“Jason!”
I shouted into the satellite phone.
No answer.
I could still hear movement through the open line.
Boots striking hardwood.
Furniture scraping.
Someone breathing hard.
Then my father's voice came through.
“Becca…”
He sounded injured.
“Dad, stay where you are. I'm getting help.”
“Don't.”
The word was barely audible.
I stopped.
A new sound entered the call.
Slow footsteps.
Not hurried.
Not afraid.
Measured.
Someone picked up the receiver.
“Hello, Major Hale.”
The voice was female.
Cool.
Controlled.
I knew it immediately.
“Erica.”
A small pause.
“I'm glad you remember me.”
My jaw tightened.
“What are you doing in my father's house?”
“Correcting a problem.”
“You're holding my family hostage.”
“Your family created this situation long before tonight.”
I heard something crash in the background.
“What do you want?”
“You should be asking what your mother wants.”
The room seemed to shrink around me.
“Where is she?”
Erica gave a quiet laugh.
“You've spent years believing she was a victim.”
“She was declared dead.”
“She disappeared.”
“That's not the same thing.”
“No,” Erica said. “It isn't.”
I forced myself to breathe.
“Why did you manipulate my assignments?”
“You were useful.”
The answer was so casual that it frightened me more than anger would have.
“You arranged my career?”
“Not alone.”
“Who else?”
“You've already met some of them.”
My mind immediately went to the people who had questioned my reports, delayed investigations, redirected shipments.
“Tell me where my brother is.”
Erica ignored the demand.
“The truck tonight contained enough illegal ordnance to cause a major international incident.”
“You put it on that highway.”
“No. Someone else did.”
“You knew I would be there.”
“We knew your unit would respond.”
“And you still sent it?”
“You were never supposed to expose the cargo.”
I remembered Walt.
His dying warning.
The crates.
The insignia.
“What was Walt doing with it?”
“Trying to leave.”
“Leave whom?”
“The organization.”
I heard my father groan.
“Erica,” he said weakly.
She ignored him.
“You should ask your father where his money came from.”
My eyes narrowed.
“What does Dad have to do with this?”
“Everything.”
I thought about my childhood.
There had been a moment when my father's financial situation changed dramatically.
A larger house.
Private club memberships.
New cars.
I had been too young to question it.
My father had simply told me he had made a good investment.
Erica's voice returned.
“Your father didn't build that empire from nothing.”
I felt something cold move through my chest.
“You're lying.”
“Ask him.”
I turned toward the closed office door as though my father could somehow hear me through it.
Then Erica said another name.
“Linda.”
My stepmother.
I felt a strange resistance inside me.
Linda had entered our lives after my mother's supposed death.
She had been patient with me.
Quiet.
Ordinary.
She had packed lunches, attended school events, and learned which foods I hated.
She had seemed like the one uncomplicated person in my family.
“Tell her,” Erica said.
There was movement near the phone.
Then Linda's voice.
“Becca…”
She sounded as though she were crying.
“What is she talking about?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
Linda took a breath.
“My name isn't Linda.”
I couldn't speak.
“I was assigned to watch you.”
The words were almost impossible to understand.
“Watch me?”
“Keep you on the path your mother chose.”
My hand went numb.
“You married my father for that?”
“Yes.”
The answer was immediate.
No excuse.
No hesitation.
I felt suddenly detached from every memory involving her.
Christmas mornings.
School ceremonies.
The quiet conversations at the kitchen counter.
Were any of them real?
“Who are you?” I asked.
She told me.
The name meant nothing to me, but Erica supplied the missing piece.
“An operative.”
I stared at the floor.
My childhood had been constructed around a lie.
My mother's death.
My father's grief.
My stepmother's arrival.
My military career.
Even the decisions I had believed were mine.
All of it connected.
“Where is Jason?”
A muffled cry came through the phone.
“Becca!”
Jason.
I heard him clearly this time.
“I'm here!”
A heavy impact interrupted him.
Then Erica spoke.
“Your brother is coming with us.”
“No.”
“If you want him alive, listen carefully.”
I tightened my grip around the receiver.
“You will not contact the authorities.”
“Erica—”
“You will not contact your chain of command.”
“Let him go.”
“You will wait.”
“For what?”
“For instructions.”
I could hear Jason struggling somewhere nearby.
“Becca, don't do what they—”
A sharp noise cut him off.
“Jason!”
Erica's voice returned.
“Merry Christmas.”
The line went dead.
I remained standing in the dark.
For the first time in my life, I understood exactly what it meant to have no idea whom you could trust.
My father was wounded.
My brother had been taken.
My stepmother had admitted she was an operative.
My mother was alive.
And somewhere inside my own military command structure, someone had helped make it possible.
I looked at the pistol holstered against my side.
The weapon was familiar.
The decision was not.
I opened the door.
Alvarez was waiting outside.
Her hand hovered near her weapon.
“Major?”
I looked at her.
“Are we under attack?”
“Yes.”
She straightened.
“From where?”
I glanced toward the dead communications equipment.
“Inside.”
Her expression changed.
I walked toward the operations center.
“We've got a hostage situation.”
“Who?”
“My brother.”
She stared at me.
“And whoever took him knows exactly what I've discovered.”
I stopped beside the communications console.
“We're going to find out who helped them.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 4: The Officer I Trusted Turned Against Me, but His Final Clue Sent Me Toward the Woman I Had Mourned Since Childhood
My Father Asked Me to Disappear for Christmas, and Before Midnight a Highway Disaster Exposed a Secret Buried Since Fort Bragg
Part 3 of 12
