“Shit. I gotta find her before Hilber does.”
“Well, what about Armando?”
“He’s trained. He’s going to have to go it alone for now. He’d be onboard with protecting an innocent.”
“This is ill advised. Never should have gotten her involved in the first place, Kyle. What were you thinking?”
“You know what I was thinking, sir.”
“I don’t like it when the public gets involved. You should just concentrate on Armando, son. I thought I’d made myself clear about that.”
“Timmons, I’m the reason she’s in danger. I can’t just walk away and pretend it doesn’t matter if she gets hurt.”
Kyle felt tightness in his chest. His voice waivered, his eyes felt like they were suddenly filled with sandpaper. He inhaled trying to calm his insides. It worked.
“Goddamn it. You guys are all alike. Thinking with your small head. Don’t go bringing that shit down on me too, Kyle. I can protect you only so far.”
“Understood. If it comes to that, I’ll take the fall. All of it.” It was what he’d told his team. Timmons didn’t jump in and offer to share the burden, but that wouldn’t be fair anyway. “We need to get that address. I’m not going to beat it out of him. But if we don’t, Timmons, I know she’ll get hurt. These guys don’t care about anything. Pure rogue.” Then Kyle remembered the call from Sergeant Mayfield. “There’s this SDPD guy, Mayfield.”
“I met him. I think he’s okay. Why, is he in on this thing?”
“No. I think he’s clean. Did me a favor and called me about the murder…”
“Another murder?”
“In Christy’s condo complex yesterday. A trainer in the gym.”
“Okay. He call you again?”
“No, but he told me he has the address where Christy is staying.”
“I’ll get it, then. I know the sonofabitch.”
Kyle wondered what Timmons had up his sleeve. He only hoped he’d get to Christy in time.
Kyle met up with Fredo and Cooper at Fredo’s apartment. They were arguing over how many dryer sheets Fredo was using. Kyle knew that meant they were using Coop’s box of fabric softener, since he doubted Fredo even used the stuff.
“You know what the problem of living with you is?” Fredo was standing close to Coop, head leaned back to all six-foot-six of a towering farm boy in front of him.
Coop stood his ground. “No, but you’re gonna fuckin’ tell me. So hurry up and get it over with so we can get your panties washed.”
Kyle knew they would shout, yell, and curse. But neither one would touch the other. Not in anger. Jesting, joking, yes. But you don’t touch a SEAL in anger. Then you’d deserve everything you got.
“You’re wired up so tight,” Fredo said. “You’d have a heart attack if you won the lottery. Who gives a shit if I use one or three dryer sheets? You fuckin’ offered, man. So I grabbed a handful.”
“They cost one point four cents a sheet.”
“Incredible. You’re never getting married, man.”
“Don’t plan on it, Frodo. But at least I smell good.”
That nearly earned Coop a punch. Kyle stepped in between them.
“Hold on, ladies. Are we really arguing about laundry?” Kyle said, looking from one set of dull blue eyes to another set of dark squinting eyes.
Fredo swore and left the room. Kyle heard the dryer door open. He came back with a fistful of sheets, more than three, and thrust them at Cooper’s chest.
“Here. I don’t want your fucking jasmine breeze sheets. I’ll pay you back next week. All five cents of it.”
Coop took the white squares and did count them, which got Kyle laughing inside. To Fredo’s back, Cooper whispered, “Five. You took five.”
“We go shopping. He gets the two-day-old meat and the no-name stuff from the little Super Saver. He even buys bruised bananas in a bag. That’s sick, man.” Fredo began to curse in Spanish.
Kyle knew they were nervous. All of them. The waiting was killing them.
Kyle spoke to break the stalemate. “I got Timmons getting Christy’s address. She’s not at her apartment. I’m guessing she’s in San Francisco.”
“Frisco, huh. We going to Frisco?” Fredo asked.
“Not we, just me.”
“Like hell you are. And Gunny won’t like it either.”
“First I got to get an address. The sheriff we saw at the cabin is after her. I think he’s already on his way.”
Chapter 34
Timmons caught them a ride on a Navy transport plane to Moffett Field. Gunny couldn’t fit into any of the cami shirts they had, so they let him go out of his uniform disguise, which raised some eyebrows. After landing in Mountain View, the foursome hitched a ride to a rental car agency on El Camino Real. They got caught in commuter traffic to the city.
They arrived at the house on Stanyan Street at seven o’clock. Timmons had told him Christy was staying in a cottage behind the main house. As he looked up the tower of stairs to the side of the big Victorian, he couldn’t see the cottage. But he noticed the main house front door was wide open.
And grey smoke was coming from the rear. Kyle’s blood pressure raised.
They quickly parked their rented Tahoe on the street. The three team guys quietly checked their surroundings as they donned their backpacks. Kyle slung a bag with some additional firepower over his shoulder and checked the deep turquoise sky. Clear as a bell. There was a distant siren, but it could be going somewhere else. No one in the neighborhood stirred. There was little traffic.
Gunny stayed in the Tahoe as lookout, while Kyle, Cooper and Fredo quickly climbed the front steps to the Victorian. Kyle silently dropped his bag on the porch. Everyone unholstered their side arms. On Kyle’s mark, all three breached the open doorway, fanning out in three directions. Cooper went right, Fredo left. Kyle went straight back to the source of the fire in the back.
A few moments later, they gathered back in the kitchen. Someone had left meat in a pan, and it had burned until the pan itself was red-hot. The back door was open, so most the smoke had gone out that way. It made an excellent calling card. Kyle had shut off the gas to the expensive commercial range. He didn’t want to alert anyone still in the house to their presence, so didn’t turn on the fan.
Next they mounted the stairs without a sound, Kyle leading the way. They heard labored breathing and shallow coughing. And then came a faint cry, “Help.”
They were in the master bedroom. There were two bodies on the bed. An older man had been shot in the chest, and was having trouble breathing. Kyle thought it might have been a direct hit near his heart, but noticed the blood had pooled left and the gunshot was luckily on the right. The frail woman next to him looked like she could be his mother. She was clearly dead. Her shocked expression was permanently etched on her face. The back of her head was wet and soppy with dark blood. They’d punched her in the nose before they’d killed her. A trickle of blood ran down the side of her mouth, onto the flowered bedspread.
“Didn’t even tie her up,” Fredo said, and then he swore. “She was no threat to anybody.” Kyle knew it made Fredo sick to his stomach to see the elderly, especially women, abused. Kyle pointed down the hall, asking for Fredo to check out the rest of the floor.
Stripping away the man’s shirt, Coop applied an occlusive dressing to the wound with chest seals.
“Come on buddy, don’t give out on me now.” Coop coaxed him to stay conscious. The man’s large eyes stared back, gasping for breath. The SEAL medic dug for his blow out kit, and then applied needle decompression to the right of the man’s sternum, which relieved the man’s breathing almost immediately. A hissing sound came from the 14-gauge needle. Coop re-checked the man’s blood pressure.
“Coop?” Kyle asked. He needed a quick assessment.
“Pretty bad, but if he gets to the hospital, he’ll be okay. I’ve stopped the bleeding for now, given some relief so his lungs don’t collapse, but this is only temporary. He’
s bleeding on the inside and he’s in a lot of pain, and weak. Don’t think the bullet hit any other organ but the lung. We need an EMT. Can’t risk moving him with this chest tube.”
Fredo had returned. “All clear. You want me to call it in?” he asked.
Kyle gave a nod and Fredo dashed from the room.
“Don’t touch anything except the phone, Fredo,” Kyle said to his back. He looked down at their patient. His chest rose and fell, the tube hissing with each breath. “Can he talk?”
“Not sure. We can try.” Cooper moved the man’s head from side to side. “Hey, buddy, help is on the way. You gotta try staying awake. Can you do that for me?
The man nodded his head. Sweat covered his forehead, but his color was coming back.
“Who did this to you?” Kyle asked.
The man’s eyes opened half way. He scanned the two faces in front of him and then focused on Kyle. “You’re Christy’s SEAL, aren’t you?”
Kyle winced. God, he wished he was. “Where is she?” he asked.
“They took her.”
“They?”
“Three guys. One was in uniform.”
“Military?”
“No, khaki.” He coughed and spit blood.
“Shit,” Cooper said. He shook his head, looking at Kyle. “No more talking.”
“They left you a note…” The man was fighting for every word. He raised a bloody finger and pointed to the bureau. His arm collapsed back onto the bed.
Fredo returned. “They’re on their way. Someone else had already reported the smoke.”
“She…” The man was struggling to say something to Kyle.
“Don’t. Don’t talk right now. The paramedics are on their way. Save your energy,” Coop said tenderly as he brushed back the graying hair from his forehead and checked the man’s eyes.
“She loves you.” He wouldn’t stop staring at Kyle. “Please. You must save her.”
“Let’s get the hell out of here. Nothing more we can do for him,” Cooper said. He punched Kyle in the arm, which brought the SEAL back to reality. The man’s body had gone limp again.
On the way out, Kyle picked up the envelope with his name written on it in Christy’s handwriting. He looked at the man on the bed and said a little prayer for him.
A small explosion downstairs in the kitchen caught them all off guard.
This was not a good sign.
“Must’ve set a timed IED.” Fredo said from behind as they were jumping down the stairs. Kyle was worried more timed devices were set. Was this a trap?
Gunny had the Tahoe running as the trio slid down along the stair railing, avoiding the stairs themselves. Sirens were coming from the bottom of the hill. They could see the red lights flashing. The big behemoth fire truck had to come up slow, honking and almost coming to a complete stop at each intersection along the way. Luckily, there were lots of intersections, even though the signs made cross traffic stop before proceeding across Stanyan. It gave Kyle and the crew barely enough time to get in the SUV.
Gunny stepped on the gas and almost killed the engine. Everyone else slid down in their seats, ducking under the lid of their caps, and waited. At last, the sputtering truck, romanced by the steady stream of filthy diatribes from Gunny, lumbered up one block. Gunny turned, but continued to swear at the vehicle, telling it that it lacked a soul, that its newness was its flaw. He extolled the virtues of his old but reliable truck back home.
“No special gas. Turns over every time. It’ll be running circles around you while you’re on your way to the junkyard.”
They were headed down toward the bay, and then followed the meandering side street around a neighborhood dog park and then back down to 19th Avenue.
When Kyle was sure they weren’t being followed, he sat up and others took his cue, doing the same.
“You gonna open that love letter, Kyle?” Fredo wanted to know.
Kyle’s palm smoothed over the script on the outside of the cream-colored vellum. He would have put it to his nose, if he’d been alone.
His tongue flicked at his upper right lip as he carefully slit the letter open with his utility knife. He felt like he was violating her, so did it carefully. The quiet purr of the three-fifty V8 engine was the only noise Kyle heard. He didn’t even hear his own breath as he unfolded the stiff paper.
Kyle,
I’m writing this at the request of the Scorpion Kings. Caesar asks, commander to commander, that you meet him, or he says he will do things to me that will make it impossible to identify my body, except through DNA. (His words).
He’s left you a note in a Taco Bell bag in a garbage can at the corner of 19th Avenue and Kearney, just outside Starbuck’s.
You’ll be watched, so come alone and no one will get hurt.
Christy—
He was holding evidence in his hands. Evidence he was bad for all the women in his life. Evidence that yet another person was going to pay the price for his lack of judgment. Because he couldn’t get a grip on himself and just stay the hell away. He’d known getting involved with Christy was a mistake from the beginning. And now, because of his lack of control, his animal need, others were suffering. It was the heaviest burden he’d ever had to bear.
He vowed when all of this was done, he’d stay as far away from Christy as he possibly could. Maybe he’d request one of the east coast teams. Yeah. But then he’d be leaving Fredo and Cooper. He could do it. And maybe they could go together. But he had to get away from her.
He imagined how she was feeling right now. Scared to death. And his involvement with her had caused all this. He folded the letter without saying anything and tapped it against his other palm, looking out the windshield at pedestrians in the crosswalk as the vehicle stopped at a red light. It was an unusually warm San Francisco night.
They were sitting ducks, he thought. They had the all firepower in the world, but were not able to use it. Even though there was always collateral damage, it was different here. These people he watched didn’t sign on for this. The gangly kids and couples and seniors walking their dogs this night were the ones he was supposed to be fighting to protect.
The truck lurched forward, Kyle almost hitting his head against the windshield. When he turned to look at Gunny, he saw a pair of red, rheumy eyes staring back at him.
“You gonna leave me here holding my dick, or are we gonna go get these guys?”
“Keep your hands on the steering wheel, Gunny,” Fredo shouted. “That ain’t nothin’ I wanna see in my lifetime.”
Gunny ignored the insult and kept his gaze on Kyle. “Any day now. What’d they want?”
“I’m supposed to go pick up a note in a garbage can on 19th Avenue.” Kyle turned to Fredo and Cooper. “By the Starbuck’s.”
Cooper had his gloved hand outstretched. Kyle gave him the note.
Fredo was whistling from the back seat. “No way you’re going alone.”
“Have to.”
“No fuckin’ way, Kyle,” Fredo insisted. “I’ll set you up with a wire. You’ll read their note out loud and we’ll be a block away, hearing every word.”
“First I call Timmons,” Kyle said.
Kyle was surprised to find Timmons in the office this late. He knew some brass were in the office with him, because his chief addressed him as Adele and said he was sorry their date was cancelled. “That’s real sad about your mom, honey. Hope your family can be of some comfort to you. Be safe, okay? We can reschedule for next week.”
“You got big timers there?” Kyle asked.
“Don’t worry about me, honey. You just go be with your family in this time of crisis and I’ll call you later.”
Timmons hung up.
Kyle let the team know about the call. It was the closest to a green light he was going to get from the US Navy.
Fredo had Kyle fitted with a small Invisio earpiece with a microphone so they could talk back and forth. The thing was so small, he didn’t like to use it on missions because occasionally they’
d get lodged into his ear too far and hurt like a son of a gun pulling them out. They also made him a bit hard of hearing, and he had to be careful not to talk too loud when under cover. But in this case, this small earpiece was way safer.
Fredo had fashioned portable mikes mounted behind cheap, American flag pins he’d bought at a souvenir store on Coronado. He pinned one to Kyle’s chest on the right side so Kyle’s heartbeat wouldn’t interfere with the reception. They were that good.
“This one is bait. They find it and think they’ve got the device, you feel me?” Fredo said.
Kyle nodded.
Fredo had gotten written up for pinning one of Carlisle’s flunkies. The whole team listened and recorded the young MA banging a pro for fifty bucks. CDs of the incident earned Fredo enough to pay for all the equipment. But he got a letter in his file. The young MA got himself transferred to a ship, he’d been so hounded by team guys.
“How many of these did you make?” Kyle asked as he tapped on the flag.
Coop jumped violently out of his seat, hitting his head on the roof of the truck. He pulled off his headset. “Shit, shit, shit. That thing is strong.”
Fredo frowned and looked back at Coop as if to tell him to grow up, but didn’t. He focused back on Kyle.
“If you need to, you put this thing in under your collar, or your breast pocket if you don’t have time.”
They dropped Kyle off at the corner, and he took a taxi the rest of the way to the Starbuck’s. He’d instructed the boys to stay several blocks behind, turn right before Kearney and park within view of the garbage can. Kyle asked the cab to wait, figuring he’d need transportation.
He fished through wrappers and wet semi-empty coffee cups. He found the bag down about a foot into the trash and pulled it out, earning him a scowl from an older, nearly hairless Chinese barber who watched him through the plate glass window of his shop.
When he opened the bag, he found another note, but this time it was written on a yellow Post-It.
“Keep the bag for prints,” he heard in his earpiece.
“Go to the rear entrance of the Shoe Barn at 16th and Harrison.” He turned the note over. “Nothing else.”
Accidental SEAL (SEAL Brotherhood #1) Page 26
