Rogenna Brewer - The SEAL's Special Mission

Jess removed an earbud. “He got bored with my project.” She let the handful of orange-colored popcorn fall into the bowl.

“Thanks for staying late this evening, Jess.” Mallory dug out her checkbook, scribbled out the amount for the week with a sizable bonus and then tried not to appear as if she were rushing the girl out the door.

Stay calm, Ward. This is no time to panic.

“No problem.” Jess stuffed the check into the pocket of her strategically ripped jeans without so much as a glance at the amount, and then grabbed her hoodie off the wall rack on her way out the back door. “See you next week.”

Next week was too far into the future to think about when the next few minutes were all that counted. Mallory followed the girl to her car parked in the drive at the side of the house. Jess could just as easily have crossed the alley to her own yard, but try telling that to a seventeen-year-old in her first year of unrestricted driving. With one eye on the back door and the other on the car, Mal watched headlights fade as Jess backed around the Prius and then out onto the street.

It might very well be the last time they saw the girl.

For peace of mind, Mal had to make sure she left safely.

Darting a quick glance toward the unmarked car parked across the street, Mal hurried back inside and grabbed the keys to her father’s vintage Mustang off the same rack where they hung their jackets. She seldom drove the car except to keep the battery charged for the occasional Sunday drive with her dad. It was parked in the detached garage off the alley, which meant they could get to it before anyone stationed out front even knew they were gone.

A well-tuned muscle car had the added advantage of being fast.

“Ben!” she called out as she stepped back into the kitchen. Unpacking the groceries by rote, she paused to check her cell phone to see if she had any new messages. She’d taken the afternoon off to run her father to his doctor’s appointment, but she’d had her phone with her the entire time. No calls.

Nothing from Special Agent Galena. Or Commander McCaffrey.

If something was up, wouldn’t one of them have contacted her? She dropped the phone back into her purse.

For years now Nash hadn’t even been a blip on her radar screen. About a year after he’d been transferred to Guantanamo Bay, under an assumed name known only to a select handful of important people, three prisoners escaped. A fourth was shot in the attempt. Mal knew upon hearing the reports that Nash was among the escapees.

It was all hush-hush. As far as the public was concerned, no detainee had ever escaped from Gitmo.

Shortly after that, he appeared with wild hair and a full beard on the FBI’s Most Wanted list under the alias Sayyid Naveed. If it wasn’t for his eyes, she never would have known it was Nash. He was unrecognizable to the point she would have passed him on the street. The very thought gave her chills.

Shortly afterward she learned that asking questions invited trouble.

The commander himself came to debrief her. He even threatened to have her security clearance downgraded.

That’s when she realized she might need an escape hatch someday and began systematically socking away resources in storage lockers around the state. But Nash had never appeared on her radar again, until tonight.

“Ben, now,” she said in her best mom voice. That should get him moving.

“Coming.” His answering whine meant he’d heard the seriousness in her tone and would wind down the game. These next few hours, days—maybe even weeks and months—were not going to be easy for him to understand, so she’d allowed him this small rebellion. It wouldn’t be easy leaving everything behind.

If she’d known today was going to be the last time she’d see her father, what might she have done differently?

Don’t even go there, Ward.

It was going to be hard enough walking out the door and never looking back.

She’d spent that first year after Nash’s “suicide” looking over her shoulder, preparing for this moment. Panic set in now that her day of reckoning had come and she realized just how unprepared she really was. She should run up the back stairs and grab the stash of cash she kept in the lockbox.

But the hairs on the back of her neck kept her rooted to the first floor where she could see both the front and back door from the kitchen, while remaining within an arm’s reach of Ben.

No. There was no time to waste. She was already wearing her service revolver. And she had her badge and handcuffs, too.

Best to leave with as little as possible. They’d still need cash, but a single withdrawal from an ATM close to home would get them to their next destination. She’d planned this carefully enough so that no matter what direction she was forced to take, she and Ben would be able to start a new life.

Shoving the carton of broken eggs to the back of the fridge, she closed the door and then jumped. Nash stood on the opposite side of the refrigerator, looking scruffy in his ball cap with his overlong hair and five o’clock shadow.

“Hello, Mal.”

“There are two FBI agents out front.” She put the center island between them and picked up the butcher knife from the block of knives next to the cutting board. Reaching for the celery, which hadn’t made it into the crisper, she began chopping the bunch without washing or removing the rubber band. “I’ll give you a ten-minute head start before I scream.”

“I don’t need ten minutes. And you’re not going to scream.”

She didn’t scream as he moved right up behind her and stilled the knife in her hand with his hand. She let go and the butcher knife dropped to the cutting board. He picked it up and tossed it out of reach to the sink.

It would be futile to resist. She wasn’t about to challenge him in hand-to-hand combat—until she had to.

“They think you killed two marshals.”

He didn’t move from behind her. “What do you think?”

That he was capable of doing just that.

She ignored his loaded question as he reached inside her jacket for her gun. Her breath caught on the intake as his arm brushed the underside of her breasts and pinned her against his chest as he checked the safety on her firearm before tucking it into his own jacket pocket. “What are you doing here, Nash?”

“Smart move not going for the gun.”

He began patting her down underneath her jacket.

His impersonal check felt far too personal and she slid around to face him. With her back to the island, she groped for a steak knife and managed to get a good grip on one. He blocked the jab, took the knife and the whole block of knives and dumped them in the sink out of her immediate reach.

“Enough games, Mal. You and the boy are coming with me.”

He latched on to her elbow and she shook off his grip. “We’re not going anywhere with you.”

“We don’t have time for theatrics. Call him again.” He picked up what she recognized as her gym bag and tucked her gun from his jacket into a side pocket, and then picked up Ben’s backpack and tossed it over his shoulder as he nodded toward the back door.

“Ben.” She modulated her tone so there was little to no urgency in it, hoping he’d be too engrossed in his game to break away. Heart pounding, Mallory moved toward the living room as if to hurry him along. She flicked the kitchen light switch in passing.

Nash was no dummy. He hauled ass toward her with menace in his stride.

She stood there with her hands on her hips and made sure she had plenty of room to maneuver before picking a fight with him.

She was a trained professional. All she had to do was stand between Nash and Ben until two armed agents burst through the doors. If Nash dared to make a move in Ben’s direction, she would lay a world of hurt on him. Not even a Navy SEAL could easily get past a mama bear intent on protecting her cub.