by Cindy Dees
Moving stealthily, Gunner rolled out of the bed and padded barefoot across the room. He slipped out into the hall and eased the door shut so Chas could sleep a little more.
Spencer and Drago were either still asleep or not in the house. Maybe they were taking care of their prisoner. Gunner fiddled around with the coffeepot on the kitchen counter until he got it to start brewing, and then he went into the living room to work his way through a yoga stretching routine. The athletic trainers who worked with the SEAL teams swore by flexibility for injury prevention and longevity as an operator.
He took it slow, gradually working out the kinks and creaks. By the time he heard Spencer and Dray moving around in the kitchen, he felt like a normal human being again and not a stiff stick-figure imitation.
He strolled to the back of the house, following the smell of bacon frying, and found Spencer, who obviously noticed how gingerly he was moving. “How are you feeling, Gun?”
He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table. “Creaky. I’m forced to admit—reluctantly—that the admiral may have been right to sign my termination papers.”
Spencer swore under his breath. “You really should come to work for us. The vast majority of what we do isn’t strenuous. It takes more brains than brawn to be a good security consultant.”
“I’m seriously considering it.”
Drago clapped him on the shoulder as he plunked down a plate heaped with scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. “Glad to hear it. Look forward to having you on the team.”
Something warm spread through his gut. Apparently he needed to feel like part of something larger than himself, some sort of brotherhood of like-minded souls, more than he’d realized.
“How soon do you think someone will be coming for your prisoner?” he asked.
Drago slid into a chair across the table. “Soon. And based on past incidents with the Oshiro gang, they like to come in with overwhelming numbers. We anticipate at least six, and possibly many more guys than that, to come after him.”
Gunner stared at both men. “You’re not seriously thinking about going into a firefight against a bunch of hostiles with just the two of you, are you?”
“We’ll have you too,” Drago said jauntily.
“Still. Three against a couple of dozen isn’t ideal.”
Spencer shrugged. “We should have plenty of reinforcements, assuming we can get the Oshiro boys to come to us.”
“And who would these reinforcements be?” Gunner asked.
Drago grinned. “I might have made a call to an old friend over at the FBI. Turns out the feds are plenty eager to get ahold of whoever shot up a peaceful little New England town. When I told him I might be calling in the next few days with information as to the location of the shooters, he and his people were all over it.”
Gunner swallowed a bite of the hearty breakfast. “And how, exactly, are we bringing the Oshiros to us?”
“Easy. We’re going to make sure our prisoner sees Poppy, and then we’re turning him loose.”
“Are you actually going to release him, or are you going to make him think he escaped?”
“He gets to escape. We’ll control the direction of his egress from the property to make sure he catches a glimpse of Poppy on the way out.”
“When does this little maneuver go down?”
“This afternoon.”
“So we’ll need to be prepped for a full onslaught by Oshiro muscle by tonight?” Gunner asked.
Spencer nodded. “Yep. Gonna be a busy day. We need to recon the woods around here and figure out where we want the fight to go down.”
Gunner looked up quickly. Chas stood in the doorway, looking stressed, but not completely freaked-out. Which was good, given what was coming, but bad if it meant Chas was getting used to the violence and death of Gunner’s world. A fierce desire to keep one part of his life pure and clean and simple swept over him. And that part of his life was Chas.
“Hungry? I’m cooking eggs and bacon,” Spencer asked from over by the stove.
“Both sound great. I like my eggs sunny-side up if you’re taking orders.”
“Coming right up.”
Chas, of course, was no dummy and asked, “What will you guys do if both parts of the Oshiro gang show up here? Can you take them all on by yourselves? Couldn’t that be a lot of people?”
“Possibly,” Gunner answered evenly. He waved a half-eaten piece of bacon at Chas. “You have to understand. SEALs practice force multiplication tactics. One SEAL is the equivalent of ten fully trained soldiers from most other armies in the world in a firefight.”
“A firefight?” Chas echoed in alarm. “You’re planning on having a shootout with an entire crime gang? Are you guys nuts?”
Chapter Eighteen
CHAS SAT on a blanket in the front yard of Spencer and Drago’s house, playing with Poppy. She’d squealed in delight when she’d seen him and Gunner, and had run to them and grabbed their legs when they’d gone across the street to fetch her for this little outing.
It had choked him up, and if he wasn’t mistaken, it had choked up Gunner a little too.
Of course, with the prisoner about to be released and herded past him, this was no simple little playdate. A half-dozen commandos were hidden in the trees around the house and yard, and Gunner had assured him one of the best snipers in the business was out there somewhere, ready and waiting to assassinate anyone who tried to mess with Poppy while she played innocently in the grass.
This was no life for a little kid. She should be able to grow up in peace and safety without having to worry that bad guys were going to jump out and grab her at any time. That was, of course, the only reason he was going along with any of this madness.
If he was ever going to have a family of his own, he couldn’t do it around men like this, who lived lives like this, who drew danger to themselves at every turn.
Chas’s stomach dropped to his feet. No matter how much he cared for Gunner, he wasn’t sure he could give up on his own dream of one day being a parent. If Gunner refused to give up being some sort of private mercenary one step removed from being a SEAL, Chas couldn’t—wouldn’t—do that to his hypothetical children.
The plan today was for Spencer and Drago to strategically let their prisoner escape. The two of them were going to “chase him,” but in fact they were guiding him past the house and out to the main road. The idea was for the guy to see Poppy playing with Chas and report back to his people where the kid was, and that only three guys were protecting her.
Chas listened intently for noises to indicate that the prisoner had made his escape as he rolled a ball across the blanket to Poppy. She rolled it back to him, laughing. That game lasted for about a minute, and then she was up and running, chasing after a leaf dancing on the wind.
Chas jumped up and raced after her, scooped her off her feet, and spun her around until she howled with laughter. His instructions were explicit. Keep himself and Poppy on that blanket in the front yard at all costs. Apparently it had something to do with sight lines and fields of fire—none of which gave him warm fuzzies to contemplate.
Gunner had assured him that all of the shooters out here kept having to shove down an impulse to grab the toddler and race into the house to hide her. Funny how he didn’t worry about his own safety much. Ever since Leah Ledbetter had died on his porch, he had been mainly focused on keeping Poppy safe. Gunner seemed to feel the same way.
It was as if a parenthood switch had flipped on in their heads. Suddenly, the child was by far the most important thing—her safety, her happiness, her well-being. Some of his students’ more obsessive parents began to make a little bit more sense, now that he thought about it.
“Chichi?” Poppy said, screwing up her face into an adorable frown.
“I’m told that’s a nickname for daddies, Squirt. And as much as I’d like to be your chichi, I’m Uncle Chas. Can you say Chas? Chas?”
“Cha?”
“Good! Chas! Uncle Chas!
” He poked himself in the chest. Lord, she was growing and changing and learning new things even in the short time they’d known her.
“Unca?”
“Yes! Uncle Chas!”
“Unca Cha!” She flung herself at him, and he caught her in a bear hug, laughing with her.
“Such a smart girl. I hear your name is Kamiko.”
She leaned back and studied him very intently with somber black eyes.
“Kamiko?”
“Ka.”
“That’s you.” He touched the end of her nose. She smiled, and then he tickled her until she was laughing and squirming wildly.
He almost missed the faint sounds of shouting from the woods behind the house and looked up sharply. Belatedly, he remembered Drago’s instruction to pretend to see or hear nothing. The less competent the Oshiros thought the people holding Poppy were, the less force they would likely bring to bear in trying to get her back. At least that was the hope.
Chas rolled onto his back and held Poppy up in the air, her chubby limbs flailing and her laughter clear and carrying. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave her so exposed, even knowing that the escaped prisoner would have no access to weapons of any kind.
He rolled over onto his hands and knees with Poppy lying on her back beside him. He used his body as a living shield while he surreptitiously looked around the yard for movement.
He saw a flash in the trees but had no idea if it was the escaping prisoner, a sniper watching him, or Spencer and Drago herding the prisoner toward the road as they “chased” him south off the property. Poppy pulled her thumb out of her mouth and reached out to grab his chin with her wet fingers.
“Ee-yew,” he said in exaggerated disgust, making a horrified face. Poppy giggled on cue and grabbed his nose. “You’re quite the tease, missy. Gonna lead your daddy on a merry chase, aren’t you?”
A pang of grief at not being there to see her grow up almost made him cry out in pain at how sharply it hurt. He sincerely hoped she was not Kenji Tanaka’s daughter and that he and Gunner could keep her as their own for a little longer. If he was being honest with himself, he desperately hoped they could keep her forever.
He knew it for the fantasy it was. Not only the part about keeping Poppy, but also about settling down and having a family with Gunner.
At this point, he didn’t even know if Gunner wanted a long-term relationship with him, let alone a permanent one that included kids. The guy’s declaration of love had been less than stellar and certainly didn’t inspire any confidence that Gunner planned to stick around any longer than it took to return Poppy safely to her family.
He sighed.
Poppy yanked at his ear and he yelped, his attention snapping back to her. “So that’s the way you want to play it, do you, kiddo? The tickle war shall now commence! Prepare to giggle!”
GUNNER SAT in the woods under his ghillie net—a sniper’s camouflage gear—peering at Chas and Poppy wrestling and laughing on the grass. Right there was everything, everyone, he wanted in the whole wide world. If he could have Chas and Poppy for the rest of his life, laughing and loving and happy, he would die a happy man.
But damned if he had any idea how to get it. Chas was miffed at him for the way he’d told Chas he loved him, and Poppy’s father would take her back as soon as the DNA evidence proved she was Kamiko Tanaka. Which Gunner’s gut told him she surely was. The perfect Norman Rockwell moment playing out in front of him was an illusion. Guys like him didn’t get happy-ever-afters.
If he was lucky, he might get to retire with the aches and pains left over from using his body far harder than it had ever been built for. He would get to relive past glories now and then when he got together with the old gang, assuming he made it to retirement alive.
At least Chas could go back home, resume his normal life in his little house, teaching kids and finding happiness with some lucky guy someday.
But him? He didn’t fit into normal. Had no idea how to do it. Hell, he probably didn’t even deserve it. His entire life until the past week or so had been a lie. Maybe this was karma coming back to bite him in the ass. The universe was dangling the perfect guy, the family, the happiness he could’ve had in front of him, taunting him.
God, this sucked.
He heard movement off to his left and swung his weapon in that direction, scanning the woods intently.
There. A glimpse of black clothing. That would be the prisoner. The guy was running, stumbling, looking back over his shoulder. Gunner heard Spencer and Drago behind the guy a bit, making a lot of noise, shouting back and forth and making sure the idiot kept running in the correct direction to go right past the house, see Poppy, and then hit the road.
The prisoner passed between him and the house, about fifty feet in front of Gunner. As the guy realized a clearing was off to his left, he slowed and moved away from it, toward Gunner. Dammit, they needed the guy to see Poppy.
Gunner picked up a rock and heaved it at a tree between himself and the prisoner. It hit with a thunk and the prisoner lurched away from the sound in panic. He practically bolted right out into the front yard before he contained his panic enough to stop.
Gunner watched in satisfaction as the prisoner crouched low now, moving along behind a line of brush and brambles just inside the tree line. In the yard beyond, Poppy let out a squeal, and Chas’s warm laughter rose to meet the piercing giggles.
Poppy, who’d been lying down, pushed up to her feet and took off running across the grass, straight at the prisoner and Gunner’s positions. Chas, racing after her, scooped her up and carried her back to the blanket, blowing raspberries on her tummy as he went.
Perfect. The Oshiro guy could not have failed to see Poppy clearly enough to positively identify her. Now, to chase him off the property and into town to call in reinforcements.
A swift-moving shadow off to Gunner’s left startled him. Damn, Drago was good. He moved with every bit as much stealth as a SEAL would have, and every bit as quickly.
Drago deliberately scuffed his feet through a small hollow that had collected a deep layer of dried leaves, and the noise was impressively loud. Gunner’s last glimpse of the prisoner was of the man sprinting full-out toward the main road, paralleling the long front lawn about fifty feet inside the trees.
The bait had been taken. Now all they could do was wait and hope the Oshiro gang took it and came after Poppy.
In the meantime, he was going to spend a few minutes playing with her before they had to return her to the safety of the Brentwoods’ estate across the street. He missed her laughter like crazy, as it turned out. And oddly enough, he missed squeezing her chubby little legs and tickling her feet until she laughed. It was official. He’d lost his mind.
Or maybe you’ve lost your heart. To a little girl with an infectious laugh.
CHAS WAS subdued at supper, but he took comfort in noting that Gunner was equally subdued. The two of them missed Poppy terribly, and neither of them had liked having to hand her back over to the nanny, even if it was for safekeeping.
Spencer was asking Drago, “The call with your buddy at the FBI went well?”
“Oh yeah,” Drago answered, grinning. “He was all over wanting to know where the shooters from Misty Falls might be. I told him I know they’re in the Washington DC area and that he should put a tactical team on standby.”
“Did he believe you?” Gunner asked.
“I gave him plenty of details that never made the news about the Misty Falls shooting. He and his team will come running if we need backup.”
“What’s to keep your buddy from tracing the phone call and figuring out who you are and where you are?” Chas asked curiously.
“I used a burner phone and routed the call through encrypted internet servers all over the world. He won’t be able to trace it.”
“May I just say, as a civilian, it’s scary as hell realizing how easily you guys can avoid law enforcement when you want to?”
Spencer leaned back, laying down
his napkin. “That’s why we’re so particular about who we train to do what we do. People who go into our line of work are investigated exhaustively and then put through the emotional wringer. Our training is designed to strip away all layers of artifice and deception and lay bare the core of a person. Many a SEAL wannabe has washed out not because they couldn’t hack the training but because the instructors simply didn’t trust him.”
Chas frowned. “I get that young recruits start out as white-hatted hero types. But over time, as you all do… awful things… doesn’t that take a toll on a guy? Don’t people—what do you call it when a SEAL goes bad?”
“A big problem,” Gunner supplied dryly. “That’s what we call it.”
Spencer nodded. “Now and then somebody cracks. People thought I’d gone bad when I disobeyed my orders to arrest Drago and bring him home. There was a rather concerted effort to bring me in, get me off the street, and make sure I didn’t go on some kind of rampage.”
“Did you crack?” Chas asked curiously.
Spencer smiled over at Drago. “It was a close thing. But Dray got me through it in one piece.”
Drago reached out to squeeze Spencer’s hand affectionately. “We saved each other. I think I was in worse shape than he was when we found each other.”
Chas looked on with envy at the two warriors who’d found true love with each other. God, he would love to have that with Gunner. But the guy was so emotionally closed off, he didn’t think he’d ever get there. Sadness washed over him. Such a waste of a human heart.
Gunner stood up, gathering plates. “I’ll clear the table if you guys will lay out the topographical map. I want to go over the plan one more time. Now that I’ve walked the property and have visuals on it, I want to see it on paper.”
