When Morris touched her back, she jumped and looked at him. He squinted. “I know you won’t admit to being scared, but you are. You care about this, and know the potential for danger. That it never ended.”
“I’ve sacrificed everything, and continue to do so. I live with fear every day of my life, Morris. Every day, in every place I go, every step I take, in the schedules I keep, I’m constantly on guard, looking over my shoulder, planning my schedule strategically. Like a god damn soldier, yet I never enlisted, was never part of what you all are part of. I’ve got nothing concrete, stable and trustworthy, but the four of you. Yes, I have made some great friends. Friends I trust, but to an extent. I’m hollow inside, Morris. Hollow. I walk around with titanium around my heart, around my body and soul. So believe me when I tell you that this new information doesn’t affect me in a way that I would change anything I’m already doing. I’m on guard constantly.”
“Fuck,” he whispered, and pulled her into his arms to hug her.
“One day this will all be over. I promise you, we’ll find them and eliminate the threat.” She pulled back and didn’t respond, and instead started making the eggs.
* * * *
“You guys should have gone by Avery’s last night. We had a good time. It was relaxing,” Flynn said to Leif and Cavanaugh.
They didn’t respond.
He looked at Leif, who just stared at the iPad looking at some things he was working on for the government. Now a pro at computer forensics, Leif was basically able to track down accounts and people in some sort of special I.T. way Flynn knew nothing about. Flynn was a leader, a commander and strategic battle operator, along with Knight who knew weaponry, ballistics, counter intelligence and off the wall shit men with no fears do. Cavanaugh was now a behind scenes guy like Leif, helping with mission operations and counterattacks for ground and air support. They had a million dollars worth of government computers, equipment, and operational tools in the home office, which took up half the house.
Cavanaugh’s cell phone rang and he looked at it, then stood up. “Excuse me,” he said and headed out of the room. Leif looked at Cavanaugh and then at Flynn.
Knight spoke up. “Hey, Leif, what was that call from Brennan about?”
Leif put down the iPad. “A potential assist for a friend. Some kind of situation with money laundering through businesses, but could be a way of filtering in monetary support for terrorist activities. A hit to something indicated the potential, but it’s a far reach. Seems they want to cover their bases.”
“Sounds like there’s more to it,” Knight said.
Flynn watched and listened to Leif. His brother was a good man, a strong, good-looking guy with a lot of character, and having those scars on his cheek, by his eye, and on his neck made him more introverted to where he isolated himself. Flynn could see the excitement in his eyes though as he talked about this potential operation and how his skills and abilities were needed. Flynn thought that was what kept Leif engaged, and even Cavanaugh, living this life—the fact that they were still needed by the military and government despite their injuries.
“What about you guys? Got anything coming up?” Leif asked them.
Flynn knew his brother wished to be in the field like they were. Back in the action, their lives on the line, the adrenaline rush, but truth be told, Flynn and Knight weren’t getting any younger, and they turned down two recent jobs. It was an indicator that retirement may be in the near future, they just needed to figure out what they would do instead. Perhaps talking to Simon and Aqua about security jobs for private clients.
“We’re clear for a while,” Flynn said.
“You haven’t had anything official for months,” Leif said.
Flynn looked at Knight, then back at Leif. Leif leaned back in his chair. “Okay, what’s the deal? What aren’t you telling Cavanaugh and I?”
“Nothing. It’s just been different and we’re discussing some changes,” Flynn told him.
“Fuck it. We’re thinking of retiring,” Knight said, and Leif widened his eyes.
“What?” Cavanaugh asked, coming back into the kitchen.
“We’ve declined the last two missions. Our hearts and heads weren’t into it and the danger was too high to jump in that state of mind,” Knight said.
Leif sat forward in his seat. “What are you thinking of doing?”
“We’ve been holding off the inevitable. The commander knows how we feel and it won’t be a surprise when we give notice. I’m going to give Simon a call and check into the security gigs they have. They’re lucrative, need good, experienced military men, and it’s not constant work. Retiring is going to take some getting used to, and keeping active, coming up with a schedule and plan is key to not lose our minds or regret it,” Flynn told them.
“We aren’t getting any younger,” Cavanaugh said, and then walked toward the chair to sit down. His limp was not so obvious in just a few steps he took, but Flynn knew he was injured. In his head, maybe he thought he needed to continue to be a mercenary, to do these dangerous jobs because there were no excuses. Here his two brothers were, injured, suffering from PTSD and him and Knight were perfectly fine. Some scars and battle wounds, but they were able to do a job their brothers couldn’t do any longer. He felt like shit. Like he was failing and he shouldn’t feel that way.
“Hey, I think it’s a smart idea. You two have had some close calls. When you return, you’re exhausted for days, unlike years ago when we would hop into one job after the next with just enough time to grab clean shit and head out again. It’s time, and I think the security gig is a positive alternative than just twiddling your thumbs. You both have a lot to offer in a security civilian field,” Leif said to them.
“I agree, and to be honest, we worry when you guys are gone. We’re a family, a team, and we can focus on other things if we’re all together more often and there isn’t the worry of leaving or getting killed,” Cavanaugh added.
“Well then.” Flynn looked at Knight.
“I’ll talk to the commander, you call Simon,” Knight said, and Flynn nodded. They made a decision and everything would work out fine.
* * * *
“Hey, Leif, we need to talk,” Cavanaugh said to him. And Leif was immediately concerned. He stood up. “Excuse us,” he said.
“Of course, and thanks for the support,” Flynn said, and Leif nodded. As he headed out of the room, he whispered to Cavanaugh. “You think they’ll be okay retiring?”
“Hell no, they’re going to go through a stage of being snappy assholes.”
“That isn’t anything new,” Leif said, and Cavanaugh chuckled.
“We were pricks when we retired.”
“Because we weren’t ready,” Leif said.
“You could have stayed on,” Cavanaugh said.
“Oh yeah, I was a walking liability as far as the bosses were concerned. This is perfect what we do, and we don’t even have to leave the fucking house. No suits and shit, or bullshit red tape.”
“Yeah, you can say that again. Hopefully Flynn and Knight can find the same satisfaction that we do in retirement and doing this work.”
“Agree.”
“So, what’s the deal?” Leif asked as he closed the office door behind him. Cavanaugh went toward the computers and his terminal area.
“Commander Brennan gave us this job to look into account’s, finance, you know forensic accounting, and it seems the gang believes these individuals have terrorist connections.”
“What?” Leif asked.
Cavanaugh pursed his lips. “It gets worse.”
“How so?”
“That mission you went on in Fallujah…”
Leif’s stomach tightened. It was where he sustained his scars and nearly died from the hands of a monster asshole. One who didn’t have a name or identity until six months ago. That was more than a year after the attack on Leif and his team. Everyone else died. He was scarred for life.
“Somehow Topaz is connected to these me
n. To this terrorist operation.”
“Fuck.”
“I need to know if you’ll be able to handle this? To handle hearing Topaz’s name, seeing his face and shit.”
“You mean because of my fucked up head?” he snapped.
“Post-traumatic stress can cause crazy shit and be triggered by the smallest thing,” Cavanaugh replied empathetically.
“I’m past the small things. It takes much larger ones, or a bad case.”
“Exactly. This would be facing a demon, a monster you’ve wanted dead for more than a year.”
Leif thought about it. “I can do it. It would be stupid not to. Anything we can do to use our abilities to stop him, to capture or kill him and any of his friends wanting to terrorize the innocent. That’s what he was doing in Fallujah. Setting the groundwork for connections. He’s a killer plain and simple. What do you have? Our investigations always came up with shit.”
“Well, our job is to look deeper into these financials of some companies he had connections to in the United States. Seems that two owners of two different companies that already show signs of misuse of funds and donations to bullshit organizations overseas, were found murdered. A machete to the throat.”
Leif’s eyes widened.
“It gets worse. Corona Flemming is working for a private organization who is also trying to track these fucks financials.”
“Shit, is Danny involved? The feds at all?”
“Doesn’t seem to be official business with Danny, however, Corona said it has to be on the down low. The CIA formed a team. That’s why Brennan called me. That team wants our assistance on this.”
“Seriously, and meanwhile you see that Corona is digging and for a private organization? I don’t like this.”
“Nor do I, but we’ve known Corona for years. He isn’t working for the bad guys so in the end, the result could be the same. Topaz caught or dead, and a potential terrorist organization destroyed before they can strike. It’s just who gets to the head of the information first,” Cavanaugh said to him.
“They’ll work with us on this?” Leif asked, and swallowed hard.
“Corona is hoping we have even more pull than he does. You know some of the shit him and his brothers do aren’t always by the rules, but in the end it’s for the good guys.”
Leif snickered. “Okay. Let’s see what we got and start digging.”
Leif took a seat and started to pull up the information Cavanaugh sent to him. His mind drifting back to that botched mission, losing ten of his buddies, and how Topaz got away. He was like a ghost how he disappeared, and those men came out shooting, providing cover for him to escape. It was more than a year, and a lot of digging by Cavanaugh to figure out the guy’s name, but there was nothing more on Topaz. He was nonexistent on paper, until now.
Chapter 3
Jo listened to Ford McCurio talk about his girlfriend, Alexis, indicating where he felt her body needed improvement. She was a bit shocked at his brazenness, but she had seen this before. An older, wealthy businessman wanting to have a much younger, sexy woman by his side. He even had the audacity to pinch the little bit of extra skin by Alexis’s sides. She was in great physical condition, but needed muscle tone.
“You have to see what I picture her to look like. Can you work with her?”
“Every body type is different, Mr. McCurio. We went over this on the phone consultation and about diet, and the level of commitment.”
“Oh, she is committed, and I’m willing to pay the extra money for you to design a diet plan for her that will get the results I want quickly.”
“How quickly are you talking?” she asked as Alexis stood there nibbling her bottom lip. The poor woman looked ready to cry.
He ran his palm along Alexis’s hip and then to her ass, squeezing it. “She’s committed. Ready to do whatever it takes to get the results we’re looking for,” he said, and then looked at her breasts in the top she wore.
Jo felt annoyed, but this was what her job sometimes entailed, dealing with men like Ford who wanted to turn his woman into his fantasy. If she was game, then Jo would help her the best she could.
“Okay, why don’t you leave Alexis and I to talk and start making some plans? I can fit her into a schedule based on commitment level, time availability etc.”
“Oh, she is prepared to work out every day, twice a day if necessary. I’m very busy the next month traveling abroad multiple times. I’ll be back two, three days tops and then off again. So her job is to work on perfecting this body and getting the results I’m paying for. Your job is to make it happen.”
He walked out of the room and Jo exhaled.
Alexis looked Jo over. She knew the routine, but Jo’s body type was different. Her training regimen was intense, to say the least. “Well, tell me something, Alexis. How do you feel about doing this?”
Alexis swallowed hard. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes. I love him,” she said, and Jo couldn’t believe it. She didn’t even care that her boyfriend basically tore her body apart in front of Jo, degrading her and basically saying that he didn’t accept her the way she was but wanted to change her. She swallowed the emotions she felt and set forth a plan of action with Alexis, who turned out to be a pretty nice, sweet, young woman.
When she was done and headed out of the large estate, Jo was mixed with emotions. She didn’t date. Never found anyone of interest or that made her want to let down her guard a little even for a fling. She was asked out all of the time, and especially by men she saw often at competitions. Truth was, she didn’t think she could ever let her guard down to date or even be intimate with a man. It frustrated her because she saw what some of her friends had, even attended a wedding last year as one of the trainers from the dojo got married to two men. Maybe that was the other thing that frightened her. More than one man having an interest, wanting to stake a claim to her. It was going to be difficult enough if she ever got the courage to take a chance and let a man kiss her, explore her body, and want to make her his woman. She would need that commitment. She knew that for certain, because having meaningless sex, giving up her virginity that was nearly ripped from her, would not be easy.
In fact, she was so fearful of her PTSD acting up at the oddest times, she couldn’t help but fear it happening when she did let down her guard and a man began to touch her. The thought brought on too many emotions of sadness, fear, anxiety, and she had fought too hard to let such things deter her or make her weak and sad. At this point, she would have to settle for being single and never knowing what love was. She did know for sure that she wouldn’t want a man like Ford McCurio. There were way too many of those types of men out there destroying normal women’s self-esteem and making them unhappy with their bodies, and ultimately destroying their confidence.
She stopped thinking about it. There was no need to. She was never going to let her guard down. How could she, because eventually she would have to tell a man she might love about being abducted at twenty-one, held hostage for twelve weeks, nearly raped and sold off to some man she didn’t know, and how the one man in her life that should have protected her was the one who sold her off, who helped plan her abduction and all that had transpired. She was not normal in any way. It took four years to get past the demons, the feel of isolation from being caged like some animal instead of a human being. She wanted to die. It had taken hatred, thoughts of revenge, and the love of her brothers, the only men she could ever truly trust, to make her fight for her life and not end it. Way too much baggage for any man. Love just wasn’t in the stars for her, or happiness either.
As she drove her white Jeep Wrangler down the street toward the dojo, she decided to stop at the art gallery as she had another hour before she had to go workout, and instruct a class. She liked going there. It calmed her nerves, made her mind drift away from the past, and helped her to regroup. She hadn’t been here in a couple of weeks, but the sign outside had said new art on display. That was a great aspect of having the art gallery around to
wn. Things were shuffled up here and there so visitors kept coming back to see what was new.
It was a large building with two floors of local artists’ paintings and sculptures, as well as more seasoned, well-known ones. She found coming here a bit relaxing, and after the morning she’d had and the thought process that followed, she sure could use a distraction.
She wasn’t there more than ten minutes when she walked toward a painting that drew her in immediately. It was of a woman standing by herself watching all the excitement and fun taking place around her. There were people laughing, kids running around, rides, food vendors like some sort of carnival or fair, but the young woman just stood there, holding onto one of those old-fashioned, black wrought iron light poles. It was like she couldn’t join in, or maybe she wanted to but was afraid.
She could see herself that way sometimes, and especially when her friends wanted to meet at Gordon’s, Corporals or Casting’s to have drinks and catch up. She put on a good front, but inside she shook with a bit of fear wondering who around there could hurt her. It was on her mind all the time and that was why she trained so hard. It had become an obsession, a therapy tool to live on.
She closed her eyes a moment, and forced the images from her head. Sometimes, when she was exhausted and in a deep sleep, she could still feel the hands upon her naked body. Fingers digging into her skin, pain against her breasts, sticks poked between the metal bars, and low chuckles, or snarls. The sound of foreign voices as they taunted her and laughed.
“Excuse me, you dropped these.” She heard the deep voice and gasped, turned, and nearly fell over the bench, but a strong hand gripped her hand and stopped her from falling onto her ass. She locked gazes with a big, muscular man who had a scar along his cheek, one by his eye and another over his neck. Her eyes shot from one to the next and then to his deep blue eyes. She stood straighter and wondered what the heck just happened.
Healing Hearts 10: The Scars That Bind Us Page 3
