by Sheila Kell
When Stu stood, Justin moved down the short aisle toward the three. Moira followed, hoping the news was good.
Declan remained on his knees, his hand running through Diana’s hair.
“We need to get her to the hospital,” Stu told Justin.
How the heck would they do that anytime soon? They were still hours from Baltimore.
“I’ll check with the pilot, but we should be close to Boston.” Stu didn’t move but waited for Justin’s approval.
Declan looked up at Justin with pleading eyes. “I know deviating from our plan isn’t wise, but Diana has to have help.”
“Do it,” Justin demanded.
Stu rushed off. Presumably to divert the aircraft.
Watching her brother turn back to Diana and place his hand over her exposed barely there, four-month baby bump made her heart ache. Declan didn’t need another crisis. He already had to protect her and Diana so the couple could stay alive.
“If you get us through his,” Declan said absently, “we’ll name our son after you.”
Justin chuckled. “Poor kid.”
Moira grabbed onto the fact she would have a niece or nephew soon. She’d not considered children of her own, but being an aunt sounded heavenly.
Stu returned to announce they’d land soon and walked away to secure the cabin.
The passengers settled in seats, buckling in for the unexpected visit to Boston. She wondered about the weather. Odd thing, but it’d popped into her mind. They’d removed their cold weather clothing to be prepared for the temperature increase in Maryland.
Miraculously, Justin had been true to his word and someone had dropped off her suitcases minutes before departure. She’d have clothes, toiletries, and, most importantly, her art supplies for the stopover.
Declan declared, “I’ll call Danny when we land and let him know of our delay.”
“Did you tell him that I was with you?” Justin asked.
“You asked me not to, so I didn’t. Are you sure that’s what you want? I know it’s been a while.”
“Yeah. He might not’ve agreed to help you if he’d known I was involved.”
Moira started at that bit of information. Leaving their homeland and stopping over for a medical emergency wasn’t enough? Danny and Justin weren’t getting along; yet, he expected his baby brother to help. Her throat clogged at the fear that’d nestled itself there.
“Why wouldn’t he help?” Inside, she wished she could take the question back. She’d learned long ago never to ask something you weren’t sure you wanted the answer. And, while she was curious, she wasn’t sure she wanted to actually know about a possible rift between brothers.
Justin closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat rest. At first, Moira thought he was ignoring her, then she heard his response.
“Because he blames me for our father’s death.”
Chapter Seven
Baltimore, Maryland
Cowboy whistled. “Son of a bitch. Weapons?”
Without taking their eyes from the activity on the HIS training ground before them, Danny nodded. Remembering what he’d landed Wayne into still fired his blood. It’d been a damn check ride, and it’d been one from hell. Then again, he wanted to kneel down and kiss the ground that they’d landed safely.
“Thank God I had my backup weapon. I didn’t wear any other weapons since it was my evaluation with the FAA.” With a shrug that Cowboy probably didn’t notice, he added, “I didn’t think I’d need it.”
Nodding in agreement, Cowboy asked, “How long were you detained?”
Knowing Cowboy had probably already heard everything, Danny just grunted, “Too damn long.” While HIS had an “in” with the government, local law enforcement wasn’t always happy when the men stepped on their turf and bullets flew. Hell, HIS agents weren’t overjoyed about it either, but shit happened.
Thank goodness for Sebastian Davenport—the attorney HIS kept on retainer. He’d persuaded the deputies to wrap things up quickly and allow Danny, Boss, and Sugar to walk out of the building. While it’d been obvious self-defense, he couldn’t wait for the grand jury to convene next month and decide. Danny hoped a “No Bill” was passed, so their actions would be considered justified, and the assholes who’d been shot couldn’t turn around and sue him or any of the others.
“Those were some stupid fuckers,” Cowboy added. “Most growers booby trap their crop and would’ve abandoned it instead of engage a downed aircrew since they knew help would arrive for the passengers.”
“According to the arresting deputy, the growers hoped to relieve us of the bird. They thought it’d be great to transport their product with less hassle.” Granted, none of those arrested had been qualified to fly a helicopter, but that hadn’t stopped them from trying to steal the helo. Idiots.
Through his aviators, Danny watched Jason Hamilton—the sixteen-year-old adopted son of their big boss, Jesse Hamilton. Jason would have to consider the light breeze when sighting the target. Those attending today’s training could enjoy it. June in Baltimore could be stifling, and they’d had an unusual heat wave park itself on their neighborhood.
“Well,” Cowboy said with a drawl, “did you at least pass the exam?”
With it all behind him, Danny could finally laugh about the insane scenario that had been his check-ride. “Yeah. They didn’t have criteria for not getting the examiner shot.” The thought of getting back in the helo after the emergency landing unsettled him. His mind was already made up—he’d never fly again. He could’ve killed his passenger... and himself. They’d been damn lucky.
“Hell,” Cowboy said, “I’ve jumped out of many birds as a PJ, and I must say that none had been because of an aircraft emergency. I’m damned thankful for that.”
The HIS teams consisted of men and women with both military and law enforcement backgrounds. As the only former DEA agent, Danny brought network contacts to the table.
Granted, like every agent joining HIS—even the special operators—he completed the training put together by some of the special forces’ warriors. Nothing compared to those weeks. They still ranked up there as the worst of his life. HIS called it GIN training. Their humor sucked, because it didn’t involve alcohol. The agency’s ‘Got It or Not’ program brought everyone up to snuff, especially law enforcement agents like him who’d never fast-roped from a helo, learned serious survival skills to include eating bugs—not the worst thing in the training—to keep the team elite.
Much to the special operators’ desire, HIS had evolved to accept more covert missions. Their previous relationships—especially with the FBI—had grown to an increased number of government jobs.
The report of a single rifle shot echoed through the air. Pulling his binoculars to his face, Danny grinned. He held out his hand to his fellow teammate and closest friend, Mike Vaughn, who went by the callsign Cowboy. “Looks like you owe me twenty bucks.”
Instead of reaching into his BDU pants pocket for his wallet, Cowboy—always up for a challenge—countered, “Double or nothing he misses the kill shot on a moving target at a half-mile.”
With a shake of his head and chuckle, Danny dropped his binoculars and knew he’d win once again. “Okay. Double or nothing that Jason hits the target.” Jason had been sneaking into training when his dad was deployed on an op. The team gladly worked with him and kept it quiet as the teenager wanted to surprise Jesse. How he’d slipped the absences and training past Kate—Jason’s adoptive mother, who was also a HIS agent—Danny had no idea. At some point, the Old Man—Jesse’s callsign from the teams—found out about their secret, and the team survived his heated lecture reminding them their job was to protect the children, not put them through HIS training. After he’d cooled off and observed his son on the field, Jesse allowed Jason to join some of the basic training scenarios. Some. Jason had to go to college, not become an agent immedi
ately.
They’d found a future sharpshooter in Jason. He had a knack for the patience of the job. Pity he wasn’t an agent because the teams needed more snipers.
Danny’s grin stretched wide across his face as Cowboy immediately picked up on the change to the bet. “No, Ball Park. The bet is… misses the kill shot at half a mile on a moving target.” He emphasized each word Danny had dropped.
The smile on Danny’s face faded and he grumbled at the callsign Cowboy insisted on using for him. The remainder of HIS called him “Franks.” He’d been a DEA agent after all. Not some special forces hero who earned a callsign. Such as Mike had been dubbed Cowboy by his fellow PJs while on active duty. At least Cowboy called him Franks on an op. Whether for brevity or continuity, Danny didn’t care. The Ball Park Frank thing needed to be blasted from Cowboy’s thoughts.
Instead of refuting Cowboy’s callsign for him, Danny nodded in agreement for the bet. “I’ll go with it because there are many times we want the tango alive.”
Chuckling, Cowboy turned back to where the target was being changed to a dummy that’d move for the simulation. Pulling the binoculars up to his face, he scoffed. “I bet you’d prefer that. Then you can get your claws into the asshole.”
With his background, Danny seamlessly eased into the role of interrogator for the team. While the skills he’d learned in the DEA were tough, the interrogation techniques taught to him by the former Army Rangers and Navy SEALs on the teams had thrown him for a loop. He hoped he’d never have to use them, but that wishful thinking was wasted. With the deeper roles HIS undertook, the tougher the adversaries. Also, the greater the risk to their lives. Someone had to do it, and if the government needed them to be the ones because their hands were tied, HIS would rise to the challenge without hesitation.
When the teams split into separate branches within the organization—investigation and security—he’d expected to be moved to the investigation team due to his background. Surprising everyone, the Hamilton brothers took over the investigative branch, leaving the security to the agents under the direction of two team leaders—Ken Patrick and Rob Grimes. In Danny’s mind, it had something to do with the brothers marrying and having children. With the exception of Boss, Danny’s team leader, and Joe Stone, the agents were unmarried. That made him wonder if it had been a secret qualification to join the organization.
Sliding a sideways glance to Cowboy, Danny figured the other agent would be the last to marry. Cowboy had grumbled about not wanting to settle down. He also remained vocal about not wanting kids. One day, Danny figured a woman would nail him down. And, to make Danny smile again, she’d have kids of her own.
Danny, on the other hand, desired a home that included a loving wife and children. Maybe four of them. Children, not wives.
“I wouldn’t complain about it,” Danny responded to Cowboy’s remark about interrogating a suspect. Hoping for airflow through his short hair, he lifted his camouflage cap from his head and reset it in the same position. A good broken-in hat kept it in place on an op. “Good old Uncle Sam generally prefers we just deliver them alive and leave the interrogation to the government.”
Cowboy snorted. “Like that’s stopped you before.”
Danny’s grin stretched across his face. This time with pride. “Damn straight.”
“I reckon after the Marines, Jason will be a deadly shot.”
Those years of practice—with his natural skill—would make him a sought-after sniper. “I hear Jesse’s thinking of waving college for him.” While agents weren’t required to have a college degree—unless like some agencies where it was a job requirement—it’d been a Hamilton family standard. “Plus, I don’t think he’s told his parents he’s considering the Marines instead of following in his dad’s footsteps and joining the Army.” Danny paused on that thought, then added, “Following either of his dads.”
Jason’s bio-dad had been a Navy SEAL and his stepfather had been an Army Ranger. Both tough careers to follow.
“Then,” Cowboy said, “he can hurry his ass on back here because we need a sniper.”
Danny grunted. Alpha team lost their sharpshooter when Sugar married Boss and left the teams. Bravo team had two snipers, but one was also the medic, which conflicted with his role on the field.
Hearing the “all clear” signal to Jason through his earpiece, Danny refocused on the target. Absently, he said, “I’m not sure it matters.”
“Come on, come on,” Cowboy chanted, as if Jason could hear.
Quirking an eyebrow, even though they both faced the action, Danny asked, “You’re cheering him to fail at his task? I’m guessing this is more about not losing forty dollars.”
In his peripheral vision, Danny caught Cowboy shrugging. “I’d never put money before bullets.”
They stilled as the target jerked and the report of a rifle followed.
Cowboy lifted the binoculars he held and focused on the target. When he took a moment, Danny knew. Checking himself, Jason had hit center mass as directed by Jesse—a sniper himself. Like father, like son. Or stepfather and stepson. However one looked at it.
“Shit.” Cowboy dropped the binoculars back to his side. “So, how’s the dating going?”
A chuckle left Danny at the change of subject. “Smooth transition.”
Reaching back for his wallet, Cowboy grinned. “Sugar still setting you up?”
Samantha had been tagged with Sugar as a callsign the moment she’d met the teams. Her voice was sweet as sugar. That southern accent did it every time. Damn, they missed her humor and skills.
“God, yes.” He groaned at the thought of all the failures to find him the right woman. Especially Barbara.
“Still crazies?”
When Sugar left the teams, she knew he wanted to marry, so she made it her mission to find him the perfect woman. Although he doubted it would happen on a blind date, he’d agreed to please her. Secretly, he did have hope that one of those dates would work out. Heck, anyone on the team—including Cowboy—would’ve dated to please her. As Boss’s wife, she held their respect, but as a former team member, she was held in high esteem.
Since then, he’d consented to six dates. It’d taken her time to find the women since she’d been new to Baltimore. When she’d said it’d be her mission, she’d meant it. She joined several gyms, met school teachers at her godson’s school, chatted up women at the supermarket, and so the list went, so she could find someone for him. It did touch him that she put so much effort into it. Happily married women wanted all their friends to be the same. Some—like Sugar—went out of their way to make it happen.
After these dates—one of which he’d gone on a second date with, but that was it—he ended up blocking the women from his social media pages as they either clung, begged, or bitched about him. He’d also had to block the first few women’s calls on his cell because Sugar had provided his phone number. After a serious discussion with her, she stopped that practice.
Danny should’ve been proud he’d been friendly enough they’d wanted to see him again, but he’d had no desire to deal with their shenanigans.
“Pretty much. She actually set me up with Barbara last night.”
Cowboy stopped in the process of dropping the owed money into Danny’s outstretched hand. “Barbie?” he asked in disbelief.
A smile tugged at the corners of Danny’s mouth. He could laugh now, but had shuddered the night before. “Yep. One and the same.”
After shaking his head, Cowboy slapped the money into Danny’s palm. “How’d that happen? I’d think you’d have recognized that psycho bitch’s name.”
Cowboy had been privy to all the stupid shit Barbara had done after meeting Danny a few years back. She showed up wherever he was, called at all hours, harassed women he dated after her. At least she hadn’t been violent. She did, however, need to learn how to deal with rejection.
Danny snorted. “I didn’t even ask this time. Although it wouldn’t have mattered. She gave Sugar a fake name. She knew Jen—the last blind date, and thought it might be me, so she pushed for the date.”
“No shit.”
No longer wishing to discuss the leech he hoped hadn’t reattached herself to him, Danny checked his watch. 1400. Declan and Moira should be in the air. He’d made a plan with Declan to hide him, after leaving Ireland, until Diana’s father was no longer an issue. It’d been easy since it truly involved finding them a place to stay, some security, and help settling in or finding a long-term location in Baltimore or elsewhere.
The 0900 call had been a surprise. The escape had been planned for a month from now. The Gallaghers arriving now created no problem except accommodations, but what caused the rush hadn’t been discussed. He’d find out later today. They should arrive around 1800.
“Remember when I told you about my friends from Ireland arriving next month?”
Cowboy nodded. “Sure. We were going to discuss protection if they needed it.”
“Well, they’re arriving tonight.”
“Is everything okay?”
With a shrug, Danny answered honestly, “I doubt it. They should be in the air is all I know.”
“Need me?”
While he could probably use help with lifting bags and settling the group into his place, he didn’t think security would be necessary. Yet…. “I don’t think so. I’ll let you know.”
“You know I’m here for you.” With a nod, Cowboy grunted at Doc’s approach.
The team medic—a bear of a man—raised his brows questioningly. “You guys ready?”
No, he wasn’t. In the stifling heat, they had to lug around forty pounds through the woods to practice a rescue and knew to expect an ambush from the Hamilton brothers.
Since their goal would be to slip in and out quietly, everything would be hand-to-hand combat. While they had a strong team of agents, the brothers seemed almost superhuman at times. The brothers had years of practice at the moves they’d taught the teams, which meant they typically moved faster to put themselves on the offensive first.
