SEAL's Promise - Bad Boys of SEAL Team 3, Book 01

by Sharon Hamilton

  “Don’t you want to know about your sister?”

  “I’m here out of respect that you wanted to see me, and you haven’t long for this world. I’m here so you can tell me whatever you want to tell me.”

  “Okay. First things first. I killed a man. I laid in wait for him, and I killed him. I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help myself.” The old man didn’t take his eyes off T.J. “I loved your mother. Loved her too much.”

  “Well, you’re here. Where is my sister?”

  “She lives about a hundred miles that way.” He pointed west. “And your mother is buried nearby.”

  Bobbie Ray looked vacant, his eyes staring off at a distance, and at first, T.J. thought he’d passed away. He stood up to lean over and check, slightly alarmed, when his father lurched forward involuntarily, like he was coming back from the dead, which totally freaked T.J. out. He also smelled of death. He’d learned to recognize that smell over the past few years.

  “You taking me home today? You got a nice car?”

  “No, you’re staying here. I’m going back home. This is your home now.”

  His father shook his head. “Did you drive or fly?”

  T.J. was getting more impatient by the minute. He knew there wasn’t anything he could do for his father, except listen to his stream of consciousness wanderings. He actually prayed that he’d go peacefully, and soon. And if he was in a dulled state, perhaps that would be better for everyone.

  But T.J. did have questions. He just wasn’t sure it was appropriate to ask them. Or, maybe he just wasn’t sure he’d like the answers. His mother apparently was dead. But he had a sister, and that changed things for T.J.

  “I met a real nice girl,” his father started. “She looks a lot like you. Has your eyes. Beautiful girl. I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

  “That’s nice.” T.J. thought he might find out details by just listening and not asking. Perhaps there would be some pearls in the old man’s words that would give him some of the clues he was seeking.

  “I messed up. She loved him. She loved the man I kilt.”

  “My sister? What’s her name?”

  “Lois. Lois Foster. Old Mr. Foster died many years ago. Never did like me and when I got sent here, well, there wasn’t any way for me to get in touch with her. I fucked up, son.”

  “So, my mother’s name was Lois?”

  “You know Lois? Did they introduce you to her? Don’t you think she’s pretty?”

  T.J. wanted to get up, run away and never come back.

  “I thought about this day for many years. What would I say to you if I ever found you.”

  “Have you talked to my sister?”

  “Twice.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “She has a boyfriend. I met him once too.”

  “What’s her last name?”

  His father looked back at him like he was the crazy one in the bed. “Who?”

  We’re losing time.

  “My sister. What’s my sister’s name?”

  “You have a sister?” his dad asked. “Congratulations. Wonder why they never told me!”

  He had that far away look again.

  “Hey, son, you taking me home? I’m ready anytime you are.”

  He could see his father’s body shutting down by the minute. His speech was starting to slur. T.J. reached out and touched the old man for the first time in his life, placing a gentle palm on his frail shoulder which felt like all bone and very little flesh. “Dad. You are home. Remember what Travis said? You can close your eyes and go there anytime you want.”

  His father seemed to get half of what he said. “They’re really good here, you know. Take such good care of us. Really topnotch place. I’d come back here anytime.”

  Great. Dad thinks he’s in a vacation resort or something. It was funny, if it wasn’t so sad. His father didn’t register in the slightest that he’d been physically touched by his own son for the first time ever. “Tell me her name, Dad,” he asked softly. “Tell me my sister’s last name.”

  But his dad had checked out of the resort and was on his new adventure.

  “GLAD YOU GOT to see him,” Travis said as they traveled down the highway toward the town of Dover. The reverend managed to do a little digging and had found the address of one Connie Fallon through an ancestry.com account, checked the phone book and found she had a listed phone number as well as her address. Dover was only about twenty miles from Travis’s church and parsonage, so he agreed to accompany T.J. on the trip. They’d tried to call ahead, without luck.

  Next, T.J. called the hospital, reaching the nurse’s station to check on Shannon.

  “I don’t want to talk to her if she’s sleeping.”

  The nurse checked and confirmed she was asleep.

  “Wonderful. How’s she doing?”

  The nurse was shuffling through some paperwork, probably checking the permission slips Shannon signed on admittance. “Everything’s going in the right direction, sir. I’d let her sleep.”

  “How’s little Courtney doing?”

  “I understand there is an update, but not until the patient has been informed.”

  “Good news or bad news?”

  “You’re going to have to get that from your wife.”

  My wife. He liked the sound of that. He wanted to celebrate, but there were too many unknowns and he wouldn’t let his heart go there. He told himself it would be easier when he had an update on Courtney. That was, if it was good news. Something in his gut told him it was.

  “Would you ask her to give me a call when she awakens?” He gave his cell phone. “Tell her I will be coming home tomorrow, okay?”

  “I’ll do that. She’s had a lot of visitors. She really needs to rest right now, so I’ll give it to her when she awakens.”

  T.J. wondered who would be pestering her so much, when most of their platoon on Team 3 were in Las Vegas.

  “Can we cut out the visitors?” he asked.

  “Sure, but the police have been in several times. And a newspaper reporter. We got rid of him.”

  “Police?”

  “We didn’t know you knew the Marine whose wife was injured.”

  “Okay, I’m going to get someone to come stay with her. Her parents been by much?”

  “Oh yes. Both sets, yours and hers.”

  T.J. didn’t correct her. Frankie’s parents had every right to see their new grandchild. He was going to make sure that always was allowed.

  Next he called Shannon’s parents and got her mother on the phone. T.J. and Mrs. Moore had a difficult relationship going back to Shannon and Frankie’s wedding. He guessed his taking off for Tennessee was just another example to Mrs. Moore of a lack of good judgment. She was frosty, more so than usual.

  “You kids are in the middle of all this media circus, and Shannon needs to get her rest while you’re streaking all over the countryside searching after lost relatives.”

  “My father died this morning.”

  “Okay. You sound devastated,” she said mockingly.

  He was wondering if he’d ever have a normal relationship with her. Probably not. “I’ll be home tomorrow. Turns out I have a sister I didn’t know about, so I’ll be stopping by to see her if I can, and then I’ll come home.”

  “How nice for you.”

  “Look, the reason for the call, although I always enjoy our calls, Mrs. Moore, is that there have been some police and other people bothering Shannon. And there has been a reporter snooping around. I need her left alone as much as possible.”

  “Well, well, we finally agree.”

  T.J. was so glad Shannon hadn’t gone through with her plans to raise little Courtney on her own in the Bay Area where her parents lived. Her whole life would have been changed by the proximity to this woman. But she was Shannon’s mother, and he wasn’t going to interfere, especially when he needed her keen eyes doing a stealth mission to order people around, which was exactly what she was well suited for. She coul
d have run a whole platoon.

  “We want to cooperate with the police. But in light of what happened to Magnus’ wife, and that hospital area not being that secure—”

  “Yes, we were told you actually saw one of the terrorists.”

  “One of the terrorists?”

  “Apparently small cell, they’ve taken responsibility.”

  “All the more reason. I need you to stand guard over Shannon and be extremely picky about who she talks to. Be rude if you have to.

  “I can do that.”

  T.J. knew she definitely could.

  Chapter Thirty

  ‡

  COURTNEY WAS RESTING comfortably in Shannon’s arms when Shannon’s mother and father arrived. The baby had been transferred to a regular nursery crib, which was sitting nearby.

  “Oh, hi, guys,” Shannon called out to them. She hadn’t expected them until this evening.

  Her mom gave her a hug and kiss, and sat for a minute on the edge of the bed, brushing her fingers over her granddaughter’s pink fuzzy head. “She’s really beautiful, Shannon. Ears are a little big.”

  This tickled her. Long past caring about this little feature of her anatomy, Shannon was happy the baby was going to be allowed to go home with her today. When she told her mother, they were thrilled.

  One of the nurses came in after Shannon buzzed her.

  “Yes?”

  “Say, I’m wondering how soon before we are allowed to leave?”

  “Leave?”

  “Well, the doctor said he was going to release me. My parents are here to help me. We’re ready now if everything is okay.”

  “Let me check. Is she nursing or just sleeping?”

  “Mostly sleeping.”

  “You want her to nurse, honey. She’ll get comfortable and all warm and snuggly, but she needs to eat so you keep your milk in. You’ll have problems when you get home if not.”

  “I think she’s getting plenty. But this is my first.”

  “All right.” The nurse came over to the bed and addressed Mrs. Moore, “Excuse me, honey.” When Shannon’s mother stood next to Mr. Moore, the nurse leaned in. “I’m gonna take the baby, get her weighed, take a final blood test and get her cleaned up for you. Then I’ll bring her back. She’ll be good and fussy when I get done poking around with her.”

  “That woman is rude,” said Mrs. Moore.

  Nothing could dampen her mood, except she hadn’t heard from T.J. She’d gotten the message he’d landed safely while she was resting. But his call was overdue, and she needed to hear his voice, curious how the meeting with his dad went.

  “I wish T.J. would call,” she said to her mother.

  “He didn’t call you? That’s why we came right over. He’s coming home tomorrow, he said.”

  She wondered why he’d not called her directly, but instead called her mother. “Hope everything went well.”

  Mrs. Moore glanced at her husband, and then added, “Honey, I’m afraid his father passed away this morning.”

  “All the more reason—”

  “He should be home with you and the baby,” Mr. Moore asserted. “You are unprotected here. and I don’t like that. With that reporter yesterday and all the questions the police are asking. T.J. felt it too, asked your mother and me to come over and stand guard. We’re not leaving until they release you, Shannon.”

  An attractive male intern in scrubs, a stethoscope draped across his neck, popped his head inside. “Can I have a word for a second?”

  “They can stay here,” she answered.

  “Sorry, confidentiality rules. I’m really sorry.” He smiled at her parents who looked at Shannon for direction and when she shrugged, they exited to the hall.

  As the door to her room closed, he came over to Shannon’s bedside and sat down, which alarmed her.

  “So, where’s your husband?”

  “You guys know he’s—” All of a sudden it began to dawn on her there was something wrong about this man. He had a faint accent, which normally wouldn’t bother her, but the nametag on the scrubs identified him as being with housekeeping. Why would he need a stethoscope?

  He was drawing something from his pocket. She saw the flash of a syringe containing a light yellow liquid. Adjusting her weight, she pushed back away from him just before he lunged forward attempting to inject something into her neck. She wanted to scream but his hand covered her mouth. With a quick kick to his hip, he was thrown off balance and fell to the floor, scattering her IV and several other items, including a plastic water pitcher on a nearby stainless steel tray, all over the ground.

  But the kick had had also thrown off her balance, and she found herself reaching for anything to avoid falling from the hospital bed onto the other side. She clutched the air, knocking over a vase filled with flowers, sending it shattering to the floor as she fell hard. She tried to scream but found the air had been knocked out of her. Pain seared her abdominal area.

  At last she found her voice and screamed.

  The next instant, he was around the end of the bed and, reaching over her, attempted to grab her hair. Her hands swept the floor. She felt the wetness of the broken vase as well as the sting of a piece of broken glass that had gotten stuck in the palm of her hand.

  In the meantime, something was happening outside the door. She could hear her mother shouting for help. Sounds of a struggle, with something heavy being thrown against the door. Was there someone else outside? She remembered the warning T.J. had given her mother.

  Hopefully Courtney is safe. Please, let her be safe. She has to be safe.

  She heard a definite gunshot sound and screaming. Her assailant yanked her hair, pulling her head up like a rag doll with a jerk. Now he wasn’t holding a syringe any longer. He held a heavy knife like T.J.’s KA-BAR, the one she had looked at several times. She knew where his intended trajectory was. Her legs flopped and scraped on the wet, slippery floor as she tried to throw his balance off from the lethal crouch position, a tight tripod. His center of gravity was too low, she realized.

  This is not acceptable. This is not going to happen. Never. Not at any time. She was not going to die, wind up another statistic on the evening news.

  He was twisting her head to get a lethal angle at her neck. She knew what he was after. She remembered something T.J. had explained to her.

  Sometimes when you’re in a struggle, best to stop fighting. Go in the same direction as the attacker, because if you resist, you cause them to use deadly force to restrain you.

  Instead of pulling back, trying to avoid his body and the knife that was gripped in his right hand, she leaned forward into him. He lost his balance for just a second, enough time for her to bring up her palm, drawing her arm over and outside his left. The glass wedged there hurt like a son of a gun, but as her fingers gripped it tightly, cutting her further, she drew strength from the pain. She hoped it was big enough to do what she needed it to do. Using her own fist as the hilt of the glass blade, she swung upward and rammed it into the assailant’s neck, remembering to throw whatever weight she could muster from her own body following behind, and then pulled down.

  She felt the satisfying crunch of cartilage and muscle tissue being sliced open, followed by a warm spray of his blood, covering her face and chest. He tried to adjust, dropping his knife in order to hold onto his neck, but his knees slipped in the pool of blood. Shannon seized another opportunity, drew one knee up to her chest and then pushed with everything she had, her bare foot landing square in the middle of his chest, sending his body backward.

  He was skidding across the bloody floor when the heavy door swung open and knocked him solidly in his head.

  Seeing her parents in the hallway, worried but apparently unharmed, the bevy of staffers behind them and the two uniformed guards hauling up the unconscious assailant by his armpits, she allowed herself to collapse and breathe. Other than the pain in her palm, and something intense burning in her lower belly, she felt pretty good, considering.

 
She looked at her bloody hands, the sloppiness of the mortal combat she’d just engaged in, her heart pounding so hard it nearly exploded her chest, and she discovered something.

  It felt damn good to be alive.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  ‡

  “YOU LIKE LIVING out here, don’t you?” T.J. asked Travis.

  “Yessir, I used to. It does me good to be in this beautiful part of the world. And the cost of living is a lot less than other places. I won’t lie, part of the charm, part of the charm.”

  Travis’ gold tooth was glinting in the sunlight. “So you gonna tell me about that tooth?”

  This gave the big man a belly laugh. “You’re gonna think me quite insane. Maybe a bit more eccentric than you like.”

  “But you forget. I’m in the military, and let me tell you, I see stuff all the time on deployment that is pretty fuckin’—sorry, man, just force of habit.”

  “It’s all right. You’re an all right dude, Mr. T.J. Talbot. I think you’re one of God’s warriors. And God’s warriors get to take special liberties with they language.” He smiled broadly and then swung his eyes back to the road.

  He sucked in air as if he could create a vacuum in the old Chevy, then blew it out so hard T.J. thought the windshield might cave.

  “Okay, here goes,” Travis started.

  T.J. could already tell he was going to dig the hell out of whatever the man was going to say.

  “I met this lady when I was twenty-five, over a decade ago now. We didn’t obey any of God’s commandments, in fact, I think this woman was hell bent on breaking jus’ about all of them.”

  Travis stopped and threw out a throaty laugh, his belly rubbing against the steering wheel of his car. If it involved a woman, now T.J. was even more sure he was going to like the story.

  “I’ve known a few of those,” he admitted to the preacher. “They don’t interest me any longer either, but man. I haven’t thought about those days for a while now, but that’s all I used to think about.”

  “You was just finding your way, son.”

  “That’s a fact. Not there though. It was never there.”