by Laura Acton
Nick, Jon, and to some extent Bram, tried to claim responsibility for the debacle as the leaders and senior team members. Lexa, Loki, and Ray wouldn’t allow them—they were all equally to blame. As they concluded the review, each hoped they would emerge from this mess a better team and a stronger family. Their focus now was to determine the best way to ensure the family included Dan Broderick.
Jon sighed and pinched his brow. The dull headache a constant reminder of how seriously he screwed up.
Bram set his soda down. “Jon, what ya thinking?”
Pointing to the pile of calls where Dan’s Zulu position would’ve afforded better coverage, Jon said, “Honestly, this revelation both distresses and impresses me. The kid’s sniper skills are extraordinary, but to become so accomplished means Dan’s had a hell of a lot of practical experience. It isn’t an ability you pick up from reading textbooks.” The rookie is too damned young to have so much expertise.
Bram hid a smile. Sometime in the past few days, Jon switched from referring to Dan as Broderick to often calling him kid, an indication of his changed mindset. “I agree, but he was in Special Forces for six years. Those guys don’t sit on their asses waiting for the fight to come to them. It makes sense Dan would have experience. Subconsciously, I think you distinguished his differences though you consciously compared him to Burl and Alejandro.
“Our retrospective analysis revealed you placed Dan on point for almost all locked, soft entry calls. Whether you are willing to admit it or not, you must’ve unconsciously recognized when speed and stealth are needed Dan is the go-to guy.”
Rubbing his temples as the dull ache in his head notched up a bit, Jon acknowledged Bram’s point, but that only made him feel worse. He put Dan in harm’s way while scorning him, and never acknowledging his skills. Remorse for his actions towards the rookie weighed heavy on his shoulders.
Nick noted Jon’s downtrodden demeanor. “Jon, we all made mistakes, but I sense you’re beating yourself up too much. We all accept you yell when you’re concerned. The way you dealt with Dan, for the most part, I can tell underneath you expressed concern for him. It only came out wrong.”
Loki absently tapped his finger on a pile of explosives-related calls in front of him. “Dan was incredibly helpful on several of the bomb calls, but now that I think about it, he became quiet after afterwards.”
Ray stretched his back as he pointed out, “I noticed too. Perhaps Dan lost buddies to IEDs. He did spend many years up-front and in the line of fire. Dan’s undoubtedly seen more people die than all of us combined.” His comment gave everyone pause. They never contemplated how much death Dan witnessed as a soldier.
Loki’s knee bounced again, rarely stopping over the last five days. Everything he learned about himself made him sick. He had been rude, mean, and downright nasty to Dan while the guy struggled to pick up the pieces of his shattered life.
Considering his best friend’s words, Loki said, “If that is the case, why would he join TRF? Why wouldn’t he choose a job which didn’t expose him to more death? After Brody and all … I don’t think I could still be a cop if I killed Ray.” His eyes glanced around the table as he added, “Any of you. Why did Dan join the TRF?”
Nick decided to disclose Dan’s reasons. He directed his comments to Loki. “When I asked Dan why he joined, he shared with me someone once told him about TRF and how we are all about saving lives. He liked the idea of having the opportunity to save lives close up. He wanted to make a difference here, not be just a point and shoot guy.”
Ray blew out a breath. He understood Dan’s desire. There was only one problem, and he voiced his opinion. “We’ve got a lot of work to do then because the way I see things, Dan sucks at negotiation. He exhibits tons of patience and confidence in the tactical arena, but he lacks those same abilities when he tries to talk to subjects.
“You all are aware of what I mean. Dan’s struggled with every single negotiation drill. He becomes rattled, impatient, and he doesn’t listen to the subject or pick up cues to their shifting emotional state.”
Lexa nodded her head sadly at the truth of Ray’s statement. Dan stormed off the last two times they did drills. She offered her insights. “First, he didn’t receive proper mentoring. Second, given his mental state, it would be difficult to recognize the signs. Kinda hard to listen when you’re drowning in your own pain. I believe he possesses the aptitude to develop negotiation skills, but he must deal with his grief first. We need to help him.”
Nick liked what Lexa said. The heart of their team began reasoning again. It warmed him. “Lexa is right. Though, I want to take a slow path. I would hate to put him into a negotiation position and have him lose a subject. That might shake his confidence more. Dan deserves the chance to evolve in this area over an extended time. We each possess weaknesses and strengths.”
Loki pushed the errant lock of hair from his forehead. “I’m not so good at talking, but you keep me around.”
Ray patted his back. “Your strengths lie in other places … like Dan’s. Your techie skills are needed as much as Boss’ insights, Bram’s brawn, Jon’s and Dan’s marksmanship, and Lexa’s profiling skills.”
Grinning at Ray, Loki added, “Don’t forget your ability to dig for information.”
Recognizing his team was beginning to level out, Nick said, “Jon, I’d like your opinion, but I think integrating Dan more with you and Bram on the tactical side of the house would be best. Let him help plan our entries and the Zulu positions with the focus on keeping everyone safe. Use his strengths and expose him to negotiating without pressure.”
Before Jon could answer, Bram stated, “Sounds like a good plan, except I don’t think Dan should always be Zulu. I genuinely believe we should limit his exposure when we can, especially if we are aware our subject has green eyes. Put Dan on shield duty and perhaps cross train him with Ray and Loki on information gathering.”
Jon heard Bram’s comment on eye color. “Why are you worried about the color of the subject’s eyes?”
Bram shared his thoughts. “Because Brody and James Digby both had jade-green eyes. Digby wore an army uniform. I think he flashed back and perceived James as Brody when he froze. He didn’t freeze the three previous times he took lethal action. After what he shared, I would put my money on that being the reason he didn’t take the shot.”
Loki agreed with Bram’s supposition, coming to the same conclusion himself. Then his eyes widened as he recalled something else. “The subject who was gonna blow everyone up with the grenades, his eyes were green too. Perhaps that’s why Dan ended up with a migraine and amnesia. Didn’t Gibbson say they could’ve been trauma induced?”
Nick considered the likelihood. “Quite possible. Dan did think it was May twenty-sixth.”
Lexa asked, “What’s significant about that date?”
His face showed sadness as Nick replied, “The date Dan killed Brody.”
Lexa sucked in a breath and released it in a rush. “You mean he joined us so soon after he shot his best friend? Why the hell isn’t his family taking care of him? Dan should’ve had more time to cope with something as devastating as accidentally killing his friend.”
Bram shook his head. “I’ve been asking that myself. What kind of father wouldn’t take steps to make sure their child is safe and well cared for? Dan’s father is a general. He must’ve been aware of what happened. He should’ve gotten Dan into counseling at the very least.”
Jon snorted. “I asked one of my buddies who retired from the Army about General Broderick. He said General ‘Badass’ Broderick is a demanding, all-military man who can make a soldier quake in his boots with a single glare. He made the rank of general at the young age of thirty-four … the second youngest man ever to make general in the Canadian Forces.
“His father before him was a brigadier general. Apparently, the Brodericks are in all branches of the military. My friend said the Broderick males are all hardcore military men and have been generation after generatio
n. He couldn’t believe a Broderick left the service while able-bodied. They either die in uniform or are forced to retire at a ripe old age.”
Ray’s eyebrow’s rose, “So, Dan leaving while still young and able is bucking family tradition. I doubt that sat well with his father.”
Nick shook his head. “We don’t know, and it isn’t right to assume. Making assumptions is what put us in this spot in the first place. We don’t know much about Dan. Each of us in our own way needs to reach out in friendship before we conjecture who he is or isn’t.
“The only things we know for sure are that Dan is a member of this team, he’s the best-damned sniper in TRF, excels at tactics, helpful with bombs, needs development with negotiations, and we have treated him improperly. Dan suffered a significant loss and needs our help to heal.”
Loki grinned as a quirky idea popped into his head. “We need a manual on how to take care of him. I vote we name it the Proper Care and Feeding of Dantastic manual.”
“What the hell?” Lexa exclaimed at Loki’s statement.
Ray chuckled. “Loki, you’ve got a weird sense of humor.”
His eyes brightening, Loki said, “I’m not joking. We can share information with one another and record details in the manual.”
Nick scratched his head. “I don’t think Dan would appreciate being the subject of a handbook.”
Jon interjected, “He’s damned near impossible to read. I never know what he’s thinking. I say we do the booklet and share info as we do on a call.”
Bram shook his head. “Jon, Dan is not a subject. We cannot treat him in that manner. How would you like it if we created a How to Handle Headstrong Hardy handbook?
Grinning, Jon said, “Have at it. Though it is simple. I’m the tactical lead, and as such it’s my way or the highway.”
Lexa punched him in the bicep. Then tilted her head and quipped, “I’m thinking it is time you examine and change your leadership style.”
Jon laughed.
Loki smiled. “Handling Headstrong Hardy. I like it. First entry, Jon barks like a bulldog, but he’s really only a cuddly kitten.”
Nick sat back and listened as the discussion devolved into the team joking and laughing with each other and over-the-top teasing of Jon regarding his irrational fear of cats. Glad the usual level-headedness and friendly banter returned to them. Nick hoped Dan would show up tomorrow and would give them a chance prove to him he belonged on their team and allowed them to help heal his wounded soul.
Lexa’s Home – 8:00 p.m.
Lexa moved the roller up and down on her bedroom wall. She fully intended on painting this room Kilkenny green. A paint chip had been stuck to her wall for five months and a two-by-two-foot section painted for three months as she deliberated on the color. She grew comfortable with the soothing, medium shade of green. It reminded her of being in the forest.
One in particular, the Réserve Faunique Ashuapmushuan in Quebec. The location of the last and happiest family vacation. Mom was doing well, and they all thought she would beat cancer. A full week of fun. Hiking, hunting, fishing, and canoeing. Everything had been so pleasant.
Well, not quite everything. Her long hair ended up cropped into a boy’s cut because of stupid Quinn and his honey. Her four older brothers made Quinn pay for his stunt. So, when she saw the Kilkenny paint sample, it called to her.
But Kilkenny was not on her roller. She stopped by the paint store tonight after completing the discussion on Dan to buy her paint, needing to relax. Painting always did the trick. The monotonous up and down motions didn’t require thinking. When she walked out of the store, she had no clue why she didn’t buy the green paint.
As she stepped back and viewed the finished wall, it hit her. Lexa staggered backward and sank to the floor as she stared at the wall of her bedroom. She took several deep breaths in and slowly exhaled to reduce the pounding of her heart. The Honorable Blue paint color she impulsively selected turned out to be the same exact shade of Dan’s intriguing, sapphire blue eyes.
Oh man, this doesn’t bode well. No man ever affected me like Dan. I can’t let him in. I’ll be hurt. I’ll lose everything I worked so hard to attain. Why in the world did I choose this color? He can’t be allowed in.
Grinning roguishly, her little devil chuckled. “Lexa, he’s already in. You painted his eyes on your wall.”
Lexa stood and rushed to her basement, hoping she still had enough of the Baked Cookie brown paint left over from her kitchen. It would have to do for tonight. No way she could sleep with Dan’s eyes staring at her all night. It was bad enough his hands and body invaded her dreams each night causing her to wake feeling hot and wanting.
Dan’s Apartment – 9:00 p.m.
Dan unlocked his apartment door, opened it a crack, stopped to listen for any sound which shouldn’t be there, slipped into the darkened room, closed the door, and waited for his eyes to adjust. Finding nothing threatening, Dan flicked on the light and scanned the small open interior—empty. He walked to the kitchen island and set a bag of cookies down.
Moving with the smooth grace of a panther and as silently as the dead, Dan went to his bedroom. Standing at the threshold, he dropped his go bag by the door and headed for the bathroom. He needed to wash the sweat away from his ten-mile run from Jarmal’s home. Jarmal offered to drive but Dan didn’t want to impose nor did he want Jarmal to see his sad, empty apartment.
Dan stripped and stepped into the shower allowing the warm water to cascade down his back as he let his mind wander. Habits developed and honed for years to keep me and others alive don’t change overnight. This is Toronto, not some terrorist village which needs to be cleared before entry.
His thoughts shifted to the past five days he spent at Jarmal’s place. His friend had indeed fattened him up somewhat. His ribs no longer so pronounced and his stomach didn’t growl with hunger. He gorged himself on all his favorite foods. Jarmal is an excellent cook.
However, he put a stop to the drugging of his food on the second day. Well, at least during the day. The way he slept—nightmare free—told him Jarmal slipped him the sleeping powder in a late-night snack. He was not mad at Jarmal—quite the contrary. Staying with him and having D’Ante, Travone, and Marquise around when Jarmal was busy at his restaurant had been a respite. He slept, ate, went for runs, and even laughed a bit at the antics of the four brothers. Marquise and Travone played a few games of chess with him, but his focus strayed and he got trounced.
D’Ante shared how he turned his life around so completely. Now a happily married man with a family of his own who loved being a firefighter. He also revealed he was up for promotion to Captain soon. D’Ante believed all those things and more came about because Dan asked to see his weapon. He insisted Dan’s action made a positive difference in many people’s lives and was glad Dan chose to become a member of the TRF.
Dan spent a lot of time thinking about what D’Ante said as he listened to Jarmal’s extensive music collection. While at Jarmal’s, he played music almost nonstop because it helped him cope. Thoughts of Beauty entered Dan’s head as he washed his hair.
He wished he had Beauty, but Patch always kept his MP3 player with all the music playlists Brody created for him. Perhaps he could send a message to Patch and ask him to send Beauty.
As Dan rinsed out the shampoo, he realized he was dead to his former unit brothers. They wanted nothing to do with him—abundantly clear to him when they wouldn’t meet his eyes or speak to him in the hospital. Patch would most likely ignore his request and he probably already threw Beauty away anyway.
Shoving painful thoughts away, Dan finished his shower, toweled off, and strolled to his bed. He didn’t bother to dress, preferring to sleep au naturel. It saved on laundry since he woke drenched in sweat multiple times each night.
Well, not for the past few nights, thanks to the sleeping pills. The sleep had been beneficial, and his head cleared somewhat, though killing Brody still hurt, and his guilt weighed heavily on him. However, wit
h a bit of sleep, he started thinking again. He needed to make a choice.
Dan pulled the blanket back and then sat on the edge of the mattress. His gaze turned to his makeshift nightstand and landed on his ivory handled pistol. He had options and must make a decision.
One option he didn’t relish but had some upsides was he could return to the military. He understood how to operate in that environment. Perhaps not Special Forces … maybe become an MP again or join another branch. Though not Navy. His fear of open water wouldn’t mix with the Navy.
Another option he thought of would be to sign on with one of the private security firms who protected high profile people in dangerous and war-torn locales. Their operating model was essentially military-like. Point and shoot anyone who attempts to harm the person he was assigned to protect.
D’Ante’s words made him consider a third option—do what Sarge asked and give Alpha Team a second chance. If he couldn’t do that, a fourth option might be available. Seeing that his failure to shoot the subject didn’t get him canned, perhaps he could request a transfer to Winter’s team. But if staying at TRF posed problems, he had a fifth option … move to another city or even another country and join a different tactical response team.
He had options, but … could he live with killing Brody? Dan’s fingertips brushed the ivory grip of the gun. The compulsion to pick it up and end his pain became overwhelming. His palm rested on the cool ivory handle. He sensed if he picked up the weapon now, he would finally pull the trigger.
On the edge of oblivion, Dan’s fingers curled around the grip. Blowing out an unsteady breath, Dan squeezed his eyes shut. His voice filled with doubt, he asked, “Brody, does beauty exist for me?”
