SEAL Defender (Brothers In Arms Book 1)

by Leslie North

  “Your friend is out of CT now,” a nurse said from the waiting room doorway. “We’ve moved him into a regular room too. You can see him briefly, if you like.”

  “Thanks.” Vann said, and then stood.

  Jace pushed to his feet beside him. “You want to come in with us, Geneva?”

  “Yes, please.” Geneva hoped her wobbly knees would support her as she walked down the wide, brightly lit hall with the guys. She’d kept to herself a lot since Jaime’s passing, always working, always staying busy, to avoid her grief. But connecting with these guys and being part of something again felt…nice. The white walls and tile floor gleamed beneath the florescent bulbs above. “Thanks.”

  “For what?” Vann asked, scowling.

  “For letting me tag along.”

  Vann gave her a brusque nod in response while Jace grinned and winked.

  They walked down the corridor, the rubber soles of her boots squeaking on the freshly waxed floor and the smell of antiseptic stinging her nose. She’d been in more hospitals than she could count after Jaime had his first breakdown. He’d been shuffled from one psych ward to another, given more drugs than she could count, yet nothing had helped with his depression and PTSD. She’d begged the VA to let him try some therapy, maybe get him into a rehab facility when the drinking became too much. But no. They’d refused to listen to any of her pleas.

  “Hey, buddy,” Vann said as he pushed into the last room on the right side of the hall. “You still with us?”

  “Still here,” Mark said from his hospital bed, his normally smooth voice tight with pain.

  Geneva did her best not to look shocked at the stark white bandages swathing Mark’s head or all the tubes and wires hanging from his gorgeous body. He was a young, healthy guy. He didn’t belong in here. She wanted to run from the room and never come back. She wanted to run into his arms and never leave. Both things were unacceptable, so Geneva hovered just inside the door and did her best to blend into the background.

  Mark, however, seemed to have other ideas. He caught her eye and Geneva moved close, as if drawn by some invisible cord that wrapped tight around her heart and tugged. “Does it hurt?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle. Not with the pain meds they’ve got me on anyway.” Mark turned to Vann again. “Any idea what happened? That thing should’ve been solid as Mt. Everest.”

  “Let’s see what the police find.” Vann glanced over at Jace before continuing. “Can’t say I’m surprised though, after what happened with your brakes. Oh, and I called your sister and mom. They should be stopping by later to see you too.”

  “Great.” Mark frowned, his expression less than delighted. “Sutton’s supporters roughed up Geneva too, at the rally downtown the other day,” Mark said.

  Geneva frowned. “What? No. I told you I dropped something and someone accidentally stepped on me.”

  Mark took her right hand and rubbed his thumb over the scrapes on the back. “I’m beginning to think with these people there are no accidents, manamea.”

  She swallowed hard and looked away. Damn if she wasn’t feeling the same way. She hadn’t told him just how threatened she’d felt that day at the rally, how she’d cowered on the ground with all those angry people towering above her, and she didn’t intend to either. Mark had enough on his plate right now just getting better. She’d handle her suspicions about Sutton and his supporters her own way.

  Jace exhaled loud and gripped Mark’s bedrail tight. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot while we were in the waiting room. If someone tampered with the Diesel Dome, it would have to be someone familiar with engineering and technical specs to hide those cuts from me. Of course, they’d also have to be wily enough to sneak past our security and onto the grounds too.”

  “You’re the best mechanical guy I’ve ever met,” Mark said. “It would have to be a genius to get something past you, bud. Besides, we don’t know anyone like that, do we?”

  “We might,” Jace said, meeting Mark’s gaze.

  “Who?” Vann asked, nose scrunched.

  “Tim Rigsdale.”

  “The couple supporting Frank Sutton?” Geneva was stunned. Yes, they’d seemed snobby and far too rich for their own good, but hardly the kind of people to get their hands dirty. “I doubt it was them. They don’t seem like the type. And Mark, I thought you said he was some tech mogul.”

  “He is.” Mark shrugged, and then winced. “But Tim’s original degree was in engineering.”

  Lowering her gaze, Geneva dug the toe of her boot into the tile floor. “The other day, at the rally, Sutton introduced me to them. They weren’t exactly overjoyed to meet me, given my ethnic heritage, but they hardly seemed like killers. Oh, and I met another friend of theirs, a Kevin Quinn. He seemed nice enough too. It was only once I started mingling with the supporters again that things got ugly. When I dropped my recorder, I got knocked to the ground. None of those people helped me up; they just glared at me like I was nothing but trash.”

  When she looked up again, she didn’t miss the glance that passed between the three guys. “What?”

  “Maybe Tim got one of his minions to do his dirty work,” Vann said.

  “I don’t know,” Geneva frowned. “Still seems like kind of a stretch. What if whoever he sent decided to go to the police instead? That’s an awfully big risk for a guy like him to take. Maybe it was just construction failure.”

  “It was not construction failure,” Mark said, coming to his buddy’s defense. “I’m telling you, no one builds better than Jace. Nobody. If he said that structure was safe, then it was. It had to have been someone coming in afterward to do the damage.”

  “Think about it,” Jace said. “When Mark’s brakes went out, where were you guys? On Rigsdale property. Now, granted, it was an unexpected visit, but if Rigsdale put in a word with his minions that night—say spread the idea around to attack anyone who looked different than them—it’s not such a huge leap to think one of those zealots might’ve cut your brake lines in the name of their cause, right?”

  “I admit that’s where my suspicions went after it happened,” Mark said, shifting slightly in his hospital bed. The monitors continued to beep rhythmically around him, their drone oddly soothing. “Still it seems like a stretch to place Tim Rigsdale at the obstacle course. Not like the guy stops by every day for coffee and doughnuts.”

  “Not so.” Vann rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “What about during the Strawberry Festival? Anyone could have come for the free tour of our compound, and just hidden somewhere until things died down.”

  “Shit, dude. You’re right,” Jace said.

  Vann shook his head. “Hate to say it, but we couldn’t ban them from the property. It was a public event. Besides, denying them access to the property without proof of ill intent hits me as way too close to the profiling they do to every non-white in the area. Trust me; I’ll keep an eagle eye on them from now on though.”

  “Be careful.” Mark scowled at the blank, white wall across the room. “If Tim Rigsdale is involved in this somehow, the last thing we want is for him to know we’re on to his plan. We need to play things cool.”

  “Fine.” Jace scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I’ll talk to Ben later though.”

  “Who’s Ben?” Geneva asked.

  “My buddy on the local police force. He told me at the compound that the cops are going over to the mansion later this afternoon to ask the Rigsdales some questions. Afterward, I’ll find out what they know.” He glanced at Vann. “Sound good?”

  Vann nodded. “Yeah, man. Sounds good.”

  “What about me? What can I do?” Geneva asked, not wanting to be left out.

  Before the guys could answer, a knock sounded on the door.

  “Mr. Rogers?” A petite Asian woman in a white lab coat entered the room. “I’m Dr. Forbes.”

  Mark gave a brief wave to the doctor then threw his legs over the side of the bed and started to stand, only to flop back down onto the edge of the bed, his
hands shaking and his body swaying unsteadily.

  “You need to stay in the hospital and rest, Mr. Rogers,” Dr. Forbes advised. “At least overnight.”

  “I’ve got things to do.”

  “Mark, I think you should listen to the doctor.” Geneva placed a hand on his arm. “Head injuries are nothing to mess around with. When Jaime came home from Kabul with—”

  “You should listen to your girlfriend, Mr. Rogers.” “Oh, I’m not his girlfriend,” Geneva said.

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” Mark said.

  Jace and Vann shook their heads.

  “Well, in that case, maybe everyone could leave the room while we talk?”

  “Doc, anything you have to say, you can say in front of them,” Mark responded.

  “As you wish. In addition to your concussion, Mr. Rogers, you also have two fractured ribs and your left hand is broken in two places.” Dr. Forbes studied his chart. “You need time to rest and recuperate. I’m sure whatever errands you need to run can wait until tomorrow, at least. I won’t be discharging you until then at any rate. You’ll require monitoring in case you develop a hematoma in your brain due to the concussion. If your brain bleeds and swells, it could kill you. Kind of puts things in perspective, eh?”

  15

  Geneva squeezed Mark’s shoulder. Even though she’d only known him five days and they’d both adamantly denied the whole dating thing, her feelings for him were surprisingly strong. If he died, she wasn’t sure how she’d handle that. She felt like she was only now emerging from the fog of grief Jaime’s death had caused. To lose another person close to her might just kill her.

  Mark squeezed her hand reassuringly then nodded. “Okay, doc. Whatever you say.”

  “I had an orthopedic surgeon look at the x-rays we took of your hand and you’re a very lucky man. The fractures weren’t offset and all your nerves are intact. Still, you need to be careful with it until it heals completely. One wrong move and you could lose some functionality in your fingers.” Dr. Forbes set the chart aside, checked Mark’s vitals once more, and then entered her results into the computer in the corner of the room. “I’ll be back in to check on you again in the morning, Mr. Rogers. If you need anything at all tonight, please let one of the nurses know.”

  “Sure thing, doc.” Mark flashed her a smile. “Thanks so much.”

  Geneva’s suspicions rose. He seemed awfully agreeable all of a sudden.

  Once the doctor left, Vann and Jace headed for the door as well. Jace’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out. “Just got a text from Ben. Looks like they’re heading to the mansion in an hour.”

  “Cool.” Vann held the door for Jace then glanced back at Mark. “We’ll call you when we’re done. Rest up, buddy.”

  Mark nodded as they walked out then turned to Geneva. His normally tanned complexion held a tinge of gray. “Bet I look like twice-baked shit, huh?”

  “Don’t know about the twice-baked part.” Geneva ran a gentle hand over his bruised cheek. “But you’re pretty beat up. I’m glad you’re okay though.”

  “Yeah?” He kissed her palm before letting her go. “I bet being here brings up painful memories for you, doesn’t it? With your brother?”

  She took a seat on the bed beside him. “This is the first time I’ve been back inside a hospital since—Jaime was in and out of psych wards for years. Each time he checked in, the stays got longer and more involved. More tests, more drugs, more therapy. It was all a bit overwhelming after a while.”

  “Didn’t you have anyone else you could lean on for support?”

  “Not really, no. My parents still live in Virginia and don’t have the means to travel out here much. Besides, Jaime and I were always so close. I guess that’s why I feel so strongly about helping him now. I can’t fail him again, Mark. I just can’t.”

  “Why do you think you failed him at all, manamea?” This time, he cupped her cheek with his uninjured hand, his thumb stroking gently over her skin. It took every ounce of willpower Geneva had not to scoot closer and sink into him, to let Mark take her burden, her guilt, at least for a little while. But she couldn’t. Not until she’d finished this job. She owed that to Jaime. She owed that to herself. No matter how tempted her aching heart might be to surrender to her growing feelings for this man. She had to help people see that veterans weren’t getting the help they needed when they came back from combat. She had to convince people the military—the government—needed to do more.

  Mark sighed and narrowed his gaze on her. “Sounds to me like you did everything humanly possible to save your brother’s life, Geneva.”

  “Everything except get him help sooner.” She gave a sad little snort. “I can’t help feeling that if I’d just paid more attention, kept a better watch on him, recognized the symptoms of his depression sooner, he might still be alive.”

  “You have no way of knowing that. None.” Mark straightened in bed, cringing slightly when he jostled his sore ribs. “Jaime was a grown man, capable of making his own decisions. Plus, with his military background, his stoicism was drilled into him from day one. Believe me, I know. So, don’t live your life based on what-ifs. It’s a horrible waste. In Samoa, people believe in the circle of life, that everything happens for a reason and everything ties together to teach us the lessons we need to learn in the end.”

  Geneva managed not to roll her eyes, barely. Still, her pessimistic side couldn’t let that one slide without comment. “What greeting card did you get that from?”

  “Huh?” Mark scrunched his nose.

  “Pretty words and inspirational quotes are fine and dandy, but they don’t help much where real-life is concerned.”

  His expression shifted from concerned to stoic and his hand slid away from her face. “This is who I am, Geneva. I’m Samoan. Family is all-important to us, so believe me when I say that I understand your pain about losing your brother. But for you to close yourself off to the future and harden your heart because of what happened is ridiculous. I’m sure your brother would never have wanted that for you, manamea.”

  His words hit far closer to the bone than she was willing to admit. Her wounds were still too fresh and her heart far too exposed. Geneva stood and moved to the far wall near the windows, her need to protect herself outweighing the truth of his words. “I’m not closed off or hardened to anything, Mark. I’m a realist. Pardon me for not getting all Hallmark Channel with you, okay?”

  “You’re scared.” He tossed back the covers and moved to the edge of the bed again, sitting there a moment this time, eyes closed. “I get it. But I can’t let Tim Rigsdale get away with this. I need to help the guys figure out what happened. I’m still their leader.”

  “You’re not in the SEALs anymore, Mark.” Geneva snorted. “Men are so stubborn. You can’t even stand. The doctor just told you there might be life-threatening bleeding into your brain if you get out of bed. And yet you’ll risk your own life when the guys already have a plan to handle things.”

  “Once a SEAL, always a SEAL. I can’t sit by and do nothing. It wouldn’t be right.” Mark rose slowly onto his unsteady legs, clutching the bedrail for support as he swayed slightly on his feet. “I’d risk my life for Jace and Vann and they’d do the same for me. Always. That’s the SEAL way.”

  Her combined frustration over his lack of compromise, the fact some unknown villain out there wanted to hurt him, and her failure to save her brother from cold, heartless military bureaucracy boiled over into rage. “You know what? Fuck the SEAL way.”

  “Don’t you dare say that,” Mark growled.

  “Why? You think the SEAL way will save you if you end up brain damaged and alone in some psych ward at some washed up VA hospital because you refused to follow this doctor’s orders, huh? Because, believe me, I’ve seen with my own eyes they won’t.” Incensed, Geneva strode over to the chair near the door where she’d dropped her purse on the way in. “Someone just tried to kill you Mark. And for all I know, maybe you weren’t the first one eithe
r.” Her reporter’s brain bounced around the evidence with rapid-fire speed. “Hell, maybe those other SEAL deaths weren’t suicides at all.”

  He frowned. “Keep your voice down.”

  Geneva blinked at him, stunned. “Oh my God. You don’t think they were, do you?”

  “I’m not sure, okay?” Mark said, his tone guarded. “I’ve been doing some investigation into the deaths of my two former employees, under the radar.”

  Fuck. The air in the room seemed to evaporate and the knot of anxiety coiled in her stomach pulled tighter. If what he said was true, if he’d uncovered proof the two deaths were murders and not suicides, then this was the chance she’d been waiting for, the opportunity to dig deeper, get the story of a lifetime if she could prove a power couple like the Rigsdales were somehow behind all of this. She should be running out the door, tackling this investigation head on. And yet, all she wanted to do at that moment was apologize to the man she’d just insulted to his very core. She exhaled, hesitating. “I need to go.”

  “That’s it? I can’t believe you’re running away from this.”

  “I am not running away.” Each word gritted out of her sandpaper dry throat, brittle as glass. “I just need some air.”

  “Air. Right.” Teeth clenched, Mark ripped out his IV and the monitors beside him went wild. Tore off the wires connecting him to various machines. Even battered and bruised, he was still the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen—all sleek muscle and corded sinew wrapped in an exquisite mocha-skinned package. He limped over to the armoire to pull out his clothes and glanced over, catching her staring. Geneva looked away quick.

  She heard, rather than saw, him tug on his jeans then curse. Geneva looked over her shoulder in time to see him tip sideways. Hunched, Mark leaned one hand against the armoire door while holding his forehead with the other.