Rogenna Brewer - The SEAL's Special Mission

While he couldn’t account for every variable, he had to hope she didn’t spend Friday nights away from home—or at least not this Friday night.

Nash scowled at his reflection. While there was no love lost between him and his former sister-in-law, leaving Mal behind was not an option. If she wasn’t here by nineteen hundred hours, he’d find out from the boy where she was and they’d go get her.

Worst-case scenario, Bari or one of his henchmen had already gotten to her.

Just the thought was enough to send chills down his spine.

Ben’s safety had to come first. Not Mal, not his mother—not even Sari—came before Ben, and those were just the cold, hard facts.

But he’d have a hard time living with himself if anything happened to Mallory—or with any of the women on the periphery of his life—because of him. His conscience would demand that he go after her. His conscience was why he was here now instead of already on the road.

Back in the bedroom, he checked both nightstands looking for Mallory’s handgun.

Assuming she had more than one firearm, where would she keep them? Some place out of the kid’s reach. He scanned the room and then settled on the closet, where he found a fireproof lockbox on the shelf underneath some sweaters.

He felt along the dusty ridge of the doorframe inside the closet until he came across the key. The most logical place to look was usually the place to find what you were looking for. The lockbox contained her SIG Sauer and a box of 9 mm bullets among life’s important papers—birth certificates, death certificates, adoption papers.

Dead presidents.

Not the amount of cash needed to start a new life, but enough for a household emergency or a quick getaway. He didn’t think twice before shoving the money into his pants pocket.

Checking her unloaded gun, he grabbed the box of bullets. The 9 mm shells would fit both their weapons.

Tucking her SIG into his waistband at his back alongside his Glock, he wondered why she’d kept the weapon. There was no doubt in his mind the SIG Sauer was the same one he’d given her as a graduation present from Quantico. The one she’d pointed at him while reading him his rights.

A car door slammed. Nash drew the bedroom curtain aside to check it out. Mallory had just gotten out of her white Prius with a bag of groceries in hand and a pumpkin tucked under her arm.

The two agents parked across from the house approached her with a flash of agency badges. Nash couldn’t make out what they were saying, but Mal dropped the pumpkin and everything else she carried with a splat as she ran toward the house.

CHAPTER FOUR

MALLORY RAN UP the front steps. Fumbling for the right key, she unlocked the door and in her haste tripped over the threshold. “Ben, Benjamin!”

“Yeah?” He looked up from his video game on the big screen. “Whatever it is, I didn’t do it.”

Her heartbeat slowed to normal at the sight of him playing his favorite video game. “Is there something I should know that you’re not telling me, Ben?”

“No.” He returned to Skylander Spyro’s Adventures.

Mallory turned to the two agents who’d followed her as far as the door. “Looks like we’re fine.” She kept her voice low so Ben wouldn’t overhear.

“We’ll be right outside.” FBI Special Agent Stanley Morgan set the groceries inside the door and handed over her pumpkin-gut-splattered Kate Spade handbag. The one she’d saved for six months to buy and then ruined in six seconds with the first words out of his mouth a couple minutes ago.

“When was the last time you had contact with Kenneth Nash, Ms. Ward?”

No contact. Ever.

He’d promised—a convicted felon was as good as his word, after all.

“Would you mind telling me what’s going on?” She took a step outside, backing the agents up onto her front porch. She left the door cracked behind her and kept a watchful eye on Ben through the picture window to the front room.

Stan, with his basset hound eyes and long overdue for retirement, exchanged a look with his young bulldog of a partner, an ex-marine named Christopher Tyler. Though not well acquainted with either of them, Mallory knew both men from the downtown office. Tyler even hung out on the fringe of her social group and had asked her out once or twice. But she gave dating him or anyone from the office a wide berth.

At the very least these two men owed her the professional courtesy of a response. “Guys?”

“Nash was in the custody of two U.S. marshals found dead early this morning,” Tyler said. “He’s a person of interest.”

“Meaning what, exactly?” She crossed her arms. “Are you saying he killed two federal marshals?”

Stan shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sure that’s what the Marshal Service would like to find out.”

“There’s enough ballistics and blood evidence to suggest he was wounded at the scene,” Tyler said. “They really want to find the guy.”

“Where was this?”

“Back East, somewhere.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything, Stan. New York? D.C., Virginia...? Where back East?”

“Mallory,” Stan said, sounding rather paternal as he ignored her question—he reminded her of her father and everything about him that she would miss once he was gone. “Kenneth Nash is considered armed and dangerous. He’s been a deep-cover operative for a while now. It’s not unheard of for these guys to turn rogue. If you come up against him, do not try to take him down alone this time. He’s not the same man you knew seven years ago.”

“The man I knew seven years ago killed my sister. I wouldn’t put anything past him.” She brushed back a loose strand of hair before tucking her hand back in her crossed arms. “Why was he in custody?”

“They didn’t tell us much,” Stan admitted. “Until we got the call a few hours ago, we were under the impression the guy was dead.”

“Suicide or something, wasn’t it?” Tyler’s watchful eyes became piercing. “Of course you must have known different?”

“I don’t know anything.” She ignored his subtle probing accusations and held his gaze as she offered up that half-truth. Deep down she’d known this day would come and had prepared for it. “Good night, gentlemen.”

She turned to step back inside the house.

“Mallory.” Stan stopped her from closing the door. “We can’t protect you and the kid if you don’t tell us what you know. Where is he?”

“What I know?” she said. “What I know is that you can’t protect us from him. But if he was here, you’d already be dead.”

She closed the door and then leaned against it with a resigned sigh.

“Ben, turn off the video game.” She forced a calm she was far from feeling into her voice. “I dropped the pumpkin. We need to run to the grocery store for another one or we won’t be able to carve it tonight. If we go now we can stop by the party store and pick up that Iron Man costume you wanted. Hurry up, okay?”

“’Kay.” His response lacked enthusiasm and she knew from experience it would be several minutes before he turned off the game. She needed those minutes to compose herself anyway. If Nash was coming from the East Coast, it would take him at least a day to get here, unless he hopped a plane. Assuming he’d avoid major airports, train and bus depots, he was mostly likely traveling by car. Assuming being the operative word.

She had no idea what Nash would or wouldn’t risk to get to them.

Only that he would get to them. Unless she managed to stay one step ahead of him.

She scooped up her purse and the bag of groceries by the door. She found Jess, Ben’s babysitter, in the kitchen, eating popcorn—iPod so loud she could hear the faint strains of music without the benefit of earbuds herself. It was no wonder the girl hadn’t heard Mallory calling for Ben.