The Protective SEAL

by Knight, Katie

  “Good to know. I don’t have any on my farm, but my neighbor does. Maybe I’ll give him a call and see if you can ride one.”

  Sam forced a smile. “Sure. Sounds great.”

  He narrowed his stormy gray eyes on her, his face shadowed from the overhead light of the parking lot. “You’re not going to run off alone again tonight, are you? I’m not the super hero I was back in Costa Rica, but I’ll help you sort this out as best I can, if you’ll let me. Deal?”

  Sam stared at his extended hand, her pulse pounding and her mouth dry. Finally, she took his hand, and gave it a firm shake, ignoring the feel of his warm skin against hers. “Deal.”

  Seven

  Stefan Engel gazed down from the window in his office on his enormous estate outside of Chicago. Things were not going to plan. He hated it when things didn’t go to plan. Finding good help was so hard these days. He cracked his knuckles, nervous and angry at the loose ends that had been left untied.

  It was especially galling to have his worst loose end be his own daughter. There’d been a time when family meant something, when loyalty was prized above all else. When a man could depend on his children to have his back. When he’d been young, his father had laid down the law for Stefan and his brothers, had beaten the lessons of honor and loyalty and discretion into them until they’d never forget them. Stefan had risen through the ranks of his father’s gang until he’d reached the age of eighteen, when he’d left the family fold for bigger opportunities. He’d gone to New York, leaned from the best, most vicious crime bosses around, forged crucial connections and became a “made” man.

  Then he’d returned to his hometown of Chicago once his own father had passed, so he could take over the family business. Since then, he’d grown it into a multibillion-dollar enterprise, with diversified holding in everything from cocaine to weapons-grade plutonium. He’d provided for his wife—God rest her soul—and his children. He’d even donated to charities, for the tax write-off.

  Where had he gone wrong? Why had all his achievements not earned him the respect and loyalty he knew he deserved? Rage seared hotter inside him at the thought that his own daughter had betrayed him. Samantha. He’d clothed her, housed her, given her the best of everything growing up, and this is how she repaid him.

  By turning state’s witness against him. By laying his secrets bare to the world.

  It was despicable. It was disgusting. And in her case, it should’ve been deadly.

  Samantha Maria Engel. Who had her mother’s eyes and her father’s intelligence.

  He still remembered the first time she’d called him Daddy.

  Now he was forced to take her life to save his own.

  It would’ve been funny, if it wasn’t so tragic. He’d always warned his children when they’d gotten in trouble growing up that he’d brought them into this world and he could take them out too. Guess now it was time to make good on that promise.

  Except he’d been trying—for months now—with no results. Countless hours searching. Endless money spent on bribes, and for what? Dammit. He’d wanted this to be over and done with, cleanly, without any repercussions that might fall back on him and make his already terrible situation even worse. But no.

  Instead, his daughter was still alive and running free God only knew where, ready to tell her story to anyone who would listen. All because of the incompetent idiot sitting on the other side of his desk. Stefan didn’t handle incompetence well.

  Time to take care of business yet again. He should’ve handled things himself the first time to ensure it was done right. Now, he had a mess to clean up. With an aggrieved sigh, he took a seat in his leather-bound chair and leaned back, clasping his hands atop his stomach, the expensive wool of his tailor-made blazer soft against his skin.

  The US marshal fidgeted inside his cheap black suit, his face pale in the weak moonlight streaming in through the windows behind Stefan. He’d left the lights off for a reason.

  “Explain to me again why you failed to complete your assignment?” Stefan asked, his tone cold.

  “I tried, sir. I did. But it all went sideways and by the time I got back outside, the girl had fled.” The agent’s voice trembled slightly, out of fear or sadness, Stefan couldn’t tell. Nor did he care. He’d spent good time and money blackmailing this man and threatening to kill his family, all in order to ensure he’d turn on his own partner and murder Samantha. Now it was all wasted. “I did the best I could, sir—”

  “But your best wasn’t good enough, was it?”

  There was an audible click in the room as the agent swallowed hard. Stefan smiled in the darkness. Good. The man was scared. He should be.

  “Please, sir. Please don’t hurt my family.” The agent’s voice caught again, wavered, as he begged. “My boys are only three and five. Please don’t. I’ll do whatever you ask me to do. Please.”

  “Yes.” Stefan steepled his fingers and tapped them against his lips. “I know you will.”

  Leverage. Life was all about leverage and Stefan held all the cards in this situation. Now, he just needed to decide how best to play them. “I’m a generous man, agent. I’ll give you one more chance. But if you screw things up again, that’s it. Understand?”

  In truth, Stefan was a greedy bastard. He rarely gave second chances at all, but in this case he was desperate. He hated being desperate. He’d worked damned hard all his life. The fact his own flesh and blood and put him in this predicament infuriated him, but there was no choice. If Sam managed to testify against him in court, he’d lose everything.

  Stefan had no intention of ever letting that happen.

  “I want you to find my daughter again,” he said, his voice low enough that the agent had to lean forward in order to hear him. If Stefan had his way, the idiot would be kneeling at his feet, as he should for the kindness of letting him and his pathetic family live another day. “And when you do, I want you to kill her. No mistakes this time, no evidence that could be traced back to me. Understand?”

  “Y-yes, sir,” the agent stammered. “But—”

  “No.” Stefan was up and around the desk before the other man could react. He grabbed the agent by the collar and hauled him up nose to nose with him. “No buts. No excuses. You eradicate this problem for me or I will exterminate you from the face of this earth. Do I make myself clear?”

  The guy looked so terrified, Stefan was sure he’d soiled himself.

  The though made him grin.

  So sad. You’d think the federal government could find applicants with some spine. They should contract the work out to him. He’d handle things properly. He tightened his grip on the man’s collar until the guy was clawing at his hand for air, his feet dangling uselessly in the air. Stefan might be close to sixty now, but he kept in shape. He could best this guy, hands down. He had a good four inches, and at least fifty pounds of muscle on the guy. In Stefan’s world, might definitely meant right.

  Just when the guy was ready to pass out, Stefan let him go, watching with satisfaction as the agent sagged limply into the chair behind him. The agent rubbed his neck and coughed, wheezing in the quiet room. “I’ll need time. These things need planning and you wanted discretion, right? I’m not used to working on this side of the law. My job is to protect these people, not take them out.”

  “I don’t care what your job is. Your task now is to do what I say, when I say it. And you have a week to get this done.” Stefan resumed his seat and gestured to his henchman hidden in the shadows of the office to come get the idiot. It was time for him to go. “My trial starts tomorrow. I don’t want these loose ends interfering with things. Understand? Do not disappointment me this time, Agent Meade. You won’t like how I deal with disappointment.”

  With a wave of his hand, Stefan had the agent hauled out of his office. He sank back into his chair and stared at his reflection in the window behind him. This wasn’t his first rodeo. When a man decided to live his life on the edges of the law, there were bound to be instances where he
got caught. Over the years, Stefan been through more trials than he could count. But this one felt different.

  Maybe it was because he was getting too old for all this. He’d turn sixty-one next year.

  Maybe it was the fact that his old attorney had retired a few years back and left the practice to his son—Stanley Pyle, Jr.—a man Stefan didn’t trust and didn’t respect. But he stayed with the guy because he knew all of Stefan’s secrets and had sworn an oath to protect them. Recently though, Stefan had had the feeling perhaps Pyle wasn’t as loyal as he should be. Once this trial was over, he planned to make sure the wily little man knew what was what.

  Or maybe it was because, for the first time since Stefan had struck out on his own, he was alone.

  Even his henchmen were keeping their distance at this point. He couldn’t blame them. He’d have done the same in their position. If things didn’t go well with this trial, they’d fight like dogs in a butcher shop for his prime cut of the mafia’s business in this area and not stop until a new boss had taken Stefan’s place.

  For now, though, Stefan was still in charge. And as long as he had the means and the will, he’d hold on to what he’d worked and sacrificed for with the last breath in his body.

  Eight

  “Sorry the place is kind of a mess,” Jack said, pushing inside his restored nineteenth century farmhouse. He’d taken great pride in doing most of the work himself after he’d gotten home from his time in SEALs. Working with his hands helped keep him busy and keep his mind off the past. He hadn’t been expecting company tonight, obviously, so thing were a bit disorganized inside. Dirty dishes in the sink, mail and papers scattered on the kitchen table, stuff like that. When he was still in the service, he was a stickler for neatness. But when you lived alone, or had to get up early to feed the cows, sometimes things got lax. He held the door for Sam and Glory, then closed it behind them before setting the bags of things they’d purchased on the overstuffed sofa in the living room. He’d decorated the place for comfort, with lots of sturdy wooden furniture and comfy leather cushions. And speaking of feeding the cows…

  “I, uh, need to run back out to the truck and unload my feed so I can give it to my cattle,” he said, hovering near the door. “Make yourself at home. I’ll lock the door, so you don’t have to worry about anyone walking in while I’m gone.”

  She turned and looked at him over her shoulder while she fiddled with Glory’s car seat to get her out. “So, you’re a real farmer now?”

  Jack shrugged, heat prickling up from beneath the collar of the T-shirt he wore under his plaid work shirt. He loved farming, even if the gig was just part-time for him until he found a teaching job, and wasn’t embarrassed by it at all, but he knew outsiders sometimes took a dim view of those who worked the land. Sam was from Chicago, a big city, and while she might’ve moved around a lot the past year or so because of her father’s trial, he didn’t miss the slight hint of surprise in her tone. Whether it was good or bad surprise, he wasn’t sure yet.

  “I’m trying my hand at organic sourcing,” he said, by way of avoiding a direct answer. Organic foods were all the rage now, and he hoped it might up his cool factor with her. Then again, he shouldn’t really care what she thought about him or what he did for a living. Still, he did. “My dairy cows are part of that. That’s why I was out tonight. They ran out of the special feed I give them, so I had to run down to the farm store to get more. I happened to see your car on the way back and…”

  His voice trailed off as he realized he was babbling.

  Cool, dude. Real cool.

  Sam took Glory out of her carrier then turned to face him, the baby over her shoulder. “Go. Do what you need to do. I’m not planning on going anywhere. Not yet anyway.”

  He nodded and walked back outside to his SUV, being sure to secure the door to the house behind him. As he carried the fifty-pound bags of all-natural, non-GMO, hormone- and antibiotic-free cattle feed to the small barn on the other side of the house, his mind continued to race with everything that had happened tonight.

  The sheriff’s department might hold off until morning on running the registration on that US marshal’s vehicle Sam had fled in, but that wasn’t the only way her location could be tracked. The car was government issue. Most likely, it had some type of security system on it to allow the feds to track its whereabouts. Wireless service was spotty at best in these parts of Nebraska so her pursuers might need some time to pinpoint an exact location, but soon someone would come looking for that sedan, and Sam along with it.

  Ugh.

  As he poured a bag of feed into the trough for the cows, he tried to work out the best course of action from here. After the lies they’d told the sheriff’s deputy tonight, keeping Sam and Glory’s presence a secret around here wasn’t a possibility. Gossip spread faster than wildfire in small towns and he expected half the busybody’s around here to be knocking on his door or blowing up his phone come morning to find out about his unexpected wife-to-be.

  Much as he hated to admit it, leaving Rally was probably the best thing to do at this point. At least until things calmed down a bit. Where they’d go exactly was another issue. Her father most likely had spies everywhere, as evidenced by the fact they’d bribed one of the marshals.

  He finished up in the barn, then headed back to the house, pulling out his phone to call Zeke Taylor. He stopped about halfway to the front porch and found a spot where he got three bars of reception, then dialed Zeke’s number. The guy had been on his SEAL team until he’d been benched with a serious injury. While he’d made a full recovery, Zeke had decided it was time to hang up his hat and had returned stateside, where he’d joined the US marshals. Regardless of who else Stefan Engel might’ve turned, Jack trusted Zeke implicitly. The guy was about as honorable a man as Jack had ever met.

  Zeke answered on the second ring. “Taylor.”

  “Hey, it’s Jack Williams.”

  “Jack? What the hell, man?” Zeke chuckled. “Long time no talk. How’s thing down on the farm?”

  “Good. They’re good.” He stared at the golden glow of the lights in the windows ahead, then frowned. “Listen, I’ve got a situation.” Jack relayed the events of the evening to his friend, then winced slightly when Zeke cursed.

  “Damn. The whole Engel case is a mess right now, dude.” Zeke’s aggrieved sigh echoed through the phone line. “Seriously. It’s all anyone’s been talking about for the last few hours. Security footage at the rest stop caught one agent shooting the other one, so we know exactly what happened—and we all know why. Engel bribed him to take the daughter out. Now, they’re re-screening everyone involved in the case to make sure they’re clean. Until that’s done, dude, I’d say this girl is probably better off with you.”

  “That’s what I thought too.” Jack ran a hand through his hair, then froze as a keening wail issued from inside the house. Glory. His chest squeezed with yearning. He wanted to bust in there and comfort her. He wanted to turn tail and run far and fast away from this whole disaster. He felt torn and twisted to his very soul.

  “Uh, what’s that noise?” Zeke asked.

  “The baby,” he said. My baby. He left that part out. “Uh, okay. Well, let me think on it tonight and figure out where to go from here. Once we’re safe again, I’ll contact you for further updates. Thanks, man.”

  “Any time,” Zeke said. “Be careful out there. Stefan Engel is not a man to fuck with.”

  “Tell me about it.” Jack shook his head. “This is the second time I’ve gotten messed up in this shit. Gotta go. Thanks for your help,” he said, rushing to end the call. His mission records would be easily accessible to Zeke if he had the clearance levels, but now wasn’t the time to get into any of that. He shoved his phone back into his pocket, then took a deep breath before walking back into the house. He found Sam trying to fix Glory a bottle with one hand while doing her best to soothe her with the other. Without thinking, he walked over to take the baby from her. He’d held other infants, su
re. Cousins, friends’ kids, the occasional baby at the church picnics when they were foisted upon him, but it was different when it was his own child.

  Glory hiccupped and stopped crying for a moment, staring up at him with wide, watery eyes, her little face all red from crying. He grinned down at her like an idiot, talking gibberish in what he hoped was a calming tone while Sam fixed her a bottle of formula.

  “So,” Sam said, hitting the Start button on the microwave. “What’s our plan? Please tell me we’re not hitting the road again tonight. I’m not sure my nerves could take another round of bad guys.”

  “Huh?” he said, distracted. Jack looked up at her and frowned as the words penetrated the good-baby-scent haze in his brain. Glory smelled so good. Did all babies smell that good? Like powder and soap and sunshine and happiness. He’d never noticed before. His mind began to whirr through all the ways her father’s henchmen might be able to track her to this location, putting Sam and Glory and his mom and his entire town in danger. Then he glanced up at Sam again and noticed the dark circles beneath her eyes, how drawn her features looked, and relented. Technically, leaving tonight would have been the wisest choice, but she looked totally exhausted and he couldn’t do that to her. He could keep them safe enough, for now. “We’ll stay here tonight and make plans for tomorrow. Sound good?”

  The dinger went off on the microwave and Sam took out the bottle, testing the temperature of the contents on her wrist before holding out her hands to take Glory back. Jack reluctantly passed his daughter over. There was a trace of baby slobber on the front of his T-shirt now. He smiled. He’d never imagined bodily fluids would be so cute.

  “Yeah. Okay,” Sam said, cradling Glory in one arm as she took a seat at the kitchen table. “Look, I appreciate all your help. I do. But I’ve been taking care of myself and my daughter—”