Nightshade (Discarded Heroes), page 7
part #1 of Discarded Heroes Series
Cowboy cocked his head. “Come again?”
“Carbon fiber—changing some of the fiberglass out for lighter, stronger material.”
Deep and taunting, Cowboy’s laugh seeped past the heavy drone of the rotors. “Speed.”
“What else?”
“Bet that’s expensive.”
Max shrugged.
“I suppose you don’t have any other financial obligations. Like child support or alimony.” Cowboy tugged off the rag from his sweat-laden hair.
“Not yet.” But he would once the attorneys finished the paperwork. He’d instructed his lawyer to let Sydney have whatever she wanted. He didn’t need it. This was his fault anyway. Let her have the entire paycheck if she asked.
The chopper arrived, and the guys loaded up. Max tried to shake off the dreams and prying curiosity of Cowboy. Soon the noticeable descent of the helo seemed to rouse everyone. All glad to be home—in one piece. Gently the wheels touched down. Nightshade disembarked and headed into the hangar.
Showered and changed, Max stored his weapons and tactical gear in the below-ground locker and spun the dial. He stuffed his clothes and dirty duds into his duffel then donned his leather jacket. As he yanked the zipper, he remembered the small gift nestled at the bottom of his sack. He paused and reached into the bag. Drew out the box. He flipped the lid, a smile sneaking into his face at the sight of the pendant.
He hung his head. Threw a hard right into the metal door.
The loud bang crackled through the locker room.
Max ground his teeth. Your anger is out of control, she’d said. She was right. But he just couldn’t touch that vault unless he wanted to unleash the demons of his past. He’d seen and done too much. Lost everything.
“Let’s grab dinner at Jolly’s Tavern.” The Kid buttoned his shirt as he glanced around.
“I’m outta here.” Pack slung over his shoulder, Max started the two-mile hike to his apartment. If he could call it that. With only a cot and a lawn chair, it wasn’t much. He didn’t care.
The throaty rattle of a diesel rumbled behind him.
He glanced back.
The truck slowed, and the window slid down. “Wanna ride?” A wide-brimmed Stetson concealed Cowboy’s eyes. “Unless you’re a glutton for punishment.”
“I joined Nightshade, didn’t I?”
“That you did.”
“Look, man,” Max mumbled, glancing down the ice-slicked road. “I appreciate the offer, but I’d be miserable company.”
Cowboy smiled. “Misery loves company, right?”
What was it about this Cowboy? Didn’t he get the message? Then again, there was something about him that made Max want to reconsider the offer. The gift in his bag seemed to burn against his back. Maybe …
He grabbed the handle and tugged open the door. “Could you give me a lift somewhere?”
“I think you missed the point, Frogman. That’s what I offered.”
Settling into the passenger seat, Max shifted. “Not my apartment. I want to check on something.”
Just as Cowboy steered away from the curb, a black SUV ripped past them, horn blaring.
“Griffin has entirely too much enthusiasm after a mission and this late at night.” Cowboy eased his truck into traffic. “So, what happened to your marriage?”
Max stole a glance at the thick-chested man. He didn’t mince words. Then again, that was the way with spec ops guys. You lived and died together. No secrets. “I screwed it up.”
For a moment, Cowboy didn’t respond. Then, “I understand.”
“Yeah?”
“I have a three-year-old daughter.”
Curiosity piqued in Max. “You were married?” He motioned out the widow. “Take the next right.”
“Nah, had a head bigger than a bale of hay. Thought I was too good for everyone.” With his wrist hooked over the steering wheel, Cowboy pulled up to the light. He guided his truck around the turn. “I was in the service by the time I knew about her pregnancy. Then my girlfriend took off with another man shortly after McKenna’s birth. They found Meredith a month later, overdosed in a motel five miles north of the Texas-Mexico border.”
“Tough break.” He pointed out the streets as they wove through town.
“Yeah, I’m doing Nightshade because it allows more time with McKenna. I missed the first three years of her life; don’t plan to miss many more.”
“I thought your family was in Texas.”
“My folks picked up and moved out here this summer. Left Humble to start over.” Cowboy grinned. “Bought some farmland.”
Max gave a slight nod—but his gaze shot to the row of houses on the right. Mentally measuring out the distance between the road and the front door as the big truck slid past the home he’d bought with Sydney, the house they’d shared four of their married years, he tried to steady his breathing. He was far enough out, wasn’t he? This couldn’t be considered a violation of the protective order, could it?
Agitation wound tightly through his gut. Protective order. Against him. He hated himself for that night. She’d done the right thing. He didn’t deserve mercy for hurting the very person he was supposed to protect.
Lights flicked on in the living room.
His heart hiccupped. Four months. He ached for what he’d lost. For what he’d done. His mind cranked through a laundry list of things he’d never have with her again. Dinner. A movie. Endless rounds of Uno with more laughter than points.
What have I done? Why did he let things get so out of hand?
Cowboy eyed him. “Love covers a multitude of sins.”
The words carved a long line through his heart. “Not in my life.”
Icy blackness spread a sheen across the roads. Olin clutched the collar of his wool overcoat tighter as he left the comfort of his car and slipped into the rear passenger seat of the waiting Suburban. Warmth bathed him in a cozy embrace.
The dome light between the two front seats cast a spotlight on the tan leather interior. A manila folder slid toward him. A new mission. He wanted to grin. Instead, he maintained his stiff facade and took the folder. As he perused the contents, pleasure coursed through him with the knowledge that his brainchild had become the new government pet. “I take it Nightshade exceeded your expectations?” He flipped a page and eyed the details. “What’s the timetable?”
“One week.”
He cast a glance at the chairman. “Our fees increase with the difficulty of this mission.”
“You’re already bleeding me dry.” The chairman tapped the paperwork. “If Nightshade can eliminate this problem, then my expectations will be exceeded.”
“I have a feeling you won’t ever admit to being impressed.”
“I don’t need to explain to you the delicate nature of this scenario. The political backdrop and repercussions are enormous. Nobody will touch it.”
A grin split Olin’s lips. “Nightshade loves a challenge.”
He looked good. He always had.
Sydney’s stomach twisted as Max entered the conference room with his attorney and a man in dark jeans and a white button-down, a black Stetson clutched in one hand. Dressed in his typical black leather jacket and jeans, Max hung back, his gaze never meeting hers. But she could tell he wasn’t the vibrant man she’d fallen in love with seven years ago. The downturned lips and dark rings under his eyes bore witness to the many nights he’d had bad dreams. Nightmares. Ones he refused to talk about or get help with. How she ached to know what ate her husband up from the inside out.
She lowered her head. Should she offer him another chance?
“You okay?” Bryce’s whispered words skated into her indecisiveness as he wrapped an arm around her.
Sydney nodded and cleared her throat. Her brother had insisted on coming for “moral support.” Really, she knew he wanted to pummel Max. But in her grapple for courage and strength, she’d relented.
“Mr. Fielding, thank you for coming and bringing your client,” her attorney, Jonas Whittier, said as he shook hands with Max’s lawyer.
Seated on one side of the long conference table, Sydney smoothed her hands down her slacks and watched as her husband and the other two men took their seats. She twisted the ring on her finger. Her wedding ring. By the laws of the state of Virginia, she was still married to Max and would be for another ten months. Unlike some states, the divorce petition wouldn’t be filed until after a year’s separation.
“As we’re all aware, we are here to work out the details of the marital separation agreement.” Jonas drew out two copies of the trial MSA they’d drafted yesterday and slid them to Max and his lawyer.
Mr. Fielding snatched it from the table, his eyes darting over the information as if greedily devouring the requests.
Would they fight her over the alimony and other financial points? Money had always been a sore point with Max.
“I think my client and I will need time to discuss this,” Mr. Fielding said as he flipped to the second page, then the third. Finally, he glanced at Mr. White over the paper. “You sincerely expect my client to pay all of this?”
Sydney glanced toward Max—and their gazes collided. Unyielding. Strong. Warmth swished through her stomach.
Her lawyer removed his glasses. “What we’ve asked for is reasonable and—”
“I’ll sign it,” Max said without breaking eye contact. Sitting to the left and leaning toward his friend, he roughed a hand over his jaw then let his gaze drop.
Silence devoured the room. Sydney looked from one attorney to another.
His attorney argued. “Now, Mr. Jacobs, I don’t think—”
“I said I’ll sign it.” Max grabbed a pen and dragged the MSA closer.
Mr. Fielding yanked the papers up before ink met paper. “I’d like a moment with my client.”
Tension flooded Max’s face.
Sydney swallowed. Would he fight his own lawyer?
“There’s nothing to discuss,” Max groused. For a moment, he held her gaze. “Sydney’s never done me wrong. If she thinks this is fair, then it’s done. I want her taken care of.”
“Then why didn’t you do something sooner?” Bryce asked.
Max glared at her brother. “I see you’re speaking for her again.”
Bryce was on his feet.
So was Max.
Heart in her throat, Sydney yanked her brother’s arm. “Bryce, sit down!”
The cowboy rose, bent toward Max, and whispered something in his ear. Almost instantly, Max’s clouded expression lightened, and he returned to his chair. Attention back on the MSA, he scribbled his signature then slapped the pen down. He looked to Mr. Whittier. “Anything else I need to sign?”
How like Max to walk in and take control. Yet she wondered at this turn. He wanted her taken care of—sure, he’d always taken care of her. The best for my girl, he’d said time and again. But was it that, or was he so anxious to be divorced from her? Did he already have a girlfriend ready to take her place?
Maybe it was good that she hadn’t told him about the baby. Their baby.
“Uh …” Mr. Whittier paused as he perused his files. “No, no, I don’t think so. That’s it—for now.” He peeked at Sydney, his face stricken. Clearly he’d never dealt with a man so used to getting his way or maintaining control.
Max shoved to his feet. “Then we’re through here.” His dark eyes bore into hers. “Merry Christmas, Sydney.” He pivoted and stormed out the door with his friend.
Before she could stop herself, Sydney rushed after him. “Max, wait!”
“Sydney, no. Don’t,” Bryce called from behind.
As she hurried around the corner, she could only pray Max didn’t notice the slight curve to her stomach. “Max, please wait.” Her voice seemed to echo down the hall, chasing him to the exit, where he hesitated.
She strode past the big cowboy, who’d paused and stepped back, and stood before her husband. “Max …” She hung her head. Could she tell him about their baby? She wanted to with everything in her. But she’d also wanted their marriage to work. Wishful thinking.
“I should go,” he said, his voice low. And husky.
“I—” She slowly raised her head and gazed into the licorice eyes that always seemed a mirror of her own soul. Tears burned the back of her eyes. “I never wanted this.”
“Then why are we here?” The question wasn’t sharp or accusing, but probing and filled with more pain than she’d ever heard in his voice.
She squeezed closed the thin crack in her defenses and swallowed. “Max …”
His hand swept her cheek. “I’ll always love you.”
“Then get help and bring back the man I love.”
He patted his chest, the leather making a poofing sound. “This is who I am, Sydney. You didn’t have a problem with me when we got married.” His brow dug toward those dark depths. Stubble lined his jaw and mouth.
Why had she hoped—even tried to talk to him? It was always the same. He argued this was how he was, that she didn’t have a problem with things until her brother got involved. “You’ve changed, Max. For the worse. There was a day you never would’ve hit a man who was helping me.”
His gaze hardened. Lips flat-lined, like her heart. “He stepped in where he didn’t belong.”
Staring at each other, neither moved. She saw some of her own haunting torment in his eyes. Maybe if she just told him, that would be the tipping point. “I’m—”
“Time to go, partner.” The man behind him patted Max’s shoulder.
Max tore his gaze from hers and walked out the door.
She looked down. Then hung her head, cupping her face in her hands. Tears welled up again, this time rising over her barriers and spilling down her cheeks.
Familiar, warm arms embraced her.
“I just wanted things to be different, for him to be different.” She slumped into Bryce’s arms. “I wanted to tell him about our baby.”
“This is why I insisted you file. Even the baby won’t change him. He’s too set in his ways.”
She pulled out of his hug. She didn’t need Bryce’s lectures anymore. Didn’t need to hear that her husband was too self-absorbed to see the damage he inflicted on their marriage. And most importantly, she didn’t want to deal with the fact she was about to become a single mother.
A blur of white slid past the glass doors. Max’s friend.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Had he heard her talk—about the baby?
DAY ONE
Thou shalt have no other gods before me.” Jon’s heart thumped as if in cadence with the staccato firing of a nearby weapon. A courage he hadn’t known he possessed rose up within him with a ferocity that surprised even him. These men probably didn’t even know the verse. But he was pretty sure by the darkening expressions that they got the point.
The shorter of the three stepped forward and raised the weapon, his brow knotting. “We will test your God.” He snickered. “He raise you from the dead?”
Jon tensed and tightened his hold on Maecel, who protested with a squeak. His mind danced to Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. “He is more than able, but if He does not, I will not bow.”
Malice deepened in the man’s face. “You make you choice.” He seemed to be enjoying it as he peered down the muzzle.
The faint movement of his finger to the trigger well pooled acid at the back of Jon’s throat. Is this why God had sent him here? To die? How many times had he prayed Not my will, but Yours, Lord? But the words were easier spoken than standing here with palms almost too slick to maintain his grasp on the bright-eyed daughter God had blessed him with.
Thud! Thud!
The two men who flanked the third dropped like dead weights—right out of the hut. The third spun, and met the solid right cross of Datu.
“Hurry!” Datu leaped down and rushed around the side.
It took a split second for Jon to gather his wits. Then he grabbed his sat phone and backpack they kept ready for emergencies and darted after the man. His feet had no sooner touched the ground than shouts erupted.
Bullets whizzed past him, the pungent smell of cordite bleeding into the air. He zigzagged into the dense jungle, searching through the branches and trees for sign of the chief’s son and Kimber. The late hour and smoke made it next to impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. Chest heaving, he tried to listen over Maecel’s whining to decipher which direction to take. He shhed his daughter, knowing better than to stop moving lest he end up with a bullet or machete blade in his back.
