“’Kay,” he murmured as he pushed off her lap, automatically headed for his bedroom and his bookshelf. “But not Peter Rabbit again. That one’s for babies.”
Dev adored the way her four-year-old said ‘babies’ with so much scorn, as if he were so much older and wiser.
“Not ‘Old Yeller’ either.” She couldn’t bear another tearjerker so soon after losing Gru.
Scottie sniffed. “Then how about the dinosaur one?”
Ah, yes. The colorful tale of a smiling cartoon tyrannosaurus rex eating his way through the smaller herbivores in his jungle to get to the scary stegosaurus always made for a lovely bedtime story. This little guy definitely had his Uncle Cord’s blood running in his veins. But at least the dinosaur story didn’t deal with the real-life scenario of losing a beloved pet.
So if Scottie wanted it… “You got it.”
Once they settled against the pillows on his bed, Dev kept her voice low. Out of the blue some four years earlier, Cord had insisted on room darkening curtains for every window in the bungalow except the kitchen. The kid-friendly version at Scottie’s single window maintained just enough light for him to see the pages—and to lull a tired little man to sleep. He drifted off before she finished the third page.
With the guys still hard at work in her backyard, Devereaux eased away from Scottie and tiptoed to her visitor’s room. She had ten minutes. She’d no sooner cracked the door when—
“I’m awake,” her visitor said. “Please turn the light on so I can see you.”
Dev flicked the switch at her left. The blond in her bed sat propped at the gold padded headboard with all of Dev’s pillows at her back. Pale, with bruised cheeks and a swollen lip, she stared at Dev through melted chocolate drop eyes so large they almost made her look regal. Chin up. Eyes forward. An urge to curtsey—or something—sprang to Dev’s mind. Yeah, right. Not in my house and most definitely, not in my bedroom.
“I’m Devereaux Shepherd. How are you feeling?”
“I’m Lianna Khadeem, and right now, I’m good. I’m afraid I may not look like it, but this is nothing. I’ll survive.”
Dev cocked her head. She’d expected a sassy California name, or at least one from somewhere equally as—blonde. “You’re Arabic?”
That earned her a curt nod and a huff, as if Dev should’ve known better than to ask. The traumatized women Cord rescued were often so tightly wired by the time they arrived on Dev’s doorstep that they fought even the kindest treatment. Dev let it go, but the poor woman’s thickly wrapped hands didn’t look like nothing had happened. “You’re hurt. What did Montego do to you?”
Lianna lifted both hands, her gaze harsh before it softened, and her eyes met Dev’s. “They’ll heal. How are those little girls, Emma and Maddie? Are they” —her throat muscles constricted— “alive?”
Some victims were in full-blown denial by the time they arrived at Dev’s front door, and Dev got that, but Lianna had not only artfully avoided answering the question, she’d changed subjects as well. Montego was a known sadist with a penchant for BDSM straight out of Hell’s playbook. Dev very much wanted to unwrap those hands to see what he’d done to Lianna.
“Family Services has custody of Emma and Maddie until their father arrives in Florida. They’ll be home where they belong soon.”
Lianna’s head tipped back against the headboard. Trembling, she blew out a deep sigh and whispered, “Praise Allah.” Both eyes closed. Her lower lip quivered. Her breasts heaved as if holding back a flood. “They… they were so scared, and everything frightened them. They wouldn’t speak, they wouldn’t even look at me, and I was afraid...” Her throat worked a mighty swallow before she whispered, “I was afraid he’d already d-d-destroyed their souls.”
So… The twins were the important ones, not Lianna. Interesting.
“We need to end Montego once and for all,” Dev said to soothe Lianna’s nerves.
“Not him!” Lianna snapped, her dark eyes flashing.
Dev stopped trying to breach the wall around her guest. She waited, knowing that deep down, Lianna needed to talk. She needed a woman’s shoulder to cry on. Dev dropped her gaze to the old-fashioned chenille bedspread pulled around Lianna. The room chilled as the silence grew. Dev’s ten minutes to be on her way to work was long gone.
The breakthrough began with a tiny cry emanating from deep within Lianna. A hitch of breath betrayed her next. Then her bulky hands, clasped so tight she had to be hurting herself, gave her away. After another noisy gulp, she said, “I am a princess in my country. A woman of noble birth. I did not know…” A strangled sob wound out of her. “I did not know men could be so cruel.”
At last. Dev had never had royalty in her shabby home before. Unsure of proper protocol, but certain this shuddering woman needed a woman’s touch right here and now, she asked, “May I approach, Your Majesty?”
She got a stiff upper lip and a curt nod for that. So be it. Dev knew how to be humble. Slowly extending her arms, palms upward, she moved to the edge of the mattress at her guest’s side.
Lianna fell against her, sobbing. “He… he… he…”
Dev rocked, biding her time. Things like despair and pain, heartache and hysteria, kept no schedule, and this woman seemed on the verge of all that and more. Taller than Dev, Lianna buried her face in the crook of Dev’s neck and shoulder. She was a soft armful, model-worthy, her breasts high and full, her legs long, and her waist trim. She was every man’s dream. Everything Dev wasn’t.
But all too soon, Lianna stiffened as if she’d remembered she was in the arms of a commoner. Dev didn’t slide away, just kept a gentle hold of the distraught woman’s wrist as Lianna eased against the headboard once more. Now wasn’t the time to interrogate her, and Dev wouldn’t have known what to ask anyway. Which was why Lianna should’ve gone with the kindly Family Services people. This was their mission. Cord and she only handled infils, exfils, and the first rest stop on the way home for these tormented women.
“My father signed the marriage contract when I turned three,” Lianna whispered. “I remember the day he told me. We were in the date fields. Fruit hung heavy from the trees. The air beneath the fronds was thick with the honeyed scent of the ripe fruit. I thought he’d taken me there because he loved me. Instead…” Her gaze fluttered to her bandaged fingers. “He’d sold me to a prince, whose wealthy father wanted his son to marry a respectable girl. My father owns the entire Quari’im Peninsula. It is a land rich with orchards and fields and industry. My betrothal was not for me, it was for him. Signing that contract gave him the sole rights to the Saudi shipping lanes in the Persian Gulf. With Dubai and Bahrain to the south, it is a location of great power and wealth. The sad truth is that I always knew my betrothed. We played together as children. He was so handsome then, so tender and kind. As a young man and a prince, he traveled the world. I knew he’d made a reputation for himself, that he’d changed, but...”
Dev knew when to keep her mouth shut.
Lianna lifted her wrist, effectively easing out of Dev’s hold. “I never knew he was capable of this.”
The bedroom door slammed open. “Who the fuck did this to you?” Cord demanded from the doorway.
Lianna paled. “M-my husband. Basheer Bagani.”
Cord cast a baleful glare Dev’s way. “You got a minute?”
Appalled at what she’d heard, Dev followed Cord into the hall. He shut the door tightly behind her, then fast stepped her into the kitchen and stabbed an index finger at the backyard. “Get rid of him now.”
“Who? Seth?”
“Yes, Soldier Boy needs to go, the sooner, the better.”
Enough! “Seth is no boy, Cord. He helped you today. It seems to me you could be a little kinder and besides, why should I?”
Cord’s cell interrupted, buzzing in his pocket. His brows clashed over the blade of his nose as he tugged it up. His lips thinned. He lifted the phone to his ear as he told her, “Because this is bigge
r than both of us, Dev. I can’t risk this getting out.”
“But Cord—”
“Need to know, Dev. This is an eyes-only op, and Soldier Boy’s got no need to know. Now get him the fuck out of here. Just do it!”
Chapter Fourteen
Seth untangled Devereaux’s garden hose and wound it in even loops before he hung it over the curved hanger on the wooden post beside the now clean iguana habitat. He’d washed the blood away, while Cord had raked the loose gravel inside the cage and around the neatly framed wooden border surrounding it. Devereaux had done a bang-up job building a home for Gru.
Ensconced beneath a huge flowering tree, Gru should’ve lived to be a hundred—or however old iguanas lived, in this clever, multi-level playground. It was a shame to leave it vacant, yet Devereaux was right when she’d told Cord very clearly, “Don’t you dare go out and buy Scottie another iguana just because you can’t stand to see him sad. This isn’t about you. It’s about a little boy who’s learning that life isn’t fair, and how no one gets a participation trophy. I said no.”
Shutting the door, the top corner of the habitat didn’t fit quite right. It took less than a twist of Seth’s thumbnail to tighten the screw on the upper hinge. There. That’d hold until he located a screwdriver and tightened it properly.
“You’re still here,” Devereaux said behind him.
“Where else would I be?” Man, she was pretty, standing on her back step with one hand on her hip, the other on the open screen door. He couldn’t help the grin that cracked his face as he took stock of her waitress outfit, navy blue and turquoise. His favorite colors. “Need someone to walk you to work?” He cocked a thumb at his chest. Damn, she was pretty. “I happen to know a guy.”
She looked past him to the habitat. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said like she was annoyed. Or something. She hadn’t yet smiled, not even a little.
He lifted both shoulders. “’S no big deal. Cleaning up the yard gave me a chance to work with Cord. Your brother’s a real Devil Dog to his soul, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, umm… about that. I’m not going to work. I, umm, called in and took the night off.” Devereaux told him, her chin still up and her eyes clear, but—wrong. There was no light in those deep blues. She looked downright unhappy.
Seth took a step forward but stopped when her hands came up, when she said “I can’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“This. Whatever’s going on between us. I don’t… I don’t have time for more drama in my life. I’ve got a kid and a job and more… and people depend on me to be there for them.” Her gaze dropped to her feet. “I can’t.”
That made no sense. He’d brought no drama to the Shepherds’ doorstep, and calling Scottie a kid seemed out of character for Devereaux.
“So…” And there she stalled. Not making eye contact.
Seth swallowed past the dry knot in his throat. He got the drift. So this is how it ends. That was what she meant to say. It’s been nice, but don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out. So long. Goodbye. And all that crap.
“Guess I’d better be going then,” he said when he could speak.
She nodded but didn’t take a single step toward him. Not even one. She meant this to be a no contact goodbye. Somehow, he’d gone from being the hero of the day to nothing more than hired help you could fire without regret. Not that he’d expected anything for helping retrieve those women and girls, but another kiss from Devereaux’s sweet lips would’ve been—
“Bye,” she whispered.
Yeah. Not happening. No kiss. No hint of what he’d done to piss her off, either. Just the cold shoulder and another bucket full of unmet expectations.
Seth gave her what she wanted. Swallowing his pride, he walked away. Then he ran. A couple blocks down the street, he decided he’d had enough being everyone’s patsy. For a moment out there on Uncle George’s dock, he’d contributed to Cord’s rescue operation. Those little girls had needed him. He’d done a good thing today, and he’d do it again.
Cord had said next time, damn it, like Seth’s sticking around might be a good thing. Yet he’d also given off the vibe that he didn’t need an Army guy on his six. Obviously, Devereaux didn’t either.
Fine.
Seth settled into an even run that ate up the miles to the dock. Instead of revving up the pontoon boat and taking off like a madman, he jumped in and idled it to a different location across the bay, out of sight. He emptied his pockets into a waterproof ziplock bag and secured the boat, covering it with the heavy canvas tarp to keep out the leaves and sun. Once he’d winched the cable on that tarp good and tight, when he was certain the watercraft would be safe, he tucked the ziplock bag into a larger, waterproof bag with an over the shoulder handle. The handle went around his neck. It’d still drag, but Seth was past that. He’d cared enough for one day.
The water jolted when he dived off the dock. He’d expected it to be as warm as it looked. Not that temperature mattered. Life sucked sometimes, and he needed a drink. One click was nothing to swim.
By the time he reached the north side of his uncle’s few acres of ocean front property, he’d lost his anger and every last good intention. His arms ached, his hamstrings, too. The sun had set, painting a brilliant lemonade glow in the western sky. A clear purpling midnight blue commenced in the east. Night would soon fall dark and deep.
He stood there panting and dripping, marveling at how the atmosphere distorted a simple sunset into a truly spectacular light show at the end of what had begun as a good day, but ended being crap. How it melted those pinks and blossoming orange against the gathering night. How that perfect blue hue reminded him of—
Nope. Not going there.
Seth took a deep breath and left that stupid thought behind, too. What he wanted didn’t come in pretty colors, and it wasn’t sweet. Jack-fuckin’-Daniels was calling his name.
Tugging the bag off his neck, he rubbed at the welt around his neck that his foolishness had cost. Small price to pay when a man needs to be somewhere—anywhere—but on Molly’s dock. The air inside Uncle George’s two-room shack was stale when Seth unlocked the place and shoved inside. Must be why George never invested in locks. This place needs to breathe.
He emptied the bag, secured his weapon for another long night, set the satphone on the nightstand where it belonged for now and forever, then told his old friend Jack, “Hello, there.” Didn’t grab a glass or ice. Didn’t need them, just grabbed onto the neck of Old No. 7, and he was good to go.
Devereaux was spot on when she’d said Gru would’ve liked the view. Seth liked looking south to Cuba, too. There wasn’t any sense sitting on the north beach, was there? Not where every light blinking would remind him of a tow-headed pixie and her impish son. The taste of her lips. The glow in her eyes. No one smiled like Devereaux when she was happy, and for sure no woman had ever gotten to Seth as easily or as quickly as she had.
Still. Not. Going. There.
Dragging out of his wet clothes, Seth tossed his shirt and shorts to the sand and settled in for another night alone on the beach. The first gulp burned all the way down to his gut. The second gulp went down easier. The third, quick and smooth.
There was still enough light in the sky and on the ocean to see everything. The night was young. Hell, Latoya Franklin might show up and wouldn’t that be terrific? Other guys ended up with a girl, but not me. I ended up with a ghost. Yeah. Fuckin’ good times.
Seth upended the fifth and took another long swallow. Then another. Whiskey used to sit in his gut like a chunk of molten lava, and eventually, it made him upchuck. Not anymore. He’d had practice. Now it made him numb, and he liked that in a bottle. A bottle of forgetfulness, that’s what Jack Daniels was. Dizzy. Blessed. Forgetfulness.
But he should’ve seen it coming. Karma, that was what this day was all about, a bitch slap for cheating on Katelynn and failing to be all that he could be. That was the real problem.
Loneliness had become an integral thread in the fabric of his life. He’d tied his future to Katelynn and secured it with knots so tight, they couldn’t be broken. One night of lust did not an eternal covenant make, and what he’d honestly thought he’d felt for Devereaux hadn’t been real. Couldn’t have been or he wouldn’t be sitting here all by himself, would he?
How did a man simply forget the woman he loved, the one whose smile turned him inside out when he’d been a younger man? The one who skipped their prom after he’d broken his leg in a skiing accident the previous winter? Even now, Katelynn’s memory remained eerily vivid.
Staring at the swell of the ocean and the never-ending march of breakers as they curled into themselves and rolled ashore, he could still feel the soft curls of her honey-blonde hair between his fingertips. The satiny warmth of her skin against his cheek. The heaven of her lush lips on his mouth and the scent of rose petal. The soft sweet lilt of joy in her laughter. The way she struggled to pronounce ‘perpendicular’ because of her stuttering issues.
Blowing out a gut full of regret, Seth yearned for a way to change what had happened. If he could do things over, he wouldn’t have been so all fired up and eager to get home to Katelynn that last leave. He wouldn’t have told her his arrival date. That way, she wouldn’t have been on the freeway that day. She wouldn’t have been in that lacy white dress and she wouldn’t have gotten in the way of that drunk driver. She’d still be alive, and they’d be happy, and…
Shit! Seth kicked both heels into the sand, so damned weary of the never-ending what-ifs rattling around in his head. The truth was that life wasn’t fair. He got that. Bad things happened, and when they did, they left good people with holes in their hearts and sorrow in their souls. Time, the Almighty Healer, was supposed to make everything right in the long run. Things were supposed to work out and life was supposed to get better. Well, bully for that son-of-a-bitch. All Seth had gotten from Time was one disappointment after another.
Seth (In the Company of Snipers Book 17) Page 11
