehow, he’d managed to finish the school year. When school started in the fall, he’d refused to return to his third grade classroom. He’d been drunk every day since. His wife, Julie, had covered it with everyone, especially Colin’s family.

Alex only knew about Colin’s drinking because he was classified a danger to himself and others. Like Alex and Max, Colin’s life long military training placed him in a category of people who could be deadly when confronted. Alex caught wind of his problem through intelligence channels around Halloween. Colin had moved into a motel the week of Thanksgiving.

Of course, Colin’s ‘issues’ were never mentioned around the family. Julie, Colin, and their beautiful son Patrick or Paddie as he was called attended Thanksgiving and Christmas together as a family. Alex and Max had talked to him, chided him and tried to get help for him. But he refused all intervention.

Her team was legally unable to intervene until he became a menace. They were forced to wait and watch him unravel.

New Year’s Eve was hard for Colin. He had been picked up at a New Year’s party in Iraq all those years ago. Every New Year’s brought the memories and humiliation of being held hostage. This year, he promised her he would have a quiet night. Before she left for her ski trip, she’d warned her team this was probably the moment.

The problem was: short of killing him outright, no police team, Homeland Security or any other trained professional law enforcement would be able to control Colin Hargreaves. An expert martial artist, he was toughened by years of military service and their father’s training. Add alcohol and Colin was six feet five inches of mean. He’d never injured Julie or Paddie. But with Julie and Paddie out of the picture, he was a loose cannon. Only Alex and Max combined could control him. They hoped to collect him before he seriously injured someone.

They had one chance. This was it.

F

CHAPTER THREE

Flying toward Denver, Alex changed into black stretch pants and a black top. She took a black balaclava from Max. The plan was to land, take possession of Colin, and get out of there. The rest of the team, including John, put on black balaclavas and their Ray Ban Wayfarer glasses.

Hey Alex, Captain Zack ‘the Jakker’ Jakkman said over her headset. Denver PD is rolling. We just got the call.

I’ll come up, Alex said.

Taking off her headphones, she walked up to the cockpit. Zack switched on the intercom and lifted the mirrored visor of his helmet. He gave the controls to his co-pilot.

You still think you can do this? Zack asked. I’ve seen Colin in combat and it’s not…

We have to try, Alex said. It’s either that or let the police kill him. What’s Denver PD report?

He’s standing in his boxer shorts in the middle of the parking lot taking all comers. He’s knocked out two bikers and is currently working on a third.

He didn’t kill anyone?

He hasn’t killed anyone, Zack said, Yet.

When they flew over the parking lot, Colin looked up at the Black Hawk with an unnatural glee. Three Denver Police cruisers surrounded the hotel. Two additional police cruisers pulled up as the Jakker began to land the chopper. The policemen jumped from their vehicles and trained their weapons on Colin.

Her beautiful brother’s face was flushed bright red. His blue eyes had a death-like glint to them. His bright blonde hair was sweat matted and filthy. He threw one last punch at the man in front of him. The man fell to the ground. Colin leaned his six foot five inch frame back and howled.

You’ll be…

Careful, yes, Alex said. You know, he’s never won a bout with me.

You’ve never fought him when he’s drunk, Zack said.

Alex touched Zack’s arm then went back to the passenger compartment. She bent to kiss John. He stroked her face then took hold of Maggie’s collar. She pulled on her balaclava.

Ready? Max asked.

Ready.

Troy opened the helicopter door. A foot from the ground, Alex and Max jumped from the helicopter. From the corner of her eye, she saw Raz move across the parking lot to speak with the Denver Police. Max and Alex ran together across the parking lot to where Colin was holding court.

Colin laughed when he saw them. He howled again then moved into a low martial arts stance.

And they fought.

Unlike their sedate sparring matches, Colin pulled no punches. He hit with full force and received the same. Max clipped him with a swift blow to the ribs. He deflected Colin’s punch to his face with his right arm then punched forward with his elbow. He caught Colin’s collar bone. Colin grabbed Max’s hand to create a swift arm breaking bind. Alex distracted him with a kick near his face.

Colin let go of Max and charged Alex.

She leap-frogged off Max and over Colin. Colin flipped around. His face met her right foot in a solid front kick. His nose snapped and spewed blood. He leaned back to howl with rage. He stomped toward Alex. His left hip met Max’s side kick.

Colin fell back.

Don’t make us do this, Colin, Alex said. You don’t have to do this.

We’re already doing this, Colin laughed.

In a move they’d practiced since childhood, Alex bent down to grab Max’s ankles. With Max steadying them, her feet slammed into Colin’s chest. Colin grabbed her feet, but Alex rotated. Her left foot caught the underside of his chin. His head snapped back. Alex cart wheeled away from Max.

Colin attacked Max.

Swifter and lighter, Max easily deflected Colin’s punches. Max’s front kicks and Krav Maga kept Colin distracted while Alex moved behind Colin.

You want me, Alex called.

Colin flipped around to face her. In easy, fluid movements, she bent, stepped and moved away from his punching fists. She stepped forward into a right punch. Grabbing his right arm, she rotated his hand to a wrist lock. Colin fell to his knees. He swung wild with his other arm. Max grabbed his left hand and locked his wrist. The twins held Colin in matching wrist locks.

Alex shot Colin in the shoulder with barbiturate auto-injector. Colin stumped forward. With Trece and White Boy on either side, John ran from the helicopter to Colin. John checked Colin’s vitals. When he nodded, Alex and Max let go.

Colin exploded off the ground.

He charged at Alex. She threw a solid side kick at him. Colin stumbled backward, wobbled, and then fell on his butt. He jumped to his feet.

Without accurate measures for his heart and blood pressure, I don’t dare give him more barbiturates, John yelled over the noise from the helicopter engine. He’s incredibly intoxicated.

Moving quickly, Alex and Max surrounded Colin. Alex pulled three acupuncture needles from her waist band. Max jumped in a perfect butterfly kick. One foot passed Colin’s chin. When Colin batted at Max’s second foot, Alex inserted a needle in the back of his head. In rapid succession, she inserted two other needles beside the first.

Colin crumpled to the pavement.

Let’s go, Alex yelled.

Trece dropped a black hood over Colin’s face. He