Operation Zulu Redemption: Hazardous Duty - Part 3 by Ronie Kendig Page A

others. A feature from
Leesburg Today
with a picture of the men—and a caption. “God loves me,” Frankie muttered as she read the names. “. . .and one Landon Ramage.”
    Ramage. According to the article, the Ramages were fixtures in Loudoun County since the early 1800s, having owned land and horses dating back to almost as late.
    Frankie’s grin widened as she typed in his name and city. A half-dozen pictures from local events erupted. Including one with Landon and his older brother, former Army Special Forces sniper—
sniper?
The back of her neck prickled—“Boone Ramage.”
    A wild tendril of an idea rushed through her. She went to land records. Searched.
    No Matches Found.
    Frankie frowned. “How can there be no matches?” The article had explicitly stated the family owned land there in Loudoun, had for nearly two hundred years. Maybe she typed it wrong. She tried again.
    No Matches Found.
    Despite attempts to locate other records, she came up empty. Frustration tightened a noose around her neck. If she kept pushing—this is what got her in trouble last time.
    “I am not easily scared off,” she murmured.
    But she
hated
losing.
    Curiosity caught her by the throat. She accessed her work login and navigated into the secure databases. A strange squirreling wormed through her belly. He had to have a driver’s license. Did he even own a vehicle? Or have a credit card?
    If she didn’t know better, she’d say Boone Ramage and his family didn’t exist. But she’d met the man. She’d seen him. There were photos on the Internet of him and his younger brother. Frankie glanced at the screen from the local paper. She had to admit—the Ramages bred well. Both sons were striking, handsome. “Well built, too,” she murmured around a smile. “And not married.”
    The page automatically refreshed—and Frankie froze. She tilted her head. “Wha. . .?” She hit the manual refresh icon. But the page was blank. “I was just there, how can it be blank?” After verifying she still had Internet access, she refreshed again. This time, a single line of text vaulted her stomach into her throat.
    The page you have requested has been removed.
    Nausea swirled. Fingertips to her temples, she tried to weigh what this meant. It wasn’t a coincidence that she’d just looked up Ramage and suddenly he disappears from the face of the planet.
    When her phone rang, she yelped. Glanced at it as if it had the plague. Carefully, as if they could remotely see her through it somehow—she peered at the caller ID.
    U
nknown
N
ame
.
    Right. No way would she answer that.
    It went to voice mail. A few minutes later, her phone signaled a message had been received. Frankie played it.
    “Contact Leland Marlowe. He can help.” It’d come from Varden. No wonder the identity didn’t show up.
    Frankie’s breath rushed out of her. Leland Marlowe? As in General Leland “Freeland” Marlowe, the firebrand general who’d swept the military clean as one of the joint chiefs last year?

Annie
Athens, Greece
2 June – 0615 Hours EEST
    Annie rolled off him, careful of her injured ankle, and slumped to the ground.
Sam?
Sam was here? How was that even possible?
    He shifted toward her, the predawn hour barely providing enough light to see his face. “Ash, you okay?”
    Ash.
    He was on his knees.
    Numbness rolled through her, soaking her muscles. Drenching her brain. What was he doing here? Sam didn’t belong here.
    “Ash—you okay?” he said, more urgently, cupping her face.
    His deep, rich brown eyes broke through the daze that fogged her mind. “Sam. Why. . . ?”“I’m here. It’s okay,” he said, his voice. . .weird.
    Annie drew back, a strange spike of anger bursting through her.
Get off.
But that was rude. And he was Sam. But why was he here?
    He tried to pull her closer.
    With both hands, she shoved him backward. “Stop.”
    Boots thudded closer.
    “One, you hurt?”
    Annie glanced up. Trace stood over her, his face unreadable.