Holding his Hostage (Shattered SEALs Book 3)

by Amy Gamet

  “Aren’t you going to ask what for?”

  “You wouldn’t be here unless you need it.” He opened a cupboard and returned with a checkbook.

  “Cash would be better.”

  He closed the checkbook and tossed the pen on the table. “I can get it in the morning when the bank opens up.”

  The movement caused the sleeve of his T-shirt to shift, revealing a line in the middle of his bicep where the color changed by several shades. She stared at it, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

  He lowered his arm and raised his sleeve, revealing the point where a prosthetic arm joined his body. She sucked in air. “What happened?”

  “Kandahar. Do you have someplace to stay?”

  “My kids are in the car.”

  The air seemed to shift, the time and experience that separated them now living, breathing forces in the room.

  “How old are they?”

  “Fiona’s four, Lucas is seven, and April’s eleven.”

  “You can stay here. All of you.”

  She opened her mouth to object but stopped herself. It was a big house, with plenty of room for them all if they shared. The kids would love a clean bed as much as she would, warm blankets and fluffy pillows. She swallowed what was left of her pride. “Thank you.” An awkward silence settled between them. “I really appreciate this, Sloan.” She stood up. “Fiona’s asleep. Where should I put her?”

  He stood, too. “Anywhere’s up for grabs. I’ll take the couch so you can have the bedrooms.”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “Come on, Buckley,” he said, using her maiden name. “You look like you’ve been through the war. It’s just a couch.” He grinned.

  “Thanks for pointing that out.” She returned the smile. He’d always had a big heart. She’d nearly forgotten what it was like to be on the receiving end of so much generosity, and she was getting choked up. “I’ll just grab the kids.”

  She hustled out the door and back into the cold, climbing into the driver’s seat and turning off the car. “Come on. We’re staying here tonight.”

  Lucas was in the backseat. “This place looks haunted.”

  “It’s not haunted,” she said, knowing full well Sloan’s mother would probably disagree. “Grab your things.” She got out and opened Fiona’s door, unbuckling the sleeping girl and picking her up, Jo’s back insisting she stop lifting the girl soon.

  The four of them stomped up the wooden steps, setting off another round of barking from Gus. “Whose house is this?” asked April.

  “An old friend’s.” Both kids turned to look at her, and she shrugged. “I had friends once.” The kids still stared. “It was a long time ago.” She huffed. “It’s cold out here. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the dog.”

  5

  Sloan took a sip of twenty-year-old scotch, the liquid burning a pleasant trail down his throat and into his belly. It was two o’clock in the morning, his high school girlfriend was putting her kids to sleep in his house, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d wandered into one of those Christmas movies his mom liked to watch.

  Any minute now, one of Joanne’s kids would come knocking on the study door and call him Daddy, and he’d have the ten days between now and Christmas to see if he’d made the right decision all those years ago by letting Joanne get away.

  He’d held his breath when she told him the ages of the children, wondering if fate had dealt him an unexpected wild card, but clearly that wasn’t the case. From the look of them, the kids had all been fathered by David Regan, and he ground his teeth just thinking about the other man.

  He took another sip of his drink, wondering what had brought her here like this. She needed money, and the desperation he’d seen painted on her features was deeply concerning. It had taken a lot for her to come here—even if it was to see Evelyn and not him—which spoke volumes for her other options. He knew she didn’t have family she could turn to, but didn’t she have friends? Someone closer than him who could come to the rescue?

  Not that he minded the money. He would never begrudge her that. He swirled the liquid in his glass. They’d been in the same class for as long as he could remember. She was the daughter of the meanest man in town, Old Man Buckley, who ran a gas station and smoke shop—a perilous combination forever begging to explode. She’d come to school in dirty clothes with her hair unbrushed, day after day, and kept mostly to herself.

  By high school, she’d looked more like the other kids and even had a few friends, but Sloan was observant. He noticed the worn-out seams on her jeans, the sewn-up strap on her purse, the hole in the sole of her sneaker. More important, he noticed the occasional bruise or shiner, and the way she jumped when approached from behind.

  He’d been drawn to her, fueled by his need to protect and defend the innocent, and later by the fiercest cravings of his body. She was sweetness and light, with eyes that could see deep into his soul and a touch that could set him on fire.

  If he was being honest, their relationship held a kind of intensity he hadn’t experienced since. He’d told himself it was because they were young, because she was his first, but as soon as she’d stood in his kitchen tonight, he knew he’d been lying to himself. The intensity was right where he’d left it, invisible at her feet, waiting only for him to pick it up and hang on for the ride.

  Only difference was, now he knew where that ride would lead, and it was a road he had no desire to travel again. When she’d left him for Regan, he learned what was really important to her. Financial security. Escaping from this town and her abusive father. A promise in the form of a thin gold band, no matter who had slipped it on her finger.

  Joanne had been looking for someone to save her. He had been looking for love. He refilled his drink.

  What had happened with her husband? Clearly she and the kids were on their own, but he’d wager money there was more to that story than met the eye, and it wouldn’t surprise him if David Regan was somehow responsible for the mess she was in. As far as Sloan was concerned, Regan was an asshole.

  He’d moved to town senior year, and Sloan had a bad feeling about that guy from the moment they met. But even if you’d warned him that six months later Regan would be married to Sloan’s girl, he never would have believed it.

  Betrayal was like that, knocking you down when you least expected it.

  Yeah, he would definitely not be picking up with Joanne again, intensity be damned. He’d give her the money she needed, make sure she was okay, and wish her well on her way out the door. Get his goddamn bed back. Wash her scent off his sheets. Hell, maybe he would burn them.

  There was a knock on the study door. “Can I come in?” she called.

  “Sure.”

  Her skin glowed in the dim light, her dark hair swept back from her face to reveal the curve of her neck. The sweet scent of soap and shampoo wafted to him on the air. “I hope you don’t mind, I took a shower.”

  Mind that you stripped naked in my house and wrapped yourself in one of my towels? I’ll have to burn those, too.

  “Not at all.”

  She passed the couch and settled into a leather club chair closest to him, draping her legs over the armrest, just as she used to do. There was a familiarity to her being here that he found both comforting and ominous, and he wondered if a moth felt this exact sensation while staring into a flame.

  “Lucas is asleep, finally. Fiona never woke up. I’m not so sure about April. What are you drinking?”

  “Scotch. Want some?”

  She nodded and he resisted the urge to pass his glass for her to sip. Instead he rose, taking a clean one from a sideboard and pouring from a crystal decanter that had once been his father’s. “Did you have enough blankets?”

  “Plenty. Thank you for giving up your bedroom and letting us stay.”

  “You can stop thanking me now.” An image of her snuggled up in his bed appeared unbidden in his mind, stolen moments when she’d snuck in to spend the night w
ith him. His mom had let her all but live in their house, so long as she returned to her own every evening. Little did Evelyn know how rarely that actually happened.

  As if reading his mind, Jo asked, “How is your mom these days?”

  She’d always been able to do that, seeming to sense exactly what he was thinking when he said nothing at all. Once, it had been endearing, but now, it unnerved him. “She’s good. Spends most of her time traveling.” He finished his drink and resisted the urge to refill it. “That’s her camper in the driveway. ”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  “You didn’t? Thirty-two feet of freedom, she calls it.”

  She laughed softly. “Good for her. Your mom deserves every bit of happiness.”

  “She would have loved to have seen you.”

  “Me, too.”

  He stared at his empty glass, considering the wisdom of what he was about to say. “Why me, Jo?”

  “Excuse me?” Those cool blue eyes connected with his own.

  Once, he’d thought she was an open book, but now he knew better. Those eyes that could seem so sincere were capable of hiding her emotions. “You have Illinois plates. You drove all the way here with three kids in tow to borrow money. Why?”

  Her cheeks filled with color. “There was no one else I could ask.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Believe what you want.” She stood. “I should get some sleep.”

  “Don’t run away from me.”

  “I’m not running.”

  He stood and rounded the desk. “You don’t want to discuss it, so you’re walking away to end the conversation, just like you always do.”

  She shrugged. “There’s nothing to discuss. You want to know why I picked you to beg for money, and I told you. I don’t have anyone else.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. How many people could you borrow money from?”

  “Lots.”

  She rolled her eyes. “We’re not all as well liked as the infamous Sloan Dvorak.”

  “You are liked just fine.” He was close to her now, her eyes suspiciously glassy, and he suspected if he pushed her she would break, her problems crashing into him like water bursting from a fractured dam. That was a bad idea, but he couldn’t help himself any more than he could avoid drowning in the flood. “Talk to me, Buckley. Tell me about your life, if just for old times’ sake.”

  “What do you want me to say?” She gestured with her arms. “That I don’t have any friends, that no one would be willing to help me if I lay bleeding in the street?”

  “Why is that?”

  She shut her eyes. “Just forget it. I’m sorry I said anything.”

  His hand closed around her upper arm, and she felt good, better than he expected, better than he wanted to deal with. “You’re a nice person. What makes you think they wouldn’t help you?”

  “They don’t even know me.”

  “We all feel that way sometimes.”

  “No, you don’t get it. They don’t know me at all, literally. I don’t socialize with them. I say no if one of the moms asks me for coffee. I’m not in the PTA. I don’t have friends, Sloan.”

  A tear ran down her face, and he followed its trail to the corner of her mouth. She was one of the most generous people he’d ever known, so full of life and spirit. It didn’t make any sense. “Why the hell not?”

  “David didn’t like it.”

  He took in her defensive posture, the emotion in her face, and a tingle went up his spine. He’d seen her like this before. The deer-in-the-headlights stare, an energy borne of fear seeming to overtake her presence. She was like this after run-ins with her father, confrontations that were always full of violence whether he hurt her physically or not.

  “Did he hurt you?” Adrenaline pumped into his bloodstream, that need to defend rising up from within.

  “Of course not,” she snapped.

  “Then where is he?”

  “Just because I don’t have my husband with me doesn’t mean he abused me. I would never stay with someone like that. You know me better than that.”

  He sure did, and on more than one occasion, he’d regretted not killing her old man for what he’d put her through. But she seemed to be telling the truth, which meant he was overreacting. He nodded. “Right. I just thought… I’m sorry.”

  She dropped her arms to her sides. “I’m going to bed.” She picked up her drink. “It’s been a very long day.”

  He nodded. “Sleep well.” He watched as she padded to the door on bare feet, her hips swaying alluringly. “First thing in the morning, I’ll run to the bank.”

  And you can get out of my life forever.

  “Good night, Sloan.” She smiled softly and slipped out of his study.

  Sloan squeezed the skin between his eyes, and cursed.

  6

  Joanne lay on her back beside Fiona in Sloan’s bed, staring at the ceiling. She’d spent two hours on her phone, trying to guess the password to David’s bank account without success, before Googling how long it took for a family to receive a dead person’s assets. While it might not have been the best source of information, every Reddit user agreed it would take a heck of a lot longer than a week.

  That’s assuming the money was in his account, which she doubted. She had a hard time imagining straightlaced David stealing a nickel from anyone, but even if he really had taken Bannon’s money, such a clandestine act seemed to require greater effort in hiding the proceeds.

  With a sigh, she flopped onto her side, but every time she pressed her cheek into the pillow, all she could smell was Sloan.

  Fear for her children’s safety and her residual feelings for Sloan took turns at the forefront of her mind, neither one of which was helping her sleep, though the latter was highly preferable to ponder than the first.

  She pulled back the covers and walked to a wide double window, moonlight illuminating the snowfall and white yard below. With a sigh, she leaned her forehead against the glass. She never would have come here if she knew it meant relying on him. He was the one person she couldn’t stand to see her desperate.

  He was the only one who knew just how bad things had been at home. Even when she married David, she’d glossed over her childhood with generalizations and platitudes about all she had learned. But Sloan knew the truth, the nitty-gritty of what happened, and to have him be the one to see her back down on her knees was almost too much to bear, especially with him asking questions about her relationship with David.

  These past thirteen years, she’d tried not to think of Sloan at all. Usually, she succeeded. She’d been so angry when they broke up, so dejected and hurt, and seeing him again brought her right back to the moment he left. She had loved him with every fiber of her being. He was just having fun.

  She sank to the floor and leaned back against the wall, pulling her nightgown over her knees and letting herself remember. Sloan was going to basic training in a week. They’d planned to ask Sloan’s mom if Jo could stay here in the house to finish out her last year of high school, but before they got the chance, Evelyn announced she was going on a whirlwind European adventure.

  Jo had listened to the details with mounting anxiety, sharing the occasional worried stare with Sloan across the table. “I could house-sit for you,” she offered.

  “Aw, thank you, sweetie, but it’s all taken care of. Louise down at the YMCA has a cousin who needed housing for the summer. I’ve rented it to him and his family, so I’m all set.”

  Later that night, Sloan held her cradled against his chest. “So you’ll come with me to basic. Get an apartment. I’m sure you can find a waitressing job out there just as easily as you can here.”

  “I won’t be able to afford an apartment on tips.”

  “And I won’t be able to help out until I’m through basic, then advanced training and BUDS. You could stay here and get a place of your own.”

  “When school starts next week, I won’t be able to work en
ough hours to afford it.”

  “You could drop out, at least for now.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  He stroked her back. “I don’t think there’s an easy solution.”

  She bit her lip. She could think of one that would make all their problems disappear, in addition to making her happy. “We could get married.”

  His hand stopped moving. “What, like now?”

  She propped herself up on her elbow. “Why not? We’d be husband and wife. We wouldn’t have to sneak around when we got back. Your mom would let me live here, or she’d help us afford a place until we got on our feet. I’d never have to go back to my dad’s. We could make a real home.”

  “We’re a little young to get married.”

  “Plenty of people get married at our age.”

  He unhooked his arm from around her shoulders and sat up. “You’re serious.”

  “Of course I am.”

  “Jo, you know I love you. But I don’t want to get married. Not yet, anyway. Are things really that bad at your dad’s?”

  She felt like she’d been slapped. “You know the answer to that.”

  “Your uncle’s been gone a long time.”

  “That isn’t the point! I don’t want to be there.”

  “And I don’t want to go to basic and leave you, but we have to find some way to get through this. Even if it’s not ideal, it’s an option.”

  “That isn’t fair.”

  “It isn’t fair to assume my mother will pay for us to live if we got married. Jesus, Jo, how can we get married when we can’t even support ourselves?”

  Her cheeks flushed hot. “We would find a way to make it work.”

  “On somebody else’s dime. No, thank you.”

  “That’s all you can think about? The money?”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Forget it.”

  “Because my family’s poor. Right? Is that it? My family’s poor, so I don’t get to tell your family what to do with their money.” She got up, picking her clothes up off the floor and hastily getting dressed.