Hot Pursuit
Page 6
Danny nodded and even smiled as he said what he always said, “I’m good. I’m okay.” But Lopez didn’t look convinced, so he added, “I’m looking forward to this. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in New York.”
“Start spreading the news” Izzy Zanella sang the opening to what was essentially New York City’s theme song, because he was an asshole and he didn’t know how to keep his goddamned mouth shut.
“Well, I was looking forward to this,” Dan amended as he followed Zanella, Tony, and Lopez down the escalator to the airport’s baggage-claim carousels. They’d traveled light, with carry-on bags only—except for Zanella the douche, who’d insisted on bringing his guitar.
Which was twice as stupid, because Dan didn’t even know Zanella played the guitar until he showed up with it at LAX.
Their teammate, Mark Jenkins, was supposed to come with them, along with his wife Lindsey, who worked as an operative for Troubleshooters Incorporated, the personal security organization they were currently representing here on the frozen island of Manhattan.
The four SEALs weren’t exactly moonlighting for the firm because they weren’t getting paid—just fed and housed. The “work” they had to do in exchange for that wasn’t very strenuous. They were the figurative “big stick,” in a “walk softly and carry a …” presentation that Alyssa Locke, the Troubleshooters XO, would be delivering over the next few days as she helped a newly elected liberal crybaby government official get used to the idea that some people were going to send her mean e-mails.
It was supposed to be an easy job, with a city full of upscale restaurants and bars awaiting them—restaurants and bars filled in turn with beautiful, supermodel-worthy women, many of whom would be eager to show that they fully supported the troops by taking a Navy SEAL home and getting naked with him.
After the hell of the past few months, this was going to be exactly what he needed, to start feeling like himself again.
It was going to be Danny and Jenk and Lopez, the three caballeros, together again. And yes, Jenk was married now, so the dynamic was slightly different. But Lindsey was cool. And yes, Tony Vlachic was coming with them, too, which was a little weird because he was younger than they were, he was relatively new to Team Sixteen, and he was … different, but it was all okay because—thank you, Jesus—he wasn’t Izzy fucking Zanella.
But then Lindsey had come down with the flu, so Zanella was filling in for Jenk, last minute.
Of course.
Lopez had been apologetic on the ride to LAX, when he’d told Dan about the change in personnel. He knew—in great detail because Dan had vented to him many times—how much Dan hated his soon-to-be ex-brother-in-law.
At the top of Zanella’s list of unforgivable transgressions was the fact that he’d knocked up and married Eden, Dan’s younger sister. And yes, okay, there was definitely still some question as to whether Zanella was or was not the actual biological father of Eden’s baby—not that it really mattered anymore, since she’d miscarried six months in.
Bottom line, Eden always had played fast and loose. So maybe Zanella’s marrying her had been marginally gallant since the paternity was in question. But Dan suspected he’d done it, in part, to piss Dan off.
Because Zanella knew that Dan had always found him to be obnoxious. He was loud, he was capable of being unbelievably stupid, and he drove Danny crazy with his constant idiotic comments—not to mention his relentless singing.
Fucking Zanella had a fucking song for every occasion. And absolutely no filter through which to judge the fact that perhaps some occasions would be best kept song-free.
The tall, gangly SEAL had always been something of a loner. Rumor had it his BUD/S training swim-buddy rang out to get the hell away from him. But then, a few years ago, he’d gone and saved Mark Jenkins’s life.
Jenk had started inviting Zanella to poker games and parties, and before Dan knew it, Jay Lopez, his tightest friend in SEAL Team Sixteen, was also inviting Zanella everywhere. And suddenly, wherever Dan went, Zanella was there, too.
He acted like he was Dan’s friend, but face it, a friend didn’t have sex with a friend’s sister.
“When do you get the results of the latest CAT scan?” Lopez asked Dan now.
“I don’t know,” Dan said brusquely. “They said they’d call me. I’m fucking trying not to think about it.”
“Sorry, man.”
Dan sighed. “No, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just…” He shook his head. “I’m really tired.”
These days he was always tired, so he put his bag on the floor and sat down next to it. Lopez hovered for a moment, like the weirdest mother hen on the face of the planet.
“I’ll watch your bag,” Dan told his friend, “while you go babysit Zanella.”
Lopez smiled at that. “I’m pretty sure he’s okay.”
Strains of another song drifted over from where the asshole was putting on a one-man show for the other passengers on their flight. No, make that a two-man show. Someone—Jesus, it was Tony—was beatboxing an accompaniment. Christ.
“Yeah, well, there he goes,” Dan said. “And I don’t trust him not to do something like get himself—or all of us—arrested. Please, I just want to get to the hotel. I’m lagged as fuck.”
It was kind of crazy. They’d traveled west to east which, absolutely, according to the old saying, resulted in a coast-to-coast traveler becoming a “party beast.” It was, after all, only 1930 California time.
It was extra crazy because with all of Dan’s anticipation of visiting New York, he didn’t want to get to the hotel so that he could shower, change, get out there, and get his ass laid.
No, what he wanted right now, more than sex even, was to sleep.
For, like, a week.
Jesus, maybe he was coming down with Lindsey’s flu.
Lopez was looking at him again as if he were worried, and Dan didn’t want him asking any more questions about the CAT scan or the supposed head injury that had made him lose a small but significant part of his life, so he leaned back against their two bags and closed his eyes.
He heard Lopez finally move away, heard Izzy’s singing stop, thank God. But then Lopez came back. Or maybe it was Tony—the step was much lighter. Almost nonexistent, in fact.
Whoever it was, they were hovering again, and he’d had enough.
“I’m fine,” he said. “Just leave me the f—”
He’d opened his eyes just before he dropped the F-bomb, and good thing, because it wasn’t Lopez or Tony or even Izzy staring down at him.
It was a very little girl in a pink dress, complete with a bow in her barely there, baby-fine hair. She couldn’t have been more than two, maybe three at the most. She wore shiny black shoes and white tights that were doing a kind of an MC Hammer thing with the crotch down around her knees, but she didn’t seem to care. She was holding what looked like a blue stuffed bunny, clutching it to her chest.
Her eyes were blue and wide and she stared with unabashed curiosity. “Are you a soldja?”
He was dressed in civvies—well, mostly anyway. His pants were BDUs, but nothing that a civilian couldn’t pick up at an Army/Navy store. His bag was military, though, with his name lettered on it—and yeah, that was what she was looking at.
“I’m in the Navy,” he told her, even though she probably didn’t know what that meant.
But she did. “Momma’s a Ahmy soldja,” she informed him solemnly. “In Wack. Her foot got bwohed up. They gon’ make her a new one an’ we gon’ pway tag again an’ wun an’—”
“Mindy!” A boy, maybe twelve or thirteen—about Dan’s brother Ben’s age—and clearly related to Mindy, had overheard what she’d said, which Dan had finally translated into their mother was getting a prosthetic foot, which would allow her to play tag again and run. But the boy was horrified, his thin face pale. “He doesn’t want to hear about that!”
“It’s okay,” Danny sat up. “I’ve, um, been over there. It’s … rough. Where’s you
r mom now?”
“Landstuhl Hospital,” he said. “In Germany. She was supposed to come home last month, but…” He shook his head, his mouth tight.
“I’m sorry,” Dan murmured.
“Gwamma tooked us to Jahminny,” Mindy announced, “and I kisseded Momma an’ she cwied, cuz she wuvs me and Daddy stayed cuz she gotta hohd his hand and we don’t gots to send her teeny shampoos no more an’ hand wahmahs an’ books to wead cuz the nurses wash her hair and her woom has a TV but she don’t turn it on cuz she’s sweepin’ and I wan’ say wake up, Momma! But gwamma won’ wet me.”
“Mindy, come on,” the boy said. “Gram’s going to be worried.”
“Your mom’s lucky,” Dan told the little girl, “to have you and your brother and your dad taking care of her. I bet she liked those packages you sent her when she was in … Wack.” It was a good name for it.
“Do you got packages?” she asked him.
“Yeah,” he lied. “I get lots of packages when I’m over there. I’ve mostly been in Afghanistan, but… It’s great to get packages wherever you go, so … I know your mom loved yours. Hand warmers—at this time of year, and books …”
“Mindy,” the boy said again, but she didn’t move.
She just stood there, looking at Dan, and as small as she was, she must’ve had a heavy-duty bullshit meter, because she held out her bunny, pushing it into his hands. “Now you gots a package too,” she announced. “A bunny name Fwed, to wuv you.” She patted the bunny’s head. “Bye, Fwed. Give the Naby soldja wotsa kisses in Anastan.”
And with that, she was gone.
“Mindy!” Her brother turned to follow her.
“Kid,” Dan called, and then turned back after making sure his little sister found their grandmother. Dan tossed him the rabbit. “Tell your sister thank you, but I’m pretty sure Fred will be happier staying with her.”
“The real Fred’s at home,” the kid said. “Dad says she’s the Johnny Appleseed of stuffed bunnies. He buys ’em in bulk because she leaves ’em everywhere.” The boy threw it back at him. “She wants you to have it, so …” He shrugged. “If you don’t want it, just toss it. She won’t know.”
He turned away, but Dan called after him. “Kid. I hope your mom comes home soon.”
The boy turned back again to look at Dan, and his fatigue, his fear, and his despair were etched on his young face. “And then what? She used to run marathons. I don’t think she wants to come home. I don’t think she wants to live.”
Ah, Jesus.
“I run marathons,” Dan told the boy. “I would want to live, and I don’t have you or Mindy or someone like your dad to hold my hand—someone more like Angelina Jolie, please. I mean, I’m sure your dad is nice …” That got him a wan smile from the kid, so he held up the bunny and looked at it. “All I’ve got is Fred, giving me wotsa kisses.”
That got him a wobbly laugh, and something that looked like the spark of hope in the boy’s eyes.
“Your mother definitely wants to live—and she’ll be home soon,” Dan reassured him. “And my bet? If she’s anything at all like you and your sister, she’ll be running marathons again. I bet you’ll be running with her, and Mindy’ll be showering you with stuffed bunnies at the finish line. Hold that future in your head, kid, aiight?”
The boy nodded, turned to go, but then turned back. “Someone really should be sending you packages, sir.”
Had his lie really been that transparent? Dan shook his head. “I’m not an officer. You don’t need to call me sir.”
“Still …”
“Your grandmother’s looking for you,” Dan told the boy. He held up Fred. “Thank Mindy again for me.”
CHAPTER
FIVE
SATURDAY, 31 JANUARY 2009
He watched from the hallway, from the warmth of a supply closet that he’d discovered months ago.
It was dark, it was warm, and it was dry. He’d planned, from the start, to leave Savannah’s body there, and he’d sat there sometimes, right on the dirty floor, in anticipation, alone in the darkness—picturing Alyssa’s exquisite face as she opened the door and saw what he’d done.
He still sometimes sat there, sometimes all night. Waiting. Just waiting.
She was coming. She would come.
Today was finally the day.
He hadn’t had to kill Savannah. He hadn’t had to kill anyone at all. It was luck that Alyssa was coming—luck and a suggestion he’d made to one of the interns, who’d in turn approached Jenn. Wasn’t Savannah connected to some personal security firm—via her Navy SEAL husband? Surely she knew someone—a woman—who could come in and talk to Maria about her safety. That might go over better than advice from some cocksure police detective.
Jenn had, obviously, taken the suggestion to heart, and here they all were.
On the verge of destiny.
He watched through a hole that he’d made between the door and the jamb, and he knew that the men in Alyssa’s team—all five of them—were there as statement. But their focus was on protecting Maria.
Which left Alyssa for him.
Provided she stayed long enough.
He’d heard—because he was always listening—that Maria thought little of the threat. It came with her job, he’d heard her argue with Savannah, who had called from California. Maria would, out of courtesy, meet with Savannah’s friends, and allow them to install an office security system and update the locks. She’d even humor Savannah and meet Alyssa at the gym for a self-defense refresher.
She would give the team this one weekend, but come Monday, they’d be gone, and she’d be back to business as usual.
He’d fumed and raged because after waiting all this time, a weekend wasn’t long enough. And in his fury, he’d gone too far with the blade of his knife, and his recent guest had died, her blood soaking the floorboards of his kill room.
But then with the certainty he relied on to guide him, he’d realized that it was okay. It had been time for her to die.
Because she was coming—Alyssa Locke.
And he could make her stay for longer than a weekend.
And then she would be his, forever.
It was amazing how much space five Navy SEALs took up, well, four SEALs and one former SEAL, in the outer room of the assemblywoman’s tiny New York City office.
It was wall-to-wall shoulders in there, and still they came through the door: Jacked, Steamy, Parka Man, Lucky, and Hot Cowboy Dad, who was actually carrying a cheerful and heavily bundled baby in a frontpack sling thing. And okay, those weren’t their real nicknames, but rather accurately descriptive monikers Jenn herself assigned them as they greeted her with a handshake and a smile.
Their real names were Zanella, Lopez, Starrett, Gillman, and Vlachic, and as good as Jenn was with names, they’d rattled them off so fast she’d lost track of everyone but Lopez, whose parka was the kind worn by explorers on an expedition to the summit of Mt. Everest.
The one she thought was Starrett—the Hot Cowboy Dad—had blue eyes that put Detective Mick What’sHisName’s to shame. He also had that adorable baby, who looked an awful lot like the Trouble shooters team leader, a seemingly diminutive and strikingly beautiful woman with short dark hair. She came in last, shutting her cell phone as she introduced herself. She was, of course, the one and only Alyssa Locke, and she was seemingly diminutive only in comparison to her hulking team.
Jenn wasn’t quite sure why, but she’d always pictured Alyssa as being a blonde, like Savannah.
Instead, she was at least part African American, which of course didn’t mean that she couldn’t have been a blonde, either from a bottle or even naturally. And there was something about her that was oddly familiar. “I’m Jenn. I’m the assemblywoman’s assistant and—You didn’t by any chance go to SUNY Binghamton?”
Alyssa shook her head.
“Or maybe to law school at—”
“No law school.”
“You look so familiar,” Jenn admitted.
Jenn shook her head. “Not in The New York State Assembly Quarterly.”
Alyssa smiled. “Thank goodness for small favors.”
“Maria’s on a conference call right now. She’ll be free in a few minutes, so …” Jenn looked around at them all. “Can I get anybody anything?”
“I would love a glacier,” the tallest one—Jacked—requested, “or even an avalanche would be nice.”
At first she didn’t understand. Were those California drinks like wheatgrass or acai berry juice?
But then Hot Cowboy Dad chimed in. “Mind if I use the conference table,” he asked Jenn in a Texas-laden drawl that on a less attractive man would have been annoying, “to peel some layers offa Ashton, here, before he parboils?”
And then she understood. “Of course. Please. Yes. Please. Take off your coats.” The office was nearing hypertropical today. She’d taken off her pantyhose hours ago.
“Excuse me,” Alyssa said as her cell phone rang and she checked the incoming number. She looked from Jenn to her husband. “I’ve got to take this. Will you … ?”
“I got him,” the Cowboy said as he took the baby to the table. “You must be from Florida, Jenn. Or maybe Death Valley … ?”
“No,” Jenn said, with a laugh. “And I am sorry about the climate in here, but this building is old. In order for the heat to reach the top floors, the radiators down here need to overperform. It’s like this all winter.”
“There should be a valve,” Steamy said, as he went over to the ancient thing, which lurked in a grill-covered box in front of the window that overlooked the street, “to allow for a bypass.”
“It doesn’t work,” Jenn said. “Believe me, we’ve—”
“Mind if I take a look?” he asked, already doing just that.
“I’ll help.” Parka Man was right behind him, taking off his rather ridiculous jacket and hood as he went. He had a thick sweater on beneath it, and as he pulled it off as well, his shirt nearly came with it, revealing a set of abs that could have graced the cover of Fitness magazine.