"I've got places to go."
"I'll get Dr. Collins, and you can work this out with him."
McKay struggled against his pain, unhooking wire after wire on his chest. Alarms beeped. He studied the pole holding his IV bag. "Does this thing move, or do you need to unhook it?"
"Sir, you must calm down." She pulled a phone from her pocket and paged either the doctor or security.
"Drake McKay," Joseph bellowed as he walked in. "Sit back in that bed and don't move."
The terrified nurse rushed out of the room and closed the door.
"Boss," McKay muttered.
"Whatever you're doing, why ever you're trying to break out of here like it's the clink, you stop. Do you understand me?"
McKay shifted uncomfortably. "I got stir crazy and needed to stretch my legs."
"Stretch your legs." Joseph snorted. "I'm sure that had nothing to do with Tessa Thompson storming down the hall like she wanted to do serious bodily harm to somebody."
McKay grabbed the remote and turned the volume up on the television in a desperate attempt to ignore his boss.
"She probably could," Joseph added. "If you upset her, I'd watch my back if I were you."
He squeezed the remote until his fingers ached. "I need to leave."
"If you want out of here, you have to earn it. I'm not going to have you almost die in a jungle just to have you skip out on our efforts to keep you alive."
McKay scowled. "I didn't almost die."
"Yeah, you did, and that woman you just sent rushing from your room is the reason you're alive."
"Fine, all right. Whatever." He shook his head, not wanting to hear any more.
"I would've let you sleep on that mangy cot until you died," Joseph continued. "But nope, not her. She noticed your fever. She noticed your poor responses and fever. I didn't. Your teammates didn't. The only reason you were choppered out of Colombia and medevacced here is because of Tessa Save-Your-Life Thompson."
McKay threw the remote, hoping to hit the wall across the room, but it didn't go far. Attached to a cord next to his hospital bed, it swung back at him, and clattered against the bed rail, finally dangling inches above the floor.
"What do you want me to do?" McKay yelled.
"Get your head back in the game and figure out how to fix your screw up."
Just like Tessa, Joseph spun and stormed out in a fashion far more dramatic than McKay was used to seeing in his jerk of a boss.
McKay ran his hands over his face and tried to clear his mind. It didn't work. Tessa was the only thing he could think of.
Despair spread in his blood and pumped into every crevice of his body. He threw himself back against the pillow. He turned his head to the side and focused on a cot with a small pile of folded blankets and several unopened boxes of Twizzlers.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Three days had crawled by since McKay had been released from the hospital. He hung his head over his bathroom sink, depressed. He should've shaved his beard when he got home, but he had neither the energy nor the motivation.
Life had lost its color, and other than Anna, nothing held his interest. His mother tidied around the house, trying for conversation, and he brushed her off like the fool he was.
Unlike his mother, the guys were as subtle as pink elephants on tiptoe. They arrived uninvited and unappreciated and did nothing but pepper him with ridiculous questions. They started with lead-lined softballs like how's Tessa and ended with power-punches about his health, his mindset, and his ability to get his head together.
He leaned on the vanity and watched his image in the mirror. "Two more weeks off." That sounded like an eternity. He needed to work out, to train and pump iron until his muscles gave up on him, but anything would do so long as it alleviated his tension.
But exercising sounded like an awful waste of time, and he didn't want to muster the energy. He wanted to mope.
His cell phone sat quiet, charging on the vanity counter. It didn't ring a lot, but now it was infuriatingly silent. The guys hadn't shown up all day. Maybe they went out on a job. An operation Joseph didn't tell him about.
McKay walked into Anna's room where she napped. The little girl stirred, her infant fists balled over her head in a tiny stretch.
Not that he had much to base assumptions on, but Anna was an awesome baby. More or less, she kept to a schedule. He knew, to a five-minute window, when she would wake up. Right now, he had a few moments to sit and watch her slumber. It was the only thing he could enjoy.
Her bright blue eyes opened wide with the realization she was awake. Without giving her a chance to cry, he scooped her off her purple sheets and cradled her against his chest. She was getting to be a big girl.
"Baby girl, I missed you while you were sleeping."
He walked her over to the changing table and made fast work of a diaper change.
"I know, I know. It was awesome when Tessa was here before. She'd be so proud of you." He smoothed the baby's cowlick down. "Peas and sweet potatoes. Who knew babies liked that stuff? I sure didn't."
She gurgled and reached for his face. Used to the smooth skin of a clean shave, Anna tugged his beard, intent on investigating.
"Yeah, I miss her, too."
His cell phone vibrated on his hip, but his teammates could leave him alone now. He was busy with his little girl.
He ignored two calls as he sat on the floor, watching Anna try to crawl. A pile of toys encircled them, and he fashioned two guns out of large, pink building blocks, then set up a row of stuffed animals.
"This is how you take out the enemy. First, you—" Anna stared at him, reaching for her pink block weapon. "Let me have that back." He took a few of the blocks off. "You're too young for guns. Even pink ones. This is a pink stick, and I have no idea what you should do with it."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. What did he know about babies? Tessa would know babies didn't get pink guns of the building block variety. She'd know how to turn a pile of pastel plastic into something girly and appropriate like… he had no idea.
The phone rang again, and he looked at the screen. "What do you want, Cason?"
"Three times. You made me call three times before you picked up the phone. You're acting like a chick."
"Maybe I was on the crapper."
"Yeah, maybe, but I think you're full of it. I talked with Edith. She'll be there in ten minutes. You and I are going out. Make yourself reasonably presentable."
McKay dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling. "Whatever. And since when do you and my mom chat?"
"The world's conspiring against you, bro." Cason chuckled and hung up.
McKay returned to making large stacks of blocks. Pink skyscrapers or were they pink bridges? Pink sticks. Straight lines were the only things he could fathom that weren't based on violence.
McKay cracked his neck, snagged Anna, and walked into his room, ignoring the few items of Tessa's on his dresser. He shimmied out of pajama pants and into jeans and a shirt.
Coffee. That was next on the list of things to do before they arrived. It might be the only way he could survive. He rounded into the kitchen and saw two vehicles traveling up the driveway. His mother, followed by Cason. This wasn't what he needed.
McKay held Anna on his hip and poured a cup of coffee. "This is going to go well." He moved to the window and watched Cason chat with his mom. "Not going to go well at all." He downed the coffee in few blistering swallows and then poured himself another cup.
They walked into the kitchen, both staring with the same disapproval.
Cason snort-laughed. "Dude, you've got to get out of the house. You look like—"
"Careful with your language around the baby." His mother reprimanded Cason.
"Sorry, E. My bad."
E? Cason was onto nicknames with his mom? In what world was this happening?
"Drake, I'll take Anna for the afternoon."
"Grab your favorite gun." Cason rummaged through his pantry. "Grab mo
re than one. You might need 'em."
McKay tore open a box of Twizzlers and dug in while Cason rummaged through the snack cabinet. McKay's mom took Anna into the living room while he eyed his buddy. "By all means, Cason, help yourself."
He laughed. "Thought I was."
"Where are we going?" He gnawed on a Twizzler.
"Careful, McKay." Cason grabbed one also and took a bite. "You're going to lose your boyish figure eating like that."
"Watch yourself, Cason. I'll leave you in a puddle of your own blood."
"Nah. You'd be too worried about Anna getting in it." Cason took another bite. "Come on. We've got places to go." He grabbed a box of cookies. "I'm taking these too. Get your gear and meet you outside."
McKay took two stairs at a time to his weapons stash, unlocked the safe, and selected a handgun and rifle. As he headed back down, his mom loudly cleared her throat. He turned, waiting for her to lay into him.
"I'm glad you're getting out of the house," she said.
He grumbled. "I'm not happy about it."
"You need to see different walls."
"I have a lot to choose from in my own home."
She clucked. "You're a mess, son."
"Thanks, Mom. That's exactly what I need to hear." He stalked away and let the door slam. He shook his head, knowing he needed to pull it together now that he was the leading candidate for worst son of the year. Also, biggest jerk of the year. What other awards would he rack up?
McKay got in, and Cason switched radio stations, stopping on the Eagles singing Desperado directly to his sorry self. He didn't want to be in this truck, going who knew where. Even the radio mocked him. Cason burned past the speed limit, looking excited.
"Want to tell me where we're headed?" McKay stared at the unfamiliar road.
"Not really. But we'll be there in a minute."
Several songs later, they turned onto an unfamiliar two-lane road that curved and angled. Cason drove the odd turns as though he did so every day.
"We almost there?"
"Yup."
"And there is?"
"My secret getaway. Where all your problems will be forgotten."
They slid into a small dirt parking strip and splashed through mud. A nondescript sign read GUNS. The words dangled under a rusted, larger-than-life bison replica complete with a snarling face and a charging hoof pulled high. A few pickup trucks lined the lot in front of a one-level, brick building with bars on the windows.
"Your secret escape is a gun range? I could've shown you a half-dozen thirty minutes closer."
"Patience, buddy."
Cason jumped out and shut his door. McKay pressed his head against the headrest. Fine. Pounding out a few rounds might help. He followed Cason with far less enthusiasm than his buddy. A security camera traced their path to the door. Cason rang a doorbell and, seconds later, a buzz preempted the door popping open.
They entered a small room. It was dimly lit and glass cases lined the walls. Handguns and throwing knives hung on the dark-paneled wall. An empty desk sat in the corner next to a shady hallway. It was dingy and hadn't shown any of the promise Cason raved over. McKay trailed a finger over the smooth countertop, peering down at a compact Beretta 9mm.
"Well, if it ain't my favorite of all my favorites. Hi ya, Cason. You come over here to play?"
McKay spun around. The woman with dark hair wore black leather pants like a second skin. Her silver belt buckle of dueling pistols etched over a jagged heart shined near a belly ring and a black cotton shirt with the lettering scribbled across her chest that read Girls Love Guns.
His eyebrows arched, not knowing what to think.
Cason grinned. "Hey, Cherry. I brought a friend."
The woman wore lipstick that was far too red. Her tousled hair was piled in a way that screamed for attention, and she smelled like scotch and spice. Her smoky gaze narrowed as she studied him before offering a simple hello.
"Does your friend have a name?" She raised her eyebrows to Cason.
"No," McKay volunteered.
"Good." Cherry grinned facetiously. "Because I'm busy."
"Too busy to hang out with us?" Cason asked.
Her eyebrow arched. "Perhaps."
"No." Cason laughed. "Never. Don't break my heart, Cherry."
"Well, it depends on why you're here, especially considering your grumpy friend."
McKay grumbled.
Cason laughed again. "He's why we're here. We need to turn that frown upside down."
"Give me a break," McKay muttered.
Cherry stepped toe-to-toe with McKay and planted a hand on her cocked hip. "This one requires more than a smile. What's wrong with you, Grumpy?"
Nothing McKay planned to share with this woman. "The name's McKay."
"Well, McKay, welcome to my range."
He grumbled his thank you.
Cherry's eyes narrowed. "Might as well tell me what has you in a funk. I always find out."
"He needs a distraction," Cason offered.
McKay growled. "I do not need anything."
"Aw, McKay, don't snap at him." She rolled her very red lips together. "I happen to specialize in distractions." She extended her hand over a glass case of weapons. "But you can't be grumpy."
"Come on, McKay." Cason ambled down a hall. "We'll take a couple of lanes. Put it on my tab."
They wound through the hallway and passed through doors until they came to the indoor shooting range. McKay looked around. Special-forces types lined the lanes with weapons he'd never seen before.
"What is this place?" McKay asked.
"Something of an invitation-only gun club."
McKay eyed the room. "I'd say."
"Relax and get in some target practice."
He didn't move. He wasn't tired, but exhaustion weighed him in place. He didn't want to be here with any of these gunslingers.
"We can stay here all day. Unless you're worried that, I don't know, you'd rather be somewhere else. Maybe with someone else and not a bunch of dudes with guns."
McKay glared.
Cason tilted his head. "I wonder what Tessa's doing today."
"Watch yourself," he snapped, then headed into a target lane and readied to fire a few rounds. With a quick look at Cason, smugly waiting for him to admit what he wouldn't, McKay donned protective glasses and earplugs. He refused to think about Tessa.
McKay slammed the clip in, blew out a heavy breath, and pinched his eyes closed--and pictured Tessa.
He refocused, and after a deep breath, he sighted the target, a mere twenty-five yards away, and squeezed the trigger. The kickback felt good. He needed to feel that.
He cocked another round into the chamber and fired again, and again. The kick was a relief. A constant. Something comforting that happened with every trigger-pulled blast.
"Not bad, McKay," Cherry said from behind him. "I wasn't sure if someone as grumpy as you had good aim."
Annoyed, he took off his protective shades and removed his earplugs. "What do you want?"
"And," she pretended to gasp. "You have such good manners."
He turned and punched the button for his target. The cardboard target raced up the track and came to a stop, swaying.
"Not your first time on the trigger, I see," she offered.
He turned sharply. "I work better alone."
"However you work, you need to know that walking into this range is like walking into my home."
His eyebrows arched.
"I want that to be a good experience. All right? No grumpiness." She offered a sweet smile that contradicted his initial impression. "Do you think you can manage that?"
He was tired and cranky and empty. Thinking about his attitude made him wish Tessa was waiting for him at home. He wanted to come back here but not today feeling like this. Cherry had a fantastic place, and McKay didn't appreciate it. "I'll drop the attitude if you don't hold it against me."
"All right then. I can do that." Cherry grinned. "Should I assume you
know how to smile."
He snorted. "Don't go crazy now."
She laughed. "Doing better."
Cason came over. McKay dropped the clip from the gun. "I think it's time to head home."
Cason glanced at Cherry. She gave him a reassuring nod.
"Nothing a little range time couldn't fix," Cason said.
"I'll meet you outside." He didn't wait for either of them and left.
A minute later, Cason caught up with McKay in the parking lot. "You're missing the big picture of life."
McKay rolled his eyes, mouthing big picture of life then got into the passenger seat.
Cason sat behind the steering wheel. He turned the engine over and pulled out. "The McKay I used to know, pre-Tessa, wasn't irritable. He was just cantankerous."
McKay rolled his eyes. "I've got a lot on my mind."
"No, my friend. You have Tessa Thompson on your mind, and it'll be the death of you if you don't deal with it."
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Tessa zoned out in front of her computer. The screensaver was blank, except for the solitary square bouncing corner to corner. A comedy highlight reel could've played on repeat, and she wouldn't have noticed. Instead, she twirled a pencil between her fingers. Her last patient canceled, and she was left with empty time.
She drank so much coffee that the next step would be mainlining espresso. That wouldn't do. Coworkers were already whispering. After the professional inquisition from her coworkers about her bruises and scratches, she decided all the cover up and foundation wasn't hiding the tired eyes and sad smile they really wanted to know about. It was too bad the frown was here to stay.
She stared at her coffee cup, debating the drawbacks of the shakes. A jittery caffeine headache would kick this defective day over to the pointless category. She held her hands out to ensure her fingers didn't tremble.
Someone knocked on her closed door. She should have turned out the lights. Disruptions weren't welcome. Her next appointment wasn't for at least another hour, so whoever it was could find someone else to bother. If she didn't move, they might leave her alone.
The door clicked open. She cringed, disinterested and annoyed. But then an infant gurgled, offering a slew of nonsensical words. Her heartstrings quivered, wanting to see the baby, needing to see Drake. She inched round in her chair, heart punching into her throat. Disappointment exploded in her chest. Not Drake.
The SEAL's Promise (Safehouse Security) Page 22
