“So? He’s not the only one to survive a firefight.” Maverick ought to know. “Christ, take a number.”
“This one was different. The infil into Nangarhar Province morphed into a nightmare shortly after they fast-roped in. The Army’s kept everything under wraps until they finish their investigation.”
Maverick’s brows narrowed. “They’re investigating Beau? For what? Murder?”
“Precisely.” Alex nodded at Maverick’s disbelief. “That’s right. He hasn’t been formally charged, but he’s suspected in the deaths of the five men who were with him. He’s engaged an attorney, but the only evidence he’s got is his word, and you know how far that’ll fly in a military court of law. The problem is Beau’s big mouth and his record. He was seen brawling with all those same men the night before the op. He threatened to kill them. Plenty of witnesses are ready to testify he’s said that more than once, and that he did, in fact, murder those men. Those witnesses are screaming for his blood on a rock.”
“They all Rangers?” Maverick asked, as sarcastic as ever. “Let me guess. Sure they are. Want to bet those guys threatened to kill him, too? Hell, Boss, that’s nothing. I’d like to kill Beau myself most days, but that doesn’t mean I will. Guys say that crap all the time over there, you know that. Doesn’t mean they’d actually follow through and do it. They were blowing off steam, same as him. Instead of hearsay, what physical proof does the Army have that he killed them? Anything other than a bunch of hotheads shooting their mouths off? Did anyone see him do it? What kind of air support did they have that day? Drones? Any damned thing?”
Alex shook his head. He’d known a few hotheaded spec ops guys in his life. Hell, he’d been one. “There are no eye-witnesses, and the Army hasn’t been back into Nangarhar Province since. But here’s the kicker. Beau radioed for an assist out of there, then dragged Captain Dornigan Trenton back with him.”
Maverick nodded as if, ‘There, problem solved.’
“Unfortunately, Trenton died on the operating table before he could report his version.”
“So what? Beau rescued one of his men. That’s a good thing. He didn’t just walk away and leave them like others have done. He did what he could. He deserves the MOH for that, not a court-martial.” Maverick’s angst rapped higher with every declaration.
Which Alex found interesting. It seemed he and Maverick were caught in a loop, one defending Beau at every altercation, one ready to tear him apart. And vice versa. But he couldn’t encourage hope that a Medal of Honor was anywhere in Beau’s future. Neither could he lie. “Not when the slug that killed Trenton came from Beau’s pistol.”
Maverick’s face fell. “Friendly fire? How’d Beau explain that?”
“Said it was chaos. That one of the terrorists who ambushed them got hold of his pistol when he went down. Told the MPs he’d lost track of it when he was hit, that all he had at the end was his rifle, which is true. The MPs confiscated that when the rescue chopper brought him and Trenton back.”
Maverick huffed his disgust. “He got shot, too?”
“That’s right. According to his after action report, a dozen or so Afghans ambushed his team within yards of the LZ, minutes after the Black Hawk dropped them. Four of his men went down instantly. Beau went down next, but the shot only winged him. Knocked him on his ass and took out his radio. When Trenton got hit, Beau maintained suppressive fire until he killed the last terrorist.”
Maverick’s fingers clenched into white-knuckled fists. “Are you telling me Beau fought off an ambush, was himself injured, yet still brought one of his men back alive? Without back up? Sure as hell doesn’t sound like a murderer to me.”
Alex nodded. “No, and Beau used Trenton’s radio to call for help. Trenton was alive when the PJs got to them.” PJs were US Air Force Operations Command and Air Combat Command pararescue team, the spec ops guys tasked with medical treatment and extraction of military personnel in combat zones.
“Then how’s the Army certain that was Beau’s slug inside Trenton?”
Alex huffed a long-suffering sigh. “Because Beau used that exact pistol the day before during drills. All they had to do was retrieve any one of the rounds he fired then, and they had the matching evidence they needed. You know how it works. All weapons go through the base armory, no exceptions. All the Army needs is a single positive match. That isn’t the worst of it. Beau claimed it was a green on blue attack. Friendlies ambushed his team. He named names, and not once has he changed his original story.”
Green on blue occurred when a supposed ‘friendlies’ opened fire on American or Coalition forces. It wasn’t unusual for those forces to employ and train local merchants, interpreters, or drivers.
Maverick’s brows narrowed. “Which means the Afghan government’s involved now—”
“And covering their asses. But Beau knew the bastards who fired on his team by sight. He turned names over to the Army Judge Advocate.”
“Let me guess,” Maverick bit out. “The US Army doesn’t want to make waves with the new Afghan administration. They’d rather play politics. Which means, no matter what evidence Beau provided, no matter how credible, the brass won’t waste time chasing those leads. They don’t want trouble, so to make things go away, he’s fucked ten ways to Sunday.”
Alex nodded, more to himself than at Maverick. The Islamic Republic of Afghanistan had recently elected a semi-democratic president. It was in the United States’ interest to play nice. But not at Beau’s expense, which was why Alex had already contacted the SECDEF, Secretary of Defense Arthur Turner. Men and women who served America were not political pawns, damn it.
There was a time Alex had gone out a limb to help Maverick save China Wolf and her niece, Kyrie, now her adopted daughter, from certain death. He’d do it again in a heartbeat for Beau if he only knew how to reach him. But Beau continually bit the hand that fed him, and Alex had frankly had enough. He couldn’t save someone who wouldn’t let him, someone who fought the world for no good reason other than he was mad as hell. Alex ought to know.
Maverick growled, his elbows on his knees and his eyes on the floor. “Sounds just like Beau, doesn’t it? Always pissed. Can’t say anything nice. Can’t even be decent most days, and I know damned well he’s holding a grudge against Izza. I’ve never seen a guy more hell-bent on being his own worst enemy. The only one he seems to connect with is your wife. You ever notice how he’s always polite to Kelsey when he can’t seem to stand the rest of us?”
“Which made me wonder why,” Alex said quietly. “So I asked Mother to do a little digging while she’s holed up at my place.”
“Great. I was wondering if she’d join us. Are Justice and Dempsey with her?” Maverick asked. “Hope so. Kyrie’s dying to see Dempsey again.”
Alex shook his head at Maverick’s unfortunate choice of words. “Dempsey’s sick again.”
“No.”
“It doesn’t look good,” Alex said quietly.
“Damn. How’s Mother taking it?”
Yeah, damn. “She’s holding her own. You know how she is.” Alex had no good news to share. He wouldn’t elaborate further on Dempsey’s condition. That was for Mother to tell. But the more she’d uncovered about Beau Jennings, the more Alex worried. He might not be able to save this one.
“Before he joined the Army, he’d been in and out of the Las Vegas juvenile system since he was ten. But authorities suspected he’d been on the streets long before that, possibly since his mother died of a drug overdose.”
“Great. Drug addict mother. He got a father in this story?”
Alex pursed his lips, wondering how Beau had even survived long enough to join the Army. “He’s got an asshole for an old man, that’s what Beau’s got. Bass Jennings is a two-bit pimp. He’s incarcerated at the Nevada High Desert State Prison, convicted of murdering three women who’d ‘worked’ for him, one night in a drug-induced rage.”
On one hand, Beau’s military record was exact
ly what Alex expected from a juvenile delinquent. Most of his disciplinary actions had begun with bar fights and brawls, but nearly all of them occurred when other military departments mingled with Army personnel. He seemed to hold a particular grudge against Marines, as according to MP reports, seven out of the eight actions involved Beau’s fist landing in some loud-mouthed jarhead’s face. Which wasn’t entirely unexpected in combat zones where tempers, ego, and testosterone ran high. Rangers and Devil Dogs were warriors, and sometimes those warriors blew off steam the only way they knew how. With their big mouths, nasty tempers, and fists.
Yet every commendation in Beau’s record had screamed potential. He’d excelled at every level, was promoted early, and sailed through enough correspondence courses to have earned a business degree before he’d been discharged pending the current Army investigation. Which meant when he hadn’t been off-base on assignment, he’d had his nose stuck in a computer screen working to better himself. That behavior was not typical for a man headed to prison. Alex knew how hard taking college courses while on deployment was. He also knew how poorly Rangers and Marines mixed. You didn’t take two lead dogs and ask them ‘can’t we all just get along?’
The answer to that stupid question was always an unequivocal ‘Hell, no.’
Scout snipers, Rangers, and SEALS weren’t trained to ‘get along.’ They were trained to bust ass and get the hard jobs done under the worst conditions. The hardest job during deployment was not wasting free time and always working on Y.O.U.
“Boss? You zoned out on me. What’s got you so tight you can’t talk about it?”
That brought Alex back to ground zero. He ran a hand up the back of his neck. “It’s not that I can’t talk. Las Vegas authorities claim they couldn’t track Beau for years. So where was he all that time?”
Maverick let out a slow hiss through pursed lips. “Jesus. It’s no wonder he’s mad at the world.”
It also explained why Beau gravitated toward Kelsey. Without even trying, she seemed to attract the homeless and motherless. By then Alex was sick at heart. How had that little boy survived living on the streets of a crime-ridden city like Las Vegas? There had to be a way to help Beau, but Alex was damned if he knew what it was. “I need to talk to him. Wake him up.”
“Doctor Fitzgerald thinks the world of him.”
Alex nodded at that oddly timed insight. Maverick seemed to have stepped up as big brother to Beau, an unlikely alliance. “Still need to hear his side of the story.”
Maverick didn’t balk this time, just pushed to his feet, and headed down the hall.
Doc Fitz and Beau, huh? Yeah. Not happening. She’s too good for him, and he knows it.
Chapter Thirty
“And I said it’s none of your fuckin’ business.” Beau sneered at Alex Stewart. It seemed safer than knocking his employer on his pompous ass. How dare he bring this shit up? Why now?
He’d been summoned out of a sound sleep to Maverick’s front room like a criminal to his parole hearing. At the moment, McKenna sat at his side on the loveseat in Maverick’s front room, which sat perpendicular to the couch. That put Maverick at his right and Alex directly across from him.
Beau found McKenna’s choice to sit with him, when she could’ve distanced herself like most folks would have, particularly generous of her. But he also knew she still suffered from her ordeal. Maverick and China were right. McKenna was clingy this afternoon, not that he minded. But he wasn’t an idiot. She’d soon come to her senses and shove away like every other woman in his pitiful fucked up life had. But for now, a man could dream.
Dressed in jeans like everyone else, she wore a lavender pullover with a pocket over her belly. Guess the girls called it a hoody, not that Beau cared. He just knew the color didn’t make her look washed-out like the white bed sheets had. She’d taken a sponge bath since she couldn’t get into the shower with all those bandages, and that had partially restored her sunny disposition. Plus, China had helped her wash her hair. McKenna liked that. Beau could tell by the way she ran her fingers through the silky tangles, the way he wanted to.
He still wore his same clothes, though China had washed and dried them while he’d slept. The woman was kind. Not how he’d expected to be treated in Maverick’s house.
“Beau,” Maverick said quietly, his brows furrowed, but the snarky reprimand missing from his tone. “Kyrie’s in the kitchen with Suzette. She’s only ten and Suzette’s three. Could you please do China and me a favor and not drop so many f-bombs? Those little girls don’t need to cuss like drill sergeants.”
That was different, Maverick asking a favor instead of barking orders.
“None would be better,” China added, her brows raised along with her shoulders. “Please?”
“Sure, yeah,” Beau replied begrudgingly. Suzette, the mahogany-haired little imp with big green eyes belonged to Gabe and Shelby Cartwright, who had apparently dropped their daughter off, then took off to who-knew-where to do who-knew-what. Probably to shop.
Maverick sat on the couch with China at his side. After coming in from the barn, he’d changed into a clean pair of jeans, a simple white t-shirt, and gray athletic shoes. The guy wasn’t as bad as Beau had thought.
As usual, his wife dressed in jeans, cowboy boots, and a red, western-style blouse complete with shiny silver snaps instead of buttons. She’d tied her thick, dark hair back in a ponytail, the perky kind that bobbed when her head moved. The red ribbon dangling from the ponytail matched her shirt.
Then there was Alex, perched like the Grand Inquisitor on the edge of the recliner, directly across from Beau and McKenna, ready to torture the truth out of Beau. Dressed in casual jeans and a gray sweatshirt that proudly announced USMC, his bony fingers were interlocked between his spread knees like he ruled the fuckin’ world. Oops. Beau shot Maverick a look. He hadn’t intended to even think that word inside the ranch house.
Alex stared at Beau. Beau stared back, not going to blink, damn it. That was all this was, a power struggle, one alpha pitted against another. Well, guess again—
Alex blinked.
Shit. What the hell’s going on?
“This is what I believe happened. You ran away from home when your mother died of an overdose. But the man you thought was your father—”
“Stop! Bass Jennings means nothing to me!” Beau spat, his hackles lifted, and his heart shredded all over again. He knew exactly what happened that day. The gloves were off. I was there, damn you! Shut the fuck up!
Alex nodded. For some reason, the man seemed extra patient. Extra steady. But twice the asshole. How dare he?
“Copy that. I wouldn’t have wanted Bass Jennings for a dad, either. But he can’t get to you anymore. He’s incarcerated at—”
“Don’t know, don’t care!” Beau turned his head to the wall, but stuck out his palm, all five fingers splayed to deflect Alex’s attack. So stop asking and quit telling.
McKenna’s warm palm suddenly cupped his kneecap, her thumb rubbing circles on his knee. “You don’t have to listen if you don’t want to. We can leave here and go somewhere else.”
“I’m fine,” he told her, his words bitter and abrupt. But fine was the last thing Beau was. Pissed off at being outed was more like it. He cocked his head at Alex, daring him to keep opening that big mouth of his. “What do you want from me? My resignation because I’m the worthless spawn of a whore and her pimp? You got it! Consider me gone.”
“Resignation not accepted, Junior Agent.” Alex shook his head, the patience in those icy blues never wavering and his voice as calm as the Strip at sunrise. “I don’t let good men walk away just because they throw a temper tantrum. Even if you quit The TEAM, I’ll still keep the light on.”
Beau snorted at that outright lie. Like he’d ever felt at home in that pretentious brick building in Alexandria, with its red, white, and blue ‘Never Forget’ bullshit splashed over the whole damned lobby wall and with its high-tech armory. Who needed it? H
e’d been looking for a job when he’d found this one.
Liar.
Beau rolled his shoulder, glad he hadn’t blurted out that last snarky info-byte. He hadn’t been looking for this job, and he hadn’t found it. Not really. The damned thing fell in his lap two days after he’d come home from the sandbox. He’d been told not to leave the country, that the Army’d come looking for him. That he’d better get his affairs in order. That kind of stuff before a man went to prison.
But then some guy he’d never met before approached him at a local pub, Boxster’s in fact, stuck a welcome home hand in his face, and told Beau he needed a few good men. That he needed Beau in particular. That not just any guy was a good fit with The TEAM. Senior Agent Harley Mortimer was the one who’d believed in Beau from the beginning. Not Alex. Harley, damn it. Guess he was wrong.
“Alex never gives up on a guy, Beau. I would know,” Maverick added. “Trust me.”
Beau glared at his teammate. Trust you? It was interesting how close Maverick sat to his wife. You’d have thought they couldn’t get enough of each other the way his hand rested on her knee, and it bugged Beau. Hell, everything about The TEAM bugged him. They were all living the American dream, and he was just some ghost caught at the peripheral, half-in and half-out of the thing he craved most, but never had. Shit. What’s a guy supposed to do?
“Then what do you want?” he challenged Alex. “What the f—?”
Beau lowered his head. Cough. Cough. Choke. Choke. “What the heck” —Jesus, that was a hard, bland word to spit out— “do you want from me? And what difference does my past have to do with locating Catalina Montego today? Is anyone even looking for that b…b…” —self-control wasn’t getting easier— “witch or is everyone sitting around with their thumbs up their—!”
I can’t do this! With a roll of his very tense neck, Beau gave up trying to talk in this house with too many damned rules. He didn’t want to offend those little girls playing in the kitchen, but Jesus! Translating profanity into baby talk was out of his fuckin’ league!
Beau (In the Company of Snipers Book 18) Page 20
