SEAL in Charge

by Donna Michaels

  “We need him alive, Bella,” he felt compelled to spell out. “We have to find out exactly who we’re dealing with and what they have planned.

  The woman’s expression dimmed. “Spoil sport. How about after we squeeze information out of him?”

  “Calm down, sweetheart,” Matteo said, stroking Bella’s back. “Let Archer do his job. You know he’ll throw you scraps.”

  Bella blew out a breath, relaxed her fist, and nodded. “Okay. I can wait.”

  “Are you going to pay him a visit at the bank?” TJ asked.

  As much as Archer wanted to go there and drag the guy out by his scrawny little neck, he shook his head. “No. He’s not the boss.” He studied the man on the live feed. The guy sat with his chest puffed out, which was usually a signal for underlying insecurities. Not something a man in charge would do. Straight shoulders, wide stance, eye contact—yes—but not a puffed-out chest. “He’s a follower, so we’ll let him lead us to his leader.”

  “Sweet.” TJ grinned. “That means stakeout time.”

  “But get me his address,” Archer said. “Find out his hours and if he drives to work. Or takes the subway. Cab. Uber. If so, which ones?”

  “On it, boss.” Idiot saluted him before spinning back around to clack at the keys.

  “Better hurry with that info, TJ,” Matteo said, pointing to the screen. “Looks like we have a rabbit.”

  The kid frowned. “A what?”

  “Rabbit,” Matteo repeated. “He shut down his computer. Grabbed his jacket, briefcase, and pushed his chair in. He’s leaving.”

  Dammit.

  They were twenty-five minutes away from the bank on a good traffic day. They’d never get there before he left.

  “Looks like we’re going to have to visit his home. Text me his address,” he told TJ. “And whatever else you dig up about him. Bella, Matteo, you’re with me.”

  “Done,” TJ said.

  Sandy fished her purse out of her laptop case and straightened.

  “No.” He shook his head. “You stay with TJ and continue to go through the tapes.”

  “Think I’d be more help with you,” she said, slipping the purse across her body. “What if you find him having dinner with some of his friends?”

  He narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. “Then we’ll wait until they leave before making our move.”

  She shook her head. “What if one or more of those friends are in my files, too?”

  Damn...that was possible. “Then TJ can give me equipment so you can listen in and tell us which ones are of interest.”

  He was not taking that woman outside and exposing her to danger.

  No way.

  “What if it’s someone in the lobby?” she continued, “Or on the street? Or—”

  Shit. “All right.” He held up a hand and blew out a breath. “You can come. Just stick close.”

  “Any chance we can swing by my place so I can get my gun?” she asked, and he wondered if she was trying to stop his heart.

  He shook his head. “You won’t need one.”

  “And if you do, you can have one of mine,” Bella said, strapping a knife to her ankle...next to a gun. “I prefer to use a blade, anyway.”

  He turned to Sandy. “See? If you need a gun, you can use one of Bella’s.”

  Over his dead body, but neither woman needed to know.

  Chapter Nine

  Sandy couldn’t believe Archer actually let her tag along. She still stood by her argument. She needed to be with them to case out the people nearby, but hadn’t really expected the stubborn man to give in.

  The address TJ texted was in north Brooklyn, near the Navy yards. They might’ve caught a break. It depended on the suspect’s mode of transportation and the route he took to get home.

  If he was going home.

  They decided to assume he was and rushed from south Brooklyn to meet the guy there.

  According to TJ, they were looking for James Rowlands, who lived on the fourth floor of an apartment building on Bridge Street.

  Archer parked on the street, cut the engine and turned to face her. “Stick close to me.”

  She nodded. For some reason, he thought she was a rookie. She wasn’t a seasoned agent, but Sandy had been hitting the streets since her DA days. This was no different. If she sensed trouble, she knew enough to stay out of it and call it in...which in this case, meant letting them handle it.

  “And you,” Archer said, transferring his gaze to Bella, sitting behind Sandy, “don’t kill anyone.”

  “Got ya. Maim, don’t kill,” came Bella’s quick reply.

  Sandy bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing. It wasn’t funny, except it was...until she caught Archer’s stone-faced expression. Her mirth died a quick death. She opened her door and exited the vehicle. Thankfully, they’d left her SUV behind and took the black one she was told was registered to the Knight Agency.

  “Keep your eyes and ears peeled,” Archer said, joining her on the sidewalk, then shocked her by slipping his arm around her.

  She noted Matteo had done the same with Bella. Guess they were going with the couple’s persona. The other two actually were a couple, but it made sense to carry on the ruse. Over the years, Sandy had noted that often times public shows of affection made others uncomfortable and they tended not to look your way. It could come in handy today.

  They entered the lobby of the apartment building, finding it mostly vacant. The concierge stood behind a counter on their left. Matteo and Bella went over to talk with him. A middle-aged man sat on a couch reading a newspaper and another, older man sat in a corner reading a book. Neither looked up at them. A woman with an infant in one hand and a two year old holding her pants leg was checking her mailbox beyond the concierge. To their right was a small coffee shop with three patrons, one of them very familiar.

  “Sandy?” The man smiled and stepped toward them.

  She released Archer and moved to intercept one of her old informants so their impending conversation wouldn’t be heard by those in the lobby. “Stan, how are you?”

  Perhaps today was her lucky day.

  “I’m good, you know? Life has its ups and downs, and right now I’m riding the up side.” He winked, pulling her in for a quick hug before releasing her. “’Bout time you gots yourself a boyfriend.” He nodded to Archer, who’d joined them, setting his hand on her back.

  She introduced them and tried to prevent color from her rising into her face. She failed. Luckily, it worked for their charade. “Do you live here?” she asked, to change the subject and because she was curious. This building wasn’t as nice as hers, but it was a heck of a lot better than the places Stan used to dwell.

  Plus, it could help their mission.

  He nodded. “Second floor, corner with a nice view of the city over the river. I recently came into some money that was owed me from disability, so I gots me this place.” The man was a Caucasian in his mid-forties but living a hard life had aged him. “Heard you’re no longer DA, but Uncle Sam now,” he said, keeping his voice low, and the smile on his face. “So, what brings you here? Business or pleasure? And I really hope it’s pleasure because it can’t be good if it’s business.”

  She glanced at Archer, who gave her a small nod. “Business,” she replied, and motioned with a wave of her hand to a table where they sat while Archer went to fetch coffees to keep a normal appearance. “Do you know James Rowlands?”

  Stan furrowed his weathered brows, turning his deep wrinkles into a ravine. “The fancy dressed dude from four-fifteen? He’s quiet but he don’t make no eye contact.” Stan grimaced. “I don’t like no one who don’t make no eye contact. They’s hiding something.”

  A correct observation. “Does he get visitors?” she asked

  Archer returned with their drinks and sat between them at the small, high table, effectively using his large body to block their conversation from any onlookers behind him.

  “Every Tuesday at three, even if Jimmy is still at wor
k. I call him Jimmy because I think he’d hate it.” Stan grinned, showing off all four of his teeth.

  “How do you know it’s every Tuesday at three?” Archer asked before sipping his coffee.

  “Because me and Bobby Granger, we play checkers at three every day in his apartment across the hall in four-sixteen, and sometimes I sees the stuffy, unsmiling suits on Tuesdays in the elevator on my way up.”

  Archer set his cup on the table and glanced at Stan. “Any idea how long they stay?”

  “No, sir.” Stan shook his head. “Sometimes me and Bobby...we enjoy us a little too much hooch and I don’t get back to my place until the next day. Sorry.”

  While Archer and Stan had been talking, she carefully opened her purse under the table. All she’d had on her was two twenty dollar bills and some ones, so she rolled them up and concealed it in her palm. “It’s okay,’ she said, reaching out to pat Stan’s hand and slid the money under his palm. “You’ve been very helpful. Thank you.”

  “Anytime.” He grinned. “It’s always nice catch up with a friend.”

  She left the table with Archer, glancing around to see if anyone watched, but the scene hadn’t changed, other than the mother with two children by the mailboxes had disappeared. “Well?” she asked Archer quietly as they made their way across the lobby toward Bella and Matteo standing near the elevators. “What do you think the meetings are about?”

  “I don’t know, but aim to find out,” he said.

  “Who was your friend?” Bella asked when they neared.

  She rezipped her purse. “An old informant from my DA days.”

  “Did he have anything helpful to say?” Matteo asked.

  Archer filled them in, then pressed the up button. “We’ll use the elevator, you two take the stairs.”

  Happy to be part of the elevator crew, Sandy stood quietly next to Archer, waiting for him to ask her to remain in the hall. Oh, she knew it was coming. She could tell by the way his jaw worked as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. The way his breathing increased and he wouldn’t meet her gaze...all signs that he had something on his mind, knew she wouldn’t like it, but he needed to figure out what kind of spin to put on it so she’d comply.

  He lifted his chin and appeared to watch the lighted floors tick by. “When we get to Rowland’s apartment, I want you to stay in the hall.”

  She snickered.

  “It isn’t funny.” He turned and stepped close, forcing her to move until her back hit the wall.

  Anger pricked at her spine. Strong-arming was the wrong tactic to use on her. “I never said it was.”

  “I don’t want any flack on this, Sandy,” he said. “We didn’t have proper time to surveille the place. Investigate him, his acquaintances, his neighbors. I don’t like going in unprepared, but I don’t feel we have a choice. And TJ hasn’t picked the guy up on any cameras, so we don’t know if he’s home or if there are others.” Archer lifted a hand to gently graze her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “I refuse to take any chances with you. I won’t do it.”

  The concern in his eyes and his touch sucked the fight right out of her. “Okay.”

  He blinked at her. “Okay?”

  “Yeah...” She nodded, a little surprised, too, but she wasn’t exactly thrilled to go inside without a weapon anyway, so she’d play it his way. For now. “I’ll wait in the hall until you clear the apartment, but then I’m coming in.”

  He nodded, brushing his thumb over her lower lip. “Deal.”

  It was a good thing the elevator stopped because her body wanted to press into his, but the doors opened, and they stepped out—separately—and joined Bella and Matteo standing outside the apartment in question.

  True to her word, Sandy waited outside while the other three knocked then entered. She heard a mild skirmish, the scrape of chair legs against floor, then a crash and an, “umph”. When things quieted down, Sandy peeked inside the opened door to find a lamp smashed on the floor, a chair upturned, and James Rowlands sitting on another with his hands zip-tied behind his back.

  But what really caught her eye was the map spread out on the kitchen table. A map of the streets around the Federal Reserve Bank of New York.

  “Why the map? You don’t know how to find your way to work?” The questions were out before she could stop them.

  Bella and Matteo snickered, Archer raised a brow and one of his dimples threatened to appear.

  Rowlands however, sneered at Bella and her. “None of your business, you stupid bitches,” he spouted in Punjabi.

  Archer’s face turned red, his mouth disappeared into a thin line, and he raised a fist that shook...but it was Bella’s fist that made contact with Rowland’s face.

  Twice.

  “Sorry, boss,” the pretty agent said. “But you did say you didn’t want him dead. Yet. And I wasn’t sure your fist knew the difference between maim and kill.”

  Archer’s top lip curled, and his jaw cracked, but he relaxed his fist and nodded. “Thanks.”

  “Now, listen, Jimmy,” Bella said in Punjabi, patting the guy’s bruised face none-to-gently. “If you’re going to insult us, then you need to get it right. It’s stupid American bitches. Got it?”

  After Sandy fist-bumped Bella’s fist in a TJ maneuver, they began to investigate while the men interrogated Rowlands.

  She checked out the bedroom, Bella took the bathroom, then they met back in the hall. “Bedroom’s clean. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “Bathroom’s disgusting.” Bella gagged. “But clear.”

  They worked their way through the kitchen and living room, and other than that map, nothing stood out. But there was something there. Sandy could feel it. So, she stood off to the side and watched the man as the former SEALs interrogated him.

  Ten minutes later, and a puddle of pee under his chair, the guy remained silent. He did, however, keep glancing toward the books in the bookcase in the far corner. Sandy watched him, as she slowly walked to it. His chest rose quicker. She examined the books, but the dust in front of them signaled they hadn’t been touched recently. Then she noticed the scuff marks on the floor, and her heart rocked.

  “Uh...Archer? Matteo?” She motioned for them to join her. This part required muscle, which those men had in spades. “We need to move this bookcase.”

  She stepped out of the way and watched as the men inspected the area, deeming it free of booby traps before moving it in the direction of the scuff marks.

  “Son-of-a-bitch...”

  “Shit.”

  The men’s expletives echoed one another as they stared into a small, hidden closet full of guns, ammo, and an empty crate marked detonators. Damn. That meant someone was running around New York City with a bunch of detonators and obviously the bombs to go with them.

  She was just about to ask what their next move was when the door opened and a guy in black jeans, black sneakers, and gray hoodie walked in. He took one look at James, then glanced at them, before he pivoted around and shot out the door.

  Sandy followed, with Archer grumbling behind her to stand down.

  The guy ran down the hall, shoulder-checking poor Stan, who’d exited the elevator at the wrong time. He fell backward into the closed doors, but righted himself, telling them he was okay as they ran past.

  Expecting the hoodie to take a left and head for the stairs, Sandy was shocked when the guy ran full speed at the window at the end of the hall and charged shoulder-first, straight through it.

  Panting, she stopped, expecting to see a body on the ground, but only glass and wood from the window pane littered the pavement. The culprit was on a fire escape attached to the building across the alley, climbing his way down.

  “Move,” Bella called, and running full-force, she, too, jumped out the window, landing on the same fire escape the perpetrator had just vacated.

  Holy... “She just...she just jumped out the window.”

  “I know.” He nodded. “She’s a freerunner. Came in handy when she used to
hunt terrorists.”

  “Ah...she knows parkour.” A training discipline Sandy had heard about. It was developed from military obstacle course training. Which meant Bella could get from one point to another without equipment assistance in the fastest, most efficient way possible. Like jumping out of a window instead of taking the stairs. That explained why the capable agent followed the suspect. “Should we go help?”

  Archer glanced out the window, no doubt noting Bella already had the guy face down against the pavement with her knee in his back while zip-tying his wrists. “No. I’d say she’s got that one covered.”

  “Sandy,” Stan stumbled close, holding his stomach. “I...why am I...bleeding?” he asked, holding out his hands, blood dripping from his fingers onto the floor before he started to sway.

  Her heart rolled into her ribs. The guy in the gray hoodie...

  Archer lunged forward and caught Stan and helped him to lay flat. He glanced up at her. “He’s been stabbed. Call 911.”

  ***

  Archer lost track of time. It could’ve been two hours, it could’ve been ten, by the time he and Sandy emerged from the hospital. It came as no surprise when she’d insisted on going with Stan and waiting until surgery was over, and Archer wasn’t about to leave her side, other than to go grab some cheap souvenir T-shirts from a store down the block to replace their bloody clothing.

  After a quick change in the restrooms, they headed outside, and he was surprised to see it was still light outside. He pulled out his phone and noted it was just past five. “I’ll call Bella to pick us up.” He wasn’t comfortable having Matteo fetch them, while leaving the overzealous agent to watch over their two prisoners alone.

  Especially since one of their prisoners had stabbed poor Stan in the ribs. A little higher and to the left, and he would’ve caught the guy’s heart. Luckily, the man hadn’t lost too much blood—thanks to Sandy keeping pressure on the wound until the paramedics had arrived, while he’d been busy coordinating the extraction of the two possible terrorists and all the contents in that damn closet. He was eager to get back to headquarters to see what, if anything, they’d uncovered.