by Liz Crowe
Sam coughed and spit up blood. She was running out of time. She pulled her weapon out and held it down, legs apart in the stance she’d been taught. She got out her phone and dialed the station.
“I’ve been attacked. I’d like some police protection over here right away. I’m in danger.” As she listened to the voice on the other end of the line, she motioned for Armando to leave. It hurt that he nodded his head and, without taking her in his arms, walked back to the truck, opening the driver’s door. Before he got in, he removed the rest of the window, kicking it with a swift upward jab with his right foot. Glass was scattered all over the street. Shards sparkled like diamonds in the night.
In a cloud of gray smoke and one large backfire the truck disappeared into blackness.
She prayed it wasn’t the last time she would see him.
Chapter Six
Armando cranked the steering wheel and screeched around the first corner he could find. He’d double back and make sure she was okay. Gina was right about one thing. He could get his ass in a sling for tampering with the local riffraff. Didn’t matter that they were the scum of the earth. As a SEAL, he was required to take the high road, even if that meant it cost him his life. He was used to risking his life. He wasn’t used to risking the career he felt he was made for just so he could get into a fight with a lowlife biker at a gang bar. Not the way he’d envisioned his discharge happening.
And that’s why this was so freakin’ hard, to leave her alone with a cretin who clearly had no boundaries and had trouble controlling his rage. That sort of dude deserved worse than a kick to the gut and a broken nose. Armando had no room in his “decent zone” for bad guys who liked to beat up women and kids.
For a street urchin, Gina sure knew how to take care of herself. Surprisingly well put together, he thought. Carried a concealed firearm, which was against the law in California. But she didn’t appear to be fazed. So maybe Gina was tougher than Armando thought. Maybe she was one of those GI Janes who got booted for bad behavior. Cavorting with the wrong officer or married man. Yet he couldn’t see her being that kind of a slut. She’d already been hurt, she’d said.
No, there definitely was something more about Miss Gina. His traitorous body part was enthusiastically looking for another close encounter, in spite of the fact he’d been sent away—at gunpoint, no less. Didn’t matter if the gun was aimed at the ground or at the beefy asshole who interrupted them.
He slowly pulled around two more streets, through a one-way alley and then parked perpendicular to Gina’s street, shutting off his lights as he did so.
Motorcycles rumbled down the street and soon three Harleys parked beside what must have been Sam’s bike, propped in the shadows at the edge of the complex. He’d been stupid not to notice the vehicle. He’d been distracted by the feel of her skin as he ran his fingers down her arm, the way her perfect breast warmly caressed the right side of his torso as they drove. He loved the way she smelled, all spicy and almond, not like the cheap perfume he’d scented on hookers and other girls who frequented this neighborhood.
This evening, as he’d looked down at her, with those big brown eyes and dark hair splayed all over Fredo’s second seat, he’d felt as if she was his first woman. Like it was her first experience too. This resembled a sweet high school thing he’d forgotten about. Something innocent and good, the way she made love to him. It was clean and dignified. Took his breath away how much he wanted to please her. Go slow. Make it last forever. And fuck! She’d cried, for Chrissakes. At first, he’d thought he’d hurt her. But no, she was overcome.
Overcome? When had that happened to him before? He checked his memory. Was she a virgin and he didn’t notice?
He discarded that thought. He gripped the door handle, ready to bolt from the truck when he heard the police sirens.
Thank God.
A short tussle ensued, and tempers flashed between two uniformed officers in the first patrol car and the bikers. Flashlights darted everywhere, accentuated by strobing red and blue lights, waking up Hell itself with the commotion. So much for low profile.
An EMT van arrived, but Sam was up on his feet, kicking the dirt with his black boot and probably swearing like any crusty sailor would if he got an anchor dropped on his foot. At one point Sam groped for Gina’s arm, lurching his huge body forward, but the uniforms separated them. He earned a huge push, which sent him on his ass in the road. His face was red, made redder by the flashing lights, as he stood, arms waving in the air. The three buddies grabbed him in a huddle, but Sam wasn’t having any of it, not at first. He got talked down in the end, though.
Two uniforms escorted Gina safely to her condo. A second patrol car pulled up. After determining it was safe to leave, Armando put the truck in reverse, careful not to grind the gears, and backed up slowly, then turned around when he was out of eyesight of the little conclave.
He headed to Mia’s house and hoped Fredo had been able to hang on long enough that he could take his buddy home. He needed to think up a good explanation for the missing truck window.
The rain that had fallen earlier returned. He watched Fredo’s wipers do a piss-poor job of removing the wetness from the dusty windshield. He made a mental note to have the wiper blades replaced when he got the window done.
The little yellow house with white trim glowed from within. Mia must have turned on every light inside. He knocked on the front door, hearing Mia in the middle of a frank discussion with Fredo, as the baby cried in the background.
“You fuckin woke up the kid, Fredo,” Mia said as she stalked towards the front door. Armando’s signature knock had alerted her as to who was waiting on the porch.
“Yea, well, I don’t care. Mia, you gotta start listening to people who care for you. You’re throwin’ your life away, babe.”
“I’m not your babe,” she snarled as she opened the door without enthusiasm. Without a “hello” she turned her back on her brother and disappeared down the hallway to a back bedroom.
“Took you long enough.” Fredo’s prominent forehead and bushy eyebrows were even more prominent and wrinkled. “I’m over here trying to make nice with this she-wolf and you’re out there doing God-knows-what with that little dish. I hope she was worth it, man.”
Armando wanted to say something, but decided to zip it instead. Mouthing off to Fredo and then telling him about his injured truck might not be the smartest of ideas.
“Had a little trouble over at Gina’s.”
“What kind of trouble?” Mia held little Ricardo in her arms. She’d changed into skin-tight black leggings and an oversized T-shirt. A rhinestone-studded clip held up her dark curls. The baby’s face lit up when he recognized his uncle Armando.
“Mia,” Armando said as walked with his arms outstretched to take the baby, “how well do you know Gina’s ex, that Sam character?”
Armando loved Ricardo’s fresh scent. He rubbed tears from the baby’s chubby cheeks and let him pat his face, pull on the hair behind his ears.
“Met him for the first time tonight.” Mia leaned against the hallway doorframe, and crossed her long legs, almost sending Fredo to the ground with a gasp. Acting as if she took no notice of the Mexican SEAL, she folded her arms across her nonexistent belly and sighed. It pushed up her breasts and Fredo abruptly turned his back to her and swore in a whisper.
“She never mentioned him before.” Mia delivered a half-lidded who-the-fuck-cares look straight back at her brother.
This surprised Armando. “So then I have to ask you, how well do you know Gina?”
Fredo slumped on one of the leather chairs and waited for Mia’s answer.
“We’re friends. We hang out at places together. Go clubbing. We’re good for each other, checking up on each other, texting when we pick up guys. You know. To be safe.”
Fredo was swearing in Spanish again, lecturing the floor, but kept it low.
“She pick up lots of guys?” Armando winced inside that he’d asked her that question.
“I never know. I think so.” She uncrossed her arms and stood erect. “Why, am I supposed to go follow my girlfriends around and see who they go home with like you do to me?”
“I don’t do that, Mia.”
“Fuck you, Armando. What do you call tonight? We were having a good time with some new acquaintances and you go all Navy SEAL ballistic on them. Ruin our evening.”
Fredo inserted himself. “Mia, those dudes were going to ruin your night all right. Girl, you sure know how to dredge the bottom for the worst scumbags”
“You forget one thing, Fredo. The bikers were Gina’s friends. Not mine. Not sayin’ I didn’t kinda like the big one, though.” Mia flashed her toothy smile and batted her eyes directly at Fredo while she delivered the kill shot. “I like big guys. Big, tall guys, with lots of tats and muscles.”
Armando saw Fredo bunch his hands into fists. His breathing was long and labored, but in control.
God bless you, Fredo. You are a fuckin’ saint. Armando could not say the same for his sister. He looked at little Ricardo wiggling in his arms. He vowed to be very prominent in his nephew’s life. With or without Mia’s permission. He’d make it his personal mission. No way was this little boy going to grow up Mia’s way as long as he was alive to alter it.
“You know what, Mia? You just insulted the man who saved my life more than a dozen times.” Armando was saying it because it was the truth, not just to give Fredo a shred of the respect he so richly deserved. “You just hurt someone who only wants the best for you. The more we try, the meaner you get. Mama, Clark, Fredo here, and all the rest of the Team—everyone cares about you, except you.”
She walked up to Armando and snatched the baby from his arms, retreating to the corner of the living room. “Well, now that you’ve gotten this all figured out, get the hell out of my house,” she spewed. “Just because you bought it for me doesn’t give you the right to come in here and tell me how to live. I can take care of myself. What about that don’t you understand, Armani?”
Armando could do nothing but shake his head from side to side. Fredo had lost interest, staring down at the ground. He could tell that the Mexican SEAL wanted to be anywhere but here.
“C’mon. Let’s go.” He got a nod of agreement from his shorter Teammate. Armando felt like a complete douchebag for getting Fredo involved in the first place. And then to have to stand there and hear him get abused by his own sister. Not to mention the shit he and the rest of the Team had been giving Fredo over the past year.
Before they could close the door behind them, Mia shouted out, “And don’t go trying to use your sexy ways to turn Gina against me. You stay the hell out of my life, hear? No rescue needed, or wanted, thank you very much. And stay the hell away from my friends.”
Outside, Fredo held out his palm for the keys and Armando ignored the gesture.
“Fuck’s wrong with you, Armani? Give me my fuckin’ keys.”
“I’m gonna fix the window.”
Fredo walked over to the driver’s door and swore. He kicked the truck, creating a small dent to match several other ones. “That asshole do this?”
“I’ll fix it, I said.” Armando was getting weary of the drama. What he really wanted was a cold beer, some smack talk, and then a hot shower and bed. He could still smell Gina’s scent on his shirt. He still felt her silky skin beneath his fingers. He was getting hard all over again. But he was standing here talking to one of his best friends about his broken window. And he was still getting hard.
What kind of animal are you?
Armando released the keys and Fredo drove them over to the Rusty Scupper. Lieutenant Malcolm Jones, Cooper and a new guy, SO Marc Beale, all from SEAL Team 3, looked up from the table outside where they had parked their butts, warming themselves by the fire pit in the center. They were alone since the place was wet from the rain. Armando noticed the three Teammates were wet as well.
“You guys know it’s been raining?” he asked them after he gave his order to the waitress.
Beale made a ribbit sound like a frog.
Cooper grinned. “Hell, Armani, I was just thinkin’ of going for a swim. You up for that?”
Jones had wrinkled his nose.
Fredo had noticed too, and added, “Jones, you gotta understand, this is a tradition. We love our midnight swims as much as we love our midnight HALO jumps. Right guys?”
There was a general mumbling in the affirmative.
Fredo continued. “We do this at least once a week. I do believe it’s been about that, maybe even two weeks since our last midnight swim.”
“I don’t like it much in the daytime, or anytime for that matter,” Jones said. With his dark complexion, all Armando could see was the LT’s white teeth. “Growing up in Mississippi, I stayed away from watering holes and such. Good way to get bit by a water snake or get yourself tied to a tree by some frisky white boys.”
“Frisky white boys?” Fredo asked.
“We’re talking Mississippi. Not many Mexicans there when I was growing up, not that it would have made much difference. Things are different now.” Jones took another sip of his beer. No one was going to touch that comment.
Marky Mark turned to Armando. “Lannie say where we was goin’ next week, Armani?”
“Nope,” he answered. “I asked him, do we take our fins and trunks, our gloves and parkas, or our cash?”
“Guess we’ll find out the evening before,” Coop concluded.
“Roger that. We’s on a Need. To. Know,” Fredo said.
Cooper crunched down ice from his mineral water. He uncurled his lanky, six-foot-four body and bowed to the group. “Well, I need to be going home and get some face time with the wifey. Got a big day tomorrow. Moving into our new house. I promised Libby I’d be home early to help with the last-minute packing.”
“Why?” Fredo asked. “You can put everything you got in that Babemobile in the back of my truck. And everyone here knows you aren’t gonna get any sleep tonight.”
Armando chuckled.
Fredo shot his heels up into the air. “Oh, Cooper, let me push against this wall so you can get deep. Oh. Oh. Oh. Ooooooh!” Fredo crooned. Beale and Jones began rocking in their chairs as if the motorhome Cooper lived in was rocking under them.
Cooper’s enormous frame cast a long shadow as he came to tower above the little group. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”
No one heeded his warning.
Cooper tried again. “That sounds like you banging one of your professionals, Fredo. You listening in for pointers when I’m not paying attention?”
“Hell no, Coop, we can hear it all the way to Ducky’s. We sit out there and lick our cones while you’re getting your dick polished off,” Beale inserted.
“Well said, Marky Mark. You a legend, Coop.” Jones appeared to be glad the focus was off the swimming.
Cooper made a gesture like he was loosening his hips, doing a slow, gyrating hula for everyone to admire. “Tough job, but someone’s gotta do it. I’m working on a little Cooper. Sort of a housewarming present for my new bride.”
The group broke into laughter and several Teammates whistled their approval. With the tension reduced, Armando watched his supersized Teammate walk down the street to the motorcycle parking. He put on a flowered helmet that belonged to Libby and kick-started a red Vespa. He looked ridiculous, hunched over the handlebars, riding the lawnmower motor off into the night.
“He still hasn’t bought a truck? He’s been talking about it for weeks now,” Fredo barked.
Beale leaned forward and received his new beer, winking at the waitress. “Libby’s dad gave him a new truck for a wedding present. He doesn’t like the gas mileage.”
Armando leaned back in the chair and looked up at the stars. He wished his family problems were about trucks and gas mileage and a wife who wanted to get pregnant. He wondered if life would ever be that normal for him.
But good for Coop. If it can happen for you, buddy, maybe there’s hope for me after all.
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br /> Chapter Seven
Next morning in the squad room Sam showed up in the same foul mood he’d had the night before. Gina watched him bang into chairs and bluster, as if every movement involved great effort or pain. He ignored his other UCDs, who in turn eyed him carefully, trying to avoid the bull in the china shop. She didn’t doubt he was feeling pain, and secretly relished the thought that Armando had done this to protect her.
Wanting to be prepared, she ran several scenarios over and over in her mind, deciding she was going to push back just as hard as he did. She thought the other guys would pile on if Sam started going after her, so she’d have to do it smart. If she got lucky, maybe Sam would go off on one of his legendary tirades in front of the brass. As she watched him bite his lower lip and devour the stubble growing just below, she knew he was close. Very close. It wouldn’t take much. Everyone in the room was watching him.
After the initial group chastisement for a mission almost blown, she and Sam were asked to stay behind and talk to their sergeant in private. The glass door was closed, but long looks from the bullpen didn’t give her any feeling of privacy.
Suck it up, Gina. You’re a big girl. Wanted to play in the big leagues? This is how it’s done.
Wasn’t going to be anything easy about this.
“There a problem here you two can’t handle?” Sergeant Kozinski had a walleye and Gina wasn’t sure whether he was looking at her or at Sam.
“No, sir. I’m good.” Sam spoke up first before Gina could respond. Like hell he was good. He hadn’t been good since the day after he’d charmed her into his bed. That Sam she never saw again after Night One.
“Gina?” Kozinski asked.
The quiet pause in the room highlighted Sam’s laborious breathing. She could tell he was suffering and had probably spent the night getting shit-faced. She was hoping Kozinski noted the bloodshot eyes, the stench of alcohol a fresh shower and a pint of aftershave couldn’t mask.
“Sir,” she began. She adjusted the little girl voice that wanted to come out first. “I don’t want Sam working on this case. This is my undercover detail. I’m the one in jeopardy. Wasn’t expecting him to do anything on this but run his snitches. Didn’t know until last night he was part of it.” She looked at her sergeant. “And I don’t like it one bit, sir.”
