“All right, then,” I say. “When can I quit? I want out, Clint.”
“One more job,” he says. “One more mission. And then, you’ll be free.”
Free. A word has never sounded as sweet.
“Okay,” I say. “Tell me what the job is.”
Chapter 17
Valerie
I’m listening to the baby monitor as I tidy up the bedroom. Garrett’s been so quiet all day, but now, as he puts Dylan to bed in the living room, I hear him talking.
He’s speaking softly. I’m guessing that he’s forgotten about the monitor, and thinks that he’s alone with Dylan. I do the same thing, sometimes. Though I feel a little bit like I’m eavesdropping as I listen to Garrett sing little songs and make silly noises with Dylan, I can’t bring myself to turn the monitor off. The sound of Garrett and my son is like music to my ears. It’s better than hearing my favorite song on the radio.
“I got your toes!” Garrett coos. “I’m gonna get ’em! I got ’em!”
I hear Dylan make a soft, happy sound.
“There’s your bear,” Garrett says. “And you have your blanket. It’s sleepy time, now, my little man. Daddy loves you, Dylan. Do you know that? Do you know how much your daddy loves you?”
I smile and pick up a sweater off of the back of a wooden chair that sits by the bedroom door. Folding it idly, I keep listening as Garrett starts to hum. I can imagine that Dylan’s eyes are getting heavy. He’s a good sleeper, and he usually nods off within ten minutes of being laid down in the crib.
I reach for a pair of Garrett’s socks, which are strewn on the floor on his side of the bed. I toss them into the hamper by the dresser, then reach for a pair of his sweatpants. They’re still clean, so I fold them instead of throwing them in the hamper.
Garrett doesn’t have a dresser for his clothes like I do, so he’s been keeping them folded in a stack in one corner of the room. It’s not ideal, but the small bedroom has no space for a second dresser.
We haven’t yet talked about our living situation. Maybe I should bring it up soon.
Garrett is still humming, and I’m smiling dreamily as I walk to the corner of the room, towards his pile of clothes. Before I get to it, I notice a black duffel bag, partially hidden under his side of the bed. I haven’t seen it before.
Maybe this is what he had to pick up from Austin this afternoon? He’s mentioned his Austin apartment a few times, and has traveled back and forth from it a couple times since moving in to grab bits and pieces. Maybe the bag contains more clothing? It is nearing December now. The temperatures will start to drop soon.
I can still hear Garrett’s voice through the monitor, so I know he’s in the living room. He won’t know if I just take a quick peek inside the bag.
I still have his sweatpants in one hand as I kneel and unzip the black duffel. But as soon as I see what’s inside the bag, I drop the sweatpants and my hands fly to my mouth, covering my gasp.
I’ve never seen a gun in real life, only in movies. Growing up, my home was always a gun-free zone. I was taught that guns are dangerous.
So, the sight of two, in my bedroom, floors me.
They’re lying inside the duffel bag. One is black, short, and bulky. A hand gun, I think. The second is long, and the word “rifle” comes to mind, though I’m not knowledgeable enough about firearms to know if that’s accurate.
The sight of the two guns makes my body start to quiver and shake.
What the hell is Garrett doing with two guns? My eyes travel over the other contents of the bag. I see black clothing and a folder with some papers in it. Curious, but hesitant because of the guns, I carefully reach into the bag and pull out the folder. I move slowly, because I’m almost afraid that if I merely brush my hand against one of the guns, it will fire—that’s how scared I am.
I can still hear Garrett over the monitor, so I know that I have time. I don’t feel guilty about my snooping anymore. I have every right to know what’s in this bag. It is in my apartment, after all.
I open the folder and see a printout of a map. There’s a red “X” on an address. I flip to the next page and see a headshot of a man.
With another glance into the bag, I notice a wad of bills. It was covered up by the folder, but now that I’ve moved things around, the bundle of green paper is exposed. I reach into the bag again, carefully, and pick up the money. It’s a thick wad of hundreds.
What is going on here?
Just then, my ears pick up a lack of sound. Garrett has stopped singing.
I drop the folder back into the bag, then zip the bag up. I stand up, trying to get my bearings.
I’m shaking like a leaf. Because I can barely stand on my two trembling legs, I allow myself to sink down onto the bed. I place my head in my hands. My lips are pressed together, and I’m concentrating on taking breaths through my nose.
I thought I knew Garrett. I thought he’d opened up to me, over these last few months. I trusted him. Now, I feel doubt creeping into the pit of my stomach. What if Garrett is not the man I thought he was?
I’ve invited him into my home. My bed. My life. My heart. He spends hours alone with Dylan.
But who is he, really? Because the Garrett I’ve been learning to trust would never have brought this bag into my bedroom. The Garrett I know may have a troubled past and a tough exterior, but on the inside, he is as sweet and warm as honey.
I think of the guns, and a chill runs through me
This isn’t adding up. I don’t know what to think.
All I know is that I need an explanation. I have to confront him.
Where is he?
I hear the soft breathing of Dylan sleeping in his crib. Garrett has not yet come back to the bedroom, which he would usually do after putting Dylan to sleep.
He’s been acting distant all day, in fact.
On the hunt for answers, I step out of the bedroom and walk down the hallway. I’m completely on edge, as if there might be a boogeyman around every corner. My own home feels like a hostile environment, and it’s not a feeling I enjoy.
I pass the empty kitchen and then peek into the living room. It’s dim, and I see the little bundle of blankets within the crib. Dylan is sleeping soundly.
The couch is empty. No one is in the living room.
I continue down the hallway to the entryway. The door is slightly ajar. I pull it open, and there he is. Garrett is leaning against the banister just beyond my front step. He’s looking down over the edge, as if he sees something meaningful and interesting there—not just a flight of stairs, concrete, and the wall of the adjacent units.
He turns his head as I open the door.
“Garrett,” I say. “We need to talk.” To gain some control over my trembling body, I cross my arms tightly across my chest.
We’ve never fought. Not since he said that he wanted to be a part of Dylan’s life. But I feel this protective anger surging up inside of me. It feels good to be standing in the doorway, between my son and this man—this man who brought guns into my house.
“What’s wrong?” Garrett turns his body so that his back is to the banister.
“I saw your duffel bag in the bedroom.” I pause and draw in a shaky breath. “I opened it. I was curious. What I saw in there, I—”
“Valerie, let me explain.”
“Yes,” I say. “That’s what I want. An explanation. Because if you think you can just— Garrett, I trusted you!”
“Don’t stop trusting me,” he says, looking into my eyes. “Valerie, I swear, this isn’t what it looks like.”
“It’s not? Because it looks like you’re doing something illegal. You’re not in the Navy anymore, Garrett.” My voice has been rising steadily, and now, I’m nearly shouting. “Whether you admit it to yourself or not, you’re a civilian, just like me. You have to play by the same rules as the rest of us. And it looks like your planning some kind of—”
“Valerie, just calm down!” he says sharply, cutting me off. He looks around,
and then steps closer. “Can we go inside, to talk about this?”
“No,” I say, blocking the doorway. “No, Garrett! I don’t even want you in my house. Do you understand that? Do you know what this feels like, for me? To realize that the man I’ve been living with—the father of my child—is some kind of criminal?”
“I’m not a criminal,” he says. His voice is quiet. Metered. “If you’d just listen to me…”
I want to keep ranting—venting off my fear and anger—but he’s right. If I want an explanation, which I do, then I have to shut up and listen. So, I hold my tongue. I wait.
He takes a few deep breaths, and I feel myself doing the same.
“Valerie, I know that it looks bad. I know you must be scared. But I’ve been doing this work since—”
“What work?” I interject.
He sighs. When he speaks, it’s very quiet, like he’s telling me a secret. “Exactly what you think I’m doing, now that you’ve seen the inside of that bag.”
“Killing people?” I ask. My voice is hushed, too, but still comes out too loud.
Garrett looks around again. “Are you sure we can’t go inside?” he asks.
I shake my head. I’m just now finding out that Garrett kills for a living. If he thinks I’m going to let him into my home, where my son is sleeping, he’s insane.
“Yes,” he says. “All right. I…wipe out people who don’t deserve to live. They’re all bad guys, Valerie. Drug dealers, human traffickers…the people I’m hired to kill are no different than the enemies I had to kill as a SEAL. I’m trained to track and kill bad guys. It’s what I do.”
I feel myself shuddering. Hearing the words “hired to kill” come from Garrett’s lips makes me feel nauseated.
“Garrett…that’s murder.” Until now, I’ve been holding onto the hope that I have it all wrong. That maybe he’s just storing the guns for someone else. Now, hearing it come from his own lips, I’m filled with a new wave of shock.
“Try to see it like I do,” he says. “If you knew about what these guys have done, you would want them to die. The world is better off without them.”
I’m speechless. My trembling hand is still covering my mouth.
“Valerie, I’ve killed men who had women and children locked in their apartments. I’ve killed men who sold drugs laced with poisons to school children. If I know that evil exists, it’s up to me to protect those who can’t do it themselves. I’m a trained fighter, Valerie. I have a responsibility.”
For a split second, his words start to sound logical to me. I shake my head, as if fighting off a trance.
“Garrett—no! You’re talking about murder. You’re talking about killing another human being. You’re a hitman.” I feel a jolt of fear run through me. “A hitman,” I repeat. “My son…is the son of a hitman.”
It sounds surreal when I say it out loud. When Garrett first appeared in my life, what I wanted more than anything was for him to want to be involved in his son’s life. Now, I find myself wondering if Dylan would be better off without him.
It makes me sick to my stomach to think this.
I have loved watching the bond between Garrett and Dylan grow stronger and stronger with each passing day. It feels awful to want to sever that bond. But for my son’s wellbeing, I would do anything.
“You should have told me,” I say. “You’ve been lying this whole time. I thought we were getting to know each other. I thought our relationship was built on honesty. Now, I see that it was all built on one big lie.”
“I never lied to you,” he says.
“You did. You lied by omitting the truth.”
He turns away from me and places his hands on the banister. I can tell that he feels guilty.
“It’s the same as if I failed to mention the fact that I’d had a baby. Imagine if I never got up the courage to tell you about our son. You would feel like I lied to you, wouldn’t you?”
I see him nod.
I keep talking. “But I was honest with you, Garrett. It wasn’t easy. But I did it.”
With his back turned, he speaks. “If I’d told you the truth, you would have treated me differently. You would have closed your door on me.”
“And maybe that would have been better,” I say.
It sounds cold, but it’s how I feel in this moment. He swivels around to face me. I can tell that my words have cut him to the core.
I’m having a hard time looking at him. “I’m going to get your things.” I say. “Stay out here.”
“Valerie, please don’t do this,” he says.
I spin on my heel and enter my home. Quickly, I walk to the bedroom and throw his stack of clothes into his suitcase. I lift the suitcase in one hand, and then the duffel bag in the other. When I return to the front door, Garrett is exactly where I’ve left him.
“Here,” I say, dumping the two bags down at his feet. “I don’t think you should stay here anymore.”
“Valerie, please,” he protests. He reaches for me, but I pull away.
“Garrett…I can’t live with a man who commits murder. I can’t do it. I don’t want that for my son, and—” I feel myself choking up, and I have to concentrate to get the words out. “I don’t want that for me. Don’t come back until you’re ready to leave this,” I motion to the black duffel bag, “behind you.”
A tear spills, and I wipe it fiercely away. It’s painful to tell Garrett to leave, but I know that I have to do it. For Dylan’s sake.
“You could be a good father, Garrett, if you want to be. You could be a good boyfriend. But you’re going to have to change the way you live. Until then, just…just don’t. Don’t come back.”
Imagining my life without Garrett causes more tears to spill. I can’t look at him. I know that I’m hurting him, and that makes me feel even worse.
Before I can change my mind, I step back into my apartment. I close the door.
Chapter 18
Garrett
Fuck.
I stare down at the bags that Valerie has practically thrown at me.
Part of me wants to blame her. I remember one of my foster dads calling a woman a “crazy bitch” once, when I was about five. I’d never heard the word bitch before, so I asked him what it meant. He told me that it meant “woman”. I still remember the way he knelt down and put his hands on my skinny shoulders. That was a big deal to me, as a kid—I rarely had an adult’s undivided attention. The guy was smoking a cigarette, and it waggled between his lips as he spoke: “Women are fuckin’ crazy, kid, you got that? All women. Crazy.”
Now, looking at my bags, I wish I could believe those words. It would be so simple to tell myself that Valerie has overreacted. That she’s wrong. That she’s crazy.
But she’s not. She has every right to be pissed at me. She has every right to kick me out of her house.
I stoop to pick up the bags. As I do, my phone beeps. I know, of course, that it’s Clint. He’s the reason I came out onto the goddamn front stoop in the first place. He’s been contacting me about tonight’s hit, and I needed a minute to respond to him in private.
As much as I want to knock on the door and tell Valerie that I’m ready to put it all behind me, like she asked, I know that I can’t. I know that Clint won’t let me.
I have to do this job.
With heavy steps, I make my way down the stairs. The target is outside of San Antonio, in a little town called Avery. Most of my missions have been in urban environments, lately. I haven’t had to approach a rural house in at least two years, maybe more. It takes a whole different tactic, and I know that I’m going to have to be careful.
But as I strap my bag to my motorcycle, I can feel how off-center I am. My head isn’t in the game. I’m thinking about Valerie, and how incredibly hurt she looked.
I’m going to make it up to her. Once this job is done, Clint will give me space. He said it himself. One more job, and then I’m free.
If I don’t do this job, Clint will find me. I’m afraid to think
of what he’d do. I can almost hear the eerie sound of his laughter, through that damned voice-altering software. He knows where I am; I’m sure the cellphone he’s given me has a GPS tracker on it.
I know he’s capable of having people killed, and I’d hate to be one of the targets he assigns to one of his staff members. Or worse—what if he targeted Valerie or Dylan? I shudder at the thought of it.
I fire up my bike and pull out of the parking lot. I try to think about how it will feel when I return, with this last job behind me. I want to be the boyfriend that Valerie is asking for. I want to be a good father to Dylan.
But until this job is over, I can be neither.
The faster I get this over with, the better.
I’m hoping that the drive will clear my head, but it doesn’t. It’s over too fast, and before I know it, I’m driving down the worn paved road that will lead me directly to my target’s house.
It’s still light out. Too light.
I pull over into a truck stop with a mind to wait out the light. Darkness will offer me more cover and increase my chances of approaching the house unseen.
As I sip bitter coffee in the outdated truck-stop diner, I replay my last conversation with Valerie in my mind, over and over. The more I think about her words, the more I see that she’s right.
I’m not a SEAL anymore. I’m a civilian. Who am I to say who gets to live, and who gets to die? I’ve always felt that it was my responsibility, as a trained fighter, to protect those who were weak and vulnerable. When I look at things from Valerie’s perspective, I see how crazy that sounds. It’s like I’m assuming the role of judge, jury, and executioner, all wrapped up into one.
“Something on your mind?” the waitress asks. She’s in her sixties, and has kind, understanding eyes. She’s holding up a pot of coffee, and as she waits for my response, she tops off my dwindling supply.
“Oh—yeah,” I say. “It’s been a rough night.”
“Girl trouble?” she guesses, her tone sympathetic.
I snort. “Yeah,” I say. “My girlfriend’s not very happy with me. Kicked me out of the apartment, actually.”
Secret Daddy Surprise - A Secret Baby Romance (Once a SEAL, Always a SEAL Book 4) Page 12
