by Laura Acton
Leaning down William kissed the top of Daniel’s head. “Rest now, my son. I’m here and I will protect you with my last breath.”
Grand Citadel Hotel – Room 666 – 4:30 p.m.
Plouffe hung up the phone after talking with Murphy and was now feeling giddy as he gleefully thought of how the General was hurting again. The General must’ve gotten word that the toy soldier was injured in the gang war. Plouffe hoped he was injured badly.
He was so sick of the Brodericks—William, in particular. That man ruined everything for him. He’d planned everything over thirty years ago—shortly after he joined Special Forces. He should be the General now—not Broderick. But his plans began to fall apart when they were both promoted to Major.
At that time, Broderick also horned in on the woman Plouffe wanted—for her fortune more than anything else. He’d worked for months to gain the attention of Lady Yvonne Loving. The gala to celebrate the promotions was when he was going to make his move on her. She would’ve been his, but goddamned Broderick showed up at the gala—the sourpuss never attended functions like that—but he just had to show up at that one.
Then goddamned Jasper Pastore—God, he hated the man—Jasper thought he was better than anyone because he went from being a Special Forces medic to a doctor. But the damned man pulled Yvonne away from him as he was talking to her and laughingly told her she needed to meet someone very special. Pastore then introduced her to Broderick of all people.
It was unknown to him at the time that Yvonne’s twin sister had been married to a Broderick—Erik Broderick—for nearly seven years. So Pastore’s words were a dig at him—God, he hated Pastore. He’d made Pastore pay for that jibe. He’d cut the brake line on Pastore’s father’s car and Jasper’s father, mother, and brother died when the car slammed into the back of a semi. It had been so satisfying to watch Pastore cry like a baby at their gravesites.
Nigel knew that Broderick was all wrong for Yvonne—she was bright and gregarious and Broderick was so dour it was like he had a stick up his ass. It surprised the hell out of him when she married Broderick the next year. Nigel could never figure it out—they had nothing in common.
Then Broderick saddled her with a brat within the first year. But Nigel had had a plan to fix that and to move up to Lieutenant Colonel at the same time. If it had worked he would’ve swooped in on a grieving widow, wooed her, married her, and then killed the squalling brat before he even turned two.
He’d had the goods on Colonel Grasett. He’d been blackmailing him ever since he found out that the Colonel cheated on his wife. Not so much a scandal if the person he cheated on with was a female, but it just happened to be a male and the man was under Grasett’s command—his aide. He’d caught the two of them in flagrante delicto in the Colonel’s office late one evening. He’d watched unnoticed for a bit, then went to get a camera, returned and took pictures.
After that, Colonel Grasett was putty in his hands. The Colonel smoothed over his friendly fire incident. It wasn’t his fault that the dumbass Jay Pearce moved into his line of fire—at least that’s what the official report said. Personally, he was pissed off he’d hit Jay’s leg—he was aiming for a kill shot, but Jay moved at the last second. Then Broderick, Sutton, Washington, Pastore, and Major Cardillo were there to save Jay’s ass and he couldn’t fire another shot—a kill shot.
Colonel Grasett also facilitated his promotions. That was only right as far as Nigel was concerned. Broderick had his family connections to move him up at rocket speed. Nigel’s method was no different than the Broderick nepotism.
His plan had very nearly worked. He was successful in killing off Lieutenant Colonel Elkins. But unfortunately, Colonel Grasett changed cars at the last minute and ended up in the one with Broderick and Elkins and was also killed. But what pissed him off the most was that somehow Broderick survived.
By all accounts Broderick should’ve died—like he should’ve died countless times before in the field. Broderick was one lucky son of a bitch. General Badass was just as hard to kill as his toy soldier—the General and his brat were too much alike.
With Grasett gone, Nigel no longer had leverage to move up quickly. But he had been certain that General Craymuier would promote him to Lieutenant Colonel when Broderick was injured so badly. Nigel was sure he could work that role into Colonel in no time flat.
But General Craymuier promoted Major Sutton to Lieutenant Colonel instead and left the Colonel spot vacant for a year. He’d been pissed yet again when Broderick returned to active duty, after a year’s recuperation and rehabilitation, and he was the one promoted to full Colonel.
It was then that Plouffe started looking for ways to make the man’s life hell. It wasn’t until eight years later he discovered Broderick’s soft spot—by pure accident. He’d picked up the local tabloid and read the article on the death of Broderick’s seven-year-old brat.
The picture on the front page showed him exactly how to hurt Broderick the most. However, it took years to use that information. Nigel was so thrilled when he was lucky enough to finally get a hold of his toy soldier.
He’d had a nice long run with the toy soldier. Plouffe thought about his past attempts to hurt the General by knocking over his toy soldier. There were so many failed attempts. Murphy was inept and the toy soldier just wouldn’t fall—he always stood up again with the help of his damned unit.
But now that the toy soldier no longer had his unit to save him, he should be easy to kill. The toy soldier was the reason Aaron was dead—Plouffe was sure of it. As Plouffe thought about his attempts to kill his toy soldier in the past it was more satisfying now. Nigel liked the fact that he’d caused both Broderick’s lots of pain.
Plouffe wished he hadn’t lost control of his toy soldier—Aaron would still be alive. He hadn’t expected that to be the result and it still burned his gut that the toy soldier didn’t eat his gun after he killed Hunter. That had been his plan and he was certain it would’ve worked. But it didn’t for some reason.
When he learned from Aaron that Broderick ended up in Tactical Response Force in Toronto, Nigel began to plan again and feed Aaron lots of information hoping that Broderick would return to the military like he’d done when things got tough at the 14th Division.
One day, years ago, Plouffe had overheard Buzz and Dutch talking to retired Sergeant Wilson Keswick about his toy soldier. They were discussing the problems Broderick had when was in the 14th Division of the Toronto Police and how they’d talked him into joining the military.
He’d watched his toy soldier closely since Broderick joined the Army. Nigel was ecstatic when Broderick requested for special dispensation to apply to Special Forces before he met the minimum age requirement. Plouffe couldn’t wait to get his hands on the means to make the General’s life hell on earth.
Nigel had been pissed when he found out about the clerical error that almost prevented the toy soldier from making the cut, although that clerical error was fortuitous in its own right. It led him to Corporal Merrill.
He had really, really liked playing with his toy soldier to make the General suffer. It never mattered to him that the toy soldier was innocent—he was just a tool to be used. But now his toy soldier was no longer innocent. The toy soldier had personally harmed him now—Aaron was dead and the toy soldier wasn’t. The toy soldier now had to suffer and pay for his crime.
A satisfied smile played over Plouffe’s lips—the General would finally suffer the death of his soft spot. Then he’d suffer the deaths of the ditzy daughter, then snobby Lady Yvonne, and then finally General Badass.
Wait, no … then the rest of the Broderick males one by one because they were a blight on the military. Once they were all gone, then and only then would he kill the General—the Broderick line would be finished forever with no males left. Then if he took out Colonel Sutton, he’d finally get promoted in the leadership vacuum that would be created.
Time to think. How best to make it happen? He didn’t want this one to fail. P
louffe smiled and breathed out heavily as his mind began to spin different scenarios and options.
Chapter Forty-Three
July 16
TRF HQ – Briefing Room – 4:30 p.m.
Blaze, Winds, and Patch silently watched the display of fatherly concern playing out before them and couldn’t reconcile it with their years of history of what the General had put Blondie through. Gambrill’s words had painted a very different picture of the man. But as far as they knew, the General constantly put Blondie in harm’s way, so much so that the kid was so very close to losing his soul. This just didn’t add up. What the hell was going on?
As Blaze mulled over this vast disconnect, the words the General whispered wafted towards the group. Words intended for Blondie only, but it was so deathly quiet in the room it was impossible not to hear them. Out of all of what he heard, Blaze zeroed in on the first time that Blondie had been hurt in Kandahar—it was terrible. The memory flashed into his mind.
Blondie and Brody had joined the unit about four months prior. Their mission required Blondie to take up a sniper position, with Brody as his spotter, to cover the unit. The rest of them went to recon the two-story building a kilometer away. Everything was going as planned—he, Winds, and Patch were on the first floor, and Gambit and Mason were on the second.
Then their coms went down. Brody and Blondie could see them, but not communicate. Blondie had spotted several strange shapes attached to the outside of the building. Brody checked them out with binoculars and realized that the building was wired to explode. The two surmised that the unit had been lured into a trap with false intel.
The rookies knew they had to let the unit know and decided that since Blondie was the faster runner, he would go and Brody would take over as sniper. The kid hauled ass to warn them to get out of the building. As Blondie ran to the building, several shots were fired, alerting them something was up.
Brody took out the three targets and no more shots were fired. As Blondie got closer, Blaze had heard Blondie yelling at the top of his lungs, ‘get out, bomb, get out now’. He, Patch, and Winds headed out at the sound of the warning. But Gambit and Mason hadn’t heard. Blondie didn’t stop as he raced into the building and sped up the flight of stairs still yelling the warning.
Blondie had found Gambit and Mason at the far end of the building and the three were almost clear of the building when it blew. Mason was first out—he was thrown clear—shaken and bruised, but otherwise unharmed. Gambit was second out—he died instantly when a large piece of concrete wall collapsed and crushed him as he lay unconscious on the ground. It was hard losing Gambit and Blaze still missed him.
They hadn’t seen Blondie exit and when the dust settled, they found him on the ground with blood covering his entire face. He’d been blown forward and hit with lots of small debris. A sizable chunk of a wall had struck his back and was on top of him. A smaller piece had rammed into the side of his head just above the ear causing a deep gash—that’s where all the blood came from. Blaze felt a shiver down his spine as he recalled that memory.
They’d thought Blondie was dead at first. It took him, Winds, and Mason to lift the piece of concrete off of Blondie. Patch checked him out and found him to be alive—but they were all shocked to find that Blondie had also been hit by two bullets. One was in his thigh and one had grazed his hip leaving a long gash. Brody was totally distraught about allowing shots to be fired and didn’t realize Blondie had been hit because Blondie never missed a stride in his mad dash to the building.
That was the first time they’d rushed him to the base hospital. He had lost a lot of blood by the time they had arrived—Blondie was beyond pale. While they were waiting for word from the doctors, they’d decided that it was serious enough to alert the General—Blondie was his son after all.
Blaze remembered the conversation and boiled even now. “Hello, General, this is Lieutenant Blain, Corporal Broderick’s CO. I need to inform you that your son has been badly wounded. We’re at the base hospital. He’s in surgery now, Sir.”
The response wasn’t what he had imagined ever getting from a father, “Is he alive?”
He’d answered, “Yes, but his condition is unknown. We’re awaiting word.”
Then the General had coldly responded, “Let me know if he doesn’t make it. I don’t have time to run to the bedside of every wounded soldier.”
The bastard had showed no concern—he didn’t even ask what the injuries were. The General just wanted to know if Blondie had died—cold, so very cold. It was that day that the unit decided they needed to protect Blondie. With a father like the General, who needed enemies. After that, Blondie became everyone’s little brother—well, not everyone’s.
Blaze felt that Blondie was more like a son to him than brother. He figured that was because he’d raised his sister Daphy and was more a father than brother to her. And Blondie was two years younger than Daphy—so fatherly protective feelings grew pretty quickly in him.
The entire unit was upset that Blondie had been hurt saving their butts that day—he’d risked himself running up after Gambit and Mason. One of the guys from the unit stayed with Blondie the entire time he was in the hospital—they never left him alone. Thinking back, Blaze shook his head, Blondie wasn’t there long that time—only four days.
That kid really truly hated hospitals. At the time, Blaze believed it was irrational when Blondie insisted he’d recover faster in his own cot. But Blondie didn’t have irrational fears. After hearing what Gambrill said today, he now had a pretty good idea what the rational basis was—being manhandled in the hospital as a kid could leave a deep seeded anxiety.
Blaze’s mind returned to the aftermath of the mission. Luckily the bullet didn’t shatter or break Blondie’s bone and didn’t do major damage. The blow to his head had caused a mild concussion and the one to the back caused bruised ribs. The graze on his hip was relatively minor. His face had been bruised—much like it was now—from the impact of the debris and the ground.
The General had never once stopped by to check on Blondie. Even though the General was in country and it was only a short walk from his office. Seeing General Broderick hold Blondie and speak to him in this manner right now didn’t fit the facts he knew to be true—Blaze was puzzled. Damn, this just doesn’t add up, he thought, as he shook his head but kept quiet.
As he held his son, William thought about the first time he’d seen Daniel wounded badly in Kandahar. God, it had hurt to be so cold to Lieutenant Blain when he’d called. All he wanted to do was race over and check on his son, but he couldn’t allow his emotions to be seen.
Unfortunately, Daniel had paid the price too often for being his son. Every night William had covertly gone to see Daniel. The first night the entire unit was with his son, so he’d stayed hidden as he checked on Daniel. The second night, Master Corporal Srònaich O’Naoimhín was the only one in the room and he was sleeping soundly, which allowed him quietly slip into the room.
He’d been shocked at how bad Daniel looked close up. He’d stroked his son’s hair a few times and whispered gentle words to him—wishing he could hold him, but feared the repercussions for Daniel if someone saw him embrace his son. The next night he was glad to see Brody was by Daniel’s side. William liked Brody—he was good for Daniel. As the General continued to stroke Daniel’s head, he let himself get lost in his memories of each time Daniel had been injured. Every time it was like a piece of his heart was ripped out.
He was pulled from his memories as Walter spoke to him, “William, General, Sir, we need to talk.”
William took a deep breath, looked at Daniel’s bruised and abused face once more, then gently laid him back on the gurney—not really ready to let go of his son, but doing so anyway. He stood and turned to face the others. Assuming his calm, steady authority voice William stated, “I want to thank you all very much for all you have done for Daniel. He has been through a lot.”
The General took a moment to assess the nine men and one wom
an in front of him. They looked like hell, every last one of them. Whatever Daniel had been through, they’d been through with him. There were dark circles under most of their eyes and a drawn tight look to their faces. These people had gone above and beyond for his son and they were thoroughly spent. William made a decision.
“You all have been through a certain hell the last two days. Although I had planned on briefing everyone on the situation tonight, it can wait. You all need rest. I will move Daniel to a secure location so he can get the rest he needs. Captain Blain, I will make other arrangements for his security for the next day or two. In three days’ time, we can reconvene and I will brief you then.” He was about to continue when Blaze interrupted.
“Sir, with all due respect, that will not work. I was assigned as protection detail and I don’t plan to leave Blondie’s side until I know he’s free of whatever this threat is. If you think that’s insubordination, Sir, then you can have my walking papers now. I won’t be swayed from this decision. Blondie doesn’t leave my sight until I know he’s safe,” Blaze stated firmly then set his jaw in an unforgiving line and glared at the General.
“I second that, Sir,” Winds added forcefully.
William noted that Corporal Simons’ hand never left his sidearm.
Winds’ declaration was followed by a chorus of strongly voiced, “Copy that” from the TRF Officers. The General was taken aback and more so when the petite, female constable stepped forward and spoke directly at him with fire flashing in her eyes.
“He’s our responsibility, our family. We take care of our own. We’ll keep Dan safe—we promised. Dan belongs here. We’ll protect him,” Lexa interjected passionately with eyes that glowered.
