by Cindy Dees
Spencer stood as well. “After we go over it here, how about we walk through it outside in night conditions?”
Gunner nodded. “Perfect.”
Chas winced. Not perfect. He hated running around in the dark, particularly when there were bad guys in the darkness out to kill him, or worse, out to kill Gunner. “How fast do you think your prisoner dude will get in touch with his friends and lead them here to attack us?”
“Two, maybe three days.”
“So, tonight?” Chas asked sarcastically.
Drago harrumphed. “Fuckers have been moving faster than we anticipated almost every step of the way.”
Spencer shrugged. “We’ll be ready for them tonight, regardless. They do seem desperate to impress the bosses back in Japan.”
Gunner added, “Either that, or the bosses in Japan are breathing fire at them to get the kid back so they don’t look like incompetent fuckups to the Yakuza brass.”
Chas fretted through the map session. His job was literally to stay in the house and stay out of the way. Period. He hated every second of the talk about the guys moving around in the woods trying to flush out targets, what search patterns they would use, and where they would go to hide if they got overwhelmed by too many bad guys at once.
Faced with three violent special operators, it wasn’t as if he could stand up and make an argument for finding a way to do this nonviolently. Maybe contact the Oshiro clan. Explain that they weren’t getting the kid back and should call off their war dogs. Maybe negotiate some sort of truce between Grandpa Tanaka and whoever was in charge of the Oshiro gang.
He was privately appalled when Drago brought out huge bags of gear and weapons that the three men methodically commenced inspecting, cleaning, oiling, and loading with ammunition. Every lens got polished, and even the knives got sharpened before they declared their gear ready to go. Nope. This thing was going down violently if Gunner and his friends had anything to say about it.
Chas allowed that they probably wouldn’t start the shooting, but he had no doubt they would retaliate aggressively when the shooting started.
And then it was time for the midnight walk-through. He followed Gunner to the back door, murmuring, “I don’t like this. Be careful out there.”
“Relax. There’s nobody out there, Chas. This’ll be a stroll through the woods. Wanna come along?”
“No!”
Gunner grinned. “Why don’t you go on up to bed and try to get some sleep? This’ll take a couple of hours.”
“Sleep?” he squawked. “Are you mad?”
“What else would you do late at night, given that I won’t be there to have epic sex with?”
Chas punched Gunner’s upper arm. “Can I call you if I freak out?”
“Like on my cell phone?” Gunner blurted.
“Yeah.”
“Not ideal. Even a silenced cell phone makes some noise.”
“Yeah, but if nobody’s out there—”
Gunner cut him off. “I have an idea. How about we give you a headset? You can listen in on us as we run through the plan and patrol the property. And if you freak out, you can ping me on the radio. I’ll set up a secondary frequency for you that’ll be private just between you and me.”
“You can do that?”
“Of course. The SEALs use only the best equipment. I can monitor two frequencies at once.”
That would work. He’d meant to ask why, if nobody was out in the woods tonight, Gunner was concerned about running silent, but the headset suggestion derailed him. And besides, he knew the answer already. They were being cautious, operating as if the worst-case scenario was going to happen and the bad guys would show up this evening.
Gunner spent the next few minutes showing him how to operate the headset, change frequencies, and transmit. It didn’t distract him from the coming violence one bit, however, nor from how relaxed Gunner was about going into a bloodbath and possible death.
Gunner startled him by transmitting loudly in his ear over the radio, “How do you hear me, Chas?”
“Umm, super loud.”
Gunner grinned. “In military parlance, we rate loudness and clarity each on a scale from one to five. So I’ve got you five by five, which means you’re very loud and very clear.”
“Fine,” Chas said off the radio. “You’re five by five by five.”
“What’s the third five for?”
“Fuck-off factor.”
Gunner grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him close for a hard, hot kiss. “Go to bed.”
“Wake me up when you come in?”
“Count on it.”
“Okay, then. Five by five by zero.”
Gunner kissed him again and then turned and disappeared into the night as Chas stood at the back door, watching him jog into the trees, hating every single second of this. One second Gunner was moving away confidently, and the next he was just… gone.
He probably ought to have more faith in Gunner’s ability to keep himself alive. But if it came to him or Poppy getting hurt or Gunner doing something stupid and heroic, stupid and heroic would win out every time.
Chas didn’t know what time it was when he felt Gunner’s heat slip under the covers behind him. Strong arms went around him, and he leaned back against Gunner’s muscular body, loving how it felt like home.
“Have fun playing GI Joe?” Chas murmured sleepily.
“Had a blast.”
“Please tell me you didn’t kill anyone.”
“I didn’t kill anyone. Go back to sleep.”
“Mmm. Sweet dreams.”
“If they’re of you, they will be.”
“Love you,” he mumbled, already slipping back into unconsciousness.
He thought he heard Gunner whisper, “Love you too,” but he wasn’t sure if that was real or part of the dream he was already drifting into.
Chapter Nineteen
GUNNER SAT out in the woods in the dark again, ghillie net draped over him, NODs in place over his eyes. God, he’d love to have drone coverage of the farm right now. Something with look-down infrared capability that could tell them if, when, and where any incoming hostiles approached. As it was, they were having to do this old-school, using boots on the ground and eyes on the forest.
Spencer and Drago were out here too. Drago was covering the barn where they’d held the captive, and Spencer had the rear approaches to the house.
From his position on the west side of the long north-south yard, Gunner saw in the front windows Chas playing with the Poppy-sized mannequin. Now and then, he tossed her up in the air and pretended to laugh with her. At the moment, Chas was sitting on the couch, no doubt suffering through a children’s movie, with Poppy 2.0 tucked in the crook of his arm beside him.
The costumer at the CIA, whom Drago had called on to create the fake Poppy doll, had done a fantastic job of creating a copy of the child. The only giveaway that the doll wasn’t real was how still it was. Real Poppy was always in motion, wiggling and exploring. She never sat still or watched an entire movie.
Spencer radioed, “Your turn to run a patrol, Gun.”
“Roger.” He stood up slowly and moved off into the trees toward the road. He would go to the end of the grassy lawn and cut across in the woods between the yard and the road, and then patrol up the east side of the yard. He would set up shop over there until it was time to make another circuit of the front of the property.
It would be bold of the bad guys to come right in the front way. Drago thought they would sneak in from the back. Gunner worried that if the hostiles had enough guys, they might feel confident enough in their superiority to just come straight in, guns blazing.
He’d made it almost to the turn to cross in front of the house when a rustle of movement caught his attention. He froze, carefully scanning the trees. He spotted a blip of heat down low. It could be a small animal, maybe a rabbit, or it could be a human lying on the ground. His own ghillie net was woven through with material that diffused and d
isguised his heat signature. It was possible that the bad guys had the same technology, hence he didn’t automatically assume that little slash of heat was a sleeping bunny.
He moved off to his right, swinging wide of the position of the possible hostile to take a better look. It was slow going moving in complete silence, but in about ten minutes, he paused to scan again.
Sonofabitch.
“I’ve got three clustered heat signatures,” he breathed. “They’re lying low, not moving. Correct positioning for a team to be surveilling the house.”
“Hold your position,” Spencer murmured. “I’ll join you. Dray, move in to cover the front of the house.”
Gunner waited impatiently until Spencer slid up silently beside him and touched him on the shoulder. A tap from Spencer’s hand signaled him to move out. Proceeding at roughly the speed of a glacier, Gunner eased forward. Dammit, the signatures were gone.
He moved forward more quickly, and in about two minutes, he stared in disgust at what had clearly been an observation hide. Bastards hadn’t bothered to put back the sticks they’d stuck vertically in the ground to hold up their camo netting. A fallen log had provided cover from the front and explained the tiny slit of heat he’d seen. The log had hidden the rest of their heat signatures.
“Do they have heat-seeking gear?” Gunner asked. “Is that how they saw me coming and bugged out?”
“I think we have to assume that,” Spencer replied grimly.
“Which means if they were watching the house, they saw only the one heat signature of Chas inside. They know Poppy’s not in there.”
“Where did they go, then?” Spencer asked. He sounded as frustrated as Gunner felt. He should’ve shot the guys as soon as he spotted them. He probably wouldn’t have gotten them all, but the fuckers wouldn’t have disappeared without taking a hit.
“Looks like they left,” Drago announced.
“Now what?” he asked Spencer.
The other SEAL considered for a moment. “Lemme make a quick call to Poppy’s security team across the street.”
Gunner counted the seconds impatiently until Spencer reported, “All quiet over there. But I’ve told them to be on high alert.”
“And us?” Gunner asked.
“We hold our positions and wait.”
Gunner huffed. He hated the idea of sitting and waiting until the Oshiros decided to make a move. It was the right call, but he was itching to take these hostiles out and get on with his life. His life with Chas, dammit.
He knew patience was one of the SEALs’ greatest virtues, and Spencer was right to call on it now. But God, it was hard. He sank to his haunches and scanned in a three-sixty around the position. It was a good spot for a hide, on a slight rise with clear sight lines in every direction.
He probably ought to bring his SEAL-instilled patience to bear on Chas as well. The guy’d said he loved him again last night but had been more asleep than awake when he did it. This morning Chas had made no reference to it and didn’t seem to remember doing it. But Gunner could wait the guy out. He would say it again. And next time Gunner would make sure Chas was wide-awake to hear him say it back.
The stars wheeled slowly overhead and the night grew colder. Through his binoculars, Gunner watched Chas go through the motions of putting Poppy 2.0 to bed and moving around the house, turning out lights and generally shutting down for the night. He took pleasure in watching Chas’s slim, athletic silhouette through the windows, and a warm feeling filled his gut at the mere sight of him. Lord, he had it bad for Chas.
The last light, his and Chas’s bedroom light, winked out in the front corner of the house, and darkness fell inside the structure. Chas wouldn’t be asleep, if he had to bet. The poor guy would be lying in bed, jumping at every creak the old house made and at every puff of wind blowing outside.
A half hour passed with nothing happening. If the Oshiro soldiers were out here, Gunner had to give them credit: they were patient compared to most civilians.
Spencer murmured, “Dray, report.”
“All clear in the back. They haven’t come around here to jump the house from this side.”
“Gun, report.”
“All quiet in front.”
“I don’t like this,” Spencer replied. “We know they were here. Why aren’t they hitting the target?”
“They had to have IR gear. They must’ve figured out Poppy’s not in there.”
“So they just left? We killed one of their guys and held another one captive. Why wouldn’t they at least try to kill one of us? Vengeance is serious business for guys like these.”
Gunner had no answer. Spencer wasn’t wrong.
Spencer sighed. “Let’s run a carousel.”
He was referring to a maneuver where they would move clockwise around the house, circling it while remaining equidistant from one another. It was an effective way for a few people to patrol a large area.
“Gun, swing out close to the road and see if there are any vehicles parked down there.”
“Wilco.” Which was short for will comply.
He headed into the woods and was nearly to the front property line when he spotted a single heat signature. The guy appeared to be lounging against something, and there was a big, faint blob of heat just beside him. Vehicle engine block that was still warm. The guy was leaning against a car. Two more blobs indicated a total of three vehicles parked a dozen feet or so off the road.
Gunner reported low, “I’ve got one tango guarding three vehicles which appear to be hidden just off the road.”
Dray said tersely, “Three vehicles? That means we’re looking at a dozen or more tangoes.”
“Sounds about right,” Spencer replied.
“Then where are they?” Gunner demanded.
“I know where they’re not,” Drago replied. “And that’s here. This place is as quiet as a tomb. We’ve got no action at all on our property.”
Gunner didn’t get it. Spencer was absolutely right—the hostiles should be out for blood. If nothing else, they would need to show the big bosses they were being effective, at least in part, after having lost custody of Poppy in the first place. Why hadn’t Chas or the three of them been attacked?
Had something spooked them? Had they changed plans? What the hell were he, Spencer, and Drago missing?
He wouldn’t normally be alarmed that things weren’t going to plan. That was pretty much ops normal for a SEAL mission. But Chas was involved in this one. He didn’t like using Chas as bait if they had no idea what the tangoes were doing. They needed more warm bodies, more resources out here if they were going to press ahead with tonight’s confrontation.
“We should call in the FBI,” he murmured. “Get a tactical team out here to scour the area. Their cars are here… the tangoes have to be close.”
“We don’t have any idea how many guys there are or who they are, at this point. They’re not acting at all like the bulldogs who followed you and Chas. Those guys tracked and attacked you relentlessly. We can’t afford to call in a tip to the FBI and have it be wrong. If it is, the next time we call, the FBI will ignore us.”
This was why Spencer had been the team leader. He consistently made the right call, even if it was the hard call. Gunner sighed and moved closer to the road. He muttered, “I’m half tempted to grab the car guard and demand to know where his guys are.”
“Last resort maneuver,” Spencer replied. He sounded tense. He obviously didn’t like the fact that the bad guys had disappeared either.
Drago murmured, “I’m heading for the road.”
Gunner’s gut twisted. This was a clusterfuck… he felt it in his bones. Every operator’s instinct he had was shouting at him. Something bad was about to go down, and they weren’t where they needed to be. And Chas was a sitting duck in that big house all alone—
Tat-tat. Tat-tat-tat.
“Gunfire,” Gunner bit out, running toward the sound. “Direction of the road. My tango just jumped into vehicle number three.”
Spencer’s voice came over his earpiece, breathing hard. Dude must be in a full sprint toward him. “Those shots are coming from the Brentwoods’ place.”
Full-blown, holy-shit panic exploded in Gunner’s gut. The bad guys had figured out where Poppy was? How in the hell—?
He cut off the thought. Didn’t matter right now.
“I’m right behind you,” Drago grunted, also obviously running full-out.
“Don’t cross the road, Gun,” Spencer bit out. “Wait for us.”
More gunfire exploded. A lot of it. Gunner guesstimated that at least a dozen weapons were involved in an exchange of fire. Crap, crap, crap.
Reluctantly, Gunner screeched to a halt just inside the tree line about fifty feet behind the last vehicle. Spencer knew him too well—the guy knew he would charge in headfirst if Poppy was in danger. C’mon, Spencer. Get here already.
“Hurry,” Gunner ground out over his microphone.
It was probably no more than sixty seconds until Spencer tapped his shoulder twice, indicating he should hold his position. Dammit. Drago arrived in perhaps sixty more seconds, but it was the longest two minutes of Gunner’s life.
Spencer took point, leading them away from the vehicles around a bend in the road. Frustratingly, it was also farther away from the Brentwood property. Gunner schooled himself to patience as sporadic weapons fire continued.
Spencer indicated with hand signals that they would cross the road in stealth mode, one at a time. Gunner felt ready to explode with impatience. His urge to barge in, guns blazing, was almost uncontrollable. Were it not for Spencer and Drago grimly flanking him, he’d have done just that.
In the farthest recesses of his mind where he was still vaguely rational, he was thankful for their steadying presence. They moved into the woods on the far side of the road and quickly encountered the tall iron fence that surrounded the Brentwood estate.
Spencer reached out with one knuckle to touch the fence, and no spark jumped. Dammit. This fence was supposed to be electrified!
It made their ingress easier, though. The three of them scaled the fence quickly, pulled themselves up to the top, and rolled over the spiked tips of the fence using their bullet-resistant vests to cushion the points.
