Maliki (Guardian Defenders Book 2)

by Kris Michaels

She cut a healthy portion of the pie with her fork and waved it in front of him before she ate it. "I'll risk it."

  He lifted his tea and toasted her.

  "What experiences?" She scooped some ice cream and paused to look at him.

  He blinked at her. What? "I'm sorry, I'm not following?"

  She ate the frozen cream and then used the napkin to wipe her lips. "You said you've gone through experiences you wouldn't wish on anyone. Were you in the Air Force or with Guardian when they happened?"

  His internal armor rose. He watched her for a moment. What happened with Foxtrot Team wasn't something he'd ever broached when others were around. That night had devastated him. He was the only one to escape. The man he'd carried out of hell with him never really returned. His body came home, but mentally, Trucker stayed in that pit where their teammates lost their lives. The men's names and the events of that night were almost sacred to him. "You're quite the investigator, aren't you?"

  "Actually, no. I haven't been to any classes for investigation. I'm just a deputy. I have my basic law enforcement certification, and I'm damn good at paperwork. The Air Force taught me to do it right the first time. The sheriff would never sign off on the cost for an advanced course like that. He can send three through other classes for the cost of one person going through the investigator's course. I get it. But I am diligent, I pay attention, and I know when someone redirects the conversation. Not something you care to talk about?"

  He put his tea down and leaned on his arms. "Dark times. I don't want to disrespect the memory of those who didn't come home by discussing it in a chain restaurant where there is no privacy. It seems..."

  "Wrong. I get it. Sorry I pushed you."

  He shook his head. "You didn't push; you asked."

  "So, Doctor Blue, what are we going to do for the rest of the day?"

  "Do you have anything important to get back to?"

  She tipped her wrist to look at the face of her watch. "No. I cleared the afternoon. Although I'm back on call at six. Let me tell you, being sidelined by your boss sucks."

  "I agree, but I acknowledge my limitations. It's better if Guardian takes this. I wouldn't want to be responsible for messing up the investigation. My training is evolving, but I know nothing about interviewing witnesses."

  "Yeah, what do you know about?" She dropped her chin into her hand and stared at him.

  Wow. Okay, you opened that door, shithead. "Oh, you know, run of the mill stuff." Like how to disable a bomb, fly a drone, build and use a remote triggering device.

  "Hmmm… evasion again. Okay, let me redirect the question. Why would a doctor, a surgeon in fact, be training to do anything but medicine?" She blinked at him and then lifted her eyebrows, taunting him to answer.

  He drew a breath and asked, "Have you ever been so incredibly bored with your life that you needed to do something, anything, to validate you were in fact… alive?"

  She leaned back. "Well, I've jumped out of an airplane, and I rock climb. It makes my blood pump, and I get a charge from it. We've already established you're an adrenaline junkie. Run of the mill classes wouldn't keep your interest." She narrowed her eyes and leaned forward; her voice lowered to a whisper. "You said you were assigned to a team when you first worked for Guardian. I think maybe your dark times happened with that team; they are the people you won't disrespect. Maybe the reason you take these 'less than basic classes' is because you're afraid of letting what happened then happen again. Although knowing what little I do about you, I believe you did everything in your power to stop whatever was happening. You don't seem to give by half measures."

  The sounds of the restaurant dwindled to nothing as he stared at the woman across from him. A woman who'd known him for less than a week had split him open and cut out his heart. A movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he lifted his hand signaling the waitress for the check. He dropped his eyes to his empty cup.

  She reached across the table and touched his arm. "Should I apologize again? Did I insult you?"

  He shook his head. "It's hard to be insulted by the truth."

  Maliki let the GPS navigate them through Charlottesville but turned it off once they were on the county road heading back to Pleasant County. Poet hadn't said a word since they’d left the restaurant. He glanced at her before he spoke, "It was hard to hear."

  Her attention rested on him. "I'm sorry."

  He attempted a smile. "Don't be. I don't know how to explain the suspension of reality in which I've existed recently. You ripped the blinders off, and the reality of what I was doing and possibly why I've been doing it is rather jarring. That revelation requires a moment to digest." He was an intelligent man. He'd been called gifted. He’d made his life decisions based on fact, hadn't he? Where had the deliberate shift of his focus from medicine to the thrill of the danger involved with Guardian's newest teams come from? When had he lost his edge? Where did he deviate from his goal to be the best surgeon he could be?

  Ah... well, yes, then. He'd lost the zeal for his profession when his father accused him of negligence. Nothing else he'd accomplished had come close to the sense of achievement of a successful surgery. Perhaps that was why he was still searching?

  He set the cruise control and let his mind wander. Poet was right. He never wanted to let a team down again.

  He cleared his throat. "Guardian supported me, and the decisions I made that night."

  Her hand landed on his thigh. "I'll listen if you want to talk about it. If you don't, I understand."

  He ground his teeth for a moment before the words came. Words he couldn't stop, and he wasn't sure he wanted the memories to ebb. "I was on the team's six, taking my turn on trail making sure we weren't being followed. When I made it to where the others were, my team leader and the second in command were squared off in one hell of an argument. Loud. Too fucking loud. We didn't have a chance of avoiding detection. The situation around us devolved into an epic clusterfuck. They could have fucking avoided detection, but the argument between Skipper and Drago put us on the scope. Our second in command was taken out with a first-round volley of hand grenades. The skipper led us through the streets and into a small compound. He knew exactly where he was going, but as far as I knew we didn't have intel on the area. Sandy, the youngest and most inexperienced on the team, was wounded. I picked him up and Trucker hauled his ass with us as overwatch. Skipper didn't stop, didn't slow down, he was hell bent on getting to wherever the fuck he was going. Of course, we followed.

  He led us down a street to a compound that was fortified. We were pinned down. Fuck, we fought like animals for over thirty minutes. We were running out of ammo. The skipper ordered us to cover him and he made it into the next building. I split my time between caring for Sandy and keeping the insurgents from overrunning us. Trucker, damn we'd all be dead if it wasn't for that man. We heard the skipper yell for us to get down. We hit the dirt. The skipper tossed a hand grenade, and I watched as he hauled a chest from the building and sprinted toward us in our defensive position we'd been using. Sandy lost his fight for his life about the same time Skipper bought it. Skipper was shot through the neck at the edge of the small shelter we were defending."

  Maliki drew a shuddering breath at the memories. He’d fought to keep his skipper alive, but it was useless. He pushed the chest over, using it as cover for his teammate as he worked on him and then as a base to steady his M4. A volley of bullets broke the case open and the contents spilled out.

  "Motherfucker!" Trucker swore and glanced at Mal.

  Mal shook his head. "Forget about it. We need a way out."

  "I'm on it. Keep them off me, Doc, then we play dead."

  Trucker rigged two claymores and they baited the bastards in by not firing. When the fuckers were close enough, Trucker popped the explosives. Mal shivered at the recollection of the mist of blood and the fall of body parts. He and Trucker hauled ass. They fought their way out. He was hit in the shoulder; Trucker took a bullet to the head. His
helmet slowed the projectile and angled the wound, skimming the man's skull before it embedded. He triaged his teammate and carried him until he met up with friendly forces. His skipper, the son of a bitch... he'd put all their lives on the line for fucking money. A fucking chest of gold.

  Poet shifted beside him, extracting him from the past. He cleared his throat and continued, "Trucker was shot, but I was able to get us help." Not enough and not soon enough for Trucker. The man lived in a convalescent home and didn't recognize his family.

  "What was in the chest?"

  Maliki gripped the steering wheel with a death grip and shook his head. He'd briefed Guardian and only Guardian knew what was in the chest. "We never found out. Survival became paramount."

  "That I get. Do you think that was why your skipper and the second in command were arguing?"

  "Again, I don't know. I wasn't there long enough to figure it out before we were running down the back alleys and streets of that little town."

  "What about Trucker? Did he hear?"

  "We'll never know. He suffered a brain injury. He has little to no cognitive ability. He can feed himself, he doesn't speak, doesn't act like he recognizes anyone."

  "You got him out?"

  "I'd die before I left him there."

  They were quiet for a long time. "Maliki?"

  "Yeah?"

  "I'm really glad you made it out, too."

  He covered her hand that was still on his thigh and squeezed it. He may have made it out, but he'd never been able to leave that experience. Never. That day had shaken his faith in his organization, in his own judgement, and in humanity in general. He'd trusted his team with his life, and his skipper had violated his trust. Three dead, one critically injured and him... alive but grieving.

  "Would you like to come over tonight? Same time? You're cooking. You're better at it than I am, and you can afford it. I saw your house, today, remember?"

  Her question dragged him away from his thoughts, and he gave thanks for the distraction from the somber memories. "What? This coming from another trust fund baby?"

  "Oh, hell, my trust fund is like a three-year old's piggy bank compared to yours."

  He threw back his head and laughed. "How would you know?"

  She gawked at him. "I. Saw. Your. Mansion!"

  "Not mine, my parents."

  "Ah huh. Money. Old money. Lots of old money. So, you buy dinner or bring the ingredients and we'll cook together."

  "I'll do that, but only because I don't want my arteries to harden in the time I'm here."

  "Whoa! That earned you a whole week’s worth of cooking."

  "Thank God."

  She blinked owlishly at him. "Oh, my God, I think I was insulted."

  "Not at all. Besides I want to be there when you call in and tell them you're back and take over your call. I'm curious how the sheriff handled Guardian assuming control of the autopsies on the latest victims."

  Poet groaned, "Oh, damn, that is a good question."

  Chapter 12

  Poet drove into her apartment complex and parked. She had another two hours before she had to check in, and she was going to use every last second of her 'non-call' status. For the first time since she'd been promoted to Senior Deputy, she didn't want the events of the night to interrupt her plans.

  She locked the SUV and headed to her apartment. Instead of taking the elevator, she used the stairs. Not many did, but she enjoyed the quiet of the rarely used stairs. She'd been replaying Maliki's words since he'd dropped her off to retrieve her vehicle. He was going to pick up something for dinner and come over, which made her smile. She hated to cook and the mac and cheese dish she made the first time she invited him over was about the only thing she could make that wouldn't kill someone. She'd never tell anyone it came from a box, but it did. She added some cheese on the top and shoved it in the oven. The ham she'd picked up was from a small charcuterie place at the edge of town that also sold heat-and-serve meals. She was a bane to her poor mother who thought a woman should be able to feed her eventual mate. Hell, she could feed that imaginary man... take out, frozen pizza, burritos, sandwiches.

  She let herself into her apartment, locked the door, and dropped her keys into the dish on the small table inside the door. Her gun went on top of the fridge, her handcuffs and badge traveled back to the bedroom with her. She lost the professional clothes and tugged on some soft jeans and a t-shirt, no shoes, no socks, before she padded back into the kitchen and retrieved her cell. She'd put it on silent and turned off the vibration alert before she drove to Maliki's parents’.

  She waited for the facial rec to unlock the phone and groaned at the first missed call she saw. Jim Watson. She put the phone on the counter, fished her pitcher of sweet tea out and poured herself a tall glass of instant energy. She was going to need it. The corner of the sectional welcomed her like a lover, forming around her and holding her in a comfortable embrace. She opened the phone again. Avoiding the sheriff's call probably wasn't the smartest idea, but that is exactly what she did. She answered several texts and read her emails. She read her brother's email, twice. He wrote about once a month. He was career Navy, and he loved submarine duty. They were as opposite as people could be, but she envied his commitment to the service, even if, in her opinion, he picked the wrong one.

  She finally looked at her recent calls. Tillie'd called and left a voicemail. She chuckled at her friend's rant on her students' lack of responsibility. The profanity laced diatribe was so typical of Tillie. Her mother called. Just checking in. Without any other reason to delay the inevitable, she hit the play arrow on the sheriff's message.

  "Deputy Campbell, if I find you are responsible for the AG pulling strings and taking over the medical investigation on those two cases, I will take swift and immediate action. You will call me as soon as you hear this message. That is not a request."

  "Well, not as bad as it could have been." She tossed the phone onto the couch beside her. Career aside. Well, she'd been aware of the consequences when she invited Maliki into her insanity. In the long run, it didn't matter, as long as those women received the justice they deserved. Now, talented investigators were taking over. If they found nothing, and she was fired… well, she'd find something to do. She had money to live comfortably for many years—as long as she was careful.

  She took a sip of her tea and glanced at the time. Maliki should be arriving shortly. She smiled, happy for the companionship. She enjoyed spending time with him. He was so damn intelligent and even cagey at times. His past... damn. She'd read accounts of missions going bad, and suspected some of them had been far worse than what she'd read online since the details had been glazed over. As he recounted that day, watching his emotional reactions was heartbreaking and painful. She'd caused him pain by asking him to retell the events. Her damn quip about him not wanting to let down people in the same way had been uncalled for and so damn presumptuous on her part. He'd lost three of his teammates and one was gravely injured. He was a doctor. He'd been trained to save lives, and if he couldn't do that for the people he trusted most, he probably felt like he failed his team. Damn, she wished like hell she'd never said anything.

  Tonight wasn't for bad memories. She needed to pull the curtains back and let fun and laughter into his life. Sexy times, too, for sure, but they needed to do something fun, something to lighten the mood. Oh! Yes!

  She bolted from the corner of the sectional and landed on her knees in front of the wall unit she'd bought in Japan. She opened the bottom cabinet and smiled as she carefully unboxed her ancient Nintendo gaming station and the games she'd kept from childhood. Super Mario, Donkey Kong and Tetris.

  She unboxed the unit, found all the cords and hooked up the machine before she powered it up. The NES logo bounced on her television screen. Score. A knock at the door sent that direction in a sprint. After taking a peek she unbolted the door and once again yanked Mal into her apartment.

  "Whoa, woman. Did the sheriff show up here again?" He leaned int
o the kitchen and set the bags he was holding on the small kitchen table.

  She bounced on her toes as he set the bags down. "No, but I need to call him. He left a message. Come look."

  He threw her a suspicious look but followed her from the kitchen. She stopped in front of the television and waved at the gaming system, doing her best Vanna impression. "Ta da!"

  He looked from the television, to her, to the game. "I take it by your expression I'm supposed to be surprised."

  "Well, yeah! It works!"

  "What works?"

  "It’s an original Nintendo!"

  He crossed his arms and glanced at the setup again before he turned to her. "Yeah, I don't know what that is."

  Her jaw dropped. "No way. You're lying."

  "I assure you I don't know what that is."

  "Super Mario? Donkey Kong? Old-school video games. The best games on the planet?"

  He shook his head. "Sorry..."

  "Oh, man you have had a neglected childhood! What did the rich kids do after school when you were growing up?"

  "My life was pretty regimented. I went to private boarding school in the states until high school and then I went to a prestigious private school in Switzerland. Video games weren't allowed. We had organized sports and study time."

  She ass planted onto the arm of the couch. "So… no video games?"

  "No, although I played a few of the stand-up machines in the arcades during summer break."

  "Huh." She glanced at the game and then at him. "So, I'll be able to beat you senseless, huh?" She rubbed her hands together.

  "Really, you're going to take advantage of my lack of knowledge?"

  "Oh, damn straight, Doc. Let's make dinner and then your education really begins." She headed into the kitchen but stopped and spun on her heel. She walked up to him, put her arms around his neck and urged him down for a kiss. He folded his arms around her and pressed her against him. Their lips slid together until his tongue encouraged her to open for him. She attacked and countered as he took control of the kiss. When they finally parted, he placed his forehead against hers. "What was that for?"