The SEAL's Special Mission

by Rogenna Brewer

  “Here.” Ben returned with the first aid kit.

  Mallory used the butterfly strips to close the jagged tear as best she could. Then she wrapped his entire midsection in sterile gauze. She wasn’t a nurse and moved none too gently as she lifted and then rolled his body to accommodate her attempt to bandage him. She’d stopped the bleeding, but they’d owe the homeowner new sheets and possibly a mattress.

  Which was the least of her worries.

  She kept thinking that Nash should have regained consciousness by now. He lay stark and unmoving against the white sheets.

  She brushed the hair from his forehead again. Careful to keep her touch impersonal, she let the silky strands fall through her fingers as she placed the cool cloth on his forehead.

  All those times she’d wished him dead and here she was, desperately trying to save his life as Ben looked on. “Is he going to die?”

  “I don’t know.” She gave him the most honest answer she could. “He needs rest. Let’s let him get some.”

  There was nothing more she could do for Nash. Her best bet was to find the burn phone and call for help. But that niggling voice inside her head kept reminding her that Nash had risked his life coming after them and she owed it to him to keep watch over him until she could figure out what was going on here and who all the players really were. Ushering Ben out of the room, she closed the door with a heavy sigh.

  The burden of indecision right now was bigger than two hundred pounds of unconscious man. Give the man the benefit of the doubt, Ward.

  Surprised to find it was almost noon by the time they returned downstairs to the kitchen, Mallory went through the cupboards one by one to take stock of their supplies. She found a stale box of saltines and two cans of Campbell’s Chunky soup.

  “How about helping me unload the Tahoe.” She tossed Ben the car keys.

  “Okay.” He raced to the door and they were greeted by a cold blast of air when he opened it. She grabbed one of the kid-size winter coats from the rack even though it had pink stripes and tossed it to Ben. “Mom, that’s a girl’s.”

  She assessed the jersey jacket he wore over his T-shirt and jeans. He’d be fine for a few quick trips in and out. “Fine, but it’s here to use if you get cold.”

  The house itself wasn’t all that warm, though there was a thermostat by the door that registered fifty-five degrees. The heat was off and probably should remain that way since she didn’t know much about the generator.

  Mal grabbed the closest thing to a warm coat in her size, which was a wool peacoat, and put it on. Then she grabbed her SIG from the gun cabinet and holstered it before going outside.

  Enlisting Ben’s help kept him busy and his mind off Nash for the next hour as they made several trips from the Chevy to the kitchen. She tried not to think about the fact that unloading the SUV felt a lot like settling in.

  “What do you want for lunch?” She held out the two cans. “Beef stew or clam chowder.”

  He thought about it for a minute. “Beef stew, I guess.”

  If Ben wasn’t hungry, then more than the Cheetos he’d consumed for breakfast was to blame. She’d hidden the rest of the junk food they’d hauled out of reach.

  The truck had been like an icebox, so the refrigerated snacks had held up pretty well. She tossed him one of the cheese sticks and put the rest into the fridge—which was now operating thanks to the mysterious generator that she needed to hunt down.

  Nash had both propane and gas in the back of the Tahoe—and it was a very good thing they weren’t in the Tahoe when Tyler had shot at them or they would have gone up in flames.

  But two bottles of propane and twenty gallons of gas weren’t going to get them very far, whichever the generator ran on.

  They probably shouldn’t be running it 24/7 with their limited fuel supply.

  “Okay, I’ll rustle up some beef stew. You empty out your backpack so we can see what kind of schoolbooks and supplies we have to work with. And then let’s have a look over on those shelves. I bet there’re some books you’d enjoy reading and I saw some coloring books, too.”

  “Mom,” he whined. “I’m pretty sure fugitives don’t have to do homework.”

  “Is that so?” If it wasn’t so charming coming from the young boy’s mouth, she might have stopped to think about how sad that sounded. “That’s a big word you’re throwing around. Spell fugitive.”

  He propped his elbow on the table and rested his face against his palm. “He wouldn’t make me spell it.” He was referring to his newfound idol of course.

  Big Daddy.

  “You want to bet?” She chucked him under the chin. “You have no idea how smart your father is.” She wiped at a smudge on Ben’s face while he looked at her expectantly. “Go wash up for lunch,” she said. He apparently liked that suggestion better than homework and ran off to wash up.

  It was inevitable, she supposed, that Ben would have questions about his father now that he’d met him.

  “Don’t we all?”

  And she’d have to figure out how best to answer them.

  Before starting lunch, she took the time to wash up and change herself. Swapping out the white bloodstained shirt for the novelty T-shirt with an eagle flying above snowcapped mountaintops and the words Welcome to Eagle, Colorado, spelled out across her chest. And over that she wore her holster and gun.

  They were a long way from Eagle.

  She just hoped they’d put enough distance between themselves and whatever clues they’d left behind at the Gas and Go.

  CHAPTER NINE

  MAL CHECKED ON Nash several times throughout the afternoon.

  He continued to cycle through chills, fever and sweats without ever breaking his fever. She’d spent the afternoon getting the lay of the land so to speak. She’d taken Ben for a walk up the private road, which in the daylight was less of a dirt track and more grated gravel, to where it intersected with the next gravel road.

  “Which way did we come from?” she quizzed him as they took a tour of their surroundings without his realizing the importance of this homework assignment. As well as what good exercise it was for both of them.

  “Left.” Ben pointed to his left.

  “That’s right.” They’d taken two right turns after the county road. “So it’s left turn, left turn to the county road.”

  She also made him memorize the lot number by drawing his attention to the post and asking him to read the number and then later asking him if he remembered the number and the way out.

  They even made a rhyme out of it.

  “Seventy-nine,” he answered proudly. “Left turn, left turn, county line.”

  “I’ll race you back to the house.”

  “Hey, that’s cheating,” he said when she took off.

  She let him catch up and then matched her pace to his, letting him win the race in a sprint to the front door.

  It took them just over five minutes at a full-out run to cover the roughly half-mile distance to the cabin. As far as Mal was concerned, there was no such thing as being overly prepared.

  Whether they wound up using this information or not, it was all good to know.

  The burn phone had never materialized, so she could only assume Nash had it well hidden and didn’t want her to find it. Fortunately, she knew a thing or two about OnStar and car thieves.

  So even though he’d disconnected the battery in the trunk to disable it—and more than likely wasn’t a subscriber even if he was the vehicle’s owner—she knew how to reconnect the battery. Then all she’d have to do is press that blue button and speak to an adviser about activating the three-month free trial—all without a credit card—at which time she’d state her true emergency.

  Thank you, OnStar.

  But she’d decided to save that for a true emergency.
Since the man had risked his life and taken extreme precautions to keep them safe, the least she could do now was make sure his fever broke before turning him over to the authorities. Though that line of thinking was beginning to sound like an excuse. Especially since she had the car keys in hand even if she didn’t have the phone. She and Ben could leave right now. She could connect OnStar and call someone from the road. But she couldn’t shake the niggling feeling that she’d be putting all their lives in great danger if she took that course of action.

  After she and Ben had unloaded the supplies, she kept the boy occupied the rest of the afternoon by organizing the cupboards. But she could tell his mind was elsewhere—and likely on his father.

  She continued to look in on Nash and, unfortunately, his condition seemed to worsen as the day wore on.

  She opened another can of soup for dinner and after dishing out some for Ben, she took a bowl of the chicken noodle soup broth upstairs to Nash. But he wasn’t conscious enough to do more than choke and cough up what she tried to spoon-feed him. Though she did get him to take another sip of water as she had done on her previous visits. But he was still burning up when she changed out one damp cloth for another.

  Her inadequate nursing skills were no match for an infected bullet wound.

  Mal sat back in the chair frustrated. She stared at the man, wondering who’d doctored him and who she could call on to take care of him now. But his words about trusting no one kept her in a state of indecision. “Damn it, Nash.”

  Despite her best efforts, or because of them, he might die.

  How would she explain that to Ben? She had a hard enough time keeping him out of the bedroom without giving him false hope that his dad was getting better.

  She picked up the soup bowl and headed back downstairs to find Ben sitting at the table. She put the bowl in the sink, and Ben did the same with his. And he had eaten just about as little as Nash.

  “Tired?” she asked.

  He shook his head. But he looked wrung out.

  “How about a bath? And then I’ll read you a story before bed?”

  The bookshelf was filled with classics and comics. She passed over the Harry Potter books, which they’d already read several times at home, and picked up a copy of The Swiss Family Robinson.

  Then she had Ben get his backpack and ushered him upstairs to the bathroom across the hall from the smaller of the two bedrooms. There were two twin beds already made up. She put her bag on one and his backpack on the other.

  “Can I take a bath tomorrow?” he asked.

  “I think you’ll feel better if you take one tonight.” She helped him sort through his few items of clothes—a sweat suit and a couple of changes of underwear and pairs of socks. She pulled out the jersey sweat suit for him to wear to bed after his bath.

  Ben yawned and she relented about the bath.

  He kicked off his shoes and dropped his jeans into a pile at his feet. “Leave your socks and T-shirt on under the sweats.” Since they weren’t sleeping in front of the fire tonight, the extra layers of clothing would help keep him warm, even though she’d been running the heat since sundown to warm up the house before bed.

  She’d discovered the gas-powered generator in the locked shed during her and Ben’s explorations, and had read the instruction booklet cover to cover so she could operate it as needed. She planned to shut it down for the night—she simply didn’t know enough about generators, even after reading the booklet, to feel comfortable about leaving it running overnight.

  After Ben finished dressing for bed, they traipsed back across the hall to the bathroom, where he brushed his teeth and washed his face and hands. He remembered to leave a drip as she’d taught him.

  Once Ben was settled, she decided she deserved a hot bath and a complete change of clothes herself.

  She had already changed into the novelty T-shirt, but she still wore the slacks to her bloodstained Ann Taylor suit while the jacket hung on the back of a kitchen chair waiting for attention. The stains on her white shirt had long since dried brown, and she had that in a cold-water soak in the kitchen sink.

  She had yet to unpack and inventory her own wardrobe.

  Aside from her workout gear and the slutty underwear, she’d only seen a T-shirt and a pair of jeans. She hoped to hell it wasn’t her skinny jeans.

  They’d have to get by on a minimal wardrobe. There was a stackable washer/dryer in the kitchen next to the pantry. So at least she could do a load of laundry later tonight, because she doubted she’d get any sleep.

  “Why don’t you like him?” Ben asked.

  They were talking about Nash. Of course.

  “I thought you’d fallen asleep,” she said. “And who says I don’t like him?”

  “You’re mean to him.”

  She restrained from defending herself. In Ben’s eyes she was being mean.

  In her eyes she wasn’t being mean enough. Okay, so maybe she was.

  The mattress dipped as she sat beside him. “It was a lot easier to like your dad when he was with your mother. She was so beautiful that she used to light up the room and everyone in it, including your father.”

  “Is she really an angel?”

  “Of course she’s an angel.”

  “You said he was dead. But he wasn’t really.”

  Mal pulled the covers back so Ben could crawl beneath them. “I did say that. Only because he was going away for a very long time and wasn’t expected to return.”

  “But he’s back now.”

  Mal didn’t want to get Ben’s hopes up in that department. “You know staying here—with Nash—is only temporary, right? We might be here awhile longer. But it’s not forever. Which is why you have to keep up with your schoolwork.”

  He nodded. “But he can come home to live with us? You’ll let him, right? If he wants to, I mean.” There was a question in his voice that made it hard to answer with the absolute truth. Even before Nash had said anything, she knew they weren’t ever going back home.

  “Home might not be such a safe place for us right now.”

  “Because of the bad man.”

  He’d narrowed it down to the one bad man he’d seen in action. “There are bad men, but there are good men also. Do you remember who you can ask for help?” She took this moment to reinforce some stranger danger training. She wanted Ben to use caution but not be so paranoid he wouldn’t ask for or accept help.

  “Teachers, mothers—”

  “Mothers of kids you know,” she amended for him.

  “Policemen, firemen...” He stopped to think for a moment. “Where’s his uniform?”

  Just like that, they were back to his favorite subject.

  “Your dad used to wear one, but he doesn’t anymore.”

  “How come?”

  “I guess it’s no longer part of his job description.”

  Ben mulled that over as he settled deeper into his pillow. “I think he should wear his uniform.”

  She once again removed Nash’s ball cap that Ben had been wearing on and off all day. “You already think he wears a cape. With a big red S on his chest.” She traced the word Superman on Ben’s chest.

  Ben squirmed and giggled until she relented. “I bet the bad man would really be afraid of him then.”

  “I bet you’re right.” She got up from the bed and tucked the covers up to the boy’s chin. “Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

  “I decided I’m going to be a ninja for Halloween,” Ben said. “Or maybe a Navy SEAL.” He closed his eyes with a big grin on his face.

  Mal had forgotten all about Halloween. She didn’t have the heart to break it to Ben just yet that there’d be no trick-or-treating this year. So setting the adventures of the Swiss Family Robinson aside for another night, she turned out the light.

&n
bsp; As she closed the door, she heard shuffling coming from the other room.

  Mal crossed the hall and found the bed empty. “Nash?” she called out softly.

  The bathroom door stood ajar and she half expected to find him passed out on the tile floor again. He stood over the toilet, lid up, braced against the back wall for support. Resting his head against his forearm, he swayed on unsteady feet.

  Turning her back, she folded her arms. “Do you need any help?”

  He mumbled something that sounded very much like “I think I can manage to shake my own...”

  Yeah, you do that.

  That’s not what she was offering. She only wanted to make sure he got back to bed all right. Because she sure as hell didn’t want to have to carry him again.

  Mallory gave Nash plenty of time after hearing the toilet flush to pull himself together before even thinking about turning around. When she did turn around, she saw him stumble and reach for the clear plastic shower curtain, ripping it from the first few holes of its hooks.

  Mal reached out and grabbed Nash to keep him from falling into the claw-foot tub. He shook her off and turned the squeaky knob for the cold water all the way to the left. The shower rained down on both their heads before he switched it to the faucet.

  “Do not even think about taking off your clothes,” she threatened as she slicked back her wet hair.

  “Ice,” he croaked out.

  He dropped the plug into the tub and then slid in fully clothed.

  “Ice? Is that really such a good idea?” Packing a child in ice for fevers over one hundred and four degrees was an old-school practice. She distinctly remembered Ben’s pediatrician telling her that it was a bad idea when her dad had suggested it. Ben’s doctor had recommended baby Motrin and then met them at the emergency room.

  But Ben had been six months old at the time.

  Nash was a full-grown man with a burning fever. A few ice cubes weren’t going to kill him. Were they?

  But a shock to his system might.

  “Just do it, Mal,” he ordered.