by Katie Knight
“You should’ve checked the roster. Researched each name to see who was on the flight and if they might pose a threat to our operation. That man knew what he was doing. Might even be military.” Mark took another drag off his cigarette and leaned back, welcoming the sharp bite of rock against his back. He enjoyed experiencing pain, just as he relished inflicting it on others. Saliva pooled in his mouth as he fantasized about killing the worthless nanny and the boy. He wanted to eliminate the man too, for interfering with his plans and for protecting what was his to destroy, but it might be better to let the man and the nanny live. Then they, too, could suffer the loss of Logan just like the boy’s despicable parents.
“We wouldn’t have even known the kid was on the flight if it weren’t for me,” Carl choked out, voice bitter and unsure.
Mark merely had to raise one brow and stare at his son over the filter of his cigarette. Carl shrunk back and hung his head.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, though his voice was still sullen. “We’ll get the kid.” Something flashed in his son’s eyes. Was it anger at his father or at himself for not being thorough with his research? Either way, Carl had a way to go to prove himself. His oldest wasn’t the smartest boy, but what he lacked in intelligence he made up for in brawn. Mark wondered if he should have found a better partner—or just done everything himself—but it was too late now to change up the operation. He had to hold out hope that their plans weren’t foiled, or he’d explode with rage. There was no telling what he’d end up doing when one of his outbursts overtook his sense of logic. It was one of the reasons his wife left—he’d smacked Marie when she’d told him he was crazy, that he was making it difficult for her to heal from the tragic loss of their child. It wasn’t his fault—it was the doctors for shattering his world.
There was a tickle in his throat and the hacking cough he’d become prone to choked him. He motioned to Carl with impatient fingers and his son passed him water. After a few more seconds of the rib-rattling cough, he was able to catch his breath. It wouldn’t do to die in the middle of a mission. Especially when they were so close to their final goal. From their cave, he could see a warm glow shining through the downstairs window. If they had completed their mission last night, it would’ve been them who found this house and had a warm place to sleep. Again, his son’s fault. He let out a long, low sigh that sputtered to an end with a cough. There was a gnawing ache in his stomach. One that reminded him they’d skipped breakfast and lunch. He wasn’t about to let them stop for a break after what had happened. It wouldn’t kill them to be hungry for a day or so. When he was a boy, he’d gone without meals more times than he could recall. The one meal he could count on had been school lunch, but when summer vacation came, he was on his own. It made him angry to picture Logan content with a perpetually full belly. He was a child who would never know the pain of an empty stomach. Would never fret over where his next meal would come from.
Pushing the thought to the corners of his mind, Mark dug through his survival pack and pulled out an MRE. He’d gotten used to the taste of the prepacked meals during his short stint in the army. Though Carl didn’t deserve supper, he tossed one of the packets to his son. He could still be generous when it suited him. Besides, they’d both need to keep up their strength if they were going to eliminate one of the flight passengers by daybreak.
“What if the rescue team comes before we can intercept the targets?” his son asked as he tore into the MRE.
“Even if they struck gold and found a landline in the house, the weather is too bad to fly.” He took the fork off of the food packet, opened it carefully, and began to eat the flavorless pork and rice.
“We should catch them off guard in the middle of the night.” Carl followed his father’s lead and began to eat.
“That’s what we tried to do yesterday. It won’t work again—they’ll be expecting that kind of attack.” He shook his head. If only his son thought of all the different angles of a plan before throwing ideas out. “We need to split them up—they’re stronger as a group of three.”
“How could we lure them out in the middle of a snowstorm? We need to ration the rest of our fuel for the snowmobiles, so we can’t start another blaze. Maybe I could make a commotion outside the house.”
Mark’s patience began to fizzle listening to his son drone on about lazy plans that would never work. “And what? Pretend to be a lost tourist in the dead of winter? Ask if they want to willingly open the door to us when they know they’re being hunted?” He fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Not going to work.”
“You’ve got a better idea?” Carl bit out and immediately silenced himself. “Maybe we could pretend to be a neighbor. Say that we live a few miles east,” he said after a few moments.
He threw his head back and let out a roaring, derisive laugh. “And what, ask if we can borrow some sugar to bake a pie?”
“No,” Carl said oblivious to his father’s bitter sarcasm. “We could say we saw the lights on and wanted to check to make sure everything was okay.”
“Would you get your head out of your ass before I have to knock some sense into you?” Mark ground out.
“I’m just trying to brainstorm.”
“Brainstorm? Real men don’t brainstorm, they strategize and plot. People like the Hamiltons brainstorm from their corner offices—plotting how to sap the money from hard working folks like us to pay for their fancy vacations and cars.” He watched his son closely over the fire. Hadn’t he raised his son to be strong and tough? “You having second thoughts? Too scared to kill some snot-nosed toddler?”
“No.” Carl raised his fist, and drove it down, wincing when his flesh connected with the solid ground.
Mark was comforted slightly by the menace in his son’s voice. He knew he’d raised his son to be strong. Marie had always doted on them, kissed the smallest cuts and scrapes, served cookies on the patio, sang to them. She didn’t like them doing anything remotely dangerous, so when he brought home the sled, he’d been surprised that she didn’t object—much.
You should’ve never gotten him that sled.
Marie’s shrill scream echoed in his head, and his chest tightened. No, he wasn’t responsible for his son’s death. The doctors were. They hadn’t taken the proper precautions, because his son was just another poor kid who had no chance at a future. Doctors were corrupt, all of them taking kickbacks from big pharma to prescribe unnecessary drugs to put more money in their own pockets. Clearly, that was working well for the Hamiltons.
“Prove it.” Mark crossed his legs at the ankles and lazily flicked his thumb over his lighter.
“I’m always trying to prove myself, but nothing is ever good enough. It’s like you wish I were the one on that sled instead of—”
“Watch yourself, boy.” The words were barely a whisper and twice as threatening as the roar that wanted to break from his lips. “I’ve had enough pissing and moaning from you. Action. That’s what I want. Let’s get this done and get home.” He drew in a breath and released a plume of smoke from his nostrils. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Fine. What’s the plan?” Carl mumbled, wiping the blood from his knuckles.
“We need to either convince them they’re safe enough to let their guard down or separate them. Together, they were able to escape us but get the man out of the picture? The nanny and the boy will be sitting ducks waiting to be poached.” He leaned in and rubbed his hands together over the fire. A painful tingle began to prickle at his fingertips. It was bitterly cold, and once his frigid skin began to thaw, it was as though he was holding his hands inside the blaze. Every discomfort, every moment he spent bickering with the only son he had left would be worth it when he was able to kill Dr. Hamilton’s golden boy. Maybe then he’d sleep at night without being haunted by the image of the stark white stretcher surrounded by medical staff being rushed back to the operating room.
Sometimes he wondered if revenge on the doctors would be enough to squelch his pain. Only time wo
uld tell, but there were nurses present in the room who could also pay with their lives or the lives of their families if he needed more revenge. He had been kind to let them live this long when they’d let his son die.
“Dad? Are you even listening to me?”
“What?” he demanded as he was dragged from his thoughts. Being interrupted, even when he was just mulling over an idea, was one of his most significant pet peeves.
“I asked how we separate them.” Carl didn’t contain his eye roll and snagged a cigarette from the pack next to his leg.
“Well, we can start by taking a little walk,” he smirked.
Chapter Eighteen
Ben turned and glanced at the bedside clock. The large, blinding red number told him it was barely six o’clock in the morning, but he hadn’t slept. He’d stayed up, keeping vigil to ensure nothing happened to the people he cared for. When Megan had rolled to her side of the bed, leaving miles of mattress between them, it had been like someone squeezing his heart inside a vise. It was such a small thing, but the sense of rejection had gone deep, confirming every doubt and fear. He’d never be the right man for Megan even if he wanted to be. He was awful with emotion, something vital to Meg and her well-being.
He dared to glance over his shoulder where she was still sleeping soundly. Her long, dark hair popped against the red flannel sheets, and even with the baggy borrowed clothing, he could still feel her curves against his palms. He itched to reach out and pull her into his chest, but wouldn’t that only make leaving her harder? Besides, now that she’d gotten him out of her system, who’s to say she’d let him touch her? It would truly break his heart if he reached for her and she pushed him away.
He had to focus on keeping Megan and Logan safe, so they could go back to their normal, civilian lives without him. If last night was any indication, Meg had come to her senses and remembered what a scumbag he was for leaving her in college. He sighed and swung his bare legs down to the floor. He’d go hunt down some coffee, see what was in the deep freezer, and do a patrol.
Ben pulled on his jeans along with a thick cable knit sweater. It was weird wearing someone else’s clothes, but not having to smell like smoke and sweat was worth it. He owed the homeowner bigtime—and he’d be sure to compensate them for their unplanned hospitality and the inconvenience of their depleted provisions. With one last look at Meg still sleeping peacefully, he paced out to the hallway.
“Benny! I got to sleep the whole night—in a bed.”
Ben stopped short and stared down at the child in front of him. It was the first time he’d seen Logan’s full-fledged smile since the plane had gone down. His round cheeks were deeply indented by two dimples, and his grin revealed two shiny rows of gapped teeth. The sweater they’d unearthed for him—the smallest they could find— hung down to his knees and Ben could barely see the tips of Logan’s fingers even though the sleeves were rolled several times.
“It was nice, wasn’t it?” He realized he was smiling back, and not just returning the expression to be polite, but really grinning like a fool. “What do you say if we go dig up some breakfast, then you can wake Meg up when it’s done. Yeah?’
Logan reached up and took his hand as though it was the most ordinary action in the world. “Yeah. I’m gonna make Meggy a big breakfast for a surprise. You’ll show me how, right?” he asked and looked up at Ben with unfiltered admiration.
The kid’s complete trust was humbling. Out in the wilderness, Logan had brought to mind a younger version of himself. One who was abandoned and scared of what the future might hold. Now Ben could only see the excitement of a child on a grand adventure, and that was exactly how it should be. Still, he’d never forget the moment he’d forged a bond with this child, the moment he’d offered to give him a piggyback ride. In addition to Meg, he’d gotten too attached to Logan. It was going to hurt to let them both go, but it was what he needed to do. They walked down the stairs, slowly so Logan wouldn’t trip, and went to have a look at the freezer. He hadn’t seen anything in particular that stood out the night before, but at the time he hadn’t been looking for breakfast items. Logan was beyond delighted when they found a box of microwavable pancakes and a new bottle of syrup in the pantry. For what seemed like the thousandth time, Ben thanked the homeowners under his breath.
“Lots of syrup for Meggy. She looooves sugar.” Logan extended the loves part, ensuring his point hit home.
He definitely could recall Megan’s love for all sweets and confections. On weekends, they’d visit the ice cream shop, even in winter, and Meg would take to the topping bar with wide eyes bigger than her stomach. He smiled at the memory.
“What is it that I love?”
Ben turned to where Meg was standing in the doorway, arms nonchalantly crossed over her chest. Like Logan, the sweater she wore was rolled at the sleeves, and the hem was far too long for her, but she looked cozy. He wanted to go up to her and plant a kiss on her lips, but he had a feeling that the move would be swiftly rejected.
“Logan and I were just deciding the best way to prepare your breakfast.”
For the next few minutes, Ben kept himself busy stacking pancakes, pouring syrup, and setting down bottled waters on the table. Meg had primarily ignored him since she’d walked into the room. She was shutting him out, just like everyone he’d cared about before her had. The open space suddenly seemed too small, his throat too tight. He yanked on his jacket and boots, mumbled an explanation about doing a perimeter check, and escaped outside without giving her a chance to reply. If only it were his SEAL instinct, driving him to get out of the house and assess the threats around them, but he knew better. He was following intuition, but it was the one that told him to flee when faced with an emotional situation he didn’t know how to handle. He released a breath. The intensity of their lovemaking the night before had shaken him, but it was Meg’s cool demeanor this morning that had him falling back into his old habits. He was running scared.
He wasn’t going to go far. Certainly, he wouldn’t abandon Meg or Logan. But he’d take the distance he could get to avoid facing rejection. He clenched his teeth and swore when he spotted a pair of footprints circling around the side of the property. Damn it. He’d let his guard down, something he was doing more frequently around Megan, and now someone was out there waiting to get the jump on them again. He never should’ve let his heart and emotions interfere with his job. He needed to return to doing what he knew best—being a SEAL. He needed to get back in control, and that meant being proactive.
Trouble tended to find him the moment he relaxed and allowed himself to feel safe. What a dumbass. He’d gotten so caught up with Megan, he hadn’t even completed a full night-time perimeter check. They didn’t get hurt, but they could’ve. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out his cell phone, saying a silent thanks to the homeowners for storing chargers, and called the authorities. When he hung up the phone, his face was grim. It was still too windy to fly in this weather, so it was up to him to protect Logan and Megan for as long as it took for a rescue helicopter to come.
His training told him to stick close to the house, to stay cautious and play it smart, but a bigger part of him was aching for a fight. He couldn’t punch his emotions to knock them into line, but if he got his hands on the bomber, he could let out all the hurt and confusion driving him crazy. He’d have to leave Megan and Logan for a little while, but he wouldn’t go far. If the threat were within a few miles, he’d eliminate it and return with the peace of mind that no one was getting harmed on his watch.
Ben strode through the snow and opened the door to the house. A blast of warm air enveloped him like a thick blanket. He’d like nothing more than to have a few more pancakes and another cup of coffee and sit with Megan on his lap while Logan played, relaxed and utterly carefree, oblivious that there was still a threat to their safety.
Megan was still sitting at the table with Logan and looked up at him. He couldn’t read her expression, but her eyes were filled with emotion. Was
it regret for what they shared? His chest tightened. Keep them safe. Get this over with. “I’m widening my perimeter check. Lock the door. I’ll be back soon.” He turned abruptly and shut the door behind him, unable to prolong the painful interaction. The space between them had been filled with too many heavy feelings. Loss, for instance. Once they boarded the helicopter, they’d be out of each other’s lives in a few hours.
He picked up on the tracks and began following the trail. If he were lucky, they’d lead to where the men hunkered down for the night.
The forest was quiet, the only noise was an occasional crunch of snow under his feet, but he’d learned to travel virtually undetected in many different settings. He followed the sloppy tracks, trying his best to keep his mind off Megan and what the future might bring. Last night he was more honest with her than he had been with another person, aside from his brothers in arms, for a long time. What had he done wrong to make her so cold and withdrawn? Meg was always intensely aware of others’ emotions, maybe she’d sensed his hesitations and fears when he didn’t register that he had them. If he was honest with himself, he’d left her warm in bed to do a perimeter check after they’d made love, because the emotions coursing inside him threatened to overwhelm him. How could he care for another person so much, and carry the knowledge that he might never see her again once they were rescued?
She had the power to shatter his heart, crush it to pieces with the snap of a finger, and leave it irrevocably damaged. If he told her how he truly felt, Ben would be totally vulnerable—a feeling he couldn’t stand after his upbringing. And yet despite all of his reservations, as he moved inside her, three words had echoed in his head. Words that he’d never spoken before in his life. What would it be like to know she was his woman? To never doubt her love or loyalty?
The leader of their team was married to a woman named Beth. Her devotion to Lance unmistakable, as his was to her. When they were on a mission, he’d talk about her all the time. She was one of them. Family. God, how he wanted to have someone to come home to. What he wouldn’t give to fall asleep next to Meg every night. To hear stories of her adventures with the adorable kid he’d fallen for too. Was it too much to hope for? Could someone ever break the cycle and love him long-term?
