Operation Zulu Redemption: Act of Treason - Part 4 by Ronie Kendig Page B

A’s. “I was convinced it was him trying to scare me off.”
    “And now?”
    Weston shook hands with other officers as he made his way down the short corridor to the hearing room. Nice smile, considering he’d just scowled and frowned at her. Broad shoulders. A chest decorated with ribbons. A half dozen or more gold slices marked his forearm sleeves, indicating his deployments. Clearly, Weston was no stranger to combat. He shook General Cantor’s hand, shared a laugh, then pivoted. His gaze rammed into hers. He hesitated for a fraction of a second. Not enough for anyone to really notice. Well, nobody but her. She noticed.
    “I’m to blame. Just leave. Them. Out.”
His plea boomed through her mind.
    Paolo touched her elbow and leaned in, cutting off her view of the lieutenant colonel as he made his way into the hearing room. “Frank?”
    She flinched, giving herself a mental shake and pulling herself free of Weston’s gaze. She turned to her brother. “I. . .I need to talk to Dad.”
    He pointed toward the double doors. “It’s time.”
    Frankie looked inside and immediately registered Weston sliding down the narrow space between the tables at the front and the chairs of the audience. He clapped a hand on the shoulder of her father, who was already seated inside. The two exchanged a smile and handshake.
    “You believe him?” Her question had been for her father, a surprised thought, but her brother thought it was aimed at him.
    “Weston?” Paolo said as he guided her into the room. “He’s one of the best officers I’ve ever met. So, yeah, I do.”
    Frankie pushed into the room and made her way to the table where her father sat. “Do you have a minute?” she asked her dad, avoiding Trace’s gaze. She didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to even acknowledge him. His escapade at her home had destroyed her confidence of his guilt.
    “Frankie, it’s about to start, honey.”
    “Two minutes, Dad.” She put her hand on his arm. “Please.”
    He nodded and excused himself. She met him by the doors, her heart ricocheting off her ribs. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Weston watching.
    “What is wrong, Francesca?” her dad asked, straightening his jacket.
    “Daddy, will you please promise to answer one question for me?”
    His brow dove toward his eyes then rose again. “Okay.”
    “Promise.” It was an old joke with them.
    He smiled. “I promise.”
    She took a measured breath for courage, then slowly let it out. “Did Colonel Weston request that I be on his team, on Zulu?”
    Her father paled. Slipped a quick glance to the side. Then eased in. “I can’t discu—”
    “Yes or no. Please.”
    Her father sighed, his head down. Then he raised his eyes only to her. “He mentioned you in the preliminary list, but I refused him.”
    Francesca straightened. Expelled the breath she didn’t realize she’d held till that moment.
It could’ve been me. It could’ve been me.
She pushed her gaze back to the table, where Weston leaned to his left, chatting with someone in a dark suit.
    I’ve got it all wrong.
    Or did she?
    Regardless, she had too many doubts to go forward. To put the lives of three young women on the line. Especially knowing she could’ve been on the opposite side of this.
    “Franny?”
    She met her dad’s brown eyes.
    “What’s this about?”
    Just then, the session was called to order.

Annie
Capitol Hill, Washington, DC
15 June – 1030 Hours
    “He’s going to shoot me,” Rusty said as he slid down Pennsylvania Avenue NW.
    “I’ll take the heat. It’s nothing new,” Annie said, watching out the window of Trusty’s Ford F-150 for sign of the small red SUV.
    “Things have changed a lot between y’all,” Rusty said as he aimed into what amounted to four rows of parking availability sandwiched between the small body of water that stretched before the Ulysses S. Grant Memorial and Constitution Avenue. They’d already checked the parking spots that lined