SEAL My Home: Bad Boys of SEAL Team 3, Book 2 (SEAL Brotherhood Series 9) (13 page)

M
egan and Lindsay
agreed to meet for coffee before Megan opened the store. She’d not slept much the night before, remembering Rory’s call. Megan had been too tired to read, and just as she’d drop off the dog would start up again and startle her. She woke up this morning groggy.

“Hey there,” Lindsay said. Megan handed her the latte she’d already ordered. “Thanks,” she said as she raised her cup to her.

“So like I told you, I got a message from Rory last night.”

“You call him back?”

She shook her head. She’d thought about it. “He said he was turning in early. This morning is the surgery. He indicated he’d call me. Was very clear on that.”

Lindsay frowned again, deep in thought. “Brady’s supposed to let me know.” Lindsay angled her head until Megan made eye contact. “You okay?”

She shrugged. “Sure.”

“This doesn’t change anything.”

“I just hope the surgery goes well. Maybe it’s nerves I’m feeling. I know what being in good physical condition means to him.”

“And we don’t talk about that. Remember?”

“That’s right.” Megan watched Lindsay look over the top of the panel to the empty bookstore. “How do you do it, Lindsay? I mean, what do you do when he’s gone?”

“Get together with girlfriends. I work out more. Try to eat less. Try to get more rest.”

“I guess I’d pretty much turn into a bookworm,” Megan laughed.

“Turn into one? You
are
one now. I can’t imagine how you get anything done as it is.”

“I pretty much live for books, I guess. Except last night it didn’t help much.”

Lindsay reached over and took Megan’s hand. “The waiting is the hard part. Always is. But it passes, and when it does, it makes all the waiting worth it.”

On her lunch
break, Megan went to the bank. The news was reporting a San Francisco humanitarian worker and a banker, a friend of the family, were captured and being held prisoner in Syria.

‘Pentagon sources say a Special Operations unit had been on standby, but no reported movements were currently underway.’

“Why don’t you tell them everything?” she whispered. Every day a kidnapping or killing was broadcast. She felt for the women and children caught up in the conflict, the millions of refugees whose lives were forever altered by the fighting that had now gone on for nearly a whole generation. The reports were more desperate. Younger and younger men and now women and children were being used.

She knew these types of reports meant that Rory and his Teammates were going to be in harm’s way soon, and, as usual, were in high demand. Now that she’d met him, everything about world affairs bothered her. Lindsay had told her the same thing this morning.

“You read or hear something about downed forces and you wonder. Or an accident on a mission, or a hostage rescue gone bad, and your mind goes there. You sort of hold your breath until you hear those wonderful words, even if it’s on your cell as a recording in the middle of the night.
I’m stateside.
Those are the most wonderful words in the English language!”

The rest of the afternoon the store was busy, which was a godsend.

Just before she got ready to leave, she got the call she’d been hoping for. This time it was Brady.

“How did it go?”

“It went well. The doc was pleased. He’s resting now, in a little pain, but his femur wasn’t as damaged as they feared, and they think he’ll be quick to recover.”

“That’s great news. I’ve wanted to call him, but didn’t, you know, want to interfere.”

“Probably wouldn’t have gotten through anyway. He’s got a lot on his plate.”

She felt her pulse quicken with that remark.

“I’d be surprised if he calls anyone over the next few days. He’s pretty preoccupied. Just letting you know.”

Thanks for caring about how I feel, Brady, but I knew this was coming.

Megan took a deep breath in and bucked up for a chipper response. “You guys coming home soon?”

“Yup. T.J. can’t leave Shannon and the baby alone too long. We’re leaving in a few days for training. This is eating up our together time, before we—you know.”

“Yes.” Lindsay had said they never talked specifics over the phone. “So I guess he’ll not be going on your training, then.”

“Nope. He gets to sit this one out. Not that he’s happy about it.”

“I can only imagine. Well, thanks for letting me know. Give my best to him if you see him again before you leave, and thank him for the message.”

“Will do.”

She arranged to
meet Lindsay at yoga, and they decided to go out for Chinese afterwards.

“How did you guys meet?” she asked her friend.

“My friend had this crush on another Team Guy so we showed up at the Scupper, hoping to find him.”

“Did you?”

“Oh yes. That was some night. Brady looked at me across the room, and I just knew. I mean, I just felt like I knew him. And then he was all shy, didn’t come up to me, but I caught him looking.” She smiled and sipped her tea, closing her eyes and savoring it.

“What did you do?”

“I sort of ran into him on purpose. He touched me and that was it. I laid a kiss on him before he could get away. I’m still kissing him.”

“That’s a nice story.”

“You’ll have one too, some day.”

“Do you ever worry about what would happen if he ever got off the teams?”

“You mean like retirement?”

“Um hum.”

“We’d have to move completely away. I think hanging around, being with the guys who were going back and forth overseas would be difficult. He’d want to get in the middle of the mix. If he can’t, then I think he should stay away completely. Some guys do that.”

“Lots of divorces on the Teams.”

“Unfortunately, yes. Lots of stress. I’ve learned to handle more than I ever thought I would. Hard part will be when we have kids.”

“When he’s gone for such a long time.”

“Always hard on the wife and kids. Don’t have to be a SEAL. Most of our military wives have a tough life. Moving all the time, raising a family without Dad around, learning to make decisions on their own, and then giving up all that control when he comes home. When they go overseas, everyone is deployed.”

“At least you guys have the community,” Megan said.

“We do. We’re always there to help out.”

They finished their tea. Lindsay grabbed Megan’s arm. “Why don’t you come with me? I have to stop by my friend’s house and give them a belated baby gift. Her older sister is visiting from up North to help out. I’d like you to meet them all.”

“That’s okay. I’ve got things to do, Lindsay.”

“Oh come on, it will be fun. Give you a chance to meet other SEAL wives. You’ll like them.”

Megan reluctantly agreed.

Kate and Tyler lived in a modest neighborhood close to several other team families. While they couldn’t afford anything with a view of the water, it was within walking distance of good beach access.

“So this is my friend, Megan. And Megan this is Kate’s sister, Gretchen.”

Within seconds they were introduced to Gretchen’s three girls, bunched around Kate, vying for the opportunity to hold Kate’s baby. They tossed Megan a wave but were more interested in the baby.

Kate sat them down and the youngest one, Angie, spoke up immediately. “I never get to hold the baby, Auntie Kate.” After she was rewarded with the little package, she sat dangling her feet, sporting a huge smile on her face while she gently rocked the child and began to sing a nursery rhyme.

Megan whispered to Lindsay, “They’re precious. Is Kate’s sister married to a Team Guy too?”

“Hardly. Professional basketball player, professional skirt-chaser, if you ask me.”

When Kate had heard them, she gave Lindsay a wide-eyed stare.

“They’re divorced, but that’s a good thing. I’ll tell you about it later,” Lindsay said even softer.

Gretchen seemed not to notice and was leaning over her daughter’s shoulder picking up the nursery rhyme and singing along with little Angie.

Megan was struck by the family scene, how the women carried on while the men did their thing. She could see herself in this little community.

She hoped it was in her future.

‡

M
oustafa could not
believe the luck he’d had following the little bookstore clerk around. Although he’d not seen the Warrior Infidel in several days, he suspected he wasn’t far away. He’d taken pictures of the woman sleeping, and he pinned them up in his apartment on the wall next to his bed. In one photograph, her nightgown had ridden up over her smooth white rump, and he found himself fingering that picture more than the others. She was going to be a pleasure to defile.

Now he had three more houses with women in them, all friends. And there were children, too. He would make the proper notations in his computer for the dates they got together, like at the Indian exercise studio, the coffee shops they frequented, and the parties they attended as a group.

Westerners were so lax with their women. Anyone could break in and take them, have their way with them, hurt them and the children. They allowed their women to walk around in skimpy clothing, practically naked. The men were off doing things without leaving a guard behind. It showed a lack of respect for their safety, something the Muslim man wasn’t guilty of. He had never left Sharma alone. Even in the company of her mother and sisters, there was always an armed guard left with them. Toward the end, she would accompany him on the meetings, since their son had taken the martyrdom. If she were with him she would not cry. She would become hardened in that way, like a man. Like he was.

There was no safe place but beside him or one of his warrior brothers. He knew if something happened to him, one of them would take Sharma as a second or third wife, and she would be cared for. She demonstrated her usefulness by learning how to clean his equipment, cook him light meals, foraging and stealing food where she could. She was resourceful and a true partner. Their sex was urgent and not as private as he’d liked, but he figured it was for her own welfare the other men knew what pleasure he took in her bed. She would be coveted and well cared for.

Her fear made her a stronger partner, clinging to him, seeking him to transport them both to a land of fields of lilies and warm beaches. The death and destruction around him made those visions even sweeter, just as their lovemaking was.

Then came the day when his teacher’s mother came to him and said she’d been selected. Because she was a woman, pretending to look for a child she’d lost in the war, she could walk into the little missionary school without being searched as closely as the others. They’d take pity on her.

She was good at her job. He watched her straight back, dressed in her black robes tossed by the wind. Her long perfect legs and small backside, the straight spine and her long neck made her look almost willowy. He halfway wished the wind would blow her away and send her to another land where she could perform another task, but it wasn’t what The Prophet wanted of him. He had to sacrifice his woman so that he would be properly cleansed of all softness, so that he would hate the infidel. She did not turn around. Other eyes were on his face so he could not cry.

He whispered, “God is great,” over and over again until she entered the little office just off to the side of the playground where the children were lined up. Three more “God is greats” and then boom.

He was allowed to sit and watch the aftermath. The brothers who had been witness to his sacrifice took his guns and they let him watch as the rescue workers arrived. As the parents arrived and cried over the loss of their children’s lives, he knew how that felt. Unarmed and with worry written on his face, he looked for Sharma in the rubble of the office and found her. Part of her face was still recognizable, in peaceful repose. He knew then she did not feel the pain of the blast.

One of the men from the group pulled his shoulder and he turned away, walking with his spine straight, head high, toward their sanctuary in the foothills, away from the village, and up into the campfires and caves with his brothers. He turned his back on that part of his life, hatred boiling in his stomach, knowing full well he was welcomed at the gates of hell.

His new home.

‡