Shunned (SEAL Team: Disavowed Book 3)

by Laura Marie Altom

  By the time he realized now was the time to say something—anything—to make her feel better, she’d already turned off the TV and climbed into bed.

  He sighed.

  Took a shower.

  Then spent an endless night on the sofa, wishing to somehow magically become the sort of solid, stable man she no doubt wished him to be.

  20

  “YOU LOOK LIKE hell,” Jasper said to Everett the next morning outside the safe house. “You, on the other hand,” he crooned to Baby Joe after delivering a tickle to his tummy, “look as adorable as ever.”

  Everett flipped his longtime friend the bird, then pulled him in for a hug, squeezing the baby between them. The past few days were seriously catching up to him. Though he’d never admit it to his angel—who now treated him like he was the devil—pretending to be normal when his life had become a complete cluster fuck was bringing him down. She hated him. God only knew how many bad guys were chasing him. And his bum knee screamed with his every move. “Good to see you, man. Things got dicey down here.”

  “Alone you might be lethal, but as a team . . . you know what we can do.”

  Everett met Jasper in a fist bump. “Dominate.”

  “Amen, brother.” Jasper pressed his hand to the rear passenger door of a black SUV, but held off a minute on opening it. In a low whisper, he said, “Your nun’s a hottie. Please tell me you’re the reason she’s out of uniform? Eden’s about eighteen months pregnant and I’m living on fantasies.”

  “Get your mind out of the gutter. Mary Margaret is the real deal. Straight up angel-on-earth.” Which was why Everett had insisted on getting her settled in the already running vehicle himself. He didn’t want anyone else’s grubby paws on her. It didn’t matter that she literally hadn’t spoken to him since they’d done the deed, he would still give his life for her and Baby Joe. He’d asked her what was wrong, but all he’d gotten for a reply was a shrug.

  “Touchy, touchy . . .” Jasper grinned. “You remind me of Nash back when we first had the pleasure of meeting Maisey. Salty as hell, and about as much fun as a dead flashlight in a cave.”

  Everett shot him a look. “Let’s cut the chit-chat about my personal life and get out of here. We’re too exposed, and I don’t believe for one second we’ve seen the last of Camilla Rodriguez.”

  Jasper popped open the door, then took the baby, settling him into a newly purchased, regulation infant safety seat. “Ma’am,” he said to Mary Margaret, who sat behind Briggs, “mind looking after this one a little while longer while I make like a pretzel and squeeze into the third row?”

  “Not at all.” Her voice was a shadow of her former confident tone. Everett needed to know what she was thinking. Was she afraid of her new future? Or just plain filled with regret? Maybe even bored with him and their situation? “Baby Joe and I have become good friends.”

  What about us? The spoiled brat inside Everett wanted to ask. Where do we stand?

  Instead, he smacked Jasper’s ass as he dove headfirst into the last row of seating, then cast a faint smile in his angel’s general direction before closing the door. Hopefully, they’d have time to talk on their flight.

  “Safety first,” Briggs said once Everett had taken his seat, but forgotten his seat belt. “Worrying about you has taken about ten years off my life. I lost count of how many times I had to reassure your sweet parents you’d eventually pop up on our radar, none the worse for wear.”

  “Thanks, man.” He pulled the strap across his chest, then clicked it tight. “I love Mom dearly, but she’s the sort who worries first and thinks rationally later. After thirty years of marriage, Dad usually follows her lead.”

  His angel asked, “I thought your parents were dead?”

  He glanced over his shoulder to find her scowling.

  “How could you have lied about them dying?”

  Shit. “Sorry. Back then, we’d only just met. I needed an in. You know.”

  Her tight-lipped expression told him, no, she didn’t. As if their relations weren’t already strained to the max, now this? Give me a break.

  Briggs pulled the SUV into the already buzzing traffic, then cranked the AC. “I forgot how freaking hot it is down here. Florida’s bad enough, but this pudding for air gets old real fast.”

  “I heard that,” Jasper leaned forward, hooking his arms over the back of Mary Margaret’s seat. She looked startled by his sudden appearance. “I heard you were the brains behind this mission?”

  “No,” she said. “I only did what anyone would have.”

  “Not true.” Jasper smoothed Baby Joe’s downy hair. “We all appreciate your help in keeping both of our boys safe.”

  “It was my pleasure,” she said.

  When Jasper earned her smile rather than him, Everett’s blood boiled. This trip couldn’t be over fast enough. Once they were back in the States, he’d have plenty of time to regroup. As for now? He’d have to kill time before her slit-eyed glares killed him.

  Twenty minutes later, Briggs pulled up to a ragtag airfield.

  Behind a leaning corrugated metal hangar sat a beautiful Seahawk MH-60, all painted pretty in jungle-camo green.

  “Damn, boys,” Everett shaded his eyes for a closer inspection, “you aren’t foolin’ around. Nice ride.”

  “Would you expect any less for our little prince back there and his lovely escort?” Briggs put the SUV in park, then elbowed him. “We’re strapping you to the bottom.”

  Everett rolled his eyes. It was going to be a long day.

  Mary Margaret couldn’t say she’d been a fan of her first chopper ride. It was noisy, smelly, and she was still so angry with Everett that she could hardly stand to look at him.

  Upon landing in Bogotá, she was thrilled to have a moment to herself in the private hangar’s posh restroom. There she found white marble floors shiny enough to see her reflection, oil paintings in vibrant colors and potted hot pink orchids lining the triple sinks’ crystal-studded granite counter. The opulence reminded her of Señora Camilla. Was this how she and her husband had traveled? First class all the way? It made Mary Margaret sick to think of how many people had died for their twisted pleasure.

  While washing her hands, she found herself yet again in the uncomfortable position of meeting herself in a mirror. Her skin was flushed, eyes bright, short hair a rummaged-through mess. Her outfit of floral cropped pants and a silky white sleeveless blouse with matching white sandals felt like a gaudy costume, completely wrong for her plain-Jane character.

  While riding through the crowded streets, to get her mind off of how much Everett’s lie hurt and how little their relations had apparently meant, she’d studied other women. Their hair, clothes, and makeup. The way they carried themselves with quiet confidence, as if they enjoyed being a woman.

  In many ways, Mary Margaret felt as if she’d been frozen in time, never progressing much past the twelve-year-old she’d been when her parents had been so cruelly taken. Yet in the same breath, she found herself confused by the onslaught of physical cravings and desires she’d been taught were sins, but now seemed not only natural, but needed.

  In acting upon those cravings, she’d believed she and Everett would become closer, but now they felt impossibly further apart. She’d been foolish to believe a man like him would ever want an inexperienced mess like her.

  A knock sounded on the restroom door. Everett called in a muffled voice, “You okay? Briggs said we’re wheels up in ten.”

  Since joining his friends, Everett had become a different man, brimming with testosterone. Speaking a foreign language she could only assume was military slang. And then there was his lie about his parents. It hung between them like a thick burlap curtain. Rough and unwieldy. Stopping her from seeing the man she’d thought she’d known.

  How would she ever again trust him?

  “Mary Margaret? Please, babe. Talk to me.” He’d cracked open the door, spilling his words inside not just the room, but her soul.

  “You hu
rt me. Twice.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. Come out. Let’s talk.”

  “I’m done talking. I’m exhausted. I just want to sleep for a week and wake up back in my parents’ home.”

  He opened the door far enough to draw her into a hug and she let him.

  She shouldn’t have.

  But she did. And against all reasonable logic, she couldn’t deny the fact that standing here in his arms, she felt as if he might be her new home.

  In a small, scared voice she asked, “Do you think Señora Rodriguez really has given up?”

  “No clue,” he said against her forehead. “Just know that if and when she shows up again, you’re in safe hands.”

  In that moment, she believed him.

  But then he was hurrying her onto a private jet that might as well have been a rocket to Mars. Once again, she’d been thrust into a situation she couldn’t control. When—if ever—would her life make sense again?

  21

  Jacksonville, Florida

  “WHY ISN’T BRIGGS flying into your usual airport?” Maisey asked while not-so-patiently waiting for her baby to finally be delivered safely into her arms. Trident, Inc.’s usual hangar wasn’t luxurious, but it was at least air-conditioned. This place was borderline seedy with oil stains on the pavement and holes in the uncomfortable vinyl chairs.

  The stale air reeked of someone’s day-old tuna sandwich.

  “No clue.” Arms crossed, Nash paced. “I don’t like it.”

  “Did he give you any explanation?”

  “Nope. Just told me to go with it, and that he’d explain later.”

  “You don’t think there was a problem, do you?”

  He sighed. “My guess is that with neither Joe, Everett, nor the living saint they’re bringing home with them having proper entry documents, this landing isn’t exactly legal. But you know Briggs. He’s got friends in every high place.”

  Maisey frowned. “None of that makes me feel better.”

  “Relax.” He knelt, looping his arms around her for a backwards hug. “In about ten minutes, you’ll have Joe back in your arms and we’re never again letting him out of our sight.”

  “But—”

  “Stop. I know what you’re going to say, and trust this—somehow, some way, Camilla Rodriguez will never bother us again.”

  Maisey prayed her husband was right, but then neither of them had suspected Vicente’s widow of attacking the first time. Who was to say she wouldn’t try again and again?

  She had to be stopped.

  And though Maisey hadn’t told her husband, not long after their nightmarish ordeal with Vicente, she had secretly taken a concealed carry class and even had her own 9mm and ammo tucked into a secret compartment in her purse. But even that hadn’t stopped Camilla’s men from taking her son. They’d been like ghosts, appearing from nowhere to take Joe, debilitate her, and then vanish.

  They’d taken her peace of mind, too.

  “Listen . . .” Nash walked to the hangar’s open door.

  The low hum of a jet approached.

  Anticipation budding in her chest, Maisey joined him, slipping her arm around his waist. Finally, their son would be home. Their family would be reunited.

  Nash handed her a pair of industrial noise-dampening earmuffs that he’d found on a shelf mounted to the hangar wall. He took a pair for himself, as well.

  The small, sleek jet finally landed, then taxied to the hangar.

  Once the pilot turned off the engine, Maisey removed her earmuffs to run toward the aircraft’s already descending steps.

  Briggs’s massive frame filled the jet’s open doorway, but upon seeing her, he smiled and moved out of her way. Smart man.

  In the cramped cabin, anticipation tunneled Maisey’s vision. She searched and saw seat backs and a table and her heart beat so loud in her ears that she feared passing out from the aching, physical need to see—to hold and kiss and cuddle—her baby boy. And then she saw him, cradled in Jasper’s arms.

  As fast as possible in the cramped jet, she scurried to him, and once she held him, kissing his chubby cheeks and forehead and nose, relief manifested in hot, messy tears of raw gratitude. Never had she been more thankful for her husband and the men he worked with yet again rescuing her during her darkest time of need.

  Sniffing, she realized she needed to thank Everett, and the extra special woman who’d helped more than anyone else to bring Joe home. “Where are Everett and his nun?” she asked Briggs.

  When her husband and his friends all exchanged worried glances, her stomach dropped.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Are they still in danger?”

  Briggs winced.

  Jasper avoided her direct stare.

  “Tell me,” she said. “Are they at least alive? How could I ever live with myself, if they—”

  “Shh . . .” Nash drew her and their son into his arms. “Everett and Mary Margaret are probably fine. In order to ensure Joe’s safety, we needed a diversionary tactic. They graciously volunteered.”

  “They’re still in Colombia?” she asked.

  Briggs rubbed his forehead and sighed. “Maybe?”

  22

  MARY MARGARET FUMBLED with her seat belt’s two halves. Her hands shook so badly, that her fingers refused to follow signals her brain was sending.

  “Let me help.” Everett knelt beside her.

  “No, thank you. I’ve got it.” A satisfying metallic click proved she was in control of her hands and thoughts. Ha! Not even close.

  It unnerved her—once again being alone with him.

  Her attraction for the man was palpable.

  At the same time, her nerves were beyond frayed. They’d been so lucky for so long in avoiding the señora. But logic told her there was no way the deranged woman would ever allow them to leave the country with the baby, let alone their lives. That was why Briggs and Jasper had taken the baby and hidden in the back of a freight transport to another private airstrip.

  That was why she and Everett had volunteered for what might very well be a suicide mission.

  Everett had left a public trail of informational crumbs leading them to this place, and when the jet’s engine’s powered down, she knew in her heart this was the end.

  The señora had found them.

  “If we die,” she said, clasping her hands so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. “I-I need you to know something.”

  “We’re not dying.” He ducked, peering out the craft’s oval windows. His grim expression told a different story than his words.

  She followed his gaze to find that their jet had been surrounded by a ring of heavily-armed men. Camilla’s thugs?

  “What are we going to do?” Gaze darting, breaths erratic, she searched for an escape.

  “Not panic.” Everett drew a handgun from the pack he’d earlier carried.

  The pilot emerged from cockpit. “I never signed up for this.”

  Before Everett could stop him, he’d initiated the door’s automated opening mechanism. A low hum raised the hatch and lowered stairs.

  The man dashed for freedom, but was shot before making it outside of the hangar.

  Mary Margaret screamed, covering her mouth before looking away from the mangled flesh and bone that had moments earlier been the pilot’s head. His body dropped into a pool of his own blood.

  Calm—no freakishly, horrifyingly unaffected—by the violence one of her men had just inflicted, the señora approached the jet in a relaxed, even sultry manner. Dressed in a figure-hugging red suit with sky-high black heels, she looked stunning. Her long hair was a tumbling fall of pure sex. Her full red lips curved into a sick smile. In physical terms, She was the very embodiment of the woman Mary Margaret assumed she would need to be in order to capture the attention of a man like Everett. The problem was that Camilla might be spectacular looking on the outside. But inside, her soul had long since turned an ugly black.

  “Get in the john.” Never taking his gaze from Camilla,
Everett waved his gun toward the jet’s cramped aft restroom.

  “No.” Mary Margaret raised her chin. “I won’t leave you.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Everett said. “This isn’t a game!”

  “You think I don’t know that?” She unfastened her seat belt. “This woman—this monster—killed my parents. Who knows how many other lives she’s taken. I refuse to let her hurt you, too.” Not thinking, just reacting on a purely instinctive level, Mary Margaret took advantage of Everett’s bad knee by standing, then wrenching the gun from his hand.

  When she ran for the door, he lurched to grab her, but fell with a pained grunt. “Mary Margaret, stop! Don’t be a fool!”

  “Surprise.” Chin raised, Mary Margaret descended the jet’s three steps to approach the señora. “The baby is already safely back in his mother’s arms.”

  “Liar.” If only for a moment, the señora’s confidence showed cracks. Her smile faded. Sweat marred her once-perfect make-up. “Where is my son?”

  “I already told you.” Hands quaking, Mary Margaret raised Everett’s gun. “He’s gone. Soon, you will be, too.” Of course, she didn’t want to take a life, but her own wishes collided with a sense of family honor. This woman had stolen everything Mary Margaret had ever held dear, and for that, she would pay the ultimate price.

  “Mary Margaret,” the señora’s voice was once again smooth. “I welcomed you into my home. I’ve practically raised you since you were a child, and this is how you choose to repay me?”

  “You killed my parents!” Her palms sweat, making her finger slide on the gun’s trigger.

  “That was my husband’s doing. An accident. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Similar to the one you and I currently share. Now, I’m tired of this cat and mouse game. Bring me my son, or I’ll have my men drop you where you stand. Playtime is over. Time for the grown-ups to handle this situation.”

  “Interesting choice of words, Camilla.” Everett stepped off the plane, planting himself in front of Mary Margaret. He held a snub-nosed machine gun similar to the type the señora’s men carried.