Tess ran to the side of the pool as Marsha Jackson surfaced with the baby. She set Brett’s Sig down on the concrete and reached for the child. His eyes looked glazed, and he wasn’t breathing. Tess laid him on his back on the concrete, clapped her hands loudly and thumped his shoulder then pressed her ear to his chest. Nothing. She began CPR. His small chest seemed so fragile, she prayed she wasn’t doing more harm than good. She counted off the 30 compressions, then placing her mouth over his mouth and nose, and gave him two short breaths.
Marsha dragged herself from the water and sat staring at her, her slack expression dull with shock.
Siren’s sounded in the distance, growing louder by the moment. Tess fought back the urge to scream when Brett still didn’t surface. Please come up. Please.
“Go get help, Mrs. Jackson. Go out front and wait for the police. Tell them we need help.” She bent to put her mouth over the baby’s again. After half a breath, the baby choked and spit up water. Tess rolled him on his side and patted him on the back. His sharp cry was a beautiful sound. Thank God. Tess staggered to her feet holding the baby against her shoulder.
“Brett." She tried to shout, but the sound was choked off by fear. "Please—"
A figure rushed upward and breached the surface with a gasp. Brett’s dark blond hair clung to his head like a cap and he gasped for air, one breath, then two. His movements slow, he swam to the side of the pool, dragged himself up on the concrete, and fell back on the hard surface. His chest heaved while he caught his breath. Blood stained the bottom of his t-shirt and Tess knelt next to him and raised the cloth. The gaping wound where his stitches had torn loose had instant nausea crawling up her throat.
Scooping up the pistol from the side of the pool, he stared at the weapon then at her. “Jesus, Tess. I can’t believe you came in here.”
“I thought you were drowning, and the baby wasn’t breathing, so I couldn’t come in after you.” Though she fought to keep the tears from coming, they coursed down her cheeks. Brett dragged her close, wetting her clothing. She didn't care. All that mattered was that he was there, alive, holding her. He continued to hold her and the baby while they both cried, and the sirens screamed right outside the fence.
CHAPTER 37
Silence, oppressive and heavy, hung over the room. After hours of struggling to breathe, Evan had quieted. Russell continued to hold his hand though his chest no longer moved. The nurse came in with a doctor in tow to check his respiration and heartbeat.
“He’s gone, Dr. Connelly,” she said softly.
“I know.”
The two words spoken with such finality nearly broke Clara’s heart. She rose from her chair and, motioning for the nurse, went out into the corridor with her. She handed the woman a piece of paper with the funeral home information on it, then leaned back against the wall. The doctor exited the room. He nodded to her and wandered down the hall. She remained where she was, offering Russell some time alone with his son. Exhaustion dragged at her limbs, and when Russell came to the door, it was a struggle to straighten from her position.
“Do they have what they need?” Russell asked.
“Yes.”
“Let’s go to the apartment,” he said. She retrieved her purse and he took her hand in his.
Leaving the hospital, they stepped into a different world. The late afternoon sun had knocked the chill out of the breeze, but there was a strangeness to the sound of their shoes on the concrete, the movement of the traffic, the clearness of the sky. How could all this still be here when Evan wasn’t?
“What have you got in that thing?” Russell asked, motioning to her bag. “It weighs a ton.”
“Just some things Evan gave me to hold on to.”
The weight of the shoulder bag seemed to increase with every step, and when they reached the car Clara was glad to toss it in the back seat. She tilted her head back against the seat and studied Russell’s hands on the wheel. They were strong hands, large hands, healing hands. Those hands had healed thousands of other people’s sons and daughters, including her own. Those hands had held his son’s for hours, had soothed him when he was at his worst. And now they gripped the wheel to take them back to the apartment where they’d both rest and try to put the pieces of their hearts back together.
As though he were aware of her thoughts, Russell laid his hand on her leg and she placed hers over it.
When all this was settled, and they had some time to adjust to being just the two of them, would she still feel like this? Would he still feel the same for her? She hoped he would, because she couldn’t imagine her life without him anymore.
At the apartment building, they stepped off the elevator and walked down the hall to Evan’s apartment. Russell paused before putting the key in the lock.
“If you want, we can stay at a hotel for the night, and then come back in the morning,” she said.
He shook his head. “I want to sit in his reading chair and touch the book he was reading before he came to see me.”
Emotion rose to the back of her throat, but she swallowed it down. She nodded.
He unlocked the door and shoved it open, then stepped back to allow her to enter ahead of him. Clara froze as she eyed the room. The closet door stood open and books covered the floor of the narrow entrance hall and spilled into the living room. From where she stood, she could see the couch cushions lay askew.
Russell followed her gaze. “Son of a bitch!” He stepped past her, and skirting the books, strode down the hall. After a moment’s pause in the living room, he continued into the bedrooms.
Clara placed her feet with care so as not to step on the books and stood surveying the kitchen. Every cabinet door and drawer stood open. This was not a burglary. It was a search. A slow burning anger began to build inside her. That bitch.
Russell returned to the living room, his features were taut with rage. “This was Gloria, wasn’t it?” He ran his fingers through his hair grabbing the sides of his head with his hands as though it might explode. “I can’t believe I ever had a single thought or feeling for that—” He dropped his hands. “What the fuck was she looking for?”
Clara pulled the padded envelope partially out of her bag. “For this. It’s proof against her husband. It’s Evan’s proof. And tomorrow morning, we’ll deal with it—you’ll deal with it, when you take it to the proper authorities. And they’ll arrest her husband and make her life hell. Which, in my opinion, is exactly what she deserves.” The bitch. She drew a deep breath and tried to beat back the righteous anger. She shoved the envelope back in and set her bag on the rumpled couch.
He drew a deep breath. “I could call the police and press charges against her for this, but she probably has a key and would say she had just as much right to be in the apartment as I do.”
“Yes.” She bent to pick up a copy of Bonfire of the Vanities from the floor and smiled as she read something underlined and commented on in the margin. She extended the book to him and he turned it to read what was written and smiled.
Clara picked up another, To Kill a Mockingbird, and found similar highlighting and comments on the text and smiled. She started picking up the mess.
***
Russell took the Thomas Wolfe book with him to the couch, straightened the cushion, and sat down. He thumbed through the pages, pausing to read an occasional note Evan had penned about what he’d read. The closeness he still felt with his son while reading his words eased his anger and his grief. He glanced up to find Clara still sorting through books and stacking them.
“Clara.”
She turned and straightened. Exhaustion deepened the lines around her eyes and mouth. Her clothes were wrinkled, her hair mussed, her makeup non-existent, exposing the scattered freckles across her forehead, but she had never looked more beautiful to him than she did at this moment. And he’d never loved anyone more. He motioned for her to join him. “Leave the mess. We’ll pick it up in a while.”
She set the books on the nearest stack and wandered
over to where he sat. She flopped down beside him. He slid an arm around her and drew her close against his side. He laid the book face down on the table next to him.
“When we get back to San Diego, I want you to move in with me,” he said.
She drew back to look up at him, surprise in her expression.
“I know, with everything that’s happened since we met, you’ll need some time to be certain about how you feel. But I want us to be together while you make up your mind.”
“Does that mean you’ve already made up your mind how you feel about me?”
Had he never said the words? He tipped her face up to him and kissed her with all the tenderness he could offer. For standing by him and his son, for being Evan’s champion she deserved all the love he had to give her. “I love you, Clara. I want you with me, and when you’re ready, I want you to marry me, if you’ll have me.”
A smile curved her lips, and he kissed her again. When he raised his head, she nestled close. “I love you, Russell and neither one of us is getting any younger, but I’d like some time for you to convince me to marry you, when we’re both up to it.”
He smiled. The love she gave him cushioned his heart a little against the pain. “When we’re both up to it, I’ll give it my best shot.”
***
Hawk sighted down the barrel of his M-4 rifle and kept a steady pace down the dimly lit corridor. Speed and surprise had been on their side when rushing the compound. They’d taken out seven terrorists and captured one. None of his men had been injured. But that could change. Anyone left in the building would be waiting and preparing. They knew they were coming. And there was no guarantee that some of the locked doors they faced might not be booby-trapped.
He paused outside the door and waited for Greenback to take position with the breaching tool. The metal tube had a flat head mounted at one end and handles on the top. Greenback swung it, sprung the lock and the door thrust inward. He hustled out of the way while Hawk, Bowie, and Kelsey Tyler rushed in, each yelling down in Arabic. The three boys locked inside the room looked about thirteen. They obeyed immediately and lay on the floor while they were searched and secured with plasticuffs.
The rooms were little more than prison cells with mats on the floor for sleep and a bucket in the corner for human waste. The smell of urine, sweat, and human misery were strong.
Hawk handed off the three to another team for transport and moved on to the next door.
Ian Kelly had been a no-show thus far. Hawk shoved aside his concern. If he was here, they’d find him. If they’d taken him somewhere else, they’d keep looking. Five breaches further down the corridor, he paused outside another door. Greenback rushed up to take position. “Stay sharp,” Hawk cautioned. The repetition of what they were doing was mentally dulling. Though they’d met with little resistance, there was always a possibility it could take a drastic turn.
Greenback swung the breeching tool. The door bounced open. Hawk saw a man secured to a chair, a blindfold covering his eyes and a gag pulled taut across his mouth. Bright red hair hung around his head to his shoulders. It had to be Kelly. Hawk stepped forward. A small figure bobbed up from behind Kelly and pointed a pistol at his head. Hawk froze.
Sanjay al-Yussuf held the pistol as though he knew what to do with it. There was no tremor in his hand, and his eyes never broke contact with Hawk’s face.
“You do not want to do that,” Hawk said in Arabic.
“Yes, I do, American,” Sanjay said in English.
“We are here to rescue you, Sanjay. Your father and mother are waiting for you to come home.”
“My father is a traitor and my mother a whining cow. They have welcomed you with open arms into our country. You have no business here.”
“We are leaving soon,” Hawk said. “We only wish for your army to be strong enough to protect you and your countrymen from terrorists. The same terrorists who took you.”
“They did not take me, American. I waited for them to come.” Sanjay flicked Ian’s ear with the barrel of the pistol.
Ian flinched and made a sound from beneath the gag.
Lord, he didn’t want to kill this kid. But if he started to squeeze that trigger, he’d have to put him down.
Bowie shifted a fraction behind him, changing the angle he would shoot from should Hawk need backup.
“You have to release Mr. Kelly.”
“No.”
“Why not, Sanjay? Do you really want to live the rest of your life in a place like this for killing a man? Is there not more waiting for you at home with your parents?”
“Ever since my father has been helping your military, providing services for your men, I have no life. The other boys remind me daily of what he does. I am tired of listening, tired of being spit on.”
“And do you believe that taking a man’s life will change any of that? Will it make you feel better?”
Sanjay remained silent, but his eyes narrowed.
“The man you are holding hostage searched for you, Sanjay. He led us here hoping to return you to your mother and father. They are grieving because you were taken from them. Your father has been to the base numerous times waiting for word of your rescue. They love you. You are their son.” Hawk shifted his gun closer and looked down the barrel to the boy’s face. “But if you harm Mr. Kelly, I have no choice but to shoot you, Sanjay. And I will shoot you.”
The boy studied his face.
Sweat ran down Hawk’s back between his shoulder blades, but he didn’t move from his stance. If the kid so much as twitched, he’d get a shot off and put the boy down.
Sanjay’s attention shifted to the gun and Ian Kelly’s head.
Hawk’s finger tightened on the trigger.
Anger flickered across Sanjay’s face. He stepped back from Ian and dropped the pistol on the floor.
“Walk toward me Sanjay, and lie face down on the ground.”
“Are you afraid of a defenseless boy, American?” he asked as he walked forward arms thrust out in defiance.
“You were holding a loaded weapon to Mr. Kelly’s head just a moment ago. That makes you neither a boy, nor defenseless. It makes you a terrorist,” Hawk replied. “Lie down on the ground.”
“No.” Sanjay raised his chin. “I will not bow to the likes of you.”
The urge to step in and knock the kid on his ass was strong, but Hawk curbed it. He sighted the kid, “You make a move, and I will put a bullet in your brain, Sanjay. Bowie, take him.”
Bowie slipped past him, jerked the teenager’s hands behind his back, and secured them. Hawk didn’t say anything when Bowie searched Sanjay for weapons and didn’t handle him with the kid gloves he had the others.
Bowie marched the boy out of the cell. Hawk lowered his weapon and moved to Ian Kelly’s side. He slung his rifle and removed the blindfold and the gag. Kelly had a bruise that covered his cheekbone, but otherwise he appeared in good shape.
“That little fucker is a sadistic prick, and I wish he’d given you reason to kill him,” Kelly said.
Hawk untied his hands and grimaced as Kelly drew them around to rest in his lap.
Kelly shuddered in pain. “They broke my fingers one at a time, and the whole time that little asshole was in the room, grinning.”
Hawk couldn’t say he was surprised. The kid was trouble. “You’ll get to testify to that when we get back to base, Mr. Kelly.” Hawk hit his COM button. “We need a medic in here.”
“You’ll be hearing from that little fucker again sometime down the road,” Ian said. “And if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to walk out of here before I’m seen by anyone. I need to see the sky above me, and breathe air that isn’t tainted by filth.”
“We’ll wait until we’re ready to transport you out. Though we’re patrolling the perimeter, there might be bad guys hanging around. I don’t want to have to explain to your daughter why I didn’t get you back in one piece.”
Kelly looked up and his eyes narrowed. “You know my daughter?”
“Brett Weaver’s my girlfriend’s brother.”
Ian smiled and shook his head. “Small world isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
An hour later, Hawk sat next to Ian on the CH-47 as it lifted off. The excited chatter of the rescued boys was like a tenor drone that melded with the sound of the propellers. Though their hands remained secured, the helicopter ride was too big a novelty for them to sit in silence. Three SEALs stood guard, their feet braced against the movement of the helo, their rifles resting in the bend of their arms.
“I didn’t realize until they picked me up off the street that I’d lost my edge,” Ian said. He leaned his head back against the metal bulkhead behind him. The shot of morphine Doc had given him had eased his pain and made him sound a little drunk. “I’ve always been able to focus on the story; I never let my guard down. But my mind was on Tess, and they slipped up on me. Caring about the people back home, thinking about them, worrying about them, is a distraction you can’t afford when you’re here.” Ian opened his eyes and looked at him. “Know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.” She didn’t tell me. Because Zoe understood that, had heard him say it. That’s why she hadn’t told him. She’d rather take it all on her shoulders than be a distraction. Do whatever it takes to come home were her last words every time they emailed. It was the promise he’d made. And putting her and home out of his mind was what it took.
The anger and hurt he’d been nursing dissolved. She loved him enough to hold back the things she knew would worry him, the things that would distract him. She loved him a hell of a lot.
But could she hold out from telling him the whole time he was deployed?
***
Special Agents Wright and Scott came into the hospital room. Thus far, it had been a who’s who of law enforcement parading through.
“Go away. I’m not talking to you without an attorney,” Brett said.
“Why would you need an attorney, Ensign?” Scott asked.
Breaking Through (Book 2 of the SEAL TEAM Heartbreakers) Page 37
