SEAL My Home: Bad Boys of SEAL Team 3, Book 2 (SEAL Brotherhood Series 9) (24 page)

H
is handler was
waiting for him on the park bench overlooking the rocky shoreline at the entrance to the boat harbor. His shoulders looked more rounded than he’d remembered, and then he recalled the disguise. It was doing a good job making him look like an older man with no dreams left in him. Moustafa wondered if any part of this was true. The old teacher would have never shown such vulnerability.

A wide crushed granite running trail that wound around the inlet edges surrounded the grassy area in the middle of the park. Several stops along the way had runner’s exercises posted.

The expensive yachts tied up to the dock could feed a small country for ten years, he thought as he strolled toward the bench. The handler was staring off into the horizon, distracted and seemed not to notice his approach. Moustafa’s greeting made the man jump.

“If you still haven’t found him, what have you to report?”

Moustafa handed the man the photograph of his warrior in U.S. forces desert camo, shoulders locked with two other bearded men. The SEAL’s coarse hair stuck out at odd angles under the backwards baseball cap with the Punisher logo on it. He’d uncovered it in one of the desk drawers, shoved back under several boxes of checks and bank statements.

The statements and checks belonged to one Rory Kennedy. He dropped a pad of checks into his teacher’s lap and waited.

Slowly, the handler’s spine straightened as he read the name. His fists bunched, one crushing the photograph he still held. Moustafa could feel the anger in the older gentleman coming to a crescendo of dangerous proportions.

“My bearded one is your Rory Kennedy, teacher.” Moustafa said the obvious and squinted to watch the seabirds at play. When the handler didn’t say anything, Moustafa wondered if the man was on some form of mood-altering medication.

“It appears my mission and your mission—”

“Is fucked. My mission is—”

That was when Moustafa noticed the handler had been crying. “You are ill, teacher?”

“My family is gone. They are all gone. I have nothing to live for.”

A second before Moustafa let the information sink in, for just one tiny flash of a second, he understood what the man was feeling. He’d forced himself to wipe the weakness from him, but there it was. Then it was gone. He ground his back molars and let the cold breeze from the inlet chill his bones and put out the ache in his heart. The glistening blue water contrasted the white boats with the clinking sounds of metal against metal as their bundled masts waited idly for owners to come rescue them from their sleep.

He knew every man had to come to terms with the grief. Had to learn to hate the Americans and everything they stood for. They impossibly blocked the doorway of chaos. They would pay the price for their folly in the fires of hell soon coming. He spoke the only words that came to him.

“Revenge. We get you the revenge you richly deserve, teacher. I have devised a plan that—”

The handler stood and turned on him so fast Moustafa thought that perhaps he was going to knife him in the gut. His eyes were dangerous and red, wild-eyed, almost like the prisoners before their execution. He was the face of death itself.

“Raymond Corrigan robbed me of my family. Now I will rob him of his. And then it will be
over
for me. Until then, I will
live
for the day when Raymond Corrigan will watch me kill his son. And then I’ll kill
him
.”

Moustafa knew he had to be careful. He diverted his gaze, giving the teacher some private space. In some respects, he felt as though he was the teacher now. He’d been down this lonely road. It had hardened him, given him focus and purpose. He knew that very soon it would do the same to his handler as the hatred settled in. They were all part of the chaos, part of the grand scheme of things to bring about the new kingdom, the plan the Americans were foolish to think they could uncover.

He made sure his voice was as soft as when he used to talk with his son. “Teacher, although I have not located Rory Kennedy, I do know the location of his woman. And I know the locations of several of the families.”

It had no effect on on his handler.

“I know much about where they go and what they do. My surveillance will be very useful. You will see. The Prophet will give you the death of Mr. Corrigan and his son, and we now have the power to strip away the object of his son’s desire.”

The handler flashed him a look like a drowning man who’d just grabbed a lifeline in a swirling sea.

“God is great.”

“God is great indeed, teacher. You will see I will help you do this.”

‡

T
he surveillance team
lost Megan after work. Forsythe wasn’t happy about it and notified Collins. Collins placed a call to her and she answered on the first ring.

“Megan, this is Rory’s Chief. Where are you?”

“I’m sipping on a margarita, eating oysters, getting drunk, and enjoying my view of the beach and all things on it bold and beautiful.”

She sounded loopy, Collins thought. “You got to tell us where you go.”

“No, I don’t. I’m not involved anymore. I can’t do this. Call me stupid, but I’m going to go spend the next few days reading and drinking margaritas, maybe lots of margaritas. I don’t want this life of super covert dangerous stuff and secrets. I don’t want anything to do with it.”

“Megan, you’re being a fool.”

“Oh, sir, I assure you, I’ve been a bigger fool. I’m changing that. Time to go back to the land of make believe, to the times of happily ever after, where the woman always wins and they sail off into the sunset somewhere. That’s what I want. And I know just how to achieve that, sir.”

Collins swore as he shook his head.

“Now that’s the first honest thing you’ve said. You’re right, this is totally screwed up. But you know what? It’s my life and I’m going to live it how I see fit.”

“You don’t understand these people.”

“The SEALs? They’ll be fine. I’ve been a complete idiot. This isn’t for me. I’ve been talking myself into it, and that isn’t getting me anywhere. I can’t do this anymore.”

“Wait a minute, I don’t mean the SEALs. There’s a real threat out there. We’ve been trying to protect you.”

“Oh yeah? When were you going to tell me you had all the women and children moved to a “safe” house, huh? Or did you not feel like that was appropriate information to me? So you decided to leave me out there on my own, with Rory, God knows where, and just leave me alone to forage for myself? That kind of protecting me?”

“You haven’t been foraging by yourself. We’ve been watching. From the sidelines.”

“What? You’ve had me under surveillance?”

“Yes. 24/7.”

“I haven’t seen anyone.” She was calming down.

“That’s the way it’s
supposed
to be, Megan. We didn’t want to tell you because, well, we didn’t—”

“Didn’t want me to act any differently. So I
am
the bait after all. You know, I think this conversation is over. Everything’s over. I’m getting drunk and causing a big scene here and that is all. Over. And. Out!”

She hung up.

“Fuck it.” Collins stared down at the phone on his desk. Forsythe was still standing in front of him.

“We can get a locator on her.”

“Oh sure, that will go over nicely, besides, I don’t think it will be fast enough,” Collins responded. “Wow, I didn’t see this coming, did you?”

“No, Chief Collins. But then we’ve just been going by what Rory’s told us. She works in a fuckin’ bookstore. She reads books all the time, he says. I didn’t think this would be a problem for her.”

“Someone must have talked. One of the wives.”

“That’s gotta be it.” Forsythe walked to the window, staring at the parking lot beyond. “Then we have no choice. We gotta get Rory to call her. I think he’s the only one who can knock some sense into her.”

“Women. She’s as hardheaded as he is. He’s going to lay into me when he finds out we lost her. And how the hell did that happen, Forsythe?”

“Good old Friday night San Diego traffic. They were being careful. She never turned off to her place, just kept on driving.”

“Let’s get those phone signal coordinates just in case. Can you sign off on that?”

“I’ll get it started.”

After Forsythe left the room, Collins placed a call to Rory and got his voicemail.

“Son, Chief Collins here. We’ve got a problem and I need to talk to you right away. It’s urgent.”

He hung up the phone. They trained and had a plan for everything. Everything was done by the book. Even the SEAL operations were by the book, practiced so many times that when the unexpected came up, they’d already expected and planned for it.

But this, protecting his SEAL community from threats right inside the U.S., this wasn’t anything they’d trained for.

And that was a big fucking mistake.

‡

O
n her second
margarita, Megan slipped off her sandals and propped her feet onto the sailcloth cushions dotting the large deck outside the Hotel Del Coronado’s bar. The Friday night crowd was festive.

Space was getting crowded and she didn’t want to share with a fresh-faced young couple in love. Or an older couple in love. Or a couple of guys looking to pick up someone cute. She really didn’t want to be near
anybody
. When the hostess seated a young newlywed couple across from her and asked if she’d mind sharing the fire pit and table, she got up and left after emptying her drink.

Her rather loud phone conversation with Collins had turned some heads, but she was beyond caring. Tears were threatening to well up. The alcohol went right into her system since she’d not eaten anything since breakfast. She stuffed her sandals into her purse and took the steps down to the beach and the roaring ocean beyond.

The warm sand felt wonderful under her feet and between her toes. She thought about the last two days. She’d been in shock after the lunch with Lindsay. The next day she threw herself into her work again and again but failed to be able to crack a book or settle down. No calls from Rory came in, and of course Lindsay didn’t call either. She realized now what she’d been feeling. She’d been scared.

She looked at every customer cross-eyed, examined every detail about him or her. She couldn’t go to her yoga class because she’d seen that young Middle Eastern man there who had only wanted to ask her name. And she’d treated him like an enemy combatant. She imagined she was being followed, and now knew for a fact that she was. But she’d worked on herself, telling herself it was just nerves, only to find out her instincts were good on this one. Rory had said to trust her instincts. That’s what was making her crazy. She could imagine just about anything.

Exhausted, she had decided to leave early, telling them she was still not feeling well from the few days ago when she took off to be with that damned SEAL who rocked her world in spite of how she wanted it to be something else. Her heart was hooked, hanging on a clothesline, little kids throwing darts at it. Only thing she could do was sit idly by and drink a margarita.

Along the walk down the beach she saw the yellow emergency fencing separating the common area of the beach from the training area where the SEALs did their thing. An instructor was barking orders with a blow horn. A string of some thirty men were lined up on their backs, locked arm in arm, letting the surf cover their faces as they shouted answers to their instructor’s commands. She examined the flat abs and muscled torsos of these men, every one of them reminding her of Rory, and how he looked as he peered down on her, as she waited for him to—

How am I going to do this? Should I just leave San Diego? Where would I go?

The answer was: Anywhere, U.S.A. Anywhere without a beach, the ocean, the blue skies, anyplace where they didn’t have guys with chiseled abs running in front of her double file. Anywhere the young Marines and Navy recruits didn’t celebrate in the bars and restaurants. Anywhere that didn’t have a brotherhood from which she was excluded.

Just how much Rory knew of what they were doing with her, she didn’t know. But one thing was certain. He didn’t care enough about her to tell her there was a safer place to live. Something to ease her mind, help her feel she could be part of this community. But no, he’d kept secrets again. Just like—well not just like Grant—at least Grant’s secrets wouldn’t get her killed.