One time, when she’d been taking equestrian classes at the racetrack where her mother worked, before Mom had gotten sick with the cancer that would eventually kill her, Sam had asked her mom what it was that had drawn her to her dad. Sam had been around nine at the time and had begun to suspect that her standoffish father wasn’t exactly like other kids’ fathers. That had been around the time that some of the girls in her expensive private school had started picking on her, calling her “mafia princess” and saying her father was a criminal and a killer. At the time, Sam hadn’t wanted to believe it, had still thought somehow she could earn her father’s love. She was the only girl after all. But the seed had been planted in her subconscious, where it had grown and festered until she could no longer ignore her father’s heinous deeds.
Back then, on that warm spring day, her mom had seemed a bit unsettled by the question young Sam posed, but recovered quickly enough. Her answer was surprising. She’d said she’d married Stefan Engel because when he’d looked at her, she’d seen the wounded little boy still lurking inside his raven dark eyes. That she’d seen beneath his tough exterior and abrupt ways to the man beneath. A man, she’d said, who needed love and kindness as much at the next person, perhaps more. Plus, he’d treated Sam’s mother like a Queen and supported her drive to keep doing what she’d loved—working with horses—even as their family grew.
The answer had satisfied young Sam, but as she’d gotten older and tried to search for those same qualities her mother had seen in her father without success, she’d come to doubt her mother’s wisdom. Then, after her mother passed away when Sam was twelve, her father had turned into the heartless bastard he was now, and poor Sam had wondered if all men were so cold and uncaring.
Jack had shown her differently. For that, and for so many other reason—his smile, his helpfulness, his steadfastness—she loved him. Always would. In truth, she’d probably loved him since that first night back in Costa Rica, but seeing him again had made all those feelings resurface and strengthen.
And now he was gone too, and she was on her own. Again.
“Welp, baby girl.” She picked up Glory and snuggled her close, sniffling away tears. “Looks like it’s just you and me, kid. We’ll get through this, I promise. Mommy loves you so, so much.”
Sam carried her daughter out of the bathroom and settled her in the larger of the two bedrooms, since that’s where the marshals had set the bags with her and the baby’s stuff in them, along with her trusty diaper bag. From down the hall, the sounds of the TV droned low and served as her soundtrack as she took a shower, then changed into yet another new pair of flannel PJs. As she ran a hand over the red plaid, she couldn’t help remembering the shirt Jack had worn that morning, the feel of his warm, hard muscles beneath the cloth, the smell of his soap and citrusy shampoo, the sound of his breath hitching when he’d hugged her for the last time.
Lump in her throat, Sam carried Glory down the hall to the kitchen to feed her.
Zeke glanced over at her from the sofa. “Everything okay? You hungry? I can make us some eggs or have one of the marshals outside pick up a pizza.”
“Nah, I’m good. Thanks. But feel free to make yourself something if you want.” She dug through the bags for the can of formula and package of bottles. After mixing up a batch, she filled a bottle, then dug out a jar of pears and apricots and a small spoon. She settled in at the kitchen table to feed her daughter, only vaguely paying attention to the news report on the TV in the other room. More wars, more wildfires, more shootings. You’d think growing up a mobster’s kid would’ve numbed her to strife and pain in the world, but the opposite was true. She felt society’s troubles more deeply because a part of her always felt responsible for them, considering who her father was.
Zeke stuck his head in the kitchen a short time later. “I had one of the guys get a pizza. Pepperoni, if you want a slice.”
“Thanks, but no.” Her stomach was all topsy-turvy from stress and grief. Zeke grabbed a plate and napkins, then disappeared again. Sam finished feeding Glory. At least her baby girl was hungry as ever. One of the few things getting Sam through all this was the fact that Glory was so young, only six months old, that hopefully she wouldn’t remember any of this when she got older. Hopefully by then, they’d be free of her father and living a good live.
A life without Jack.
Her chest tightened with sadness and Sam gripped the edge of the counter to stay upright. He was such a good man. He deserved to know his daughter, and Glory deserved a wonderful father like him. But they couldn’t be together. It was too dangerous. It risked too much for Jack—his farm, his family, his future.
“She’s cute,” Zeke said, walking over to grab a glass from the cabinet and fill it with water, then leaning against the doorframe as he sipped it. “Your father know about her?”
“Probably.” Sam set Glory’s empty bottle on the table, then put her daughter over her shoulder to burp her. “I sure never told him, but the agents he paid off probably did. I don’t know. I had her after I entered witness protection.”
“Oh.” Zeke frowned, as if considering this. “Huh. Interesting. Right, well, I’ll leave you alone then. We’ve got the perimeter of the property covered, so try not to worry and get a good night’s sleep.”
“Thanks.” She sighed. Given the nervous tension tying her in knots, sleep seemed pretty impossible at this point. Still, Zeke and his team seemed nice. “I’ll try.”
After cleaning up the kitchen, Sam carried Glory back out through the living room, mumbling a goodnight to Zeke as she passed, then hurried back to her bedroom at the end of the hall, closing and locking the door behind her. She barely made it before the tears started to fall. Sam managed to hold back actual sobs long enough to get Glory down to sleep, then she huddled in a corner of the room, arms around her knees and her face buried in the flannel of her PJ pants, sobbing for everything she’d lost and for the man she loved and would never see again.
Twenty-Four
Agent Meade had failed.
Again. And he’d been arrested.
Such an idiot. Stefan had expected more from a public servant.
Now his daughter was back in protective custody and his rivals were chomping at the bit to find his weak spot. And Stefan was stuck in here with limited resources to do anything about it. Oh, he still had a few cards to play—but it was so difficult to put a plan in motion from inside a prison cell.
Damn it all to hell.
His own father would beat Stefan senseless for allowing the situation to get this bad.
Stefan would’ve kicked his own ass, if that were physical possible.
Instead, he sat alone in his private cell at the correctional facility, stewing over the testimony from the previous days of his trial. It was unnerving, sitting there in front of all those people, having his life picked apart. For a man who prided himself on privacy, it was practically torture. And those cops, secure now that he was behind bars and handcuffed in the courtroom, smirking at him. They’d better hope he never got out of there. He’d take a knife to their faces to make sure they never smiled at anyone again.
Still, he’d kept his head high. Those people in there had no room to judge him. He was a superstar, at the top of his game. Hell, he was the American dream in Technicolor life. Worked and toiled to make a name for himself outside of his own father, to better himself, to become wealthier. He had a frigging mansion. Not many other in that courtroom could say that.
But it was all feeling a bit hollow now. Not because he’d regretted his choices, but because it felt like it was all slipping away. His attorney, the ever-wily Pyle, had scheduled a special meeting for them this afternoon and was bringing an undisclosed guest.
Undisclosed guest? Stefan was far from stupid. He knew what that meant.
The sharks were circling. His own attorney, his trusted confidant, was bringing the enemy here.
Classic turf-war tactic. Whenever one of their own went down, the mafia closed ranks
. Usually that meant infighting, lots of bloodshed as people battled to see who’d fill the void left behind by the toppled boss. At this point, it seemed that prison time for him was inevitable, and that meant the end of his reign. Some men were able to still run their empires from the inside, but Stefan had been too hands-on, too personal about his business. There was no way he could keep a grip on things like he needed to without face-to-face intimidation. For at least a few years, he’d need to let it all go. But if he could manage to beat the murder rap, then it would only be a few years until he was out again and could take back everything that was his.
He chuckled. Perhaps the fighting over his empire would be his last saving grace after all.
He might not be the king anymore—for the time being, at least—but he could still be a kingmaker. He could cut down on a lot of the infighting, sparing everyone a good deal of time and trouble, by anointing a successor, or at least making a deal to pass some of his operations into other hands. And if the agreed-upon price for Stefan’s cooperation was taking his daughter out, then perhaps he and today’s mystery guest could reach an accord. Stefan could be magnanimous when necessary. He could also be a person’s best friend or worst nightmare, depending on how useful the other person was to him. The guest this afternoon? Very useful. His traitorous daughter? Not so much.
Finally, the guard arrived to take Stefan back to the visitors’ room. Today was not a normal day for visitations, but Pyle did have some pull—and money helped grease the way as well. He was led down the same corridor as the other day and waited outside the same door while the guard futzed with the same paperwork.
When Stefan was at last led into the visitors’ room, the place was deserted except for Pyle sitting at one of the long tables near the center of the space, with another man dressed all in black beside him. Stefan bit back a smile. He’d recognize that brutish face and bulky body anywhere. Sal Corolla. He was the second-in-command for Stefan in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Stefan had put him in charge of his territory from across Lake Michigan because the guy was loyal to a fault. He didn’t think he’d ever been gladder to see anyone in his life.
Sal was a whiz when it came to running drugs and weapons, but wasn’t the brightest bulb in the lamp when it came to the nitty-gritty of interpersonal communication. Convincing him to do Stefan’s dirty work for him should be easy enough.
The guard led Stefan to a seat across from Pyle and Sal, then stood post beside the door as usual. Stefan kept his voice low as he leaned forward and said, “Long time, no see, Sal.”
“He’s here to show his support, Stefan,” Pyle said, all but twirling his non-existent mustache, super villain style.
Stefan nearly snorted. Such an amateur—Pyle’s late, lamented father would be so disappointed. The senior Pyle had known that the best way to disguise true evil was to put it right in front of people’s faces. Most never knew the difference. He leaned back and rested his hands in his lap, the chains connecting his cuffed wrists jangling beneath the table. “Talk.”
“I know how important the proper handling of this package is,” Sal said, his gruff voice barely above a whisper, “but that the loyalty of certain players in your organization is now in question. To show you my support, I’d like to personally take care of it for you, as a token of my appreciation for all you’ve done for me.”
“Really?” Stefan frowned, his gaze darting to Pyle. “Can he handle it?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve handled the communications myself. Sal should be competent enough and can take care of the package prior to the expected date with your acceptance.”
“Huh.” Stefan made a show of considering the offer, even though he knew damned well he’d take it. Let Sal think he had more options. That would only give him greater bargaining power.
“Well, I don’t know. The last couple of attempts to deal with the package haven’t gone as expected. Why should I think you’ll be any different? This sort of thing really isn’t your forte.”
“I’ve already got my top people on board,” Sal said, his dark eyes narrowed. “I’d like the chance to prove to you I can take on more responsibilities within your organization. Maybe handle things while you’re away.”
Hmm. With the way people were jumping ship after his incarceration, Stefan had to say he was touched by this guy’s sentiment, self-serving or not. Besides, given the time-sensitive nature of the job, and the fact that Sal had earned his trust, even if he wasn’t exactly a titan of intellect. Stefan cursed the fact he’d ended up in this position at all, but knew he’d end up taking the offer. What choice did he have? Still, he wanted to make the guy work for it a little more.
“What about finesse though?” he asked. “I want the delivery to be clean and tidy.”
“No problem. We understand it’s a delicate situation, what with the smaller parcel involved too.” Sal gave him a tiny wink, and Stefan hid a grimace. When he’d first heard that Sam had a child, the thought of a tiny baby carrying his bloodline had sent a small frisson of joy through his heart before he quickly squashed it. No time for sentimentality. In the months since then, he’d resigned himself to the inevitable. Stefan had never intentionally targeted children before, even monsters had their limits, but if the child was collateral damage in his war to save his empire, well then, so be it. Years ago, the news of a grandchild might have made him happy. Back when his wife had been alive. She would’ve been thrilled. Now, it just left him feeling empty inside.
Then again, most things these days left him empty.
There were still other things that needed discussing though. He sighed and stared through the bars on his windows to the street below. Snow still coated the ground in places. It was March after all. His Gloria had died in March. “What’s the compensation?”
Sal gave a slow, sinister smile. “More power and prestige. I want to take over the whole West Coast delivery routes exclusively. Both hard and soft goods.”
Right. He wanted exclusive rights to distribute drugs and prostitutes in one of Stefan’s most lucrative markets. Not as bad as he’d imagined. If it were him, he would’ve gone after money laundering too, but then it wasn’t up to him anymore.
Perhaps it was time to let someone else take over the business.
Maybe he was getting too old, losing his edge.
No. He was still furious as ever at his situation, even if it did him little good in here.
All he could do now was wait. Wait and hope that one of his rivals got a lucky shot and took out his traitorous daughter once and for all. If the baby survived, great. If not, they could be buried together. Either way, this would all be over.
His family, the ones who should’ve had his back, should’ve given him their loyalty, had failed him in the end. But Stefan would not fail. He could not fail. His livelihood, his future, depended on it.
“Fine.” Stefan said at last, signaling the guard that the meeting was over. He stood and looked down on his attorney and the man who would hopefully finally kill his daughter once and for all. “Handle the delivery. And please let me know when it’s done.”
Twenty-Five
Seventy-two hours had passed, and Jack still felt as shitty as he had the day he’d walked away from Sam in Omaha. Sure, he’d tried to get on with things, throwing himself into work around the farm—feeding his cattle, working to fix the tire ruts left in his fields, cleaning out the barn and spreading fresh hay. None of it seemed to help get his mind off his broken heart for long.
Back when he’d been younger, during his SEAL days, he’d gone through women and relationships like tissues, never sticking around long. Funny that now he’d found the one woman he wanted to spend the rest of this life with, he’d been forced to let her go.
His mom had brought him dinner twice, checking in on him like she was afraid he’d get so down in the dumps that he’d forget to eat. She may have had a point…especially since, in true SEAL fashion, when he had tough emotions to deal with, he worked until he was too tired or numb to feel them an
ymore. The guys on his team were fantastic in battle, not so much when it came to matters of the heart.
Cursing under his breath, he took a break from the dirt he’d been shoveling to fill in a huge rut in his field and walked over to the tractor to get a drink of water. He’d thought the overcast sky might make the work cooler, but he was still sweating up a storm and his skin felt gritty with soil. In the distance, his cattle mooed and roamed in the pasture. There were several cows set to give birth in the next month or so. It was good he was back. There was a lot to do around here, and this was where he belonged now. His worst fears had been reinforced. He wasn’t the same man he’d been in the SEALs. He wasn’t up to the task of protecting Sam and their daughter. It was good Zeke had taken over. That way, Jack could get back to his own life—working on the farm, getting substitute teaching experience, and applying to colleges to get his Masters. It was all good.
Except everything felt so, so bad.
He missed Sam. He missed Glory.
Dammit. Why couldn’t life be filled with easy choices, obvious answers.
He’d knocked back about half a bottle of water when his cell phone buzzed in the pocket of his overalls. After wiping his hands and face on his bandana, he pulled out his phone and stared at the screen, his pulse rate tripling. Zeke’s number flashed on the caller ID.
“What wrong?” Jack answered by way of greeting. His gut told him this wasn’t a friendly check-in.
Zeke sighed. “Nothing’s wrong, man. That rogue agent, Meade—the one who killed his partner at the rest stop—finally agreed to a plea deal and I got some new intel. I thought you might be interested.”
“About Sam?”
“Yep.”
“Go on.”
“Turns out that Meade planted a tracking device on Sam right after they took her into custody. That’s how they knew where to find her.”
The Protective SEAL Page 14