by Cat Johnson
Gabby could picture her friend’s face. Even Amanda’s words sounded pouty.
“I’m not being mean. She already picked the tile. Today I’m just placing the order over the phone.”
“Bummer. Oh well. I’ll just have to see it when it’s installed.”
“Good plan,” Gabby agreed.
Some people had two left feet. Her best friend had two left everything. It would be safer for everyone if she just came to admire the work after both places were done.
And speaking of being done . . . “So after this, all the big renovation stuff is done for Zach’s place. Then all I have to do is start on the furnishings.”
“Wow. That’s great.”
“It is, but I’m still on a tight timeline. Have you heard from him about when exactly he’ll be home?” Gabby asked.
Amanda let out a snort. “I can tell you have no experience with the military. SEALs in particular. There’s no exactly anything. And even if he could estimate when he’d be back, he wouldn’t tell me. Between transportation delays and operational security, the best I get is an estimate.”
“And the latest estimate is?” Gabby prompted.
“He said hopefully he’d be home around my birthday.”
“That’s a pretty wide window of time. What if he comes home tomorrow instead of next month?” Wet paintbrush in one hand, Gabby stopped before dipping it into the can again.
“I have faith in you. You can get it done. And if experience has taught me anything, Zach is usually home later rather than sooner. You’ll be fine.”
She wasn’t as sure as her friend.
Gabby sighed. “Okay, let me get back to work, just in case you’re wrong.”
“Worry wart. Call me later. I want to come with you if you go furniture shopping.”
Gabby paused. She was planning on less shopping and more dumpster diving. She had a feeling Amanda wouldn’t be up for that. And Zach definitely would not be on board with having furnishings that were once someone else’s trash, even if she had scored some of her best finds along the curb on junk day.
Now was not the time to start explaining her upcycling philosophy to her friend, so she agreed, “All right. Will do. Bye.”
Gabby disconnected the call and glanced at the clock on her cell’s display. The day was flying by. She had no time to waste.
It had taken her almost a month but she’d gotten a ton done. It looked like a different house inside. Gone was the hideously dated avocado green kitchen and pink bathroom tile, replaced with perennial white that would never go out of style.
She’d also spent way too much time up on a ladder scraping off the remains of the old popcorn ceiling.
That had taken forever but it had to be done. Besides the fact it was damaged and falling off in places, she couldn’t stand the pebbled surface. So she’d scraped and repainted the ceiling and the walls herself, because dang professional painters were expensive.
But the biggest change in the house came when she’d ripped up the old carpets and discovered the hardwood floors beneath. That had made a huge difference. The whole house seemed fresher, brighter. Like it belonged in this decade.
And now—bonus—Gabby had experience operating the professional sander she’d rented from the local home store. She could only imagine how handy that skill would be for future projects.
All in all—angry big brother and the potential of his killing her with his bare hands aside—this project was going great. Amazing. So much better than she’d expected.
But none of it would matter if Zach got home early and found the project not done. She’d feel like a failure. Worse, he’d see her as one.
She’d long ago given up on any fantasy that her best friend’s brother would be interested in her romantically. Now she’d be happy if he just showed her a little bit of respect, or hell, acknowledged her presence with more than a scowl.
This project was her big hope to win him over. She wasn’t going to mess it up.
FIVE
The first eight Houthi fell to the unseen enemy hidden by the darkness. That sent the rest running.
They tried to pull their captive with them as they fled, but the soldier couldn’t run.
Hell, he was barely walking. He dropped to his knees on the ground and none of the Houthi were willing to drag or carry him. They left him there, abandoning their captive in favor of saving themselves.
“Should we go after them?” Hawk asked, poised on the balls of his feet as the remaining enemy combatants disappeared into the night.
“No. We’ve got what we came for.” Zach moved toward the man on his knees in the road. “Sergeant Thomas Manning?”
The figure nodded. “Yeah.”
Zach let out a breath in relief. “Am I glad to see you. Nitro, you’re with our guest. Let’s get the hell out of here before they regroup and come back.”
“Gotcha. Can you walk?” Nitro asked the soldier.
He nodded, accepting Nitro’s hand and standing, and Zach felt another weight lift off his shoulders.
“Good. Here you go.” Nitro handed the soldier a pair of NVGs. “Helps to see where we’re going.”
True that. And as far as he could see, the Houthi were lacking in night vision wear, but this was still their home turf. The enemy had that advantage.
Zach glanced around. They were too exposed. He didn’t like it. But to leave the road and try to make their way back over the rocks just to take advantage of the small amount of cover would take too long and leave them exposed for longer.
He turned toward the soldier. The man had been walking for hours and it showed. “How fast can you travel?” Zach asked.
“I wasn’t going to rush to my beheading for them, but to get the fuck out of here—I can run.”
“Good.” Zach didn’t come all this way to die on a goat path in fucking Yemen. “We move fast and we might get out of here with no holes in us. Nitro, you and Manning set the pace up in front. I’ll watch our sixes. Hawk you’re with me.”
Nitro set a quick pace, one Zach knew they wouldn’t be able to maintain for long. Not with Manning in rough shape.
They’d slow down—later—when they’d put some miles between them and the Houthi. The rebels had lost their prize. Zach had a feeling they weren’t going to give up that easily.
The team had to have gone close to five miles at a brisk run when Nitro, who’d been up in front of them, fell back and matched his pace to Zach’s. “Manning can’t keep up this pace.”
He had pushed them all hard. Too hard. Zach wouldn’t make Manning run, but he wasn’t going to let him sit either. The exfil point, and safety, was too damn close to risk resting.
“All right. Slow it down but we can’t stop.”
“Understood.” Nitro nodded and rejoined Manning, both slowing to a fast walk.
They could all rest once they were safely on the aircraft and headed back to Djibouti.
One more mile, maybe less, and they’d be home free.
“Hug the edge. Let’s not make it easy for them to pick us off.” Zach veered to the side of the path. It wasn’t as smooth there, but it at least afforded them some rock outcroppings and scrubby trees nearby to use as cover if he needed it.
His boot hit a rock on the road and Zach pitched forward just as he felt the whiz of the bullet pass his ear.
“We’re taking fire!” He dove off the path and into the bushes. Pitiful cover but it was better than nothing.
He crawled a little farther and made it behind a small tree as the team began to return fire.
They’d moved fast but not fast enough. They’d run out of time. The Houthi were back for their prize, and now they had their hopes of taking eight more US troops as motivation.
Well, they’d touch that soldier or any of his team over Zach’s dead body.
“This is Bravo One. We’re under attack,” Zach radioed in.
“Say again your last, Bravo One.”
Zach swung his weapon from behind the cover o
f his much too small tree trunk and returned fire before repeating, “We are pinned down and taking fire. Requesting air support.”
“Copy. We’ve got your location as approximately one klick from the exfil point. Close air support two minutes out. Paint your location.”
“Copy that.”
Hawk hit the ground next to him and sunk low behind a big rock. “So much for getting in and out, quick and quiet.”
Pressed against the trunk, Zach said, “Just wanted to make what could be our last op as a team memorable.”
“A little less memorable would have been good, thanks.” Hawk winced as bullets sent pieces of bark flying over their heads.
“Bravo Five, how’s the package?” Zach asked.
He could handle getting shot at, but if they lost the soldier—their entire reason for being here—the whole mission would be for shit.
“Alive,” Nitro answered.
Zach had been hoping for a little bit more from the medic, but if he could only have one word, alive was a good one.
He didn’t have time for chit-chat anyway. True to his promise, the commander would deliver on the close air support.
“Bravo team, lasers, lasers, lasers! Paint your location or go home in a box. The boys in the sky are about to rain down hell all around us. Danger close. Copy?”
He heard a round of verifications from the team as he did what he’d directed them to and used the hand held laser to paint his location so the aircraft would avoid firing on his little sanctuary behind the tree.
As their guardian angels in the sky showered the surroundings with gunfire, tracer rounds cascaded toward the ground like so many shooting stars.
“Woo hoo! Take that, mother fuckers!” Compass bellowed toward the unseen enemy.
“Z-man! Our ride’s here,” Rocket’s voice came over the communicator.
Beneath the noise of gunfire and the engines of the close air support, Zach had missed the sound of the Osprey’s arrival, but Rocket was in a position to see it.
“Copy that. Nitro, get the package on that bird now! Rocket, cover him!”
“Moving out,” Nitro said.
“Copy. I’ve got his six.” Rocket confirmed.
Zach glanced at Hawk and asked, “Ready to get the fuck out of Dodge?”
Hawk said, “Thought you’d never ask.”
Zach drew in a breath and issued the order, “Bravo team—exfil, exfil, exfil!”
Zach and Hawk leap frogged toward the Osprey set down on the ground a hundred meters from where they’d been pinned. Zach saw Nitro and the soldier disappear inside, followed by Rocket, and felt the relief that one hurdle was down.
Now to get the rest of the team on board and get the fuck off this God-forsaken mountain.
He saw the easily identifiable figures of Compass and T-Bone, the team’s two tallest, load on, followed by Justus’s wide bulk.
The air support maintained covering fire as he signaled for Hawk to make a run for the bird.
Zach followed and leapt on. He did a quick head count . . . and came up short.
“Where the fuck is Dutch?” he asked, eyes wide.
Fuck. He moved toward the hatch and saw the missing SEAL running full out toward the Osprey.
The sound of bullets pinging against the fuselage had Zach and Hawk, the two closest to the exit ramp, swinging their weapons and peppering the area on either side of Dutch.
Boots pounding, he leapt the last few feet up the cargo ramp and landed with a thud.
“We’re all here! Go, go, go!” Zach yelled to the crew while Hawk and Justus laid down a few more hundred rounds before retreating inside as the tilt-rotor aircraft lifted off the ground.
“I’m hit.” Dutch’s gasped words caught Zach’s attention. He turned to see the SEAL clutching at his hip and thigh with both hands.
“Where?” Zach asked.
T-Bone grinned. “In his ass.”
“It’s not funny, douche face.” Dutch shot the man a glare. “I’m lucky I could still run to get to the bird.”
“Come on. Admit it. It’s a little bit funny.” Rocket held his thumb and forefingers together.
“Don’t worry, Dutch,” Compass said. “You’re so little I could’ve carried you on board.” The big man grinned, which only deepened Dutch’s scowl.
Nitro left the rescued soldier, strapped in and clutching a water bottle, and made his way toward them with a med bag in his hand. He tipped a chin toward Dutch. “Let me see.”
The team cleared a path and Nitro kneeled next to Dutch.
“There’s an entry and an exit wound. Looks like it went clean through. In and out. You need to get it taken care of when we get back to camp. Medical is going to want to stitch it up and load you full of antibiotics.” Nitro pulled on a pair of blue latex gloves from the med kit. “I can clean it out and patch you up for now. Take off your pants.”
Justus chuckled. “I bet that’s the first time Dutch has heard that in recent memory. From anybody, male or female.”
Zach shook his head. “All right. Leave Dutch alone. I gotta call command with a sit rep. I don’t need them hearing all your juvenile ass jokes.”
Amid a symphony of mixed groans and chuckles from the team, Zach settled himself into a seat.
“Ow. Fuck! What the hell are you doing back there?” Dutch whined as he laid face down in the narrow aisle between the inward facing seats as his teammates watched like it was a sporting event.
“Cleaning and butterflying the damn hole in your ass, that’s what,” Nitro answered. “Stay still.”
“Just leave that one hole in the middle between his cheeks open. He needs that one,” Justus grinned.
Next to Zach, Hawk shook his head. “Definitely a memorable op.”
Zach let out a sigh. “Yup.”
And he was definitely looking forward to getting home.
SIX
“How much per square foot?” Gabby paused with the pint of exterior polyurethane in one hand and her ever-present cell phone in the other.
“Fifty-eight dollars,” the salesclerk said on the phone.
“A foot?” she asked, not believing her ears. The clerk must have given her the case price or something.
“A square foot. Yes.”
“Um, I’ll have to get back to you. Thanks for your help.” She disconnected the call on the cell and plunked the can down onto the hardware store’s counter with a sigh.
The bored looking girl reached for the can and scanned the price. “Anything else?” she asked.
“No, just that.” Gabby slipped her credit card onto the counter, mumbling, “Can’t buy anything else if I want to afford tile.”
She’d promised Amanda’s client, now her client, she’d get this job done on budget. To make that happen she was going to have to find hand-painted Mexican tile somewhere for less, or convince the client to settle for different, cheaper tile.
Darn it. Changing the tile was going to alter the whole ambience of the shop.
“Problems?”
The question came from behind Gabby. Her purchase and receipt in her hand, she turned to see a man behind her. He was wearing kneepads and was covered in dust. But what was really interesting about him was the logo on his T-shirt. Manny’s Tile & Flooring.
“Yeah. The tile my client likes is fifty-eight dollars a square foot.”
“Ouch.” He cringed. “What kind is it?”
She opened the picture app on her cell and turned it to face him. “That kind. Hand painted. Mexican.”
He frowned at the picture. “Where’d you get that price quote from?”
“San Diego Tile.”
“No wonder.” He thrust the phone back at her, his disdain for the vendor clear in his narrowed eyes and twisted mouth.
“They’ll give me the contractor’s price—ten percent off,” Gabby said, defending her choice.
Not to mention the client had gone there on her own and decided that out of all the thousands of tiles available, the hand
painted Mexican tile was what she needed to have.
Apparently the woman wasn’t all that good at math since she didn’t realize that fifty-eight dollars a square foot times one thousand square feet equaled fifty-eight thousand dollars and put them way over budget.
He let out a huff. “Hell, that place should give you a discount considering they probably paid five dollars a foot for that tile themselves.”
Gabby understood well the way retail worked. The store had to cover all their cost of doing business, plus make a profit. She didn’t begrudge them their mark-up—but she couldn’t afford it either.
Which brought her to the real thing she was interested in finding out . . .
“So, where could I go to buy tile like this wholesale?” She had an SUV and a strong back. Why shouldn’t she cut out the middleman?
He lifted one shoulder. “There are a bunch of tile places right across the border.”
Across the border.
Her heart rate sped. “That close?”
He nodded.
She could drive over and back in a day. After she added a standard industry mark-up to the wholesale price, she’d even make a nice little profit on the trip while still saving the client literally thousands of dollars on the retail price.
“You don’t happen to have a name or number of one of these places, do you?”
Her dusty savior pulled out his cell. “Hang on. I’ll call the office. The guy I work for probably has all that information on one of the invoices. He’s always taking the truck to Tijuana.”
“Thank you.” Gabby’s pulse pounded with anticipation and a little bit with fear. She’d never been to Tijuana, but how bad could it be?
If this worked out, it could be the biggest thing to happen in her business since landing this shop renovation job. To be able to give her clients—when she got more than these two—a better price while making a bigger cut herself would be incredible. Amazing.
It would give her an advantage over the other designers in the area. It could put her over the top. Her mind spun with plans and possibilities.
Maybe she could start sourcing all of her own materials and offer clients unique items that only she could get. Handmade furniture. Pottery. Art and accessories.