by Laura Acton
Loki stared at Dan. “Gus’ is Russian for goose?”
Dan gave a slight nod followed by another sip of his beer.
“You speak Russian?” Lexa caught another glimpse of those intriguing blue eyes. I need to put a lid on this attraction and shove it down—way, way down so it can’t see the light of day.
“Yeah,” Dan answered nonchalantly.
Bram chuckled. “All this time I thought the bar was named after someone called Gus. Makes more sense now considering the décor.”
Lexa couldn’t resist studying Dan to gauge his reactions and searching for the inner man. Something about him intrigued her—something more than just the hot night of sex they shared months ago.
Ever since his meltdown, she examined him keenly for any sign of emotions. If she paid close attention to his eyes, she obtained fleeting glimpses of feelings. The impression he used a mask to protect himself grew on her. Lexa decided Dan was more than a stoic and cocky ex-soldier. She came to the realization a complicated man hid behind a shield … much like she did.
She wanted to learn about the man inside. Her little devil continually taunted her implying her motivation was sexual in nature. She tried hard to ignore the annoying devil because, although partially correct, she couldn’t afford to go down that path. Dan is my teammate! That is all he can be and all he will be.
Lexa understood what it was like to lose people she cared about and desperately wanted for him to recover from the incredible loss he suffered. The pain and guilt associated with killing his best friend must be unbearable. To help Dan, she must understand the man, and with his shields, she comprehended her profiling skills would be sorely tested.
Though, this would not be the first time she focused on learning about a teammate. It may take more time with Dan, but she vowed to become a friend and discover his joys, sorrows, fears, strengths, expectations, and ambitions as she did with Loki, Ray, Bram, Jon, and Boss. To that end, Lexa asked, “Do you speak Russian fluently or only a few words?”
Dan turned to Lexa. “I’m fluent in the language.”
“Do you read it, too?”
“Yeah.” Dan thought about the book Brody gave him as a birthday gift when the guys in the unit figured out his birthday. He read the Cyrillic version of ‘The Hunt for Red October’ many times. Perhaps it was time to pull a couple more boxes out of storage.
Not that he had time to read for fun at the moment. He spent most of his extra time studying all the TRF manuals, especially the ones on negotiation. In the training sessions, he didn’t pick up on the clues Sarge said existed, and by saying the wrong thing, caused the situation to escalate. Definitely not my strong suit, I suck at negotiating. Glad I’m not expected to talk for real yet, or people might die.
Lexa glimpsed a flash of something in his eyes. A pleasant memory—something happy reflected his sapphire eyes, but as quickly as the emotion came, it retreated and was replaced with something else she couldn’t place, then they shifted back to emotionless. Yes, a multifaceted man is hiding a wounded soul behind a firmly set shield.
Curious, Loki inquired, “So, do you speak other languages?”
Dan nodded but didn’t elaborate.
Bram sensed direct questioning of Dan might seem like an interrogation, so he said, “Loki and Boss speak Italian, and Ray can read and converse in Portuguese. I learned some Dutch … my parents’ native tongue. Though learning languages isn’t one of my strengths.”
Lexa added, “I took two years of French in high school, but I have not had much opportunity to practice.”
“Thought Cold Lake is a one-horse town, can’t believe they offered a foreign language class?” Loki quipped.
Lexa lightly punched Loki in the arm. “Cold Lake isn’t a hick town. And yes, they taught French because the Canadian Forces Base Cold Lake hosts an annual training scenario for allied forces. Learning French came in handy with the influx of French-speaking soldiers from Quebec and France.”
The team promptly realized what Bram and Lexa did when they moved the conversation away from direct questions. They all began sharing bits and pieces of about themselves. No one pushed Dan to share, but they comfortably included him in the conversations.
With the next two days off, the group stayed for an extended time. They needed to reset their internal clocks to facilitate the rotation to the night shift, so no one rushed home early. When they began wrapping up the evening, Lexa said, “Dan, I can give you a ride home if you want.”
Dan shook his head. “No thanks, I prefer to jog.” Though a nice night for a run, he had planned on taking a taxi after consuming several beers, but after Lexa’s offer, he needed a suitable out. He couldn’t accept because being cooped up in a car with Lexa would be tricky. He struggled to curb his desire to kiss her. The urge hit him at odd times—like now.
“Are you sure? It’s no trouble,” Lexa offered again. It seemed strange to her Dan didn’t own a vehicle or a bicycle. He ran to and from work every day. She wondered how he took women out on dates. Does he take a cab or does his date drive? Lexa put a stop to her current ruminations. Not my place to ask though I want to know.
“I’m sure.” Dan stood. “Loki, Jon, thanks for the beer.” Flicking his hand in a small wave to the team, he turned and left the rest of them at the table.
After Dan exited, Jon said, “That went as well as could be expected.”
Nick nodded. “Connecting with Dan will take time. We must go slow and not push him. I have a hunch Gambrill wants Dan to remain on our team. Otherwise, he would’ve immediately granted his request for a transfer.”
Loki finished his root beer, switching to soda after two beers. “Wonder how many languages he knows. Don’t Special Forces need to speak several?”
Ray teased, “If he told, he would have to kill you—secrets and all.”
Laughing, Loki rose and turned to Lexa. “You sure you don’t want to go to the corn maze with me?”
Shaking her head at the boyish eagerness of Loki’s expression, Lexa replied. “Didn’t you learn your lesson yet? No means no.”
Loki winced as he recalled the reason Dan didn’t want to go with him. “Yeah, I guess I did. Enjoy painting.”
“I will.” Lexa slid off the bar stool. “I’m heading out too. Night everyone.” Lexa had every intention of enjoying her painting. Honorable Blue beckoned her. She couldn’t get the hue out of her head—the perfect color for her bedroom even if it was similar to Dan’s eyes.
The little devil on Lexa’s shoulder whispered, “Because it IS the same shade as Danny boy’s eyes. Admit you want him and this is the only way you can have him.” The mischievous sprite guiltily covered her mouth when threatened by Lexa, but the devilish glint remained in her eyes.
Catnap
5
November 14
TRF HQ – Men’s Locker Room – 1:45 a.m.
Dan sat on the bench trying to relax, but the last call’s scenario continued to play like a bad movie in his mind. He screwed up. Despite his sequestered status while awaiting an NRB agent, Jon broke the fatal shot after-action protocol, laying into him for failing to inform them of his movements.
He suspected Jon raged about his lapse in debrief and expected Jon to ream him now since he missed debrief due to the NRB interview. He had not seen the tactical lead since returning, and at the moment felt all of eleven years old, standing in the corner of their quarters and waiting for the general to come and dress him down for not following orders.
Recognizing, per protocol, he should’ve announced his position change Dan also grasped that the situation unfolded swiftly and he didn’t have time. Instinct took over as he covered the team. He would never leave them open or vulnerable. Acting on his gut, applying logic and speed, and being fluid are tools he used to survive and keep his unit alive in the field for six years.
Possessing a sixth-sense proved to be invaluable many times, but Jon maintained a different opinion. His TL called his actions rash, illogical, and believe
d he took an unacceptable risk. My actions are necessary to protect them from harm. I kept Sarge alive, and that is all that matters. It is inconsequential if I put myself in the crosshairs. I did my job, and I saved Sarge.
Dan couldn’t allow any of his team to be hurt or killed on his watch. He already carried the burden of several unit members’ deaths. He couldn’t bear the weight of another, especially not after Brody’s death. Besides, Sarge is way more important than me anyway. Sarge saves people every day by talking to them. I suck so bad at negotiation I couldn’t negotiable myself out of a paper bag. No, all I excel at is shooting.
Dan leaned his elbows on his thighs and held his head in his hands. He blew out a long breath as exhaustion caught up with him. He mumbled, “I need more sleep, but there are only twenty-four hours in a day.” Dan started a mental tabulation, setting up a table containing three columns labeled task, hours required, and comments.
The first task, tour of duty. Time consumed, typically fifteen hours. Comments, back-to-back twelve hour shifts habitually extended an hour or more due to calls plus a two-hour pre-shift workout. The second item, travel, dressing, meals, and miscellanea. Two hours, give or take fifteen minutes, spent showering, shaving, running to and from work, grabbing food and eating, laundry, and packing the go bag. Third and critical item, reading and studying TRF manuals. Time allotted, two measly hours per day while on shift.
Dan wanted this job, but the differences between a Special Forces sniper, an ordinary constable, and the TRF were vast. He took pride in his work and would not abide a lackluster performance, which meant he needed more time for studying because he must learn so much. This is almost like all the time I spent on the range learning to shoot, but when I was training, I was not responsible for maintaining anyone’s life, like I am now.
He rubbed his gritty eyes and sat up. After totaling the hours consumed he realized roughly five hours remained for sleep. That wouldn’t be so bad if he could sleep uninterrupted. He lived on basically five or less for weeks at a time during missions. Though, his sleep had not been interrupted continuously. Sure, occasional nightmares occurred while in the field, but not the relentless nightmares hounding him now.
Ever since killing Brody, he had not had a single night’s sleep without waking multiple times from night terrors. Well … he did have uninterrupted slumber the one night after hot sex with Sexy Lexie and the few nights he spent with Jarmal when his friend concealed sleeping pills in his food.
Other than those nights, every night, he repeatedly woke screaming with his heart racing and drenched in sweat. Images lingered after waking, usually Brody’s eyes or the massive hole he put in his chest. Most nights his sheets became too damp to be comfortable, so he moved to the floor.
Getting back to sleep always proved difficult. Memories of Brody flooded in, and more often than not, he engaged in one or two crying jags as the recollection of all he lost overwhelmed him.
He missed Brody more than he could ever express with words. Sometimes his agony drove him to contemplate picking up the ivory-handled pistol and ending the pain. Every time his hand hovered over the gun, Brody would whisper to him, reminding him of his vow, and encouraging him to keep moving forward.
Brody wanted him to find somewhere to belong. Dan fully comprehended Brody’s whispers were not real. Brody was dead, and it was entirely his fault. His wounded psyche only created a personification of his memories and provided him the words of wisdom Brody would’ve imparted. Dan recognized the eccentricity, but thinking of those words as coming directly from Brody made him hurt a little less. In a small way, he kept Brody alive and close to him.
Dan scanned the area as he shoved those memories away. Fatigued, he needed a catnap, but this was not the best spot to grab a bit of shuteye. If Jon found him, it would be one more item with which he would ride his ass. He stood and strode out of the locker room in search of a concealed place to take a quick twenty-minute nap before their lunch break ended.
TRF HQ – Outside Conference Room Three – 1:50 a.m.
This room will be perfect. Quiet but the alarm still sounds in here. He tried the door. Locked. Dan debated whether or not to ask Tia for the key. If he did, Jon might find out, and Dan wanted to avoid a confrontation. Jon would most likely blow things out of proportion, demand he explain why, and then loudly declare he put the team at risk by not being well-rested while on duty.
Though the whole team knew about Brody, Dan refused to tell Jon about his constant nightmares. One reason was that he couldn’t risk witnessing pity and another was it might result in him getting fired. He snowed the psychologist he had been forced to visit as part of his exit from the military. He did the same thing with the TRF psychologist during his initial evaluation. Both times he avoided the topic utilizing his Guardian unit anti-interrogation techniques training.
On record, he never suffered nightmares which meant he couldn’t admit them to the team or it would be goodbye. Lying to the shrinks would be cause for dismissal. In truth, he only deflected the questions, so technically he didn’t lie, but they would believe he did. The last reason he would not reveal his nightmares is they made him appear weak, and weakness is unacceptable.
Pulling out his lock picking tools, Dan began to work the lock. He had been in the soundproof room only twice. Once for his conversation with Sarge before the mandatory five-day break. The first time though was during the tour on his first day. The day Lexa, in no uncertain terms, told him the incredible sex they shared the night before they found out they were teammates did not happen.
Lexa became his primary reason for remaining on Alpha Team. Drawn to her, Dan couldn’t put his emotions into words. He only grasped he must stay close and protect her, even if she continued to deny he existed beyond a teammate.
The tumbler clicked, and Dan slipped into the darkened room. As he entered, Dan grinned. Perfect. He headed to the opposite side where he would be mostly hidden if anyone came in. That way he would have time to react.
Dan possessed the ability to sleep anywhere, anytime, and come instantly alert, a product of his training and life for six years. He stretched out on the floor and put one arm under his head. The only thing which impeded sleep would be a perceived a threat, and at the moment his only worry centered on Jon finding him. Though, the odds favored him in this case, highly unlikely he would locate him in here. After several slow deep breaths, Dan fell asleep.
TRF HQ – Briefing Room – 2:00 a.m.
Jon checked the clock as he stepped into the main conference room and noted it was two a.m. on the seventh day of back-to-back shifts. Alpha Team pulled extra duty this week covering for Delta Team which was down three men. Two men out due to the flu, and one decided to transfer to the Special Victims Unit as a detective. Delta Team’s new rookie, Cooper Geiger, would not start until next week.
Seven days of relentless, hard-hitting shifts took a toll on the entire team, but perhaps most taxing on their rookie. Thrown into many new situations, for the most part, Dan did well. Though, he did fail to follow protocol several times. When Broderick messed up, Jon tried hard to act as a mentor rather than an ogre. Sadly, tyrant Jon made a repeat appearance today, and during debrief, the team gave him an earful about his treatment of Dan.
Only three weeks ago the team came to the extremely painful realization of how severely they mistreated Dan. The meeting at Nick’s home had been enlightening. They discovered many things about Broderick which they had all previously turned a blind eye. Dan possessed mad tactical and sniper skills, but he was still green in the ways of TRF. All of them needed to mentor him to help him transition from a soldier to a constable. A slow process, but a challenge the team eagerly accepted now.
Gambrill gave Broderick a choice to stay with Alpha or transfer to Echo. They all had been surprised, him more than the others, when Dan decided to remain with them. Jon still couldn’t ascertain what prompted the rookie’s change of heart since he had requested the transfer. Perhaps the night they hung out at
the Pond might’ve figured into Dan’s decision.
That night was the first time any of them ever invited Dan to go for drinks. As tactical lead, he neglected to include him before—another black mark on his virtual scorecard. Unhappy with his own performance in the past months, allowing his opinions and resentment of Dan’s placement on their team cloud his judgment, Jon determined to make changes in himself.
After the five-day review, Jon examined his motivations and didn’t like what his analysis revealed about his character—not one damned bit. He unfairly attributed elements of Burl Henderson and Alejandro Espina to Dan because he was an expressionless ex-soldier. Jon also realized a part of the impetus for his behavior related to what happened to his youngest brother, Joseph, a little over four years ago.
As the eldest brother, Jon felt a protectiveness for Jackson and Joseph. Luckily, Jack kept a level head on his shoulders and didn’t take unacceptable risks. Jack joined the Fraud Unit and worked with their father until Dad retired. They dealt for the most part with white-collar crimes, so his sensible middle brother was never on the front line dodging bullets.
Joe led a squad in the Narcotics Unit, sharing his oldest brother’s exposure to dangerous scenarios, but Joe didn’t possess Jon’s common sense. Despite Jon’s efforts to curb his brother’s reckless behavior, Joe never learned and never heeded his warnings. His risk-taking ended up getting him killed. He died in the line of duty when he became too eager and impulsive to wait for his TRF back-up. In a drug raid, Joe and his team went in and were overwhelmed by gang members using armor-piercing rounds. Struck in the chest, Joseph died on the operating table.
When Joe died, his wife Lillian was eight months pregnant. Lillian never recovered from the loss of her husband. She became emotionally fragile. After Joey was born, Lillian took little interest in the baby and Jennifer stepped in to care for the newborn. Lillian’s depression became so pronounced she committed suicide on the first anniversary of Joe’s death. Now, he and Jen were raising little Joey as their own son.
