Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Protecting Sam (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Abbie Zanders

  A V formed between his brows. “You sure? What about the locks?”

  “I got a text from the building manager. He said the locksmith was here this afternoon. It’s all good. Thanks again for everything, Steve.”

  She moved toward the building, feeling Steve’s eyes boring into her back the whole way.

  She stopped by the building manager’s office and picked up the new keys, signed the charge forms, and then went up to her apartment.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she murmured as she checked the sliding glass doors. Steve was standing outside his Jeep in the parking lot below, looking up at her. She gave him the thumbs-up sign and waved, then walked away. When she looked out again ten minutes later, his vehicle was gone.

  * * *

  Anthony counted to ten before pulling out of the lot, making sure he stayed far enough behind the Jeep so he wouldn’t be spotted.

  At first, he had been angry when he discovered that she had changed her locks. It meant he would have to play the role of maintenance man again, and that building manager was starting to get suspicious.

  That wouldn’t be a concern for much longer. Things were almost ready. He couldn’t wait to surprise her!

  Something would have to be done about G.I. Joe, though. He was spending far too much time with Samantha. Anthony knew it wasn’t her fault; the guy was just too dense to take a hint.

  Anthony was going to take care of that, too.

  Chapter Nine

  What the hell just happened?

  The words played on repeat as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed out to meet up with the guys. As far as he knew, nothing had been done, or said, that explained the subtle void in his chest.

  Sam just blew you off.

  Well, there was that.

  Granted, her day had ranked fairly high on the crappy day meter, but his gut told him there was more to it. This last week, when something worrisome happened, she had turned to him, not away from him.

  Maybe it has something to do with the mixed signals you’re putting out there, genius.

  Those signals might have been mixed, but they were an accurate reflection of what was going on inside his own head.

  Sam might think he was some kind of white knight, but any armor he wore was dented and tarnished. When he was taking care of her, or working on the resort, he didn’t have to deal with his own issues. His mind was quieter. The flashbacks, the brief but debilitating moments of panic, were practically non-existent.

  As if on cue, that familiar sensation of being trapped squeezed his chest. He put the windows down and inhaled deeply, forcing himself to remain calm. He was INCONUS—inside the continental US—not in some underground pit halfway across the world. The darkness around him came from the evening sky, not the heavy slabs of rocks that kept him hidden from the ones looking for him. The air he drew into his lungs was scented with mountain pine, not his own filth.

  Those thoughts helped to keep the worst of it at bay. What helped more was picturing Sam curled up on his recliner, a soft smile on her lips after whispering his name in her sleep. Remembering the gentle warmth of her small hand in his. Turning those pretty gray-green eyes his way and looking at him as if he was something special. He wasn’t, but it was kind of nice that she thought so.

  By the time he reached Franco’s, Steve had himself under control again.

  Doc waved his hand from the back corner where they had pushed a couple of tables together. Unsurprisingly, Mad Dog was already working his way through an enormous plate of wings.

  He signaled the server as he sat down, receiving a nod and a friendly smile in return. Sandy was cool. Friendly, but not overly so, and she took good care of them.

  “Where’s Sam?” Heff asked, looking toward the door as if expecting her to follow. That annoyed him. Steve didn’t want Heff setting his sights on Sam.

  “She’s not coming.”

  “Why not? Didn’t scare her off, did you?”

  Maybe. “She had a rough day.”

  “We weren’t that hard on her. Unless Church was,” Heff grinned. “What kind of tour did you give her, Church? Did you show her how you got your nickname?”

  Beneath the table, Steve’s fists clenched. Heff was just being Heff, trying to get a reaction.

  Church got his nickname one night when they were all still wet behind the ears. They had gone out, overindulged, and Church ended up sleeping with a local preacher’s daughter. Her cries to the Almighty had kept the rest of them up most of the night, and the nickname stuck.

  That memory usually came with a smile, but not this time.

  Steve’s gaze shot to Church, remembering the way he had hugged Sam. A sharp pain lanced through his belly, the same one he had felt when he had watched them disappear over the hill together.

  Church met his gaze head-on, as if he sensing Steve’s dark thoughts. Amusement flickered there, along with the assurance Steve had been hoping to find. Not like that, man, it said. That was good enough for him.

  “Earth to Smoke,” Cage said, snapping his fingers. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with what you asked me to look into, would it?”

  He looked at Cage, at all the guys who were now giving him their full attention.

  “Smoke,” Church said, his amusement fading. “What’s going on?”

  Steve thought briefly about offering a denial, but they wouldn’t buy it. Church and Heff knew him too well, and the others were sharp enough to smell a lie.

  Steve wasn’t one to go around sticking his nose in other people’s business, and he didn’t make a habit of asking Cage or anyone else for favors off the clock. Though they had hidden it well, he had sensed their shock when he had shown up at the site with Sam. Maybe they could help. As SEALs, they had always worked better as a team than alone.

  Their food arrived, and Sandy brought his beer, along with refills for everyone else. Well, everyone except Heff, who was deliberately avoiding her gaze, which meant things hadn’t changed much. His teammate was still a manwhore.

  As they ate, Steve filled them in on Sam’s situation. He told them about the weird gifts and the break-ins, as well as the present he had found in his own bathroom. When he got to the fire, Church’s face paled.

  “Jesus,” Cage muttered. “It can’t be a coincidence.”

  “What can’t be a coincidence?”

  “Did Sam tell you how her grandparents died?”

  “No,” he said, sensing he wasn’t going to like whatever Cage had to tell him.

  “They lived in an apartment above their bakery. They died of smoke inhalation when a fire broke out in the kitchen below.”

  “Sam said she was at college when her grandparents passed.”

  “According to Sam’s official statement, she was.” Something about the way Cage said that made cold ice slither down the length of his spine. There was more that Cage wasn’t saying, and while he might not want to hear it, he had to.

  “But …” he prompted.

  “But … Sam’s roommate spent the night with her boyfriend and couldn’t corroborate Sam’s statement that she was there all night.”

  “So?” This was from Mad Dog, who had stopped eating and was now fully engrossed in the discussion.

  “So, a neighbor swore she saw someone skulking around the bakery in the middle of the night.”

  “Again, I ask, so?”

  “Sam’s place wasn’t that far away. It was close enough that she could still help out at the bakery and commute to classes. Apparently, Sam had some kind of scarf she was particularly fond of—wore it all the time. The neighbor swears that whoever she saw that night was wearing that scarf. When questioned about it, Sam said that scarf was missing. Either she lost it or someone snatched it.”

  “Convenient,” Doc muttered.

  Steve shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense. Sam’s dream is to have a place of her own. She said her grandparents were going to retire and turn the place over to her once she got her degree. Why would she s
abotage her own future?”

  “Insurance,” Cage answered. “The bake shop was old, in need of renovation. It would have taken a small fortune to modernize. The grandparents had a big policy on the place, more than enough to rebuild. Unfortunately, the cause of the fire was suspicious, and when the fire chief refused to rule out arson, the insurance company wouldn’t pay out. As the sole beneficiary, Sam was left with only a small nest egg; enough to finish school and live modestly, if she was careful.”

  “Sam, a firebug? No way.” Steve refused to believe Sam was capable of anything like that. However, it did explain why the fire and police chiefs had been so keen on questioning her.

  “What do you think, Church? You knew her, didn’t you?” This was from Doc.

  “Not well,” Church said slowly, brows drawn tight over his eyes as if deep in thought. “We talked a few times, but we weren’t close. She was nice, always friendly, but on the quiet side.”

  “That doesn’t make her an arsonist!” Steve said vehemently.

  “No, it doesn’t,” he agreed. He pinned Cage with a look. “In any of your research, did the name Anthony Cavatelli come up?”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell. Why?”

  “His mom worked at the resort. They lived in one of the small cabins, the ones we kept for staff who didn’t want to live in town. They were there the night”—Church cleared his throat—“the night of the fire. His mom was found in the kitchens, but he was found unconscious just outside the door, with burns over half his body.”

  “You think they had something to do with it?” Mad Dog guessed.

  “When he woke up, the kid said he’d snuck into the kitchens because he was hungry. He turned on the burners to make himself a grilled cheese or something, and the next thing he knew, he was waking up in the burn ward.”

  “But you don’t think it was an accident, do you?”

  “No,” Church said, his face grim. “My sister used to write me every week after I enlisted. She talked about this weird kid who played with lighters all the time and gave her the creeps.”

  “Anthony Cavatelli,” Doc murmured.

  Church nodded. “She said he used to follow around pretty young girls who were staying there with their families. My parents received a few complaints and talked to the mother, who admitted the kid had some issues. She said he was harmless, but that she’d keep closer tabs on him and make sure he took his meds.”

  “What became of him?”

  “Don’t know.” Church frowned. “I got emergency leave to take care of things, but I couldn’t stick around long afterward. Last I heard, they put him in some kind of state facility for evaluation and were looking for relatives. Lost track after a while. But he was only about thirteen then, so I’m sure all those records are sealed.”

  “The fire was about ten years ago, so that would make him about twenty-three now, right?” Doc asked. “Which means he could conceivably have gotten out about five years ago. When did Sam’s grandparents’ place burn?”

  “Five years ago.”

  “Fuck,” grunted Mad Dog.

  “You said Sam used to come to the resort with her grandparents, right?” Heff asked, speaking up for the first time. “What if she’s one of those pretty girls Anthony followed around? She’s nice to him, he’s smitten, so he decides to look her up when he comes back to town.”

  Doc picked up the thread. “So, he goes to the grandparents, only to find out that Sam doesn’t live there anymore. Maybe they don’t give him her info, and he lashes out by torching the place. Then he bides his time, becomes her secret admirer, sends her gifts, follows her around, just waiting for the right moment to reintroduce himself.”

  “Then you show up.” Cage pointed to Steve. “He sees you as competition and steps up his game. Maybe even heard what Santori did and decides to avenge her or some shit like that.”

  Church looked at Cage. “Can you get into those sealed records and find out exactly what Cavatelli’s issues were?”

  “No, but I know someone who can,” Cage said. “Remember Tex?”

  “Southern boy. Dark hair, brown eyes,” Heff said with a grin. “Only guy I ever met who doesn’t like bananas. I mean, who doesn’t like bananas? They’re, like, the world’s most perfect fruit.”

  “John Keegan,” Church said, ignoring Heff. “I heard he lost part of his leg, was medically retired, got married, and is living in Pennsylvania now with his wife and kids.”

  “Think he’ll help?” Doc asked.

  “Hell yes, especially if he finds out why we’re asking. The guy’s got a bigger soft spot for damsels in distress than our own Smoke here,” he said with a grin. “Sealed juvie records will be child’s play for him. While he’s working on that, I can run some searches on Anthony Cavatelli and see what kind of hits we get. Maybe find a picture or something we can show to Sam, see if she recognizes him.”

  “I don’t know,” Heff mused. “It all seems kind of fucked up.”

  “Yeah, it’s fucked up,” Steve agreed, “but it fits.” Which meant that Anthony, or whoever was stalking Sam, had been keeping close tabs on her and probably knew she was home alone at that very moment.

  “I gotta go.”

  “You want us to come with?”

  “No, but hang tight. I’ll call if I need you.”

  “You got it, bro.”

  * * *

  “Gah!” Sam lifted up her head and punched her pillow in an effort to make it more comfortable. After two nights on a recliner, she had thought getting some sleep in her own bed would be a no-brainer, but no. Sleep continued to prove elusive. Physically, she was exhausted, but mentally, she was doing sprints.

  An image of Steve’s soulful, concerned eyes as she got out of his Jeep seemed to have been cut and pasted onto the back of her eyelids. Each time she closed her eyes, all she could see was that look. She had no idea what that look meant or what he had been thinking, but it made her soul ache.

  What she did know was that she felt bad about it. Steve had known her less than a week, yet he had been nicer than ninety-nine percent of the people she had known far longer.

  How many guys would walk her to and from work every day? Let her crash on his recliner? Stick by her side when the people of her own hometown suspected her of setting Mr. Santori’s coffee shop on fire?

  Granted, he didn’t know about what had happened to her grandparents’ bakery; he hadn’t been around long enough to hear the rumors still circulating even now. He knew she was innocent because she had been with him all night. But what if she hadn’t? Would he still be championing her innocence?

  She gave up on her plan to make an early night of it and went to the kitchen. The calming herbal tea and hot bath hadn’t worked, so perhaps it was time for a classic—warm milk with vanilla. It had worked wonders when her grandmother used to make it for her when she had trouble sleeping as a child.

  While the milk warmed on the stove, she wandered over to the window and looked down at the lot below. Was Steve back yet, she wondered. Would he heed her directive to not stop by? She hadn’t heard him come in, but he was pretty quiet. A brief scan showed that his Jeep wasn’t there.

  Him and his friends must have been having a good time, she thought. They seemed to be a close bunch, almost like family. She supposed that happened when you lived and worked together as a team like they did, relying on each other and literally trusting each other with their lives. She envied them that.

  Besides her mother, her grandparents were the only family she’d had—she had no idea who her father was. However, while they had taken her in and given her everything she had needed, they hadn’t been overly affectionate.

  They had come to America as immigrants, real life examples of the American dream. Hard work was more important than hugs. And with owning their own small business, working sixteen to twenty hour days left little time for fun.

  Between school and helping out at the shop, she hadn’t had many friends. She hadn’t had the time or the money for silly
, frivolous things like going to the movies or football games or proms, and that tended to put a damper on teenage social life.

  She had learned a lot, though. Her framed degree looked nice on the wall, but most of her knowledge came from real-life experience. Working all those long hours had exposed her to every aspect of running a bake shop, from doing the books to handling customers and everything in-between, including loading and driving the delivery truck. That was why she had done so well in turning around Mr. Santori’s coffee shop. That was also how she knew she could be a success with her own place, if she ever got the chance.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t look like that was going to happen anytime soon. Tomorrow, she was going to have to start calling around, looking for another job. Maybe even in another town. She would be hard-pressed to find one willing to hire her after what had happened this morning. Small towns like Sumneyville had long memories, and the truth wasn’t as important as what people believed or what people thought they knew.

  Sam turned off the kitchen light and moved over to the sofa, tucking her feet up beneath her.

  Rather than lose herself in those depressing thoughts, she went back to thinking about Steve and reflecting on the more positive parts of the day. Like how he had stood up for her in front of Petraski and Freed, the police chief, and held her hand in a show of support. And how he had taken her up to the site and introduced her to his friends, rather than leave her to sulk alone in her apartment.

  Maybe he didn’t feel the same kinds of things for her that she had begun to feel for him, but his actions proved that he did care. Maybe, in time, the easy connection between them would become something more, or maybe it wouldn’t. Nevertheless, she would be a fool to throw away the chance.

  Sam made up her mind then and there. No more worrying about what would and wouldn’t happen. People were going to believe what they wanted to believe. The most she could do was hold her head high and trust that the evidence would tell the real story. As far as Steve was concerned, she would take each day as it came. If Steve just wanted to be friends, then she was going to be a damn good one.