Walking Wounded

by Lee Rowan

  “Start making a target of yourself.”

  “Yes.”

  John closed his eyes, his graceful hands curling into fists.

  “It isn’t the only way, Johnny. But it would be faster—and I don’t want to risk him giving us the slip. Three days has been bad enough. Can you imagine what it would be like if he were to just disappear? I don’t want to spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders, jumping every time we hear someone rev an engine.”

  “God damn it.”

  Kevin agreed. “I wish I’d known about Blackwell before I came back. I should have cleaned up old business before I came dragging home to you with that on my tail.”

  “If anyone had known about him, they’d have hauled his arse into your hearing,” John said angrily. “It should have been him on trial in the first place, not you.”

  “Yeah, if.” Talking it over had irritated Kevin out of the patience he’d worked so hard to achieve. He was tired of waiting, tired of letting other people make the decisions. But putting Johnny at risk wasn’t the option he’d choose. “I think it would be better to take the initiative. And I know you said you wouldn’t go to a safe house, but—”

  “I’m not going to run and hide, love. I may not have commando training, but I was a better marksman than you, remember?”

  “I remember.” And it surprised him to realize it, but of all the men he’d served with, Jones included, there was no one he would trust with his life more than the man beside him. An army of lovers cannot fail. I hope. “I’ll ask if there’s a target range somewhere at the old Naval Academy. We should both get in some practice with the weapons they issued us.”

  “Fine with me.” There was a new tone in Johnny’s voice, an edge of resolution. Their eyes met as John laced his fingers through Kevin’s. “We’re not letting that bastard derail our honeymoon. As far as I’m concerned, what we’ve got is till death do us part.”

  Chapter 15

  RESOLUTION OR not, they both felt the winter’s bite when they left the house the following evening. A sleeting rain was blowing fine as needles in the icy wind.

  “It was a dark and stormy night,” Johnny said under his breath.

  “I haven’t written a word yet,” Kevin countered. “And if you think I’m going to start with Snoopy—”

  “Actually, it was Bulwer-Lytton, but you can go for dull if you like. ‘The sun had gone down hours earlier, and the weather was inclement.’ That should cure anyone’s insomnia.”

  It was a stupid thing to quibble over, but it was a distraction—probably why Johnny had started the foolishness. Kevin didn’t want to talk about what they were doing, making targets of themselves. His nerves were stretched tight by how exposed they were on the quiet street, and he knew John must be in much the same state.

  The walk to the pub should take no more than ten minutes. It wasn’t John’s local, just the closest to where they now lived. And it wasn’t as though they were unprotected, either. They were being watched every step of the way by soldiers stationed in buildings and parked cars. The body armor hidden under their bulky sweaters and jackets gave an extra measure of protection. But none of it was enough to provide peace of mind.

  “Think we’ll see him tonight?” John asked quietly.

  “It’s possible. Not likely.”

  “I almost wish he’d try. Be nice to have it over.”

  “I wouldn’t object.” But Kevin didn’t want Blackwell to make an attempt tonight, not really. Body armor would be no use at all against the crushing force of a vehicle, and the narrow streets and alleys meant it might not be possible for them to avoid such an attack—or for Jones and his men to stop it.

  They stopped at the corner. “Cross or turn?” John asked.

  “Turn,” Kevin said. The cars parked on the near side formed a convenient barricade, and he knew that one member of the team had strolled down the block just minutes ahead of them to make certain those cars were empty. Their footsteps set a rhythmic counterpoint to the patter of rain. Two more blocks straight ahead, then across the street to the pub on the corner.

  A car’s engine growled as they cleared the last building before the cross street at the end of the first block. Kevin caught John’s sleeve to keep him in the shelter of the building and scanned the storefronts, spotted a doorway a few yards back that they could duck into—

  But the dark sedan that pulled up to the corner and paused before making its turn was just a car, the driver an older gent who never even glanced at the two tense young men standing a few feet back from the curb. The taillights receded slowly until they disappeared around a bend in the road.

  “That was fun,” Johnny said, his voice tight.

  “Fresh air and exercise.” Kevin took a deep breath and stepped out again. The streets were very quiet—no one with any sense would be out in this weather—and they made it the rest of the way to the pub without encountering another soul.

  It was quiet inside, too. Kevin felt himself relax a bit as they stepped into the warmth. The aroma of something delicious wafted around them on the indoor warmth. After the days of isolation, it was almost strange to be out among people, but you couldn’t honestly call this a crowd. Half a dozen patrons occupied tables near the front windows and a twentysomething couple sat at the bar, the girl looking at her watch as her boyfriend talked to someone on a mobile phone, ignoring her. Kevin saw one of their minders down at the far end of the bar, sitting at an angle that let him watch the entire place. Their eyes met, then moved on; neither acknowledged the other.

  Kevin took a table near the back, beside the fireplace. He could see the entrance from there, as well as the fire exit beside the loo. There should be a covert team stationed out in the alley, just in case. A pity they weren’t just out for an evening; the pub was a relaxed, comfortable place, with its old oak wainscoting and dark green walls. A gas log flickering against the opposite wall completed the picture of a cozy retreat.

  “It’ll be nice to have a meal we didn’t fix ourselves, and no washing-up after,” Johnny said, looking over the menu. “Hmm. This may take a little thought.”

  “You’ve never been here?”

  “No, never came down this way. Looks like I should have—it’s going to be a tough choice. They’ve got a lot of veggie meals, Kev.”

  “So I see.” There really was quite a selection, Italian and Indian, as well as the more usual fare. “Hm. Mushroom-walnut stroganoff. That sounds good.”

  “I think I’ll have the turkey curry. Cross-cultural.” In response to Kevin’s puzzled frown, John explained, “American Indian bird, Asian Indian sauce. Oh, and they’ve got winter ale. Would you like a pint?”

  “Sure.” While John went to get their drinks, Kevin checked his mobile phone for text messages. If they appeared to be in immediate danger, Jones would call; otherwise, whoever was in charge of communications would send them an update or all clear every ten minutes. There were two all clears queued up, and no voice mail.

  Kevin had a hunch the Colonel had been waiting for them to volunteer for this sort of thing. He had accepted their offer of help without hesitation, immediately doubled the number of men assigned to the mission, and provided a few suggestions as to how and where they might appear in public. He also recommended that when they were away from home, a team of soldiers would be posted in the house, in hopes of catching Blackwell if he should attempt to set up an ambush.

  They’d agreed to all of it. Anything that shortened this center-stage, looking-over-the-shoulder kind of life was worth putting up with, at least for a little while.

  “Any messages from your secret admirer?” John asked, returning with two pints.

  “All quiet on the Portsmouth front,” Kevin said. “It’s what we could expect, at this stage.”

  “I gave them our order, without starters,” John said. “Hope you haven’t changed your mind.”

  “No, that’s fine. We’ll be served quicker this way, and I’d rather not stay out too long.”
>
  “Same here. It’s funny, I thought I’d enjoy an evening out, but….” John shrugged. “I suppose it’s the Teflon underwear—crimps one’s style.”

  “No doubt someone, somewhere has a fetish for the stuff,” Kevin said. “Doesn’t do much for me.”

  “Oh, so you want to take it off before we go to bed?” Johnny feigned a look of mild disappointment. “I thought all you Special Forces boys had surprising kinks.”

  “That’s probably why I washed out. Too damned normal.” What was surprising, though not at all kinky, was that he felt not the slightest twinge when he said it. “I’d rather be with you than with them, anyway.”

  Their food arrived. “That was quick,” John said as the waiter began transferring the dishes from tray to table.

  “You picked two of our top favorites. There’s always curry on, and the cook just finished a batch of the stroganoff. Enjoy!”

  As Kevin had guessed, the stroganoff was what had smelled so enticing when they first walked in, and the taste was even better.

  “Looks like hobbit food,” John said. “Lots of mushrooms.”

  “It’s excellent. How’s yours?”

  “Tastes like chicken.” He grinned at the cliché. “Actually, it tastes like curry, but it’s good, too. Want a bite?”

  They traded samples and decided Kevin’s entrée was more interesting. “But you know,” John said, “in our grandparents’ day, it would’ve been the other way around. We have so much Eastern food now that we take it for granted.”

  “I wonder if Queen Victoria ever imagined the way the whole British Empire would wind up in our restaurants,” Kevin mused.

  “I expect the old girl’s spinning in her grave,” John said. “She’d have taken a dim view of us, for certain.”

  Kevin raised his glass. “Here’s to a long and happy rotation for Her Majesty.”

  Sitting there chatting with John, he actually managed, for a little while, to forget about the threat that hung over them. But in too short a time, they were pulling on their jackets, paying their check, and preparing to go back out into the cold to make targets of themselves.

  The entryway had a tiny vestibule space, an airlock between the cold outside and warmth within. Kevin closed his eyes as he stepped into it, counting off thirty seconds.

  “What’s wrong?” John asked.

  “In half a minute, I’ll have some of my night vision back. Three minutes would give more, but we don’t want to be too conspicuous.”

  “Good grief.”

  “I know—sorry, I don’t mean to be a nuisance.” He shouldered the door open into sleet and pulled his watch cap from his pocket.

  “You aren’t,” John said, winding his muffler up to his ears. “I didn’t realize how much was going on in your head—all the cloak-and-dagger details.”

  “I just want to be certain I see Blackwell before he sees us.” The street had been checked minutes before they left the pub, but Kevin crossed so they’d be walking back on the opposite side. He found himself compulsively peeking into parked cars, just in case.

  John snorted. “To hell with that—I want Sergeant Jones to see him before he sees us.”

  “I like the way you think.” One block covered, no cars. “Johnny, I probably don’t need to say this, and I don’t want you to take it the wrong way—”

  “Bloody hell. How bad is it? Did I do something stupid?”

  “No! No, I was just thinking ahead. If anything should happen, the worst thing you could do is to try to throw yourself on top of me or fling yourself into harm’s way.” He winced at John’s dead silence. “I’m sorry, I put that badly. It’s no reflection on your ability, Johnny—I was just thinking about what I would do to protect you, and realized you’d probably have the same impulse. I don’t want us to trip each other up trying to save each other. We’ll both be safer if each of us just gets himself out of the way.”

  “I understand,” John said at last.

  “Sorry—”

  “No, you’re right. We have to treat this as a potential combat situation. Each of us has to trust the other to do his job.” The corner was approaching. “Cross or turn?”

  “Turn. Of course, if you see something and it’s obvious I don’t—” Kevin glanced toward John for a moment, and the corner of his eye caught a door fly open just behind them, a man’s figure come charging out.

  Completely forgetting what he’d just said, he reacted instinctively. He elbowed John out of the way and caught the stranger’s outstretched arm, dropping his own weight to throw the intruder off-balance, spinning him around and then pinning him against the brick shopfront with an arm around his throat. He heard a shrill whistle, heard footsteps running toward them, and looked over to Johnny—who was staring open-mouthed as a young woman, framed in the doorway, began screaming her head off.

  Oh, shit. As Jones and three men from his squad converged, Kevin heard John hushing the woman, explaining that there had been a stakeout, they had accidentally walked into a surveillance situation, he was very sorry, was she all right?

  Kevin shifted his weight so the man he’d pinned could get his balance back. He hadn’t been entirely mistaken—the poor bastard did bear a strong superficial resemblance to Carl Blackwell, but he was several years younger and apparently scared speechless.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” he said to the civilians. “Bodyguard work, you know.”

  They didn’t know, of course, but they both nodded numbly.

  “Best get our consultant away from the scene, sir,” Jones said, a little too loudly. “We’ll sort this out.”

  Damn, damn, damn. Kevin’s face was burning as he and Johnny walked hurriedly away. A fine thing for him to lecture John, then in the same breath, make such a stupid mistake.

  “I didn’t see him,” John said after they’d crossed the street. “Didn’t see a thing. If that had been Blackwell, you’d have saved both our lives.”

  “But it wasn’t him.”

  “It could have been. Easily. And if it had been, I’d have been very glad you were so quick. Kev, I’ve never seen anyone move like that, outside a martial-arts film.”

  “You don’t watch those.”

  “I’ve seen a couple. They looked fake. This looked real.”

  “It was real. Except it wasn’t a real attack. Damn it to hell!” He wished Johnny would stop trying to make him feel better. He had been a damned fool, and nothing could fix that.

  “You’re my action hero, Kev.” This in an awestruck tone better suited to a teenage girl than a military veteran.

  It had the desired effect, though—Kevin had to laugh. “Oh, please.” As they approached their home, his mobile phone rang. The readout said it was the Colonel. That was all he needed. “Yes, hello.”

  “Kendrick. Your in-house team left through the rear entrance. They locked the security gate and set the rear outdoor motion sensors.”

  “Right. Thank you.” That was something, anyway—he wouldn’t have to face any more of his former teammates, at least not this evening.

  “By the way, nice recovery,” the Colonel said.

  “What?” John had unlocked the door; Kevin followed him inside.

  “That unexpected civilian. Jones nearly put a bullet into him, but you were in the way. You saved us a lot of grief—and that young idiot’s life.”

  “It was all I had time for—”

  “Lucky for all of us. I’ve got you both scheduled for target practice tomorrow afternoon. We’ll call at ten with the specifics. Good night.”

  “Good night, sir.” Somewhat bemused, he put the phone back in its holster.

  “What was that last about?” Johnny asked. “Not a bad night’s work, then,” he said when Kevin finished explaining. He put his coat away in the closet and handed out a coat hanger.

  “It wasn’t anything I did purposely,” Kevin said.

  “You used enough force to neutralize what you saw as a threat, love. And not one bit more force than necessary. I’d ran
k that well above blowing holes in some kid who happened to pop out the wrong door at the wrong time.” John hung Kevin’s coat alongside his own. “It’s a little past ten. Want to make an early night of it?”

  “You go on up. I want to check the system.”

  “Tub?”

  Suddenly weary, he couldn’t decide between the luxury of feeling warm all over and the simple relief of crawling between the sheets and curling up in Johnny’s arms. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “I’ll start it, then. If you don’t want a soak, I’ll just peel you out of your gear and give you a wash.” Without warning, John caught Kevin’s face in his hands. “You were amazing,” he said. “Don’t put yourself down because you aren’t omniscient.” Kevin was too tired to argue, and not fool enough to reject the warm kiss that brought him back down to earth. Then, with a smile, Johnny went bounding up the stairs.

  Kevin shook his head and took care of securing the house. How was a man supposed to go on a guilt trip with someone like John interrupting his self-pity party? The only thing for it was to go soak in the tub with his gorgeous, considerate lover—and try not to think about how very close he had come to breaking that innocent bystander’s neck.

  Chapter 16

  A STRAY shaft of sunlight found its way under one slat of the miniblinds in the bedroom and landed with gentle persistence on John’s left eyelid. At first he slept on, but after a moment, the brightness had its effect; he blinked, shifted his head slightly, and realized he hadn’t adjusted the blinds last night when he’d taken a last look out at the back garden.

  Kevin slept soundly beside him, the side of his face mashed against John’s shoulder. Small wonder he was so zonked—he’d been friskier the night before than he had been since this Blackwell mess started, certainly more amorous than the night before that—Tuesday night—after that fiasco on their walk home. Kevin had been badly shaken by his own overreaction, and the romantic spa tub evening John had hoped for wound up in a perfunctory wash followed by a long, restless night.