The Marine Finds His Family. Angel Smits
He’ll be fine.”
“I know. I’m the one who’s a wreck.” Tammie wiped her eyes and watched as the man she knew was Wyatt Hawkins helped Tyler into the passenger seat of a big black pickup truck. He was taking Tyler home with him since DJ was deployed overseas.
Maybe she should have waited. But she knew the answer to that, too—she couldn’t have waited. And she’d sent DJ a letter before learning he was overseas. Doing it all over again—writing a letter to his brother—had torn her apart. Tammie had thought she and Tyler had escaped when they came here to Texas. But the other night someone had broken into the apartment she’d just moved them into. Nothing was missing. The intruder just tore the place up, looking for something. Just as they had at the last two places.
That’s how she’d ended up here with Cora.
She looked down at the coworker who’d become her friend. “I’m sorry to put you in the middle of all this.”
“Don’t you go apologizin’ again. I told you, that’s why we got Rufus.” The old coon dog lifted his head at the sound of his name. “And Bubba.” Bubba was the twelve-gauge shotgun Cora kept propped up beside the front door. She didn’t need one at the back kitchen door, as it was nailed shut with easily a hundred tenpenny nails.
Tyler loved Rufus, and the dog lavished love on the boy every chance he got.
Tammie hoped Wyatt had animals for Tyler to play with. He loved animals. Her mind filled with all the images of things her son loved. Dogs and cats. Horses. Stories about monsters. Video games. And snuggling while she read to him on cold rainy days.
Could she actually die from the pain of her broken heart?
The truck’s taillights glowed, and Tammie leaned closer to the window to watch until they vanished around the corner at the end of the block. Finally, Tyler was well and truly gone.
Tammie lost it. Burying her face in her hands, she gave in to the sobs. Cora rubbed Tammie’s shoulder, making all the soothing noises that people made when they didn’t know what else to do.
* * *
THEY WERE ON the hunt. This was the province where intel had placed the terrorist cell they’d been tracking for months. It was right in DJ’s backyard. The team had assembled quickly with Dixon’s orders—not surprising since they stood at alert around the clock. Now, slowly, methodically, the four-man team moved through the backstreets of the small town DJ knew intimately, having lived here for over a month.
Silence was thick. A strange silence, unlike the norm of a small town. In the middle of the night the few residents who remained were, hopefully, asleep and tucked away safe.
Safe? DJ would have laughed if it weren’t so important to maintain that silence.
He knew the other men were nearby, moving slowly, quietly like him. He sensed rather than heard or saw them. Even with the night-vision goggles they were mere shadows.
A trickle of sweat slid down the center of DJ’s back, like a finger of foreboding.
Something was off, but he couldn’t identify it. This operation felt different. With the next step, he acknowledged it. Life, work, the mission wasn’t different—he was different.
The sharp edges of the photos had dug into his thigh all the way here. Twice, a bump in the road had thrown him into the edge of the truck, and the packet. A sharp reminder of all he had to lose.
A son.
Where was Tyler? DJ glanced at his watch. Probably just sitting down to dinner? Where? With who? If Tammie couldn’t do this anymore, had she dumped him somewhere?
He had a son. Over and over again that thought bounced around in his brain. He wanted to see him. Hear what his voice sounded like. How tall was he? The pictures gave little in the way of reference points.
DJ had promised long ago that he wouldn’t let himself be bogged down by family. Not like the other guys who carried pictures of girlfriends, wives and kids. Distractions. Enemy leverage. Vulnerabilities to be exploited.
Focus! He mentally swore and blinked to shift the gears in his mind. He had a job to do. The others needed him to be 110 percent.
Footsteps broke the silence and, thankfully, jerked him back to sanity. He shut out everything except his awareness. The others did the same.
Silence returned. Too silent. DJ stood, his finger on the trigger, sensing the others on the team moving into position. No one else on this side. Nothing.
The sound of hasty footfalls broke the night, shattering the quiet. Shots rained down. The shadows disappeared, finding cover.
Images flashed in DJ’s mind of a little boy’s smiling face. His eyes burned. No. Not acceptable. He forced the faces of the men around him into his mind. Tyler was part of the why of their mission—the shadows with DJ were the how.
Silence returned. No sounds of pain or injury. Shadows moved. One, two, three. All here. All whole. DJ breathed an instant’s relief.
Seconds later, noise erupted everywhere around him. DJ dropped to the ground, knowing he’d crawl out if he had to. Wouldn’t be the first time.
Gunfire broke the night and tufts of dirt and pieces of rock shot up into the air. He felt the sting of a dozen cuts across his face.
No. Not now. He didn’t know if he said the words aloud or not. A soft click echoed through the streets. “Oh, shit!” DJ froze.
The air shifted and time slowed. The roar behind him shattered the quiet. A ball of fire shot up the street. Language, his and others’, blistered the night.
Searing pain tore a scream from his throat and ripped DJ from his feet. His back, his shoulder, his legs roared with agony.
Light surrounded him, and in the glow, he saw a pair of startled eyes. So far away. So damned far away. DJ tried to speak, but the heat stole his words and burned in his gut.
The night returned. Pure silence. Nothing but pain engulfed him.
“Tyler!” A name that sounded strange in this land, so far from home, echoed down the deserted streets. A name DJ whispered into the darkness that took him.
And then the nothing was simply blank.
Two months later
MORNINGS WERE THE WORST. DJ lay there, listening to the ranch come to life, not moving, because once he moved, reality and pain came back. For those first few minutes, he could pretend that he was still normal.
And then he’d do something stupid, like breathe, and the pain would shoot through him with a knife’s vengeance.
He cursed, long and loud, before forcing his body into a sitting position and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He didn’t know how long he sat there trying to convince himself that getting up was a good idea.
“Dad?” A small voice came through the door, reminding DJ that he didn’t really have a choice. DJ closed his eyes and let the sweet sound rattle around in his head. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of hearing Tyler call him Dad.
It had taken months to build a relationship with his son. Tyler had called him DJ at first.
“Yeah?” he croaked, then cleared his throat. “Just a sec.” He grabbed the jeans he’d tossed over the back of the captain’s chair that now sat in his room, and yanked them on with the chair’s support.
The sturdy chair had been his father’s and the extra leverage the arms provided was a huge help when his scarred legs didn’t want to cooperate. Half-dressed, he called, “Come on in, buddy.”
Moving around, while it hurt like hell, loosened up the damaged muscles and skin of his back and legs.
Tyler