Forsaken (SEAL Team: Disavowed Book 6)

by Laura Marie Altom

  “Kid . . .” Leaning forward in his chair, resting his forearms on his knees, Harding’s voice turned low, “you came to me greener than spring grass, barely old enough to wipe your own ass. I taught you every damned thing you know and made you into the top-notch young man you are today. So yes, I very much consider you my son—just as I do each and every one of you here. Trident isn’t just my company, but my family. You’re right, technically, I can’t tell you what to do. But based upon the morals and values I’ve taught you during the years you’ve served under me, you know better than to abandon your own child.”

  “Sir . . .” Briggs clenched his fists. The setting sun’s glare blazed his forehead and cheeks. Or maybe it was the embarrassment of having every man he respected and considered a brother watching on while Harding gave him a verbal beat-down that was making him feel sick from heat? “With all due respect, you don’t understand. There’s a lot—”

  “Listen up, everyone.” Harding downed his drink, then stood. “Party’s over. From here on out, we’re putting Briggs’ case on the Trident fast track. Those drug-running fuckers had the gall to go after one of our own, and I’m not having it. Let’s split into pairs to find their boat. Nash and Jasper—you take North, Middle, and East Caicos. Everett, Sawyer and I will search the rest. Whoever finds the boat—let’s get these guys under constant surveillance. We need to know who their contact is on Little Palm Cay—” Harding turned to Briggs. “That is where India and your daughter live, right?”

  “Yeah. But how did you know?”

  “I make it my business to know.” He rose, crossing to Briggs’ chair. “Whether you believe it or not, I know you’re going to make a great husband and dad. Which is why you’re going to be on personal protection duty for India and your baby girl until this case is solved. After that, if you and India mutually agree you’d rather not marry, I can live with that. But rest assured, you will play a prominent role in your daughter’s life from helping her take her first steps to walking her down the aisle. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yessir.” Out of sheer habit, Briggs snapped to attention and saluted.

  Harding returned the show of respect.

  9

  Little Palm Cay, Turks and Caicos

  INDIA OPENED HER condo’s door only to slam it. Even if it hadn’t been pushing midnight, she was too tired to deal with Briggs. “Go away! I can’t believe you left me!”

  “You had my note.” His muffled voice unfortunately passed through the thin door. “I saw the entire fleet of boats and knew you were safe. Trident—the security team I work for is handling Turtle’s case. They’re doing it for me—us. Because I was an idiot for leaving you. Not just this morning, but all those months ago.”

  “True . . .” She hugged herself.

  “I’m sorry. Let me in. We need to talk.”

  She begrudgingly opened the door. “Take off your shoes.”

  He complied.

  “Can I see her?” Arms crossed, head bowed, he looked defeated. That was the last thing she wanted for her baby girl—for her own father not to be excited by the thought of his first meeting with his daughter.

  “No. She’s sleeping.”

  “Come on. I need this.” He barged inside, shutting the door behind him.

  She refastened the locks. “Why now? What’s changed?”

  He shook his head. Laughed. “Nothing. Everything. My boss sent me. He staged a sort of intervention. Some of the stuff he said—it got me thinking. He was in 1920’s-era shotgun wedding mode, demanding I make an honest woman out of you. Is that what you want?”

  Her heart lurched. In her secretmost heart? Of course. But not if he didn’t want that. What kind of woman wanted to be with a man who didn’t want her? That kind of life wouldn’t be worth living for her or Bridgette.

  “India? Please . . . Tell me the truth. In a perfect world. If my boss said I could open a branch office for the Caribbean here and we could be together, is that what you’d want?”

  Hot tears stung her eyes. “Why are you doing this? Why now? After all this time?”

  “Because even before you told me about what happened to Turtle, or the baby, I missed you. He stepped forward, cradling her face with his hands, kissing the tears from her cheeks and then lips. “Maybe all this time I’ve been wrong—not just about us, but a lot of things. I’m not saying we should jump into marriage or that I can be the kind of father our child deserves, but I’m willing to try. I want to try. Is that okay?”

  “No! You don’t have the right to just barge in here and decide when you get to come back into our lives . . .” I wanted you here the whole time. But you wouldn’t come. You made it so clear you never wanted to be my husband that I was too proud to ask.

  “Let me in,” he whispered against her lips, his hot breath stirring old emotions better off left alone.

  “No.” She grew hyperaware of each hitched breath. Of the living room’s cramped space. Of the flimsy robe she’d thrown on from her shower in anticipation of going to bed. A decorating show played softly on TV. Her heart beat so loud, she couldn’t remember which one. Liquid heat pooled between her legs. Her body recalled all too well the kind of pleasure his hands and mouth created. “This is serious.”

  “Damn straight, it is . . .” He unfastened her robe, skimming his hands along the curve of her waist. Call it a cliché, but she wanted him like air. Like water. Her nipples hardened, her core pulsed and throbbed. No man had ever made her feel like Briggs did. She hated him for it. For the power he held. It wasn’t fair.

  He nuzzled her neck, dipping his fingers between her legs.

  It was shameful how few rubs it took until she came.

  “Let me in,” he said in a hot breathy moan in her ear before taking off his T-shirt.

  She dragged down his boxers and shorts, found him hard, then pushed him to the sofa.

  Refusing to relinquish all control, she climbed on top. Aside from a brief thought that she shouldn’t be making love to him again without a condom, she put aside all reason in favor of pure, raw physical sensation. He was the sun and the moon and everything good in between. She rode and rode until both breathed heavy and sweat coated their skin. When they came together, worlds collided as if they’d never been apart. As if they’d always been meant to be reunited.

  Falling forward, resting her cheek on his chest, India swallowed a twinge of fear. Now that she’d let Briggs in, would he stay?

  To say that what just happened was surreal would be the understatement of the decade.

  Briggs brushed India’s fallen hair back from her eyes. “You have to know I didn’t come here expecting that to happen?”

  She nodded.

  “It’s probably not good it did. I’m clean—I haven’t been with another woman since you. But what if you become pregnant again?”

  “Really?” Sighing, she gave herself a hard push, but he grabbed her wrists, tugging her back down, hugging her close.

  “I’m sorry. Just hear me out. If we’re going to do this, don’t you think we should take it slow?”

  “I’m seriously doubting we should do anything at all. You’re right about you having problems, Briggs. Honestly, I think it’s probably best if you leave.” She was up, closing her robe, securely tying the belt.

  “Please don’t say that.” He followed her lead in redressing, making quick work of dragging on his boxers, shorts and T-shirt. They both needed a shower, but even more, they still needed to hash out critical issues.

  “What are you talking about? You’re the one who made this whole big hairy deal about the fact that you had such a rough childhood that you couldn’t possibly adult. Well, newsflash, adulting is challenging for all of us, Briggs. You don’t get a special immunity pass. I’m sorry you had a tough time of it as a little kid—really, I am. But that makes the fact that you want to bail on your own innocent child even more tragic.”

  “You just told me to leave!”

  “Because you’re certifiable!”
/>
  “We’re talking in circles.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I get that I have issues. I’ll find a counselor. Talk them out. I want to make this right. But it takes two to tango, India. I can’t be a family by myself. Where is she? I need to see her.” He charged through the space, opening doors.

  A broom closet.

  “Briggs, stop. Don’t wake her.”

  A/C storage.

  “Don’t be bullish like this.”

  A bathroom.

  “You have to be gentle.” She opened the last door on the right of a short hall. “Shh . . .” Waving him forward, she stepped back to allow him first entry into a shell pink room illuminated by a unicorn nightlight that somehow beamed iridescent stars onto the ceiling. Already he was in awe. Yes. This was the sort of room a baby should have. How could any infant not have sweet dreams in such an enchanted space?

  He approached Bridgette’s crib cautiously, with reverence and respect. It was strange to have vowed his entire adult life to never be a father, yet in one instant, here he was, on the verge of meeting his own rewritten destiny.

  Heart pounding, mouth dry, Briggs took each careful step extra slow so as not to wake his baby girl. Somehow—in a magical instant, he knew he would always be with her. With India. Somehow, they’d make this work.

  At the ornately carved mahogany crib, he curved his fingers over the side, peering past a rocket-ship and star mobile to the blanket-wrapped bundle. Hands trembling, he reached down to touch this precious part of himself, only to get a shock to find nothing there. He jerked at the fuzzy blanket to discover it had been wrapped around a stuffed pig.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Babe, she’s not here. The crib’s empty.” Briggs searched the crib’s every corner, but sure enough, the infant was gone.

  10

  INDIA HEARD a low wail, but only when Briggs drew her into his arms did she realize the sound was coming from her. Why? What did she ever do to these monsters to deserve their wrath? What kind of animals were they to want to harm an innocent child?

  “I’ll find her,” he said, already leaving the room. “Call your mom to come stay with you until one of my teammates can get here.”

  “Where will you even start?” In her peripheral vision, she caught the curtain flutter, and then noticed a slip of paper had been pinned to the bottom right corner. “Briggs, look . . .”

  He turned her way.

  She read aloud, “Whether Bridgette lives or dies is in your hands. Tipsy Crab—now. Oh God . . .” India ran to the diaper pail alongside the changing table and retched. “Frenchie? Roger? They’re my friends. They took my baby. They took my baby.”

  She couldn’t breathe. Think. Panic swelled and surged in undulating waves she found it hard to stand through.

  “Let’s get you dressed,” Briggs said, helping her remain upright. “Do you have a gun?”

  “No-I-don’t-have-a-gun.” Her words came out in a tumbled, crying screech. “This is paradise. No one needs a gun in paradise.”

  “Right.” He withdrew a lethal-looking pistol from his shorts pocket. “After all you’ve been through—you should have been first in line this morning at the permit office.” Next, he fished out a cell phone.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “Friends. I’ll have them meet me at the restaurant.”

  “What do you mean, just you? I’m going.”

  “The hell you are. I don’t want you in anymore danger.”

  “These people—my so-called friends? Somehow waltzed into my condo and took our baby without us knowing. They’ve shot our boat out from under us. Messed with my brakes. Killed my cousin. At this point, I’m pretty sure there’s nowhere whoever is doing this can’t find me, so call your team, but I’m going. End of story.”

  India stormed to her bedroom, made quick work of pulling on a utilitarian bra and panties followed by khakis and a floral blouse. When had those people broken into her home? Had it been while she and Briggs had been fighting? Even worse, while they’d been having sex? If something happened to Bridgette, she’d never forgive herself. What kind of mother was she? Would this nightmare surrounding Turtle’s death ever end?

  While she’d gotten ready, Briggs had been in the living room on his phone.

  He ended his call as she entered. “Are they coming?”

  “Yeah, but unfortunately, as with everything around here, logistically it’s going to take time. In other news, my friends Nash and Jasper found the Pearl on East Caicos. No one’s currently aboard, but they’ll stick with it until someone shows up. Did you get a good enough view of the guy chumming the water to testify?”

  “Probably not. I never even thought of that.”

  “No worries.” He kissed the crown of her head. “Where are your keys? I hitched a ride from the marina. If these guys are as bad as most drug thugs we encounter, they’ll rack up enough international trafficking charges to send them away for a very long time. Hopefully, a sympathetic judge will tack on Turtle’s murder.”

  She took her Jeep keys from a kitchen rack, handing them to Briggs. “I’m too antsy to drive. Do you think Bridgette’s okay?”

  “I know she’s fine. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have invited us for a chat. For whatever sick reason, they’re using her for a bargaining chip. Twisted, but effective. One thing’s for sure, it’s awakened the shit out of my paternal instinct.” He took the keys. “On my watch, no one’s ever harming so much as a hair on our baby girl again.”

  The ten-mile drive to the restaurant seemed endless.

  The only lights were in tourist zones, meaning the narrow, winding road was dark. Caicos pines formed macabre shadows.

  “She’s going to be perfect,” Briggs took India’s hand, giving her a firm squeeze.

  India swallowed hard and nodded. “I can’t believe this is happening. Frenchie and Roger? They’re pillars of the community. Everyone loves them. Nothing about this makes sense.”

  “Agreed. Just further proof about the universe having a sick sense of humor.”

  They made the rest of the trip in heavy silence, India clasping Briggs’ hand the whole way and trying not to cry.

  He finally pulled into The Tipsy Crab’s empty lot. The restaurant was dark. Not even the usual security light shone on the side of the building. Thin moonlight and a stiff breeze danced with the bushes’ shadows.

  “Where are they?” India asked, panic lacing her tone. Her heart beat hard enough to hear in her ears. She pressed her hand to her aching chest. “What do we do now?”

  “Wait. They know we’re here.”

  He was right.

  Seconds after he killed the engine, Frenchie emerged from the kitchen’s side door. Its unholy screech filled the quiet night.

  India’s pulse revved even higher when her so-called friend charged the passenger-side door. She tried opening it with enough force to shake the entire vehicle, roaring upon finding it locked. “I’m so fucking sick of dealing with you.” Hammering the heel of her hand against the window, she shouted, “Get your ass out of the car!”

  “Game on . . .” Briggs said under his breath.

  “Still have your gun?” India asked.

  “Locked and loaded. Safety off.”

  “Don’t shoot her until we have Bridgette.”

  “Granted.”

  “Are you deaf?” India jumped when Frenchie banged again. “I said get your scrawny ass out of the car!”

  “Where’s Bridgette?” India shouted.

  “You’ll find out inside!”

  “Play along.” Briggs opened his door. “Follow me.”

  “How about picking on someone your own size,” Briggs said to Frenchie once he stood outside of the Jeep.

  “Screw you. Get inside.”

  India unlocked her door, gingerly exiting the vehicle on legs threatening to buckle. She no longer knew the woman standing before her. Kind, funny Frenchie had been a lifelong friend. A second mom. This lady with flared nostrils and b
ulging eyes carried herself with a frightening intensity. This woman looked capable of anything.

  “Frenchie,” India begged, hating the weakness in her tone, “please don’t hurt Bridgette. No matter what you think I’ve done, she’s innocent. Please let her go.”

  “Quit whining and get inside. You’re ruining everything.”

  Frenchie kicked her. Kicked her!

  Briggs charged the waitress, but Frenchie proved shockingly fast at pulling a shotgun out from behind a bush. “Don’t even think about it, soldier boy. My gun’s bigger than yours.” She stepped back, waving the barrel at him. “Both of you quit wasting my time and get the hell inside. Give me your piece, Baby Daddy.”

  Briggs begrudgingly complied.

  India entered first, finding Frenchie’s husband, Roger, seated at the restaurant’s normally cozy kitchen table. He also held a mean-looking rifle. How many times had she been there under much happier circumstances? None of this made sense. “Roger, why are you doing this?”

  He shrugged.

  “Shut up.” Frenchie slammed the back door behind her. “Sit down. You, too, Baby Daddy.”

  “Bitch!” India said under her breath. “I considered you one of my closest friends.”

  “I still am. Which is why you’re here—with him.” She nodded toward Briggs. “Instead of at the bottom of Caicos Bank with poor, dumb Turtle and his boat.”

  “Wait—” Bile rose in India’s throat. “You’re behind what happened to my cousin?”

  “Nope. But I know who is.”

  “Where’s Bridgette? Is she okay?”

  “Patience. She’s the cherry on top of this little tale. Sit back and listen. At the end, you’ll have an informed decision to make, so you’ll want to pay real close attention.” With the gun leaned against her chair, Frenchie lurched forward, resting her elbows on the table. “India, my pet, do you have any idea what an average condo sells for on our lovely island chain?”

  “No? And what does that have to do with my daughter?”