SEAL Together: Silver SEALs Series
Page 22
His friend folded his arms across his chest and cocked his head. “And I never thought you’d ever retire out of the Navy.”
Archer’s scowl deepened to tighten his face. “Wasn’t by choice,” he grumbled, smacking his left palm off his right shoulder. “Taking a round last year, saving some rich politician’s spoiled kid, earned me a one-way ticket out.” He’d received a pat on the back from Uncle Sam, a medical discharge with no chance to contest, and nothing, not even a thank you from the ungrateful brat.
He still had the use of his arm and eighty-five-percent of his strength but it wasn’t enough. Not when a-hundred-and-ten is required.
“Well, the rumors about me are true,” Crash said, changing the subject, wisely knowing Archer wasn’t the type to look for pity. “So, no more call signs or rank. I’m just Silas, or Si, now. And I can assure you, I don’t push a single goddamn pencil in my position at DHS.”
Navy SEAL Silas Branson and his famous joyride escapade during BUD/S would always be Crash to him. But he sensed a serious undertone to his old friend’s demeanor, so he kept that to himself and nodded instead.
“Which is why I’m here.” Si removed his sunglasses and waved them at Archer’s shoulder. “Can you still shoot?”
He stiffened, aggravation pinching his shoulders. Retired didn’t mean dead. Or useless. “Fuck, yeah, I can still out-shoot any of you yahoos. You know as well as I do, the Navy trained us to shoot accurately with either hand. So now my left is my lead hand.” He halted his rant as a slight grin tugged Si’s lips. “You son-of-a-bitch. You knew all of that, so why are you egging me on?”
“Just wanted to see if the Archer Malone spark was still in existence.”
He snorted. “It existed well before you were born, boy.”
Si lifted a brow. “Then you were one hell of a six-year-old.”
“Damn straight.”
They both laughed, and he used the time to really assess the man before him.
Silas had changed, but the loss of a son would change any man. Archer had been with him when he’d gotten the call, and although he knew that loss on a smaller scale, he couldn’t even begin to imagine the depth of the pain the man carried.
Lines around his eyes and mouth were visible but not quite as deep as Archer’s, and a few streaks of gray peppered Silas’ black hair—the exact opposite of the black hair peppering his gray.
“How’s Maggie? I heard you two got remarried.” Archer had always liked her. She was meant for Silas. Grounded him as only a good woman could.
A smile spread across the guy’s face and chased the shadows from his eyes. “Yeah, we did. And she’s good. She’s pregnant.”
“No shit?” His brows shot up, and happiness made a long-overdue appearance. “That’s wonderful, man.” He extended his hand for another shake, this time, with a shoulder slap. “Congratulations!”
A long time ago, he’d felt the elation he saw on his buddy’s face. Then helpless, complete and total devastation, and fury when he’d discovered his girlfriend at the time had an abortion while he’d been on a mission. He understood it was the woman’s body, but he was the father and hadn’t been given a choice. It fucking sucked.
Those feelings stayed with him, and always would, but now wasn’t the time to dwell. He had a bottle of JD at home to help drown his sorrows when needed. Right now, though, it was about his friend, who truly deserved this joy.
“Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?” He released him and stepped back.
“A girl.”
“Well, no offense, man, but I hope to hell she looks like your wife,” he joked. “Maggie’s a lot prettier than you.”
Silas laughed. “Roger, that.”
Archer scratched the bridge of his nose then re-crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s been nice catching up and shooting the shit and all, but I think it’s time you told me why you’re really here.”
Shoving the glasses back on his suddenly serious face, Silas straightened his 6’3” frame. “That conversation needs to be done in private.”
He unfolded his arms and nodded to the ocean behind him. “We’ve got the whole Atlantic at our disposal.” Without waiting for a reply, he gathered his stuff, boarded his boat, and stared down at the man. “Unhook the moor…or are you afraid to get your pretty suit wet?”
Silas flashed him the middle finger before removing the line and climbing on board.
Archer was still grinning when he started the engine and piloted them out to open ocean. Ten minutes later, he glanced to his silent passenger standing next to him, gripping the rail that bordered the ceiling of the cockpit. “This good enough?” he asked.
At Silas’ nod, Archer cut the engine, secured two beers from the fridge and handed one to Mr. DHS. “Go on,” he said, popping the cap on his longneck. “Pitch whatever it is you’ve come to pitch.”
“What are your thoughts on robbing the Federal Reserve in New York City?”
That immediately dislodged the beer sliding down his throat. He coughed and smacked his chest. “Look, man, I spent most of my savings on this beauty.” He caressed his boat. “But if you need money, I can probably scrape some up for you. No need to get drastic.”
“Appreciate the offer.” Silas held up his free hand, a slight twitch to his lips. “But I was talking hypothetically. Could someone do it?”
“Oh.” Archer took another swig of beer and shrugged. “Sure, I guess. Robbing is the easy part, it’s getting out that could prove tricky. Why? Has there been chatter?”
“Yes, involving the bank.” Silas flipped the cap on his longneck and finally took a pull.
Archer waited for the man to continue, because his sixth sense told him there was most definitely more. The sinking feeling in his stomach told him that he was not going to like it. But after silence stretched for over thirty seconds, he raised a brow. “And why are you telling me, instead of the F.B.I.?”
“Because we don’t know if this impending threat is to rob it or blow it up.”
Shit.
Unlike his firefighting father and brother, Archer had lived through the last time someone leveled a building in the city in which he grew up. He’d been home on leave, visiting his family in the Big Apple on 9/11, and scars from the gut-crushing massacre of that day never left him.
“You in?”
“Oh, hell, yeah. I’m in.” There would not be another massacre in NYC.
Not on his watch.
Silas gave a curt nod. “You can to put together a team as big or as small as you want, to uncover the identity of these rogue bastards and take them down.”
“Done.” He already had two former military locals in mind. They worked out of Atlantic City for the Knight Agency, run by his former SEAL buddy, Jameson Knight.
“Good, because there’s someone from DHS that I want on the team. She works out of our New York office, and is one hell of an investigator. She used to work for the D.A.” Silas was staring at him as if waiting for a reaction.
“Okay…if you’re recommending her, then she’s got to be good.” The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He narrowed his eyes. “Why do I get the feeling there’s something you’ve yet to tell me?”
“She’s a Navy SEAL mom, so I’m glad you’re going to take point on this mission, because I can trust you to protect her.”
Mother of a SEAL…
His mind immediately jumped to a mother of a froglet under his command three years ago. A widow with honey blonde hair, bright blue eyes, warm smile, great wit…he’d felt an instant connection, and intentionally kept his distance.
In all his years in the Navy, she was the only family of the team to ever spark his interest. Other than hearing she was a widow, he’d made it a point not to find out anything else about her. Christ, that had made her doubly dangerous, so he’d made damn sure they were never alone whenever she came down to Virginia to visit her son.
It hadn’t stopped his attraction, but it had stopped him from acting on it.
>
No reason to even think about her now. This wasn’t her. There were plenty of SEAL mothers out there.
Still, that sinking feeling in the pit of Archer’s stomach grew larger. “Who is she?”
“Sandy Vickers.”
Son-of-a-fucking-bitch…it was her.
SEAL In Charge - Donna Michaels
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Sign, SEAL, and Deliver - Geri Foster
SEAL Hard - J.m. Madden
SEAL Undercover - Desiree Holt
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SEAL at Sunrise - Caitlyn O’Leary
SEAL of Fortune - Becky McGraw
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