Blind Rage: Team Red, Book 4 (20 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

“There you are,” Eddie said from beside me. Damn silent feet—I hadn’t heard his approach. “Russ asked me to find you and bring you down for a meeting.”

Well, that was almost one minute to myself. Puzzled, I replied, “Sure. Who else is there?” Drawing one more sip of life-affirming java, I rocked to my feet, careful of my still-full cup. Eddie’s hand slipped under my elbow to steady me. Don’t want to spill the coffee, especially after the stellar shampooing job Crooner and Double D did on the carpets and upholstery. Red provided a fantastic view of their handiwork, and the room smelled fresh despite the amount of usage it received.

Assured I was balanced, Eddie’s hand slipped away, and his voice led me to the kitchen. “Russ, Gwyn, Bas, Jeeves, and your Team Red guards: Frost, Dex, Fritz, and Jazz.” I found it curious how call names were used exclusively for some of the Mustangs, and often ignored for others. I grinned to myself, I suppose it would be odd if the guys walked around calling Fritz “Lover” when they were holding a serious conversation.

“I’m supposed to mention doughnuts if you exhibit any sign of reluctance to come play with us,” my escort tempted. My weakness for chocolate bars was obviously no longer a secret indulgence.

“Doughnuts? I loooooove doughnuts,”
Red wheedled from the deck, a second before his body barreled through the dog flap.

“You said the magic word, ‘doughnut,’” I explained.

“Hey, Top Dog,” Eddie greeted. “Fritz saved a plain cake one, especially for you.”

Red’s nails tapped excitedly on the linoleum.
“Wait, wait! I want to use my remote,”
Red begged.

“Hold on, Eddie. Red wants to open the pantry door.” My escort stopped so suddenly, I almost bumped into him, as Red switched to tail-chasing circles indicating his pleasure. No, we weren’t sharing mind-sight, but some actions when performed on a non-carpeted floor, have a distinct sound. “Simmer down, Red, and get the door for us.”

There was a hydraulic swoosh as the pantry door was activated from the hidden button Jazz installed allowing Red access to his treats in the pantry. Without another word, Red dashed down, paws thundering on the basement stairs.

I don’t enter the Cave often, so the men were good about offering an arm to guide me past a low point on the ceiling. Two steps down, Eddie stopped to guide my other hand to wrap around a smooth wooden rail. “Someone added bannisters!” I exclaimed, surprised. We decided a while ago to wait on handrails because of the difficulty maneuvering large pieces of equipment into the basement.

“Bas insisted on them when he heard we’d have a little man running up and down the stairs. They’ve been up for a week or so.”

“Geez, Red. The only person who inhales doughnuts faster than you is Teresa,” Fritz griped from below.

“Hey!” I pretended affront. “That’s not nice. I eat efficiently, I don’t inhale.”

Pretty sure I heard more than one amused snort from the gathered bodies at the conference table. I chose to ignore them.

Bastian met me at the bottom of the stairway, cupping my face to pull me into a tender kiss. “Love you, Hoover.”

“Oh, shut up,” I grinned. Okay, so maybe I did eat a little fast. I suppose I should be relieved the Mustangs didn’t give me a vacuum cleaner designation for a nick name. Still—Mole. Really, that was the best they could come up with? Sighing, I settled into the chair Bas pulled out for me.

“Lights on?”

“You don’t have to stay, now that you’ve scarfed up your doughnut, Red. Go ahead and finish your perimeter check, if you want.”

“Okay. Now you’re safe with Bas, I’ll head out and take Tank with me.”
Without another word, he dashed up the stairs. “Now” I was safe? Red must have noticed there were no Horses in the kitchen when we exited the guest room. He obviously waited on the deck to make sure I stayed safe. My heart tugged with affection for my considerate dog who gave me room for privacy, while assuring I was guarded from potential threats. I’ll have to reconsider my stance on a bag of mini-marshmallows for the dog treat shelf. I clearly could not allow Red, and potentially Tank, unlimited access to copious amounts of sugar in the form of mini-marshmallows, but Red was a responsible dog, and we could set a daily limit.

“Chocolate bar and jelly glazed in front of you,” Frost informed me from his seat to my right. David’s normal chair. Bas, as usual, sat to my left with me on the end so I could follow conversation around the table better.

“If you don’t have enough room for the jelly-filled one, let me know; I’m here to serve,” Fritz volunteered.

“Thanks for the offer, Fritz, but I always seem to have room for doughnuts,” I chuckled.

We ate our sticky sweets to the accompaniment of companionable teasing and off-color jokes. I suppose it was inevitable, someone—Eddie, I think—mentioned the events of the last few days.

“I haven’t had a chance to thank all of you for your efforts to find me and bring me home. Thank you so much, guys. Everyone worked so well together,” I commended.

Bastian’s hand slid over my own, interlocking our fingers. “Told you, I wasn’t ever letting you go, Babe.”

Footsteps heralded another arrival before David’s voice called out, “I heard rumors of a pastry stash down here.”

“Hey, David. Glad to have you back, man. Sorry for the sad circumstances, though,” Dex commiserated.

David’s forward momentum halted. I momentarily cursed my lack of sight, trying to imagine the scene from David’s perspective. My hand in Bastian’s. Another man in “his” seat. Russ chairing an obvious gathering, which David may or may not have been invited to. Although, he knew of the doughnuts, so maybe he knew Russ called a meeting? Since no one informed me of the agenda, I decided to blissfully enjoy my pastries until Russ broached the subject requiring my attendance.

David’s steps were slow, hesitant, as he wandered to the far end of the table and drew out a chair. I wondered if he hoped Frost would volunteer his seat, or maybe David considered asking for it.

Frost drew my attention away, “Careful. Topped your coffee. Mug’s full and hot.” Since he hadn’t risen from the table, I assumed there was a carafe, or two, making the rounds.

“Thanks, Frost. Still my favorite guard,” I quipped, with a smile.

“Now that we’re all here,” Russ inadvertently answered my question about David’s invite, “I wanted to cover a few things, both Team Red related, and Wild Horse business.

“Teresa, I know you wish to have knowledge of, and input into, inquiries made for Team Red services.” Around the table, my detail mumbled various words of agreement. Bastian squeezed my hand in silent support. “We’ve put the word out to Colonel Spencer, and other interested parties who may request Team Red, that all applications are to be directed to Wild Horse Security. My company will investigate the organization making the request, assess the risk to you and Red, and determine a fee based on the resources needed to complete the job—contingent on your formal approval. Is that acceptable to you?”

“Of course, Russ. I have complete trust in you and your organization. Thank you so much for taking over the responsibility. This will allow David and Bas to stay focused on PreClan work instead of vetting the jobs the colonel throws our way. I do want to emphasize though, we don’t charge a fee to the Spokane Police department. Nor would we charge for a rescue or evidence assessment, if it were coordinated through a local law enforcement agency. Gil, being fully aware of our skills, has been discrete and protective of us when we’ve worked with him, and I wish to retain a good working relationship.”

Bastian chuckled, squeezing my hand again. “That may change soon, Babe. Don’t forget we offered him a position with Team Red.”

“Not if I get him first,” Russ objected.

“When did that happen?” David asked, concurrent with Russ’ rebuttal.

“Gil earns his twenty-year pin in a couple months. Teresa and I discussed adding him to our team, and asked him a week or so ago.”

“I’m pretty sure we’ll lure him to the dark side,” I laughed. “He is dying to work with Red on tracking and agility courses.”

“I wasn’t kidding, I’ve made him an offer too. The man has skills,” Russ stated.

“Whoever gets him, let’s simply make a pact to share,” I compromised.

There was some good-natured grumbling, before Russ conceded. Gwyn’s “There, there, sweetheart, you can’t win them all,” may have factored into him dropping the subject.

“Before we continue, I wanted to make an apology. I underestimated you, Teresa,” Russ admitted, from his customary pacing position at the other head of the table. “Sure, I saw the pictures of Lt. Carpenter after you pounded his face into the countertop. And, yeah, Bas informed me you were no fragile flower. He insisted that you were a formidable woman.” There was an uncharacteristic shuffling of his feet, as Russ gathered his thoughts. “I completely disregarded what he said, assuming he was viewing you through the lens of a love-crazed fool. Well, maybe not a fool, but I was arrogantly sure that he exaggerated your competence. I made the same mistake your kidnappers made, Teresa. They, and I, equated blind with helpless; we assumed your lack of sight meant you were handicapped. I feel like an idiot for overlooking your obvious capability.”

More shuffling before Russ got to the point, “Not only do you have extraordinary skills, which you’ve exhibited in your work with Team Red, but as a strategist you display remarkable aptitude for thinking outside the military box. We are Navy-trained, Teresa, and often approach challenges with an inflexible mindset, choosing instead a tried-and-true tactic. When all you have is a hammer, all your problems look like nails. You, Ms. March, are a Swiss Army knife; you look at problems with a totally different set of tools at your disposal. I would like to offer you a position with the Wild Horse think tank, affectionately referred to as the ‘Trough.’ You’d be paid a monthly retainer fee, and continue to work out of Spokane. If we need your perspective on other operations, we can set up a secure video conference so you can virtually attend San Diego meetings.”

“I’m flattered, Russ. Thank you. But, I don’t know why you’d think there was anything I could add to your mission plans. In the time you’ve known me, I’ve exhibited extreme incompetence, getting myself snagged off my own property, by losers who could have given the Three Stooges some excellent slapstick material.”

“Snagged, while on my watch,” Russ countered. “Teresa, I’ve observed how you work with Red, asking insightful questions to help get the answers you need. Casually, when the guys have complained about a problem we’re having, you come up with the most ingeniously simple solutions to issues we’ve wracked our brains over. Your talent lays in breaking challenges down to their base component, whereas we seem to overlook the obvious as we try to fashion issues into recognizable nails for our Naval-fashioned hammers.” There were a few wicked chuckles as all the dirty minds in the room went off on a tangent.

“Well, I’d be happy to help if you think I have something to contribute,” I offered, “but I really don’t think you need to pay me a fee simply for asking my opinion about stuff.”

“Oh, no you don’t, Babe,” Bas interjected. “Russ is offering you a job with the Trough, comprised of a group of people whose value is based on their unique perspective and opinions. Gwyn, David, and I are in the group, along with a dozen others. Each of us are paid the exact same retainer to be available when needed. The collaboration is important, and significant; one insightful suggestion or comment, could save millions of dollars, or an operative’s life. If you accept Russ’ offer, the fee is part of the package.”

“Just as importantly, you’d make a commitment to be available when needed.” Gwyn added, “We may only have a few hours’ notice for an emergency meeting, and each person is expected to make a best effort to attend. Exceptions are made, of course. For example, with Bas and David, if they are on the road for a military software upgrade and can’t get to a secure phone line, they are exempted. Often, members who miss the discussion will call in if they can, to offer their input post-meeting.”

“If you really think I can make a contribution, I’d love to join your think tank. Thank you for making the offer, Russ.” My mind was buzzing with the possibility of a new, creative outlet. I hoped Russ wouldn’t regret the offer. If he was going to pay me for my opinions, I wanted to bring value for the money.