The SEAL's Special Mission. Rogenna Brewer
cutting board. He picked it up and tossed it out of reach to the sink.
It would be futile to resist. She wasn’t about to challenge him in hand-to-hand combat—until she had to.
“They think you killed two marshals.”
He didn’t move from behind her. “What do you think?”
That he was capable of doing just that.
She ignored his loaded question as he reached inside her jacket for her gun. Her breath caught on the intake as his arm brushed the underside of her breasts and pinned her against his chest as he checked the safety on her firearm before tucking it into his own jacket pocket. “What are you doing here, Nash?”
“Smart move not going for the gun.”
He began patting her down underneath her jacket.
His impersonal check felt far too personal and she slid around to face him. With her back to the island, she groped for a steak knife and managed to get a good grip on one. He blocked the jab, took the knife and the whole block of knives and dumped them in the sink out of her immediate reach.
“Enough games, Mal. You and the boy are coming with me.”
He latched on to her elbow and she shook off his grip. “We’re not going anywhere with you.”
“We don’t have time for theatrics. Call him again.” He picked up what she recognized as her gym bag and tucked her gun from his jacket into a side pocket, and then picked up Ben’s backpack and tossed it over his shoulder as he nodded toward the back door.
“Ben.” She modulated her tone so there was little to no urgency in it, hoping he’d be too engrossed in his game to break away. Heart pounding, Mallory moved toward the living room as if to hurry him along. She flicked the kitchen light switch in passing.
Nash was no dummy. He hauled ass toward her with menace in his stride.
She stood there with her hands on her hips and made sure she had plenty of room to maneuver before picking a fight with him.
She was a trained professional. All she had to do was stand between Nash and Ben until two armed agents burst through the doors. If Nash dared to make a move in Ben’s direction, she would lay a world of hurt on him. Not even a Navy SEAL could easily get past a mama bear intent on protecting her cub.
“Can we get a big pumpkin this year?” Ben asked as he entered the kitchen. “I mean really big.” He held his arms out wide and then stopped just inside the doorway, frozen in his big pumpkin stance staring at Nash.
“Do you know who I am?” the man asked.
The boy nodded. “You’re him. You’re my dad.”
From one heartbeat to the next, Nash swooped up Ben along with their bags, and then ran for the back door as Tyler burst through the front door, splintering it off its hinges. Mallory barely had time to react before Special Agent Tyler shoved her out of his way. She went down hard, hitting her head against the granite countertop.
“You all right?” He glanced back without stopping.
Dazed, she waved him off. “Go, go! He’s got Ben!”
But Special Agent Tyler was already gone and so far ahead he probably didn’t even hear her.
* * *
NASH CROUCHED NEXT to the boy as they took shelter in the overgrowth, waiting for Mal to come out of the house. They’d hopped the chain-link fence across the alley just ahead of the first agent out the back gate. The narrow space beside the detached garage, bordered by the six-foot wooden privacy fence on the other side, hadn’t seen a lawn mower in years.
Since both houses were third from the end, Nash had counted on the agents to assume that he’d run the short distance out the alley. But instead of trying to chase them down, the agent on their tail had stopped by the Dumpster behind Mal’s house and pulled out his walkie-talkie.
The younger agent caught up to the older agent as he was calling for backup. The two men argued. Nash mouthed the word ninja to the boy, who stared back at him with big eyes. A shot rang out and Nash covered Ben’s near yelp with his palm.
Thankfully, the boy hadn’t seen the incident so much as heard it.
Nash, however, had a perfect view. He kept the boy’s face turned away from the old guy slumped on the ground.
The young guy would have shot the older man again, but a dark sedan, not the same model as the one parked out front, came screeching around the corner. Instead of looking guilty, the young agent—if that’s what he was—started shouting orders to the driver. Something not right was going on here, and all Nash needed now was for Mal to step out her back door right into the middle of it.
Maybe he should be more worried that she hadn’t exited the house by now.
Nash kept one hand curled over Ben’s mouth.
The other on his Glock.
Finger on the trigger, he held his breath until the young agent bolted down the short end of the alley while the car drove up the other end and disappeared—but not before Nash had caught a glimpse of the sedan’s rental plate.
Removing his palm from the boy’s mouth Nash brought his finger to his lips, warning the boy to remain quiet.
Picking up a flat, chalky-white stone—a native form of limestone—he scratched the license plate number into the wood siding of the garage.
Ben crouched beside him, his panicked breaths coming in hard and shallow. The boy started to turn his head toward the downed agent again.
Nash pointed two fingers at his eyes. Eyes on me, not on him.
The boy turned his head back to focus wide-eyed on him.
Nash didn’t know if the kid understood SEAL sign language, but he’d always kept his signs simple enough that any BUD/S on his first mission would get their meaning.
The next thing Nash knew Ben was burying his face in Nash’s shoulder.
He wanted to put his arms around his son, offer him the comfort and reassurance he needed. But he didn’t allow himself the indulgence to pull Ben closer for that first hug.
He needed both hands free. Especially his shooting hand.
Nash shoved Ben behind him, making sure to put himself between the boy and whatever was coming. The boy kept his face plastered to Nash’s back—which was exactly where he wanted him to be. As they crouched in the weeds Nash felt himself growing queasier by the minute and it wasn’t from the blood loss. The boy was probably worried sick about his aunt—and so was he.
There’d only been the one shot, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t been incapacitated. By the shooter or the driver. Or someone else. A silencer—even a pillow—could have muffled the sound of a gunshot.
Or a knife.
There was only one way to find out.
He was getting ready to pick up Ben again when Mal came barreling out the back gate. He didn’t immediately reveal their hiding place. But he did reach around to tap the boy so Ben could see his aunt was okay.
Now that they knew Mal was okay, he could get Ben to the SUV and let Mal catch up to them.
* * *
MALLORY FOUND STAN slumped against the Dumpster in the alley and hunkered down beside him. The agent was bleeding and barely breathing, but he wasn’t dead.
“Son of a bitch shot me.” Stan gasped for air.
“Shh...quiet, now. Keep pressure on it.” Mal pressed his hand to the wound at his gut as she looked up and down the alley.
No sign of Nash or Tyler. Or Ben.
She didn’t know how long she’d been out cold.
A few minutes, maybe?