SEAL Warriors

by Katie Knight

  The agony in his heart didn’t feel like a treasure at the moment. It felt like a razor, slicing deep.

  After a moment, his mom said, “Are you sure things can’t be repaired between you and this woman?”

  “I’m sure,” Jack said, his tone final. “Like I said, things with her family are complicated.” And dangerous. “I don’t want to risk the new life she’s trying to build by searching for her. I don’t even know where she’s gone and I don’t want to—it’s better for her that way.”

  They sat in the quiet for a few minutes, only the sounds of the crickets outside and the breeze rustling through his mom’s wind chimes on the front porch piercing the night.

  At last, Jack finished his coffee and stood. Time to go home. Time to face his old life and get on with things. Alone. He thought about that night when he’d told Sam about his dream of raising therapy dogs. Maybe now was the time to seriously look into starting that. He had the time, and he certainly had the space. He rinsed his cup out then put it in the dishwasher before turning back to hug his mom. “Thanks for listening to my woes, Ma. I appreciate it.”

  “That’s what family’s for, son,” she said, then kissed his cheek. “Be careful driving home.”

  He waved to her from the front porch, then walked down to climb into his beat-up SUV. Thank goodness it was night so all the damage wasn’t visible. He’d have to head out of town and trade that sucker in as soon as possible to avoid any more question about what had happened to him. Last week the thing had been his pride and joy. Now it was barely street-legal, thanks to all the shot-out windows and bullet holes.

  As he drove the back roads to his farm, his mom’s words echoed through his head.

  That’s what family’s for…

  Too bad Sam would never know that same comfort from her own kin. Too bad he’d never be around to provide that for Glory. Too bad Stefan Engel was such a selfish son of a bitch that he had to ruin his daughter’s life and Jack’s future.

  23

  “Here we are,” Zeke said, escorting Sam into yet another safe house in yet another city she was unfamiliar with. It was the standard fare—plain white walls, plain wood floors, plain suburban neighborhood. The furniture looked secondhand, but at least there was a flat-screen TV in the living room to help her wile away the hours. Honestly, they could’ve been putting her up at Buckingham Palace and she doubted she’d have felt any excitement. Without Jack by her side, the world seemed darker and way duller. But at least her daughter was safe.

  “Thank you,” she said as she passed by Zeke. He was taller than Jack by about three inches and rangier. He seemed calm, capable, strong—and he had a whole team backing him up. None of that changed the fact that she’d felt safer with Jack.

  Zeke signaled to the agents posted outside the house to grab the bags of supplies they’d bought at a local big box store and bring them inside, then closed the door behind them.

  “Anything else I can do for you right now, Miss Engel?” he asked, his Atlanta drawl more pronounced now than it had been back at the marshal’s office in Omaha. He’d taken charge of her security detail himself this time, which was kind of him. Or prudent. Or both, considering how his agency had botched the last attempt at getting her to a secure location.

  Glory wailed, and Sam bounced the cranky baby on her shoulder. After days of being so good, her daughter deserved a little cry time. Sam could’ve used some to, in truth, but there’d be the long night ahead for that. When she was alone. Alone without Jack.

  Her heart gave a painful tug before she shoved her sorrow aside. The front door opened and the woman in the red hoodie and another man brought in armloads of plastic bags full of food and drinks and baby supplies.

  “No, thank you, Deputy Marshal Taylor. I need to get Glory changed and bathed before I can feed her.” She walked over and grabbed one of the bags full of baby stuff with one hand. “Oh, you can point me toward the bathroom.”

  “Sure.” Zeke led her down a short hallway and flipped on the lights. “Bathroom’s here. Then there’s two bedrooms, the kitchen, the living room, and a small patio out back. It’s not super huge, but it should be adequate for your stay here until you testify. There will be a marshal here with you at all times and I’ve got other agents set around the neighborhood to patrol the area. I’ve vetted them all myself. No one’s getting through on my watch.”

  “Thanks.” He was a good man, and the fact that Jack trusted him spoke volumes to Sam. She sidled past Zeke and into the bathroom. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  The whole time she got Glory undressed and bathed and changed, Sam couldn’t help rerunning those last moments with Jack in her head. She’d wanted so badly to throw herself into his arms, to beg him to stay with her, but she couldn’t do that to him. It would be hard enough for him to walk away from Glory as it was. He didn’t need her to make it more difficult.

  Of course, there was the fact that somehow, in the midst of all this chaos, she’d fallen in love with him too. Not that she’d ever tell him. What would be the point? Most likely, they’d never see each other again, so the best thing to do was move on and forget him. Too bad her heart said otherwise.

  By the time Glory was clean and dry and happy again, Sam was fighting back tears.

  She and Jack had only been together such a short time, but even so, he’d shown her that there were good people in the world, people who were brave and true. People who didn’t use others for what they could get out of them. People who didn’t use love as a weapon.

  Her father did both of those things, and for a long time, Sam had thought that’s the way it was.

  One time, when she’d been taking equestrian classes at the racetrack where her mother worked, before Mom had gotten sick with the cancer that would eventually kill her, Sam had asked her mom what it was that had drawn her to her dad. Sam had been around nine at the time and had begun to suspect that her standoffish father wasn’t exactly like other kids’ fathers. That had been around the time that some of the girls in her expensive private school had started picking on her, calling her “mafia princess” and saying her father was a criminal and a killer. At the time, Sam hadn’t wanted to believe it, had still thought somehow she could earn her father’s love. She was the only girl after all. But the seed had been planted in her subconscious, where it had grown and festered until she could no longer ignore her father’s heinous deeds.

  Back then, on that warm spring day, her mom had seemed a bit unsettled by the question young Sam posed, but recovered quickly enough. Her answer was surprising. She’d said she’d married Stefan Engel because when he’d looked at her, she’d seen the wounded little boy still lurking inside his raven dark eyes. That she’d seen beneath his tough exterior and abrupt ways to the man beneath. A man, she’d said, who needed love and kindness as much at the next person, perhaps more. Plus, he’d treated Sam’s mother like a Queen and supported her drive to keep doing what she’d loved—working with horses—even as their family grew.

  The answer had satisfied young Sam, but as she’d gotten older and tried to search for those same qualities her mother had seen in her father without success, she’d come to doubt her mother’s wisdom. Then, after her mother passed away when Sam was twelve, her father had turned into the heartless bastard he was now, and poor Sam had wondered if all men were so cold and uncaring.

  Jack had shown her differently. For that, and for so many other reason—his smile, his helpfulness, his steadfastness—she loved him. Always would. In truth, she’d probably loved him since that first night back in Costa Rica, but seeing him again had made all those feelings resurface and strengthen.

  And now he was gone too, and she was on her own. Again.

  “Welp, baby girl.” She picked up Glory and snuggled her close, sniffling away tears. “Looks like it’s just you and me, kid. We’ll get through this, I promise. Mommy loves you so, so much.”

  Sam carried her daughter out of the bathroom and settled her in the larger of the two be
drooms, since that’s where the marshals had set the bags with her and the baby’s stuff in them, along with her trusty diaper bag. From down the hall, the sounds of the TV droned low and served as her soundtrack as she took a shower, then changed into yet another new pair of flannel PJs. As she ran a hand over the red plaid, she couldn’t help remembering the shirt Jack had worn that morning, the feel of his warm, hard muscles beneath the cloth, the smell of his soap and citrusy shampoo, the sound of his breath hitching when he’d hugged her for the last time.

  Lump in her throat, Sam carried Glory down the hall to the kitchen to feed her.

  Zeke glanced over at her from the sofa. “Everything okay? You hungry? I can make us some eggs or have one of the marshals outside pick up a pizza.”

  “Nah, I’m good. Thanks. But feel free to make yourself something if you want.” She dug through the bags for the can of formula and package of bottles. After mixing up a batch, she filled a bottle, then dug out a jar of pears and apricots and a small spoon. She settled in at the kitchen table to feed her daughter, only vaguely paying attention to the news report on the TV in the other room. More wars, more wildfires, more shootings. You’d think growing up a mobster’s kid would’ve numbed her to strife and pain in the world, but the opposite was true. She felt society’s troubles more deeply because a part of her always felt responsible for them, considering who her father was.

  Zeke stuck his head in the kitchen a short time later. “I had one of the guys get a pizza. Pepperoni, if you want a slice.”

  “Thanks, but no.” Her stomach was all topsy-turvy from stress and grief. Zeke grabbed a plate and napkins, then disappeared again. Sam finished feeding Glory. At least her baby girl was hungry as ever. One of the few things getting Sam through all this was the fact that Glory was so young, only six months old, that hopefully she wouldn’t remember any of this when she got older. Hopefully by then, they’d be free of her father and living a good live.

  A life without Jack.

  Her chest tightened with sadness and Sam gripped the edge of the counter to stay upright. He was such a good man. He deserved to know his daughter, and Glory deserved a wonderful father like him. But they couldn’t be together. It was too dangerous. It risked too much for Jack—his farm, his family, his future.

  “She’s cute,” Zeke said, walking over to grab a glass from the cabinet and fill it with water, then leaning against the doorframe as he sipped it. “Your father know about her?”

  “Probably.” Sam set Glory’s empty bottle on the table, then put her daughter over her shoulder to burp her. “I sure never told him, but the agents he paid off probably did. I don’t know. I had her after I entered witness protection.”

  “Oh.” Zeke frowned, as if considering this. “Huh. Interesting. Right, well, I’ll leave you alone then. We’ve got the perimeter of the property covered, so try not to worry and get a good night’s sleep.”

  “Thanks.” She sighed. Given the nervous tension tying her in knots, sleep seemed pretty impossible at this point. Still, Zeke and his team seemed nice. “I’ll try.”

  After cleaning up the kitchen, Sam carried Glory back out through the living room, mumbling a goodnight to Zeke as she passed, then hurried back to her bedroom at the end of the hall, closing and locking the door behind her. She barely made it before the tears started to fall. Sam managed to hold back actual sobs long enough to get Glory down to sleep, then she huddled in a corner of the room, arms around her knees and her face buried in the flannel of her PJ pants, sobbing for everything she’d lost and for the man she loved and would never see again.

  24

  Agent Meade had failed.

  Again. And he’d been arrested.

  Such an idiot. Stefan had expected more from a public servant.

  Now his daughter was back in protective custody and his rivals were chomping at the bit to find his weak spot. And Stefan was stuck in here with limited resources to do anything about it. Oh, he still had a few cards to play—but it was so difficult to put a plan in motion from inside a prison cell.

  Damn it all to hell.

  His own father would beat Stefan senseless for allowing the situation to get this bad.

  Stefan would’ve kicked his own ass, if that were physical possible.

  Instead, he sat alone in his private cell at the correctional facility, stewing over the testimony from the previous days of his trial. It was unnerving, sitting there in front of all those people, having his life picked apart. For a man who prided himself on privacy, it was practically torture. And those cops, secure now that he was behind bars and handcuffed in the courtroom, smirking at him. They’d better hope he never got out of there. He’d take a knife to their faces to make sure they never smiled at anyone again.

  Still, he’d kept his head high. Those people in there had no room to judge him. He was a superstar, at the top of his game. Hell, he was the American dream in Technicolor life. Worked and toiled to make a name for himself outside of his own father, to better himself, to become wealthier. He had a frigging mansion. Not many other in that courtroom could say that.

  But it was all feeling a bit hollow now. Not because he’d regretted his choices, but because it felt like it was all slipping away. His attorney, the ever-wily Pyle, had scheduled a special meeting for them this afternoon and was bringing an undisclosed guest.

  Undisclosed guest? Stefan was far from stupid. He knew what that meant.

  The sharks were circling. His own attorney, his trusted confidant, was bringing the enemy here.

  Classic turf-war tactic. Whenever one of their own went down, the mafia closed ranks. Usually that meant infighting, lots of bloodshed as people battled to see who’d fill the void left behind by the toppled boss. At this point, it seemed that prison time for him was inevitable, and that meant the end of his reign. Some men were able to still run their empires from the inside, but Stefan had been too hands-on, too personal about his business. There was no way he could keep a grip on things like he needed to without face-to-face intimidation. For at least a few years, he’d need to let it all go. But if he could manage to beat the murder rap, then it would only be a few years until he was out again and could take back everything that was his.

  He chuckled. Perhaps the fighting over his empire would be his last saving grace after all.

  He might not be the king anymore—for the time being, at least—but he could still be a kingmaker. He could cut down on a lot of the infighting, sparing everyone a good deal of time and trouble, by anointing a successor, or at least making a deal to pass some of his operations into other hands. And if the agreed-upon price for Stefan’s cooperation was taking his daughter out, then perhaps he and today’s mystery guest could reach an accord. Stefan could be magnanimous when necessary. He could also be a person’s best friend or worst nightmare, depending on how useful the other person was to him. The guest this afternoon? Very useful. His traitorous daughter? Not so much.

  Finally, the guard arrived to take Stefan back to the visitors’ room. Today was not a normal day for visitations, but Pyle did have some pull—and money helped grease the way as well. He was led down the same corridor as the other day and waited outside the same door while the guard futzed with the same paperwork.

  When Stefan was at last led into the visitors’ room, the place was deserted except for Pyle sitting at one of the long tables near the center of the space, with another man dressed all in black beside him. Stefan bit back a smile. He’d recognize that brutish face and bulky body anywhere. Sal Corolla. He was the second-in-command for Stefan in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Stefan had put him in charge of his territory from across Lake Michigan because the guy was loyal to a fault. He didn’t think he’d ever been gladder to see anyone in his life.

  Sal was a whiz when it came to running drugs and weapons, but wasn’t the brightest bulb in the lamp when it came to the nitty-gritty of interpersonal communication. Convincing him to do Stefan’s dirty work for him should be easy enough.

  The guard
led Stefan to a seat across from Pyle and Sal, then stood post beside the door as usual. Stefan kept his voice low as he leaned forward and said, “Long time, no see, Sal.”

  “He’s here to show his support, Stefan,” Pyle said, all but twirling his non-existent mustache, super villain style.

  Stefan nearly snorted. Such an amateur—Pyle’s late, lamented father would be so disappointed. The senior Pyle had known that the best way to disguise true evil was to put it right in front of people’s faces. Most never knew the difference. He leaned back and rested his hands in his lap, the chains connecting his cuffed wrists jangling beneath the table. “Talk.”

  “I know how important the proper handling of this package is,” Sal said, his gruff voice barely above a whisper, “but that the loyalty of certain players in your organization is now in question. To show you my support, I’d like to personally take care of it for you, as a token of my appreciation for all you’ve done for me.”

  “Really?” Stefan frowned, his gaze darting to Pyle. “Can he handle it?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve handled the communications myself. Sal should be competent enough and can take care of the package prior to the expected date with your acceptance.”

  “Huh.” Stefan made a show of considering the offer, even though he knew damned well he’d take it. Let Sal think he had more options. That would only give him greater bargaining power.

  “Well, I don’t know. The last couple of attempts to deal with the package haven’t gone as expected. Why should I think you’ll be any different? This sort of thing really isn’t your forte.”