Survive By The Team (Team Fear Book 3)

by Cindy Skaggs

  Chapter Eighteen

  Stills brooded on the edge of the group. They were packed tight in the space because rules required them to stay out of sight. It was a nice space with grill, fireplace, outdoor chairs, and tables, and a cover overhead to obscured them from view. Should anyone care to look, The Manor, for the most part, appeared abandoned.

  Ryder manned the grill, cooking up burgers and brats while Lauren brought out salads and side dishes. Nearly everyone contributed, although they told him he could hold off on making spaghetti casserole. Apparently his culinary talent left something to be desired.

  They’d eaten their fill before turning off the grill and settling into seats around the tables. Mandi eyed him like a snake she gave wide berth, and she did, moving away any time he came without ten feet of her. He didn’t have the first clue how to unfuck the situation. Instead, he went to Lauren, sitting on Ryder’s lap, and clinked his near-beer bottle against hers, although she had the real thing. Nothing in her bloodstream would react poorly to alcohol.

  “Nice work. Good food.”

  She beamed up at him. “Thanks. It was time we did it.”

  Ryder glanced up, his gaze intense and full of meaning. “We needed this.”

  “Yeah,” Stills acknowledged. “We did.” They needed normal in the middle of chaos. They needed to remember what they were fighting for, and not just their lives and the lives of those they loved. It was about brotherhood and all the crap that came with it. Even the stuff he hated was worth fighting for.

  Stills clicked bottles with Ryder. “Live by the team—”

  “Die by the team,” the rest of them finished their rallying cry. It hadn’t started that way. It had started as a promise. No teammate left behind. No fucked up suicide statistics for Team Fear, but now that phrase had taken on new meaning. Live or die as they fought their way out of this shit show, they went as a team. Stills had intended to go on their behalf, take the fight to Echo and win on his terms, but he was no longer certain of his ability or desire to do so.

  “What’s going on in your head?” Ryder wondered.

  “Not a damn thing.”

  Across the way, Rose chuckled. “Could have told you that.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Stills accepted the ribbing he deserved for going on his own despite the safety protocols. He started to an empty chair but Ryder stopped him.

  “Briefing, zero five hundred.”

  Stills groaned. Half the time he didn’t fall asleep until dawn. “Yippy skippy.”

  A chill came with nightfall and Stills wandered to a lounging chair near the fireplace. Mandi made her move to the opposite side, pretending to stack dishes and cover food.

  For most of the night, Ellie had fixated on the team. She went from man to man, not saying much just asking the same question. “You knew my daddy?” When she got to Rose, he started telling her a story. “The first trip over, when we were still in Germany—”

  “No,” Stills said. “The kid is way to young for that story. Pick a different one.”

  “Bagram?”

  “Think PG.” They each started stories, but Stills stopped them, struggling to find a G-rated story for Ellie. Finally, he moved his seat closer to the fire.

  Ellie followed him and climbed into his lap. “Tell me.”

  That’s when it hit him. He’d been completely blind to Gault’s weird idiosyncrasy. “Your dad always carried candy.”

  “No.” Ellie shook her head. “I’m not s’posed to have candy.”

  He smiled and smoothed her hair. “Maybe not, but when we were in the desert, he always carried candy.”

  “My daddy ate candy?”

  “Nope. Just carried it. He was a sucker for the kids over there. Had a pocket full of candy or he carried water bottles. Anything to help start a conversation. If we stayed long enough in one place, the kids figured out your dad was a sucker. They followed him. All the time. It was like he was the Pied Piper—”

  “What’s a Pie Pipe?”

  “Pied Piper.” Mandi cleared her throat. She stood on the other side of the patio, but she was lapping up the story, leaning forward, her eyes hidden in the nighttime shadows. “Remember, the story of the man with the magic flute who lured children?”

  “My daddy did that?”

  “No,” Stills assured her. “He never did anything wrong.”

  “He just loved kids,” Rose piped in. He was sitting nearby with Debi in his lap. “Now I see why.”

  “Yeah.” Took them all long enough to figure it out, and Stills felt twice as bad, because he’d considered Gault his best friend. Danny had missed his kid, so he befriended children wherever he went. Protected them. Stills rubbed Ellie’s back. “He had a knack. We moved frequently.” Or they were holed up somewhere waiting for their targets. “But one assignment we were in this small village for a couple weeks. The kids followed him everywhere, which worked. Sometimes we’d get intel from kids—”

  “What’s intel?”

  “Information that could help us,” Stills answered. “But there was this one kid. Skinny, short, didn’t talk much. Gault couldn’t take a—” piss. Damn, he’d almost blown it and he wasn’t two sentences into the story. This keeping things clean was a full-time job. “Bathroom break without this kid on his heels. Your dad had run out of candy a week prior so it made no d.... dang sense, but the kid still followed.”

  “Kid wore a Sesame Street t-shirt,” Rose added. “Had a thick mess of black curly hair. Followed your dad like a shadow.”

  “I have straight hair,” Ellie said. Her little voice was solemn, with a tinge of jealousy in her voice that this kid had had an interaction with her father.

  “You have pretty straight hair. Soft, like your aunt’s.” Stills combed his fingers over the top of her hair, smoothing and soothing at the same time. “The kid followed us everywhere we went on our rounds, during our training, everywhere. When we’d take a break, your dad would draw on the dirt while telling stories.”

  “Did he tell the story of the wiggle worm Smelly? That one’s my favorite.”

  “Hey, I remember that one,” Craft said. “Little worm playing in the dirt all day, but didn’t want to take a bedtime bath.”

  Ellie nodded solemnly. “That’s my favorite.”

  Stills caught Mandi’s gaze and a tear trickled down her cheek. “How old was the boy?” she asked.

  “About this tall,” he said, patting the top of Ellie’s head. “Looked a little bit like Smelly.”

  “He didn’t like taking a bath,” Ellie said. Her voice had that knowing tone.

  “Probably true. Kid comes out one morning and he looks like he’s gained forty pounds overnight. Clothes are bulky. Dirty. Looked like a man’s clothes, not the same Sesame Street stuff. Didn’t take a genius to know he’d been strapped down with explosives.”

  “What’s that?”

  Stills pictured the scene. Villagers walked the long way around them, wouldn’t make eye contact. “Something to hurt the boy.” And kill the soldiers. “We played along, took the kid on our rounds like usual. Our orders were to isolate the kid and wait for ordinance. Gault didn’t give a flying... fig.”

  “Why do you call him Gault?”

  “We all use our last name.”

  “Why?”

  Now Stills understood why that word was Mandi’s favorite as well. “It’s a military thing, calling people by their last name. Fowler’s first name is Jake. Ryder is just Ryder.” No one knew. They could probably hack his records, but it didn’t matter enough. “Rose’s first name is River.”

  “That’s a pretty name,” Ellie said.

  The guys cracked up laughing. “Yep. That sums him up. River Rose. Pretty and sweet smelling,” Craft joked.

  “Soft too,” Ryder added with a straight face.

  “Downright girlie,” Fowler added.

  “Shut up, Little Jake,” Rose warned.

  Ellie watched the teasing, her head turning to watch each man in turn. “Why is he Little Jake?
” Ellie asked, looking over at the sniper. “He seems bigger than my daddy.”

  “His grandpa was Big Jake,” Janet said. It was the first time that night that she’d spoken. She seemed to enjoy the team, but was always a bit apart. Alone, something Stills knew and respected.

  “That’s nice. My grandpa died,” Ellie said. “We visit him at the semi—” She gulped. “At the place with graves. And now Daddy’s next to him and grandma.”

  Stills gut started to ache. Her words were matter of fact. No hint of tears or grief. Just plain truth. The poor girl had seen enough of death.

  “You’re Dean.” She patted her hand on his shoulder. “What’s your first name?” she asked, pointing to Craft.

  “Caleb.”

  “I go to kinder... kinder...” She stopped, swallowed, and tried again. “School with a Caleb. He’s mean.”

  “Then he’s an idiot,” Craft said. “Because most Caleb’s are awesome. Super smart. Computer geniuses.”

  “He’s an idiot,” she parroted. “What happened to the little boy with ‘splosives?”

  “We didn’t have much time. The second we turned a corner where no one could see, we went to work. Took the explosives off.” It was a hell of a lot more complicated than that and Captain Johnson had nearly had a coronary when they debriefed. “Your dad didn’t leave the kid. Even when it was dangerous. Not until the situation was resolved.”

  Ellie reached up and twisted her arm behind him neck. Her little hand seemed so small and fragile next to his skin. She twisted her fingers around a strand of hair. “Did you stay with my dad?” she whispered.

  “We all did.”

  “Live by the team,” Ryder repeated.

  Ellie turned to stare at the men as if trying to figure out the meaning, but she didn’t release her death grip around his neck. “Did the boy say thank you?”

  “His mom did.” She’d thrown herself around the boy, wailing in grief and thankfulness. “We pulled out soon after.” Not until the fucker who used that kid was in the ground. “Gault left the boy the last of his candy stash and a storybook.”

  The fire snapped in the silence.

  “I miss your dad,” he finally said.

  “Me too.” Ellie wrapped her other arm around him and squeezed tight. “We have to be strong. Be strong and stick together.”

  Tears tracked down Mandi’s face at the words—her words—coming from the little girl. Not another word was spoken. Ellie’s grip loosened. She slumped down and fell asleep, resting her head on Stills’ shoulder.

  “Thank you.” Mandi gathered up a few plates from the table. “She needed that.”

  For a moment, no one spoke, and then Rose nodded. “So did you.”

  Tears flowed unchecked as she gripped the dishes and escaped back into the house.

  Mandi made it to the sink before sobs wrecked her, coming out in long, loud wails. She imagined her cries were not much different than the mother of that little boy Danny had saved. He had been such a good man. A good brother and father. From the moment Ellie came screaming into the world, Danny had wanted nothing more than to take care of his daughter. Life didn’t work out the way he’d planned, but if he’d had to join the military, Mandi was thankful he worked with these men who so obviously cared for him. They’d had each other, and Mandi had no one. It was never more clear than watching them at dinner.

  They harassed each other endlessly, but their bond was the tightest she had ever seen. They had all stayed with her brother when he went against orders to help that boy. They were together now; fighting God knew what as a solid team. Despite the difficulties, the side effects, and the dangers, they were together.

  She braced her hands against the sink and leaned forward, not sure if she wanted to cry or—

  “If you’re going to throw up, would you mind moving the dishes first?”

  Mandi turned to see Janet standing in the shadowy doorway. “You’re all heart.”

  “I imagine it seems so.” Janet stepped into the light of the kitchen. “I’m a sympathy puker and I’m really not in the mood.”

  Mandi straightened. She was still queasy, but the moment had passed. “Are you ever in the mood for that?”

  A soft, sad smile passed Janet’s lips. “I guess not. As long as you’re standing at the sink, you may as well start the dishes.”

  Mandi wanted to ask what made Janet sad, but who was she to question Fowler’s mom? She turned on the water, added water, and started washing dishes. Janet dried and they worked in silence for several minutes. The clink of the dishes and the lemony scent of the dish detergent kept them company, but finally, Mandi had had enough silence. “I never really see you sit still. You prescribe to the theory that idle hands are the devil’s workshop?” she asked.

  Janet said no. “That’s not the way I was raised. Not with faith or God or the devil. I suppose it’s Big Jake’s philosophy that I follow. ‘If you have time to lean, you have time to clean.’”

  “Are you depressed?” Mandi wondered, then blushed when she realized she’d said that out loud.

  To Janet’s credit, she didn’t lash out. She got a thoughtful look on her face and didn’t answer until she had wrestled with some inner demon. “No. I don’t think I’m depressed. Why do you ask?”

  Her tone was merely curious, so Mandi answered honestly. “You’re always alone. You never join them, except for meals. And tonight.”

  I am always alone,” Janet admitted. She rinsed a plate and wiped it on a clean dishtowel. “I like being alone. I have a wall of books that I could happily spend my life reading through. I never join them because this is Little Jake’s battle, not mine. He called to ask before they came. Asked if they could stay here while they waged their war.”

  “Is that what they’re doing?”

  “Without a doubt. I’ll help when Little Jake asks. He knows what I can do and he has no problem asking. Until then, I give him what I always wanted.”

  “What’s that?”

  Janet set the plate quietly onto the counter.

  Mandi nearly dropped the next plate to the hard sink. Janet was slow and controlled and that made Mandi nervous. She washed a few more plates while Janet dried.

  Finally, Janet answered. “I wanted privacy, so I respect Little Jake’s need for it.”

  “Sounds lonely.”

  “I imagine it seems that way from outside, but being alone and being lonely are two separate things.” She stacked more dried plates onto her pile. “Did the boys tell you about this place?”

  Mandi pictured them walking in formation as they had after they’d taken care of the prisoner. Big, brawny, and scary as heck. Only Janet would call them boys. “No.”

  “My father built this compound when I was young, and I didn’t plan to stick around. Thought Big Jake was crazy. His father was ex-CIA and they were both paranoid as far as I was concerned. I wanted out and Big Jake gave me enough room to hang myself.”

  “Meaning?” Mandi was fascinated by Janet’s story. And it distracted from the one Dean had just told.

  “I got pregnant with Jake when I was sixteen.”

  “You were just a baby.”

  “I was old enough to do the nasty, so I was old enough to raise a baby.”

  “Pardon me for saying so, but your father was a hard-ass.”

  “Big Jake did what needed doing.” Janet stacked the dried plates into the open cabinet. “He wasn’t heartless, although I thought so at the time. He was building this place and had made some enemies. People trying to figure out where it was and what he was doing. Powerful people. One of them used me to get to my father. I slept with him—befitting my age and innocence. And then I got pregnant.”

  Mandi rinsed off the glasses and set them up on the drying rack before turning to the silverware. “So, some creepy old dude used you to get to your father?”

  “I never said he was old.”

  “Was he?”

  “Older than me at the time, but still younger than you are now. L
ooking back, I’d say he was an idealist. He bought into the good and bad, black and white mentality and he was willing to use a young girl because the ends justified the means. Big Jake lived in the world of gray. Daddy knew big government could mean big, tragic losses for the rights of the American people, so he resisted being bagged and tagged by those who might use that knowledge to some day eliminate him.”

  “Conspiracy theorist?” Mandi dropped the silverware to the rinsing sink with a clatter. She’d never met someone who really bought into those stories.

  “Yes, you might say he was a conspiracy theorist. That’s not how he would define himself. He had his flaws, and yes, he was bossy, but I didn’t realize at the time it was for my own good. As you can imagine, the asshat who fathered Jake dropped me when he found out I was pregnant, but not before letting me know that I was just an assignment.”

  “So you were pregnant and hurt.”

  “No. I was angry. I’m still angry and that SOB better hope I never run into him.”

  Mandi focused on the dishwater. She couldn’t quite hold back the smile. Since Janet spent every day of every year out here, the odds of her running into an old beau were slim.

  Janet continued after a moment. “Big Jake never judged me. Never shamed me. We dealt with it, and the older I got, the more I realized how that lowlife used my innocence to further his agenda. That’s when I embraced what Big Jake was doing. I realized I wasn’t the only one who needed a sanctuary like this.”

  “This is more like an armed encampment.”

  “It’s what we need when we need it. For you, it’s a safe place to land. For you and Ellie. If you’d let it, it might heal you.”

  Mandi finished rinsing the silverware and laid them flat to dry. “I don’t need healing.”

  “Of course you do. They all do,” Janet said, gesturing toward the back patio. “The first year of Little Jake’s life, I was miserable. Lonely before I realized I brought that on myself. My dad had staff out here, guards and a cook and a housekeeper. I was alone by choice, and I could either grow up or be miserable.”

  “I’m not miserable.” Well that might be an overstatement, Mandi acknowledged, because as long as she had to sit across the dinner table from Dean, she would be miserable. “And I am a grown up. I’ve had to be.”