Surprise Daddies (#1-4 Box Set)

by London James

  Ten men are moving slowly and cautiously down the path. They’re looking around as if they expect to be cut down at any moment. As I watch them come and listen to the fire from the main force up front, I find myself idly wondering if Hernan is with them – and if so, which group he’s in. I’m inclined to think he’s here. He’d want to claim victory and probably desecrate my corpse in that charming way the cartels employ to do so.

  I need to identify him as soon as possible and take him out. There is no army so ripe for the picking as one that’s leaderless. Take out their shot caller, and the rest of their force will usually fall into disarray and chaos almost immediately. Odds are, they’d run or do something really stupid. Either scenario would be fine with me.

  There’s another pause in the barrage from the main group, so I jump up and open fire. A pair of them had been adventurous enough to try to cover the open ground between them and me. It’s a mistake both men paid for with their lives as I squeeze off a burst of fire.

  The explosion is so powerful; it blows me off of my stand. I go sailing backward, and when I hit the ground, it drives the breath from my lungs. The smell of smoke is thick in the air, my ears are ringing, and my vision wavers with a dreamlike quality from the blast. I feel a warm trickle sliding down my face, and when I touch my fingers to it, they come away with a crimson smear.

  The sight of my blood snaps me back to the present and the danger of the situation. If I don’t get up, I’m a dead man. Sitting up quickly, I see the men emerging through the cloud of smoke as they pour through the breach in the wall. I count about ten from where I’m sitting.

  I quickly get to my feet and fire a quick burst. The bullets down three of them, their screams ringing through the air. I turn and move, knowing my fire will draw their attention. I hear the chatter of guns behind me and can feel the thump of their bullets digging into the ground behind me. I run hard, angling toward my woodpile.

  Five yards before I make it though, I feel something hard and hot punch through my leg. I go down in a heap, a roar of pain passing my lips. Quickly rolling over onto my back, I bring my weapon to bear and squeeze off a burst. The bullets take the two men who are pursuing me in the torso. Their bodies twitch as the bullets pass through them, and they both fall backward.

  The chatter of gunfire rings out again, and I hear the slugs slamming into the wood behind me and feel them punching into the earth around me. I need to move or die. Grimacing in pain, my every movement feeling like a white-hot fire poker is being jammed into my thigh, I limp around the woodpile and take shelter.

  Knowing it might be my final resort, I’d had the foresight to stock it properly. Good thing I did because when I peek over the pile, I see Hernan’s men fanning out across the yard, their guns at the ready. My leg is throbbing, and I feel the blood flowing thick and hot down my leg. I grab a bandana from the duffel bag at my feet and tie it around the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding.

  From my position, I hear the crash and splinter of them kicking in the back door. They’re searching the house, looking for Isla as they keep me pinned down out here. Good. Let them. That means fewer I have to deal with out here. I quietly move along that wide, deep woodpile, then pop up and squeeze off a few rounds. One man clutches his throat, a choked, wet sound gurgling from his mouth as he drops. I duck down as a barrage of gunfire returns my greeting, slamming into the pile of wood as well as the house behind me.

  Who knew my obsessive daily habit would be my salvation?

  The pain is fierce. My leg feels like it’s on fire, but I grit my teeth and try to push through it. I have to push through it. Failure is not an option. Isla’s life and that of our child depend upon it. I dig into my duffle and pull out one of the surprises I have for these assholes. Peeking over the top of the pile, I see a group of them standing and talking together – no doubt trying to figure out how to pry me out from behind my shelter.

  Pulling the pin from the grenade, I hold it for a three count, then throw it toward the small knot of men. The explosion is impossibly loud. It shakes the ground beneath my feet and brings a thick pile of snow from the roof crashing down over me.

  I sputter and dig myself clear from the snow as quickly as I can, my movements causing the pain in my leg to flare up. It’s sheer agony, but I push through it. I take a look over the pile of wood and see men still scrambling to find cover – at least those left standing after my grenade went off.

  I have no idea how many I’ve taken out to this point, nor how many are left standing. It’s nothing but chaos and confusion out there at this point. I’m simply waiting for them to make a move. Once they do, I’ll be able to counter it, then strike.

  “Baker Redmond.”

  Hernan’s voice rings loud and clear across the yard. I turn and look between the stacked pieces of wood, trying to get a fix on him.

  “Ready to call uncle yet, Hernan?”

  I hear a small, but surprisingly good-natured laugh. Though the field of vision is obviously limited, I keep trying to see between the gaps in the piece of wood, searching for the man.

  “Not yet, but I’ll let you know when I am.”

  “Yeah, you do that, Hernan.”

  My best chance of getting a fix on him though is to keep him talking. And the fact that he’s talking at all tells me that he’s worried. That he didn’t count on this level of resistance. I must have taken out a good chunk of his team, and that must have him rattled and back on his heels; which is good. He must have underestimated what I’m capable of. I like being underestimated.

  “What do you want, Hernan?”

  “I want to make a deal with you,” he calls back.

  The thought occurs to me that maybe I’m underestimating him and a jolt of concern rips through me. I fear he’s playing a stalling game with me as he gets men into position to take me out. I steal a quick look over the woodpile and am surprised to see that none of his fighters are trying to advance on me.

  “It’s a good-faith offer,” he calls.

  “Are any of your offers ever really in good faith?”

  “I’m a man of my word, Marshal.”

  “I’m not a Marshal anymore,” I call back. “But you know that.”

  “You are certainly protecting this woman like you are,” he calls. “The ferocity of your fighting reminds me a lot of the night you killed my brother.”

  “Yeah, well you killed my partner, so I think we’re even.”

  I close my eyes and try to will the ringing in my ears to subside. I need to listen closely and figure out which way his voice is coming from. If I can get a fix on him, I can end this – forever.

  “What is your offer, Hernan?”

  “Give me the woman,” he says. “And we’ll leave you in peace.”

  “I know about your blood oath, I really doubt –”

  “You have my word, Marshal,” he calls. “If you take my offer and hand over the woman, I will consider all of our debts paid. We will be even, as you say.”

  “And your beef with me about your brother?”

  “Will be forgiven,” he calls back.

  I don’t believe for a second that he’ll just forgive me for killing his brother if I hand Isla over to him. They say there’s honor among thieves, but I know for a fact that Hernan doesn’t subscribe to that philosophy. No, what’s likely to happen is that they bring Isla out to the yard and shoot her while I’m forced to watch, then one of his men will put one in my head. At least that way he can say, he honored his pledge by not killing me himself, as would be required by his blood oath.

  But I need to keep him talking. I need to give myself a little more time.

  “Yeah?” I yell. “I hand her over, all is forgiven, and we just go our separate ways?”

  “Correct.”

  “Wow,” I say. “It sounds like a great offer.”

  “It will work well for both of us.”

  I slip another grenade out of my bag, confident I know where he is. Judging by where it sounds like h
is voice is coming from, he’s behind the tool shed. Makes sense. It’s one of the only structures back there big enough to shelter behind.

  “What do you say, Marshal?”

  I pull the pin out of the grenade and hold it as I count off three. Getting to my feet, I throw the grenade at the shed. I hear the men screaming as it stays on a true course and drops behind the small structure. I duck down behind the woodpile a moment before another explosion rips through the afternoon air. The ground shakes hard beneath me, and the shrieking cries of the wounded sound like the demons have been kicked out of hell.

  Taking a look over the woodpile, I see what’s left of Hernan’s small army scrambling back out of the hole their initial explosion had put in it. I raise my weapon but hesitate before pulling the trigger. It’s over. They’re running, and there’s no honor in shooting somebody in the back.

  It looks like it’s over though. I get to my feet and hobble across the yard, my every move excruciating. I walk over to the smoking ruin of the shed and find several men on the ground, their eyes wide and unseeing. Dead. Hernan is a few feet away, lying on his back, a ragged hole in his gut. Blood spills from the corner of his mouth. He coughs and chokes, spewing a spatter of blood onto the ground beside him.

  I stand over his prone form, staring down at the man. His eyes focus on me, and I swear I see them fill with surprise. He really didn’t think I could pull this off. Didn’t think that I could take him out and win this fight. I had my own considerable doubts, but she kept me going all through it.

  He opens his mouth to speak, but the only sound that comes out is a wet, strangled choking noise.

  “Your mistake was underestimating a man who has everything to fight for,” I say. “You may be smarter and have more men, but you didn’t take into account the fact that I was fighting for love. That’s a powerful weapon, Hernan.”

  He narrows his eyes and opens his mouth again, but all I hear is what sounds like a rattling sigh, and then he’s gone. His eyes look toward the sky and the light in them dims, then goes out completely.

  I stand in the yard, looking around at the chaos and damage Hernan’s men wrought. It doesn’t matter though. Holes can be filled. Walls can be repaired. Sheds can be rebuilt. What matters is what they weren’t able to destroy.

  I limp across the yard and walk in through the shattered door to the mudroom. I make my way down to the back room and punch in my code to unseal the bunker. When the door opens, Isla and Stabler are both standing there. Her face is flushed, her eyes are swollen, and tears continue to stream down her cheeks.

  She steps forward and puts a shaky hand to my cheek, her lips trembling. She looks simultaneously relieved and grief-stricken. Stabler chuffs and wags his tail at me. I lean down and scratch him behind the ears. As if he knows I’m hurt, he lays his head gently against my good leg. Standing back up, I look Isla in the eyes and give her a smile.

  “I never thought I’d see you again,” she chokes out, her voice trembling as hard as her hand.

  “Ye of little faith,” I chide.

  She smiles and lets out a short burst of wry laughter. She wraps her arms around me gently, and I feel her body shaking as she silently sobs. I raise her head, so she’s looking me in the eye again.

  “We’re okay,” I say. “We made it through to the other side.”

  She clings to me gently but tightly. I realize that I need the physical reassurance every bit as much as she does. We stand there for what feels like hours, just holding on to each other, absorbing each other’s warmth, wrapped in the warm glow of love.

  Finally, she pulls away and looks up at me, and my breath catches in my throat when I look at her. She’s ethereal. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted and many things I never realized I wanted. Isla is living perfection to me, and I’m going to hold on to her forever. I’m never going to let her go.

  I put a hand on her belly gently and smile. “We can start our life now,” I tell her. “It’s over, Isla. No more looking back and no more looking over our shoulders. We are free.”

  “Free,” she says, as if trying to understand the meaning of the word. “We’re free.”

  I nod. “Free.”

  “I love you, Baker.”

  “I love you too,” I say and give her a smile. “Now, where in this world, are we off to first?”

  She looks me up and down, giving me a wry smile. “The hospital,” she says. “The first place we are going is the hospital.”

  The pain in my leg is terrible, but somehow, she even manages to make that feel better.

  Chapter Forty

  Isla

  I’m sitting in the chair beside Baker’s bed watching him sleep. Stabler is laying down near my feet. They almost didn’t let him in, but Marshal Parr flashed his badge and convinced them otherwise. There are two men stationed outside the door. They were introduced to me as a couple of Baker’s old squad-mates from their time together in the Marines. They’re not there in any official capacity, but I doubt anybody is going to try to push their way past them. Like Baker, they’re huge and menacing looking.

  A day and a half after the shootout, Marshal Parr and his men showed up. They quickly assessed the situation, secured everything, and then got Baker to a hospital as quickly as they could. He underwent emergency surgery on his leg, and they treated his other smaller wounds – there seemed to be a thousand of them.

  When that door first opened, and I saw him standing there, his face a mask of blood, limping and looking like he was on the verge of death himself, I was relieved, but also heartbroken. I was sure I was going to lose him before Parr and his men arrived.

  But Baker Redmond is made of stern stuff, and he pulled through. The doctors say he’s going to make a full recovery and that he’ll be back on his feet in no time flat. The immense wave of relief that washed over me at that news was as deep as it was profound.

  And now, I’m watching him sleep peacefully – sedated, of course. But at least he’s getting some much-needed rest.

  The door to the room opens, and Parr steps in, shutting it softly behind him. He hands me a cup of coffee, then takes the seat next to me. While I’m grateful he showed up at all, I’m still furious with him for putting us – putting Baker – in that position to begin with. He almost got the man I love killed.

  And while I know he did things the way he did them to protect me, in what he thought was in my best interests, it barely dulls the anger I still feel about it. But I’m trying to put it aside. I’m really trying.

  Parr sits back in his seat and takes a sip of his coffee; his eyes still fixed on Baker. We sit in a silence saturated with tension for several long moments.

  “You know, when Baker was first assigned to my Recon squad, I really didn’t think he had what it took,” he says, his voice thick with nostalgia. “I really thought he was going to wash out in no time flat.”

  “He’s a surprising and complicated man.”

  Parr nods. “That he is. I learned pretty quickly that he’s a man you don’t underestimate,” he says. “He’s smarter than he gives himself credit for. Tougher than old leather. More courageous than anybody I’ve ever met. He’s not somebody you ever want to butt heads with because he can beat you a thousand different ways. And not just physically, either. He can beat you with his mind, which is maybe his greatest gift.”

  I listen to Parr talk about Baker the soldier, and I certainly saw all of those qualities and more on display as he fought the cartel’s men. But more than that, I see a different side of him. Maybe one that Parr isn’t as familiar with. I see Baker the man. He’s gracious, humble, compassionate, and caring. And he loves with everything in him. There are no half-measures when it comes to Baker Redmond.

  “You love him, don’t you?”

  I look over at Parr, and he looks back at me with a twinkle in his eye and a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. At least, I think he’s smiling. It’s hard to say what’s happening beneath that bushy mustache on his face. One thing
I have never doubted about Parr is his sharp insight and ability to see beyond words. He’s perceptive. Intuitive. Parr is able to see right through you.

  So, it’s not all that surprising he picked up on my feelings for Baker.

  “I do,” I say simply. “Very much so.”

  He nods. “War can bond people closer together – and faster – than anything else on this planet,” he says gently.

  “It’s more than that, Marshal,” I tell him. “Not to sound too trite, but it’s like we were made for each other. All of our jagged edges just fit together perfectly.”

  “Baker is a good man,” he says. “One of the very best I’ve ever known.”

  I nod. “Yeah, same here.”

  “The kid deserves to be happy,” he goes on. “And I can see why he’s in love with you.”

  I smile and feel a faint glow in my cheeks. I lay my hand on my belly and look over at Parr. I have no idea why I feel compelled to tell him – I just do.

  “I’m pregnant, Marshal,” I confide.

  His eyes widen slightly, then shift over to Baker, who’s lying prone in the bed, dead to the world. His eyes drift back to me, and I shake my head.

  “It’s not Baker’s,” I inform him. “But he told me he intends to raise our baby like it is.”

  Parr’s smile is soft and wistful. “He’s always wanted a family,” he says. “He used to talk my ear off about it. Shocked the hell out of me at first. He never used to seem like the settle down, white picket fence type. He’s a man of action and adventure.”

  I give him a small grin. “That hasn’t changed in the least,” I reply. “It’s just that now, our adventures are going to be different. Instead of getting into gunfights, we’re going to see the world. And we’re going to raise our baby by immersing him in other cultures. I want our child to appreciate the world in the same way we do.”

  Parr nods. “I have no doubt you will,” he says. “Baker seems to love learning and knowledge about as much as you do. The kid always had his nose in a book. Like, always. The squad used to rail on him for being such a nerd, but he wore it like a badge of honor and never failed to give it back to them for being knuckle-draggers.”