Hour of Need (Scarlet Falls #1)(4)
“I’m sorry, that’s against policy,” the social worker said. “You can complete a form to become an emergency foster. It’ll only take a few days.”
But to Carson, a few days would be forever. The little boy’s silent tears soaked Ellie’s shirt. Helplessness flooded her.
“Julia, please take Carson.” Ellie shifted the little boy to her daughter’s lap and went into the living room for privacy. Whipping out her phone, she dialed her boss. Working for an attorney had a few benefits. But Roger didn’t answer his phone. Damn it. She left a message and returned to the kitchen. She gave Julia a pointed look and nodded toward the doorway. Julia carried Carson out of the room.
Ellie waited until she heard the stair treads creak before addressing the social worker. “The children know us. Can’t you make an exception?”
“No, I’m sorry.” Mrs. Willis’s calm and businesslike voice grated on Ellie’s raw nerves. “As soon as the background checks go through, you can ask the judge, but tonight, I have to take them with me.”
Ellie knew the woman must see situations like this all the time, but how could she be so matter-of-fact about taking two small children from their home? Anger rolled over Ellie’s grief. Pain and helplessness compounded in her chest until her ribs ached.
My God, it was Friday. She doubted anything would be done over the weekend.
The social worker started collecting the baby’s gear. “It might make things easier on Carson if you help him pack a bag.”
Ellie didn’t want to make things easier. She wanted to snatch the children and hide them at her house. She glanced around and counted three uniformed policemen and another in a suit who seemed to be in charge. He’d introduced himself, but she’d already forgotten his name. Detective McSomething.
There was nothing she could do.
She went upstairs to Carson’s room. He sat on the bed with Julia and cried while Ellie packed enough clothes for a week into his backpack. She knelt on the floor in front of him and took his little hands in hers. “Just hang on, OK? I’m going to do everything I can to bring you to my house.”
He sniffed, wiping the back of his hand under his nose. “The lady said Mommy and Daddy died.”
Ellie’s heart broke. Did he even know what that meant? She sat next to him and hugged him tight. “I know. I’m sorry.”
She was even sorrier to carry him out to the social worker’s car and put him inside. Sadness choked her as she watched them drive away.
Chapter Two
Afghanistan, Saturday 5:30 a.m.
March dawned cold in the Hindu Kush. Just before daybreak, cool gray light peered over the mountains on the horizon. In the back of a mine-resistant all-terrain vehicle, or M-ATV, Grant tucked his hands in his armpits and scanned the ridge that ran parallel to the road. The supply convoy was giving him a lift back to the forward operating base near the Pakistani border where he was stationed. Grant’s vehicle was at the middle of the column. A platoon of infantrymen escorted the column of supply trucks. For additional support, a unit of the ANA, Afghan National Army, brought up the rear.
The steady rock and rumble of the vehicle could have lulled him to sleep if he’d let it, but the Taliban liked to attack in the gray hours. A soldier couldn’t relax in Afghanistan. An attack could come from anywhere: a civilian with a backpack, an IED detonated by the roadside, or a traitor in their midst. The options were endless. Grant’s gaze swept along the ridge as the convoy entered yet another wadi. The valley was the twentieth prime ambush spot of their journey.
He’d been in zero direct engagements since his promotion to major just before this last deployment. On his last two tours, he’d been out on frequent patrols and skirmishes. In an odd way, he missed the intimacy of being part of every mission, the daily grind of patrolling the hills and wadis, the brotherhood instilled by combat. The diplomacy and paperwork required by his new position as operations officer isolated him from the men. He worked hard to establish a relationship with them, but sometimes he felt like all he did was go to meetings, like the one he’d attended yesterday at battalion command. Discussing the political ramifications of military policy gave him a headache.
The low ridge to the east shadowed the valley. A hint of pale yellow edged over the jagged horizon, silhouetting the skyline. A half klick ahead, the passage narrowed. In minutes, the convoy rumbled into a dry streambed barely twenty meters wide. On the right, a steep slope led to a ridge thirty feet above the road. A sheer cliff face comprised the left wall. Conversation halted as all eyes searched the rocks on either side for any sign of enemy activity.
The road exploded in front of the supply convoy, shaking the ground under the trucks. Grant’s heart kicked into gear. Men jolted into action. The heavy vehicle rocked again as another explosive hit the dirt. More rockets whistled and boomed ahead. The passageway was too narrow to turn around, and since the enemy had planned this ambush, no doubt they were waiting in case the convoy found a way to double back.
They were trapped in a kill zone.
Grant scanned the surroundings. They needed men on high ground, and there was only one way to get the advantage. They would have to take it from the enemy.
He dismounted and ran two vehicles ahead to join the lieutenant in charge of the platoon. They ducked behind Lieutenant Wise’s armored door. The perpetually sunburned redhead wiped a coating of Afghan dust from his freckled brow. Though his actual age was likely around twenty-four, the blue eyes studying the ridge were battle-aged.