SEAL's Promise - Bad Boys of SEAL Team 3, Book 01 (15 page)

Nothing about the costume, the sounds or the dancing were familiar. T.J. found himself holding his breath in spite of the fact that this woman was old enough to be his mother. Her grace and beauty rivaled any twenty year old’s. He found Timmons standing in the shadows in the back corner transfixed, arms crossed, and his face unreadable. T.J. knew the man’s private thoughts were deep. He was happy for him.

After the performance, several of the SEALs and their wives and girlfriends went to a local microbrewery that also played sports on big screen TVs. Mark and Sophia were talkative, chattering and kissing, while feeding each other finger food. Timmons dropped by with Sanouk. Kyle and Christie were there, as were several others, including Fredo and Mia.

They all stopped and observed a news bulletin that interrupted the ball game announcing a terrorist beheading of another male American journalist, along with a female aid worker.

The American journalist was captured over a year ago and several attempts to locate and free the man and two others, were unsuccessful. Another aid worker from the U.K was executed a month ago.

The Team guys shook their heads, taking short looks at each other as they shared their private thoughts in mixed company. Team business was never discussed in front of the wives unless absolutely necessary. Since there was little chance they’d be deployed sooner than three months, all they could do was register their disgust, but T.J. knew everyone was thinking the same thing. The groups were getting bolder and bolder. It wouldn’t take long before some of these actions would take place on American soil. And that meant innocents would be targeted.

The announcer came on and showed a scratchy sign written in Arabic. Jones squinted and swore, being the most fluent in Pashto. T.J. could recognize some characters and saw the distinctive “U.S” letters on the sign.

“
The threat is considered credible. Members of the military and their families are being targeted. No one is safe, no matter where they live. No one.

The announcer signed off, and the news station made a brief statement T.J. couldn’t make out, and then the ball game went back on. Most everyone was looking into their water glasses and beers, but as if on cue they looked over to Kyle.

“Well, there’s no fuckin’ thing we can do about it right now, so let’s toast to Sophia and Mark. Hooya!” Kyle boomed.

Glasses were raised and the chant was repeated, adding Mark and Sophia’s names.

“Where’s your mom, Sanouk?” T.J. asked the gangly kid, in the silence that followed.

“She’s cooking something special. A dessert for …” Sanouk threw a thumb in Timmons’ direction. T.J. had never seen the man blush before, but he was bright red.

“Oh, this is serious shit, man,” Fredo began. “When the woman starts making desserts, you got yourself trapped, man. They break out all the stuff they do really well, and then later, it’s all TV dinners and—”

“What the fuck you talking about?” Kyle blurted. “You’ve never been fuckin’ married, Fredo.”

Jones added his opinion to the mix. “As a matter of fact, I don’t think any woman has been brave enough to cohabitate.”

The crowd laughed at Fredo’s expense.

“So you gonna just sit there and take that, or you gonna tell them?” Mia said to Fredo, who was the second man T.J. had seen blush tonight.

“I proposed to Mia last Saturday night, and she said yes.” Fredo could hardly look at anyone, and ducked his head like a beer had been poured on him.

“I hope Armando’s okay with this. Mister
don’t mess with my sister,”
Kyle added.

Christy stood, leaned into Fredo’s back, and gave him a bear hug from behind with a kiss on the cheek. The cat-calls were long and loud.

“You done good, Fredo. Congrats you two,” Christy said as she winked at Mia.

“Thanks.”

T.J. felt Shannon stiffen at the early talk of Fredo’s engagement, but he gave her a warm smile and a kiss, and she leaned into him with a sigh.

“So that’s two weddings,” Nick said as he drilled a look at T.J. and Shannon.

“We’re doing it backwards, guys,” T.J. said softly. “Having the baby first, and then if I do well enough in the delivery room, perhaps Shannon will marry me afterwards. But she needs to know I can handle myself in childbirth.”

“Oh T.J., that’s not what I said.” Shannon had slapped his arm, but she was smiling in spite of herself.

“Wasn’t what you said, honey. I read your mind.” T.J. pointed to his temple and got another arm slap for his troubles.

“When’s the funeral, Fredo?” Sanouk asked. Mia scowled.

Fredo cracked a smile that completely bisected his face and spread his already wide nose. “Going to Vegas this weekend. Who wants to give me away?”

Chapter Eighteen

‡

S
HANNON HAD FELT
slightly sick to her stomach at the brewery, so T.J. took her home early. She noticed her fingers and ankles were swollen, and they hurt from the pressure.

“Gotta get you off those feet,” T.J. said. “You going to be able to sleep, honey?”

“Not with this nausea.”

“If you’re not feeling better by later this evening, I’m calling the doctor.”

“I agree.” Shannon had to admit, she was a little concerned by how quickly her mood changed with her upset stomach.

She took a cool shower and donned a big shirt, readying herself for bed.

It was usually comfortable in San Diego, since the temperature never varied by more than a few degrees all year round, but today there was no breeze coming off the ocean. She got up and turned on the window air conditioner that looked nearly as old as she was, but nothing happened. T.J. was working on his computer in the living room with a headset so he could listen to his warrior music and not bother her. He had been obsessed with news accounts from North Africa, and although he never said so, Shannon suspected that was where they were headed on their next deployment.

Standing in the doorway, she watched him hunch over the blue light from his laptop. His enormous shoulders tapered down to an impossibly thin waist, which she noticed now more than ever, due to her condition. The baby had been lazy all day, but as she ran her hand over her eight-months-pregnant tummy, she whispered to Courtney. “Won’t be long now, sweetheart. Can’t wait to hold you in my arms.” She rubbed back and forth and hummed a little tune she’d been sung as a child, and eventually Courtney started moving slowly, almost in rhythm to the music.

She knew she should try to get her rest, because she’d been advised these quiet nights wouldn’t always be here. And then she’d be nursing a young baby with T.J. overseas. Knowing how she’d worried about Frankie, as it turned out for good reason, she wouldn’t be getting any sleep even if the baby didn’t keep her up all night. There were still so many unsettled things.

T.J. sensed her presence and came over to her, kneeled and spoke to Courtney. “You keeping your mama up all night, darlin? Gotta let her get her rest so she can be strong to handle you.”

He stood up and she buried her head into his shoulder and wept.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I feel like it’s the quiet before the storm, T.J. I feel like I need to be prepared, like something’s going to happen that will rip me from this peace.”

T.J.’s hands were all over her back, her neck. He knew just where to knead her upper spine so as to work out the kinks and make her feel rubbery. “Good that you recognize that. We have down time overseas, too, but we know better than to let our guard down.” His breathing was heavy as he shook his head.

“What is it? What aren’t you telling me, T.J.?”

“You saw that report on the news tonight, babe?”

Shannon nodded, but stayed wrapped in the safety of his arms.

“You gotta be vigilant, watch everything and everyone around you. Especially when I’m gone, but even now. Things are changing out there, and some of the arena we’ve been working in is coming home to the U.S. We’ll get them, that’s for certain. We’re hoping to minimize the threat, but we can’t be everywhere.”

“You really believe that guy?”

“They went after the World Trade Center twice before they got it right. These zealots are different from us because they don’t value human life, so their own death means nothing. What we don’t understand is how someone who is raised here and given so much could turn and want to destroy us. Those are the ones we probably can’t stop, until the entire movement is crushed or some cooler heads prevail. Contrary to what some media centers say, we didn’t cause this. It’s because of who we are that they come for us. And if they can’t get us on the battlefield, they’ll try to pick off some of our non-combatants, our families.”

“I hate to even think about that.”

“I know, sweetie. But you have to. Your instincts are good. Stay alert. Know where that loaded gun is at all times. Never be without it when I’m gone, understand?”

His warm hands cupped her cheeks as he savored her lips slowly. She felt his heat coming on, mingling with hers, and allowed it to deliciously subside. She was ready to not be pregnant and could hardly wait.

T.J. escorted her back to the bedroom. “Couldn’t get the air to work. Can you?”

“I’ll go get one tomorrow, but lemme look at it.”

Shannon got into bed, covered herself with just one sheet and lay back to watch T.J. fiddle with the knobs and then finally pound the top of the machine with his fist. The unit slowly sputtered to life.

“You’re so masterful!” She extended her arms to the sides to invite him into her bed.

“Not really, I just knew where to hit it. You heard about the guy who was hired to fix some big machine in a factory and insisted he be paid up front?”

“No. Who was he?”

“It’s a story, babe. He gets paid ten thousand dollars, walks into the plant and hits a pipe with his wrench and the machine starts working. The factory owner cries foul.”

T.J. pointed to the air conditioner.

“The fixit man said,
Hey, I did my job. It’s fixed
. The factory manager said,
But all you had to do was bang on one pipe. That’s not worth ten thousand dollars
. The man said,
One dollar for hitting the pipe and nine thousand nine hundred nine-nine dollars for knowing where to hit it.

“I don’t care. You’re still amazing.”

“I think it was frozen up, and a chunk of ice fell outside. That’s all.”

“But you knew where to hit it.”

“Nope. I guessed.”

Chapter Nineteen

‡

T.
J
. GOT A
call from his liaison during breakfast. Shannon had finally fallen asleep and he preferred to leave her that way.

“What’s up, Chief?”

“T.J., I got a collect call from Tennessee, and I didn’t accept the charges at first. They never called back, but left a number. I could hear a man’s voice on the other end, and he kept shouting out your name over the operator.”

T.J. closed their bedroom door shut before answering. “Who was this guy?”

“He says he’s your father, T.J.”

He’d always known that someday something would surface about his family. He expected to be contacted by a sister or brother, or perhaps his mother, but not his dad. T.J. had always envisioned a beautiful woman who had given him birth, remembering one of his foster parents’ words about how she’d been a beauty queen in Arkansas. So, perhaps his father was from Tennessee. That
could
be possible.

“Can I have that number, Chief?” he asked. Even as he blurted the words, he wasn’t sure he really wanted to talk to the man. But reflex made him ask anyway.

“Well, son, I’m afraid I have some bad news on that front.”

“I don’t understand, Chief Collins.”

“The call came from Riverbend Maximum Security Prison.”

It was as if he’d run into the end of a telephone pole they’d trained with in his BUD/S class. A wave of nausea consumed him. Black blotchy spots formed before his eyes, and he fought back dizziness.

Fuck me. My dad’s a serial killer or child molester.
If it was a maximum security prison, he wasn’t there for stealing a car or writing too many bad checks, not that that would have been okay with T.J., either.

He didn’t remember much of what Collins had to say after that, but he did have his wits about him to at least write down the phone number. After he hung up, he saw that a similar number was showing on his phone without voicemail. Could these be from two different family members? Maybe his mother? He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, judging from how well he’d scored with the last scenario.

He hit re-dial, and it was answered by a message.

“
You’ve reached the office of inmate special services Travis Banks of the Riverbend Correctional Facility in Nashville. I’m not available to take your call…”

Before he knew it, a beep indicated he was to leave a message.
What the fuck do I say?
He hung up and cursed.

What am I, in grammar school?

T.J. stomped around the kitchen, opening cupboards, looking for something to eat. He grabbed an apple from a fruit bowl and took a bite out of it. The interior of the apple was soft and a little mushy and contained the remnants of a worm, probably less than half of what he had in his mouth. He opened the front door, spit out the fruit onto the shrubbery, and threw the apple like he was throwing a grenade, past the next street at least, over the tops of red tiled roofs, until it was out of sight. He knew he could throw it far enough to make it to the estuary. He thought he had enough on it to send the red fruit all the way to heaven, but after a few seconds he heard the unmistakable sound of a car alarm going off.

Son of a bitch.

Walking inside, he slammed the front door shut, rattling the walls, and then he remembered Shannon.

Her face was white as she ran to him, bolting from the bedroom like it was on fire. “What is it, T.J.? What’s happened?”