by Kat Mizera
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
Text copyright ©2018 by the Author.
This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Stoker Aces Production, LLC. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Special Forces: Operation Alpha remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Stoker Aces Production, LLC, or their affiliates or licensors.
For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds
Protecting Bobbi
Kat Mizera
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
More Books by Kat Mizera
Prologue
Ron Marshall wasn’t an emotional guy, but burying his 21-year-old sister was enough to make his eyes water and his chest tighten painfully. Such a senseless death, with no one to really blame; Britt had fallen asleep at the wheel and driven off a cliff. She’d died instantly. No drugs or alcohol, no evidence she’d been texting, just a tired single mom who worked two jobs and went to school part-time. She’d been so exhausted she hadn’t been able to keep her eyes open long enough to get home. Luckily, her 18-month-old daughter, Samantha, hadn’t been in the car with her.
He cut his eyes over to where his friend Erin Riser was bouncing Sam on her knee. They’d served in Afghanistan together before Erin left active duty to join the Marine Corps Reserves. She was married and had two kids of her own, but she hadn’t hesitated to get on a plane to be here for him. The rest of their old unit was here too: Louie Faulk, who worked for the NSA now; Mark Garrison, who was talking about getting out of the military; and Eric Lopez, who’d lost his wife last year and was no stranger to this kind of heartache. They were a somber group who gathered after the funeral to get something to eat.
“I really want to thank you guys for coming,” Ron said, taking a pull from the beer he’d ordered.
“Of course we came,” Erin said softly, shaking her head. “Did you think we wouldn’t?”
“You have your own families, and we’re spread all over the country…” His protests sounded hollow even to his own ears. They were his family too, much more so than his blood relatives, who hadn’t even bothered to show up today.
“We’re still brothers,” Mark said. “You know that.”
“Yeah.”
“So what’re you gonna do about Sam?” Eric asked. He was a single dad, raising his year-old son, Miguel, after his wife died of complications from childbirth.
“I don’t know,” Ron admitted. “Now that I’m part of Force Recon, I’m not sure how I can raise her.” Being part of a unit that was “special operations capable,” he was often called away with no notice. As a single man, he didn’t know how he would take care of a little girl. His combat pay was excellent, but not enough to afford a full-time nanny, so he had a lot to think about.
“She left you custody?” Louie asked, his dark eyes full of sympathy.
“She didn’t have anyone else,” Ron said. “My parents wouldn’t know what to do with a toddler, even if they wanted her—which they don’t—and Sam’s father signed away his rights the day she was born. There’s no one but me…”
“I’m happy to do anything I can to help,” Erin said, her blue eyes fixed on his. “If you get called away, it’s not that far for me to get to San Diego from Vegas and—”
“Erin, you know I love you for offering, but you can’t drop everything to help me every time we get called.”
“Not every time, but I can help.”
“Sounds like you need a nanny,” Louie said.
Ron shrugged. “I have no idea how much a nanny costs, but I imagine having one on call to jump in the minute I have to go will cost me a pretty penny.”
“I can afford—” Erin began, but Ron cut her off.
“Erin, come on. You know I won’t take money from you.”
“It was Shay’s money,” she protested. “He would want you to have some of it.”
“No way.” Ron shook his head. Shay Gentry had been their unit commander in Afghanistan and had been killed on their last mission together. His life insurance had gone to Erin, whom he’d been in love with. Though she and her professional hockey player husband did quite well financially, he wasn’t comfortable taking money from her.
Erin sighed.
“Then what are you going to do?” Eric asked. “Kids are a lot of work and she’s still a baby.”
“I know.” Ron looked over at his niece, wondering just how much his life was about to change.
“At least let me help short-term,” Erin suggested. “I can come to San Diego and help you get settled. It’s going to be a big change with a toddler.”
Ron nodded. “I want to say no, but I can’t. I really can’t do this on my own, at least not in the beginning, so yeah, I’d appreciate the help. Thank you.”
“It’s going to be all right,” Erin said, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “You’ll figure it out and we’ll all be here to have your back.”
“Not me,” Louie joked. “Imma find ways to be out of the country—I don’t do babies and diapers and shit.”
“Thanks,” Ron responded dryly.
“You need a wife,” Mark said with a grimace.
Ron made a face. “With what I do for a living? I rarely get out to meet women, and when I do, they hear I’m Special Forces and they’re gone.”
“That’s not my experience,” Louie murmured.
“You’re not Special Forces,” Eric pointed out.
“I’m basically a freakin’ spy,” Louie protested. “Women are all over that shit, but after the last one…” His voice trailed off. His last girlfriend had also been part of their unit, but she’d betrayed them to a group of mercenaries, resulting in Shay’s death and the severe burns that covered 40 percent of Erin’s body. Olivia was in prison now, and Louie hadn’t dated since.
“You guys are a mess,” Erin said. “Look at me—I’m disfigured and still found an amazing guy. You could find someone special too.”
“Not enough time,” Louie grunted.
“Not with my schedule,” Mark added.
“Not in the mood,” Eric made a face.
“Not in the cards,” Ron said firmly. “Especially not now.”
“The right woman will change your mind,” Erin snickered. “I’m a big believer in love.”
“You stay in your little fairy tale,” Ron sighed. “I’ll be here trying to figure out how to afford a nanny.”
Chapter 1
Six months later
It had been a harrowing mission and Ron was tired. Eight days in the Saudi desert doing surveillance on a nomadic sheik and his arms dealings had been hot, dangerous and exhausting. He was in great shape and could go long periods of time without sleep, but the heat had been grueling and their departure had been delayed by a sandstorm. The helo hadn’t been able to land so they’d had to change their extraction point, resulting in a long hike. Overall, it had been a mise
rable trip and he desperately needed food, a shower and a good night’s sleep, in that order. Except he had to pick up Sam and get her to bed before taking care of himself. Just thinking about it was depressing.
He loved the blue-eyed little girl who reminded him so much of Britt, but he’d discovered early on that a toddler was a lot of work. Not just a lot of work, but sometimes it felt like all work, all the time. He’d found two women at Camp Pendleton who would keep Sam for him when he got the call to go, but it was stressful and impossible to make plans. Sandy and June were great, married to Marines and happy to make extra money for watching her, but they had families of their own and he often had to call from work and tell whoever had her he was leaving. Although they were good about it, it wasn’t ideal.
Sandy had suggested putting her in preschool. It would be better for her developmentally and it wouldn’t cost any more than what he paid her and June for watching Sam when he worked during the day. It would also give them a break when he was out of town, which made sense. So tomorrow he was taking the day off to check out the preschool Sandy had recommended. They also had a daycare program, so when he was in town, he’d be able to drop her off in the morning, she would be in the preschool program for four hours, and then move to the daycare area until he picked her up at five. The school was highly respected and several of the guys he worked with said their kids went or had gone there.
In the morning, Sam was less than thrilled to be going to school. Folding her arms across her little chest, she shook her head vehemently.
“No. No school.”
“Come on, Sam-Bam,” Ron spoke in his most cajoling voice. “You’ll get to meet other kids and have lots of playtime.”
“No. School.” She turned her nose up at him and Ron tried not to laugh. She was the funniest kid, and had him laughing far too often. He tried to be strict, but it was difficult when she reminded him so much of Britt. God, he missed her. Though she’d been more than a decade younger than him and lived a few thousand miles away, they’d been close. Her unexpected pregnancy had disappointed him, but she hadn’t let it faze her, raising the baby on her own while working two jobs and taking classes online.
He wished he’d known she was struggling. She’d told him her waitressing job paid well and she was doing fine. He hadn’t known her hours had been cut and she’d been forced to start bartending to make ends meet. Unfortunately, that had led to too many late nights without enough sleep, and ultimately had been what killed her. She’d been gone six months and he would’ve given everything he had to have her back.
“Okay, kiddo, I know you don’t want to, but we have to leave, so put your shoes on.”
Sam looked like she was going to protest but finally put on her sandals, though she stuck out her lower lip.
“Come on, Munchkin.” He scooped her up in his arms and carried her out to his SUV, strapping her into the car seat. He tossed her diaper bag on the floor and got into the driver’s seat, starting the engine.
“Beanie?”
“Yeah, hon?” His heart always hurt a little when Sam called him Beanie. Britt had called him Beanpole his whole life, since he was tall and skinny, but beanpole was too long of a word for Sam, so she’d come up with Beanie. It was cute, but the memories often gutted him.
“Fries?”
“If you’re a good girl, and behave when we’re at school, we can get fries on the way home.”
“Yay!” She clapped her hands, laughing.
He wanted to say no, but it wasn’t easy. Raising a toddler on his own—a toddler who wasn’t even his kid—had been rough. He’d changed plenty of diapers, given lots of baths and could handle the feeding, even though he probably caved in to junk food too often. It was everything else that threw him for a loop. Shopping for clothes was the worst, and though she’d come with plenty, she was growing at warp speed. Playing with dolls and girlie toys just wasn’t natural for him. He tried, but often failed spectacularly and they both knew it. He’d introduced her to sports, which she seemed to like, but she definitely wanted time with her dolls too.
Bedtime was his least favorite part of the day. After a decade in the military, and now the Force Recon unit, he was able to survive on minimal sleep for long periods of time, but when he wasn’t on a mission, he liked to go to bed early and get up early. Not Sam. She would stay up all night if he let her, and fought him on bedtime almost every night. Britt had been dealing with it too. The doctor had said her inner clock was messed up and Britt needed to be diligent, but Ron didn’t have the time or experience. Especially since Sandy and June said she slept fine with them. That meant Sam was playing him, but he was damned if he could figure her out. He caved if she cried too long, but dammit, she wasn’t his kid and he hadn’t had two years to build up immunity to that kind of thing.
She is your kid, he reminded himself as he drove. Britt had insisted they draw up papers—as if she’d had some inner sense of what was to come—and because it meant so much to her, he’d agreed. It had been a short, quick trip to the attorney’s office to sign some papers and Samantha legally had become his child. Conveniently, because Sam’s biological father had told Britt from the beginning he would sign away his rights, Sam’s last name was the same as Ron and Britt’s—Marshall. So for all intents and purposes, she was his in every way, included a shared bloodline, though he hadn’t fathered her.
A wave of sadness he still hadn’t gotten used to washed over him as he pulled into the parking lot of the preschool. Britt’s death had hit him hard, and it was all because of his friends from his old unit that he’d gotten through it. Not that he’d had a choice. When a two-year-old is staring up at you, completely helpless, you had no choice but to step up to the plate. The problem was that neither of them were thriving now. He was often tired and distracted at work. Not on missions—that was different—but here at home? Always tired. Always distracted. Always worried. It occurred to him he might have to leave the Marines, but he didn’t want to. He’d always planned to make a career out of it, so leaving had never been on his agenda. He just might not have a choice.
He sighed as he picked up Sam and slung her bag over his shoulder. He was finally getting the hang of having it with him instead of leaving it in the truck, but it was still weird.
A middle-aged woman with Coke-bottle glasses and a beehive hairdo gave him a bright smile when he walked in. “Hi there!” She smiled up at Sam. “How are you today?”
“We’re good, thank you. I’m Ron Marshall. I called about a tour for the preschool program.”
“Oh, of course. Let me call Bobbi.” She disappeared around the corner and Ron put Sam down.
She reached for his hand, leaning up against his leg and he reached down to ruffle her hair. “It’s okay, Munchkin. If you don’t like it here, we’ll find another school.”
The phones started ringing and the middle-aged woman hurried back. “Miss Bobbi’s in room 317, down the hall on the right. Go ahead and say hi—I need to grab these.”
“Sure. Thank you.” Ron led Sam down the hall and stopped at room 317. From where he was standing, it was toddler nirvana. There were brightly colored posters, kids’ artwork and various forms of the alphabet all over the walls. The shelves were lined with books, one corner of the room was stacked with pillows and…a very shapely bottom was peeking out from underneath a table. Ron was momentarily transfixed, staring at the denim-clad backside that suddenly reminded him just how long it had been since he’d had sex.
“Beanie?” Sam tugged at his hand and he jumped at the same time the person the backside belonged to did, bumping her head on the bottom of the table as she struggled to sit up.
“Oh! Hi! I’m so sorry.” She wiggled out from underneath the little table rubbing her head, a long blond braid falling over one shoulder as she blinked up at him. She wiped her hands on her jeans and approached, holding out her hand. “Bobbi—”
“Santino? Roberta, is that you?” Ron squinted, trying to reconcile the cute blonde with the great
figure in front of him to the shy, smart girl with glasses he’d gone to high school with.
“Oh!” Her cheeks turned red and she just stared. “Beanpole? Ronnie Marshall? Is that you?”
“It’s really you?” Ron smiled, taking her hand and shaking it, somehow reluctant to let go.
“It’s Bobbi Garner now.”
“Nice to see you again.” He tried to ignore the heat that ran up his arm at her firm, dry handshake. Who was this blue-eyed cutie and what was she doing to him? He hadn’t thought about sex since getting custody of Sam and now he was not only thinking about it, but his arm felt like it was on fire from where she’d touched him. Fuckin’ sorcery, he thought with a grimace.
“Beanie?” Sam looked confused and tugged his hand again.
“I’m sorry, honey.” He scooped her up and set her on his hip. “This is Miss…Bobbi. Bobbi, this is Samantha.”
“Well, hi there.” Bobbi grinned at Sam. “Your daddy and I went to high school together.”
“Not Daddy, Beanie!” Sam corrected her with a frown.
“I’m sorry. Beanie and I went to high school together.”
“She’s my sister’s kid,” he explained softly. “She passed away six months ago and I have custody.”
“Oh.” Bobbi’s face sobered. “I’m so sorry. How sad.”
“Thank you. It is sad, but it’s getting better, and Sam keeps me on my toes.”
“Are you still in the military?”
“Stationed here at Camp Pendleton,” he said with a nod. “What are you doing here?” They’d gone to high school in Michigan.
“My husband was stationed at Pendleton, but he passed away last year and I don’t have it in me to move again just yet.”
