Navy SEAL Surrender

by Angi Morgan

  His brother really believed the dribble he spouted. Even under moonlight, John could see the sincerity and confidence. Two minutes ago he’d been tired, worn-out and wanting to avoid another confrontation. The itch to fight and settle this once and for all was there, and no matter how exhausted he’d been, adrenaline kicked him into full gear.

  Throughout their childhood and high school years they’d settled their differences with a fight. Rolling on the ground, punching kidneys, ripping shirts and jeans along the way. Why should now be any different? It had just taken twelve years to have it out about this one.

  Without thinking too much about it, he rammed a sore shoulder into Brian’s gut and they tumbled to the ground. Brian landed a hard fist in his side. Already bruised from Gargantuan’s punches, John yelled in pain.

  “Admit that you left the fire burning,” Brian shouted, throwing another punch that rattled John’s teeth.

  “Admit that you felt guilty about making a play for Alicia and never gave me the chance to tell you the truth.” John threw his own fist to crack Brian’s jaw, then clamped his mouth shut to stop the groan of pain he wanted to release. His knuckles and lots of other body parts were already raw due to his earlier brawl.

  They rolled in a deadlock, equally matched and equally tired. Brian groaned after a flip to his back when John landed a knee close to his groin. Then they reversed and broke apart as he narrowly avoided a furious knee slamming onto his chest.

  He locked his arm behind Brian’s head but couldn’t finish the defensive move without snapping his brother’s neck. He needed a minute to catch his breath and decide where to go. In the past, the victor had won the argument. Problem solved. But winning wouldn’t resolve this ongoing problem between them.

  Finding out the truth would.

  “Well, it’s about time.” A very feminine voice laughed.

  John looked upside down into Alicia’s gorgeous smile as she bent over them. She didn’t appear mad at all.

  They both relaxed their grips just like they’d been caught fighting by their mother all those years ago. They rolled off one another and scrambled to their feet. He expected Alicia to scold them for being stupid. Instead she stretched open her arms, running to them and pulling them into an embrace.

  “How much did you hear?” John asked over her shoulder.

  “Did you really expect me to stay asleep with the two of you yelling at each other?”

  John’s eyes connected with his twin’s, reflecting the shock he felt. Alicia’s face was buried between them but he thought she muttered something about waiting a long time for this fight to clear the air.

  “Wait a minute,” Brian said, pulling back from the awkward group hug. “I wouldn’t say anything’s been cleared up.” He wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand.

  “I agree.” John set Alicia slightly away from him, half expecting her to stomp her foot in frustration.

  John edged his tongue across his own lip, itching to wipe the wetness away, not ready to admit Brian had drawn blood.

  “But you’re finally fighting it out. If you’d done this that night, we could have avoided the strained relationships and years of hurt.”

  Brian backed farther away. “Nothing would have changed, Alicia. He was a jerk of a kid, always avoiding getting blamed for anything.”

  “Is that what you think? You’ve really believed I was guilty all these years? You think I was drunk and irresponsible. That I set the fire and couldn’t face the truth?”

  “I think I’ll wait in the barn.” Brian darted around the building.

  “Oh, no, you don’t, Brian Sloane.” Alicia did stomp her foot and shout. Brian returned as far as the corner and leaned against the aging wall. “You two are going to get this over with, even if it requires a broken nose.” She pointed her finger at him, then back around at Brian. “Or two. Now get on with it.”

  “There’s nothing to argue about,” his brother said, visibly clenching his jaw and swallowing hard. “He won’t admit he was there.”

  Watching his twin, he realized just how much their gestures revealed. He was bone weary and emotionally done and Brian didn’t look much better. He was holding his right ribs—not the left, where John’s fist had connected several times. Somebody left-handed had taken some shots.

  Alicia looked expectantly at him to start the reconciliation. He stuck his hand out in front of him and shrugged. “What do you want me to say? I wasn’t.”

  “Well, let’s start with who drove the truck home that night. It wasn’t me. I rode home with Trina Kaufman. Or I drove her home listening to her snores.” Alicia put her hands on her hips, forcing Brian not to turn away. She flicked a finger and he responded like a little kid, shuffling forward, back within arm’s distance.

  Do I look like that?

  Was that a bit of courage straightening his own spine? This slip of a woman, in spite of all the problems she’d faced, would be the driving force behind resolving the feud with his brother. She had courage and stamina worthy of any navy SEAL. He should be ashamed it had come to this, but in a way, he was relieved.

  For better or worse, the time had come to clear the air.

  “It doesn’t sound like either of us drove Granddad’s truck home,” he said, drawing on the courage to see the conversation through without throwing another punch. “I was in the tree house.”

  “I stayed at Dwayne’s,” Brian mumbled.

  Realization hit John about the same time as Brian. Neither of them was responsible for the fire. Twelve years of anger could have been avoided.

  “So neither of you drove the truck home. But there were witnesses who saw the truck leaving Mrs. Cook’s after the fire started.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Brian turned away from Alicia with a string of curses and a fist slamming the rotten barn wall. “Anyone could have taken the truck. We always left the keys in it at those things since we shared it. Everybody knew that. I mean, we never thought anyone would steal it.”

  “Someone framed us good enough that even we bought the story.” John wanted to punch something through the barn wall. He settled for slamming his fist into his palm.

  “And since you never asked each other,” Alicia continued, “you just assumed the other was responsible.”

  “Yeah. We were idiots and have paid the price for our stupidity,” Brian admitted for them both.

  “Twelve years.” Alicia’s body relaxed. Her arms went above her head and smoothed her curly hair, pulling it into a ponytail and twisting it into a knot. “Twelve frustrating years of silence when a two-minute conversation would have resolved everything. Men.”

  The soothing gesture hit him somewhere between his heart and lower regions. Sexy, natural, pleasing. It was all of the things he wanted but seemed far out of his reach.

  He heard the cell vibrating in the dirt where he’d dropped it during the scuffle with Brian. His brother plopped easily on the ground to sit and answered it as he scooped it up. Speaker on, it was flat in his brother’s palm before John could object.

  “Sloane, cop scanner has them heading for this place. Somebody must have reported seeing you here. I’m taking a few essentials and packing out since you took my rental and your vehicle seems compromised.” Devlin’s stressed voice filled the awkward silence.

  “Sorry, man.”

  “It’ll take me a half hour to trek this stuff to another car. Where we meeting up?”

  “That location I had you checking out. We’re there now.”

  “Roger. Gotta run. Literally.”

  The line disconnected and Brian held out the phone. John grabbed it, shoving the thing in his back pocket. He checked his lower back. No weapon—not in the dirt anywhere. Man, he’d left it in the car. What was wrong with him?

  His brother stretched and yawned. Relaxed. Really rel
axed and comfortable. He touched his forehead and then shoved his hand across the high and tight haircut. “Dammit, I hate short hair. Top of my head’ll be sunburned for sure first time I feed the horses.”

  “Tell me about it.” He scratched his own scruff, noticing they now had the same exact cut. “I’ve lost my cover a time or two in training. Sunburn up top is the worst.”

  Mabel would make a great military barber.

  “Well, not the worst. I remember your mother talking about you two skinny-dipping one summer,” Alicia dropped casually as she picked up the saddlebags. “Didn’t you both fall asleep without any clothes?”

  They all burst out laughing. That had been a miserable week spent sitting in alcohol and oatmeal baths. “At least when we fell asleep we were in the shade and not trying to lose our tan lines.”

  “Oh, my gosh, the burn I got that summer was horrible.” Alicia protectively covered her breasts.

  He remembered the miserable couple of days she’d walked around braless. Just as miserable for him and his imagination as for her and her sunburned flesh.

  “Both of us were sicker than dogs,” Brian said, still on the ground, one arm draped over a bent knee. “What now?”

  He wished he knew. John was surprised his brother had asked the question instead of Alicia. But at a glance he knew she’d wanted to. It was in her eyes, along with the worry and fright concerning the unknown. Still there. She might smile and laugh, but it was still there.

  “I, for one, am hoping there’s food in those saddlebags.” She headed for the hand-tooled leather.

  Brian nodded. “Mabel sent something. I threw in a change of clothes. My old boots are still on my saddle. Just in case you need to go into town impersonating me. Not many people look my direction or talk much to me, so you won’t need to get up-to-date on my life or anything to keep up,” he added with an unfamiliar smirk.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “And never smile. Brian never, ever smiles when he’s in town,” Alicia teased.

  “Right.”

  What was the tension he was picking up between these two? Was it real? Or just a continuation of the night of the fire? She’d told him that what he’d seen had all been a joke. A simple dare from Brian’s friends. He hadn’t found it that funny, and they’d argued. Then they’d broken up afterward because of him not believing her.

  At least he thought they had. They must have. Great. He felt like he was eighteen again. Confused emotions and a growing ache for Alicia that just wouldn’t stop—no matter who was around or what danger they were in.

  He wanted to pull her close to him. Her arms were still above her head, so they’d fall on his shoulders and her breasts would end up flush with his chest. The image of her next to him was so clear in his mind, he shook his head to get rid of it.

  When he opened his eyes, she stood close in front of him, a perplexed wrinkle between her brows. But Brian...he had a knowing look. An “I told you so” laugh that turned into a short approving whistle.

  “Where were you just now?” Alicia asked, still searching his face with questioning dark blue eyes.

  “Yeah, brother dearest, where were you?”

  Brian knew exactly where he’d been. No doubt about it. Behind Alicia’s back he spotted his brother mouthing, It’s about damn time. The momentary panic trying to creep up his spine was just confusion at his brother’s perceptive grin. His twin seemed...almost happy at the prospect he was having thoughts about Alicia. Didn’t his brother want her for himself?

  Brian shook his head and muttered, “You’re still an idiot.”

  “You’re both idiots and we’re wasting time,” Alicia said, turning from John to face Brian, with a bit of apple between her lips. “You’re no better than he is, you know. By the way, I’m sorry you went to jail because of me.”

  “No big deal.”

  “It’s always a big deal.” She dragged a finger across Brian’s jaw. “That’s not from your scuffle with John. Sure wish we had a frozen bag of peas to put on it. I really am sorry.”

  Brian’s gaze connected with his and he took a quick couple of steps away from Alicia. If his brother could read him, he was definitely picking up on the instant jealousy that had taken over with an instant thought that had popped in his head.

  Mine!

  Her sympathy should be directed at him. John. He was the one who had the crap beat out of him by a giant while trying to unsuccessfully rescue her child.

  Get past it. She isn’t yours. She’s with you because she has no other choice. Just move on and find her daughter. Then you can get the hell away from her and whatever this possessiveness is all about.

  Right. Past her. Past the feeling of wanting someone who was much too good for him. He didn’t deserve anyone as special as Alicia Adams. He knew it even if no one else did.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “What are we going to do now?” Shauna screeched as soon as the housekeeper had taken Lauren upstairs.

  Break your neck so the endless screeching will stop. The situation was heartbreaking to only himself, but Patrick admitted he’d have to endure several weeks of screeching before it would ever stop. But he could dream.

  The brat had screamed and cried for her mother every minute after the police escort to the station. She’d shut up as soon as he’d reminded her of what had happened to her babysitter. In fact, she hadn’t uttered a word after he’d whispered in her ear. He wished the same could be said for Shauna.

  Patrick watched his hysterical wife frantically twist a strand of the red frizz she took an hour to straighten every time she saw it in a mirror. He hated her hair. Almost as much as he hated her. The dyed color was purple in fluorescent light, nowhere near the red on the box. He knew only because she’d ranted for days and days that they should sue the hair-color company.

  In his sad, wimpy way, he’d agreed with her until she’d moved on to the next threat of a lawsuit and rant.

  Tory had had lovely hair.

  He sat on the end of the couch and flipped up the built-in footrest. “You’ve got the kid, dear. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  He yawned. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he’d sleep like a hibernating bear. He opened his mouth to suggest they head upstairs. Then reconsidered. He knew his partner in crime needed to spout her concerns out loud and he didn’t want the housekeeper hearing her.

  I wonder if I could slip a sleeping pill into her drink? Or two or three?

  She’d pass out on the couch and he’d have the bed to himself, minus the stench of her night creams and moisturizers.

  No. If he did, she would oversleep in the morning and the complaining would be worse. Tomorrow was an early one. Lots of bathroom prep for the camera attention she craved.

  “The police suspect something. I know they do.” Shauna poured herself a two-finger drink of his good scotch and shot it back easier than water.

  “Keep your voice down. As long as you don’t talk about it, they won’t have any idea we’re behind everything.” Same as you have no idea I’ve been pulling all the strings for years. He sat forward, no longer relaxed, needing to be alert to keep her calm. “You heard them at the station. They issued a warrant for Alicia.”

  She slammed the glass down on the bar. “But not Brian. He was there. You saw him sitting under your girlfriend. That bitch, Mabel, is lying for him.”

  “Why does it matter so much? It’s Alicia you want destroyed, right?”

  She twisted more of her straw-like hair. Then pulled at the bottom of her shirt. She’d freak out when she realized that the kid had gotten dirt all over the frilly white thing Shauna had worn. His wife had wanted to be photographed in the see-through blouse after they’d “rescued” Lauren.

  Everything was about appearances and the money. Nothing wrong with money as lon
g as you have plenty of it. Even Tory had been all about the money. More of it. Every question had been about the money and how they were going to use it to get to Paris.

  Well, he’d been to Paris and had no desire to go back. The money would last longer on a beach in Mexico, and that was where he was headed as soon as this crap was done. The kid would officially be in their custody and shipped off to a boarding school. God, how long would that take?

  Shauna would come with him, of course. He already had her careful scrawling signature down pat. So he wouldn’t have to put up with her too long while he transferred all the money to himself.

  Once she’s gone...heaven.

  “Are you listening to me?”

  “Of course I am, sweetheart.” Not really. My fantasies are much better company.

  He was lucky he didn’t choke on the endearment. He’d transfer the money as fast as he could and would savor choking her scrawny neck. He had dreamed about it several times and would have all the details planned. He’d insist they rent a sailboat, small enough he could manage it on his own. Even now he could envision her tanned skin in one of those bright white string bikinis she liked to wear. He’d bring her a drink—something fruity so she’d sip it slowly. She’d sit up on her towel; he’d offer to put more lotion on her back to keep her from burning.

  Then he’d slip his fingers gently across her larynx and tighten his grip. She starved herself all the time, so she’d be unable to fight back. Weak, she had no strength. Not like him.

  Wait, that wouldn’t do. If he was behind her, he couldn’t see her eyes bulge and then go dead. Forget the drink. He’d untie the strings and make her think he wanted sex on the deck. Maybe he’d have her one last time before squeezing the breath from her and cracking her spine.

  He’d always wanted to snap a spine. Had always been curious if you could really hear the pop like the sound effects they used in the movies and on television. Would it be as easy? Did it require practice? It wouldn’t hurt to practice. Maybe he’d get a chance once or twice before the sailing excursion.