by Laura Acton
After drying off, Dan pulled on his shirt and jeans. As he rolled his filthy uniform neatly, he prepared himself to ignore the copious amount of ridicule he was sure to receive upon returning to the locker area. Taunting would be easier to cope with than pity.
Locking his emotions away, he gingerly walked toward the lockers to put his comfortable chukka boots on. He wished he brought an extra pair of socks. Tonight he also needed to purchase a go bag and outfit it. He chided himself for not being prepared as he made a mental list of items to buy. Boots, bag, extra socks and boxers, power bars, and water bottles. Without a doubt water, seeing that no one offered me any during today’s marathon workout.
TRF HQ – Men’s Locker Room – 7:15 p.m.
Jon tracked Broderick as he entered Alpha Team’s locker aisle fully dressed minus shoes. He wondered why the rookie changed in the showers. No one did that. Is he shy? No. No way … he’s an ex-special forces soldier.
Reluctantly he admitted only to himself this rookie impressed him. As the day wore on the soldier didn’t quit. Broderick gave his all in every demanding task he set the team to. He shattered the record on the rope climb—a damned monkey. And Broderick came close to breaking the course record … Jon’s record … which annoyed him. The obnoxious rookie most likely would’ve if he didn’t use a weird stride when they ran timed drills prior to knocking off.
Jon noticed the same hitch in the rookie’s stride now, and he attempted to ascertain why just as Loki began teasing Broderick about being afraid to dress in front of others. Ray and Bram joined in the harassing but Jon didn’t, he continued to observe him. He couldn’t read him at all. The damned rookie gave nothing away in his expression or speech. The stoic face and monotone voice grated on him today, too much a reminder of Burl.
Roughly pushing bitter recollections away, Jon focused his attention on Broderick. As the rookie sat down and pulled out some soft boots, Jon noted his bare feet, no socks. Probably didn’t bring a pair to change into today. The reason for the strange stride popped out at him. Goddammit! Anger boiled and erupted as he strode over. “Dammit, Broderick! Why didn’t you tell me your feet are blistered?!”
Purposefully focusing his mind elsewhere doing his utmost to pay no heed to the biting harassment or give them any reaction, Dan flinched at the unexpected words and severity in the tactical lead’s tone. Instinct took over, rising to stand at attention as he answered, “No reason, sir.”
The military stance embittered Jon as it brought forward old images of Burl. “There is no way in hell you can do your job in such condition.”
Dan maintained a level gaze, unblinking and unmoving. “It won’t prevent me from doing my job, sir.”
“The hell it won’t! How did your feet get that way?”
“New boots are too small, sir.”
“Why would you wear boots that aren’t your size?”
“All supply had available, sir.”
Jon turned and slammed his open palm on a closed locker right next to Broderick. The brainless rookie spent the entire day training in boots which didn’t fit. What other stupid decisions will this reckless soldier make? “Of all the senseless, dimwitted things … asinine move. Buy yourself some properly fitting boots before you show up tomorrow or I’ll make sure you regret making such a stupid mistake and putting my team at risk.”
“Wilco, sir.” Dan wanted to dispute what Hardy labeled an idiot mistake, they were what TRF provided him and to claim this put the team in jeopardy, well, that was laughable, he had operated in worse shape many times.
This morning he didn’t know Hardy was his tactical lead, his superior, which allowed him to defend his actions at the bank and to say things he wouldn’t have had he been aware. But he knew now. Respect for the position would be immediately given. However, the man must earn his esteem and so far, the jury remained out. Relying on tons of experience with irrational superiors, Plouffe came to mind instantly, Dan managed to keep his mouth shut.
“Tomorrow, I expect to see proper foot attire.” Jon stormed over to his own locker, slammed it shut, and stalked out of the locker room. Aggravated with himself for not noticing the problem sooner and perturbed with the idiot rookie for not saying anything.
Loki glanced at Ray and Bram as Jon stomped out. Holy smokes, this is messed up. Jon is being really rough on him. None of us want someone forced on us, but we have no choice in the matter. Gambrill’s appointment is binding and irrevocable, so we must accept his decision. He leaned in close and whispered to Ray, “You think Jon would’ve been as harsh if Boss were in here?”
Shrugging, Ray returned to buttoning his shirt. “Can’t say. Though, I agree with Jon. Broderick should’ve said something instead of being a martyr. If he spoke up, Boss would’ve insisted we stop so he could go purchase boots.”
Slipping into his comfortable cross-trainers, Loki gave a slight nod and flicked his eyes to the new guy. All soldier, right down to his speech. Roger, Wilco, Sarge. This is not going to be fun.
Releasing a bit of tension from his rigidly held body once Hardy left, Dan sat on the bench to put his soft chukkas on. The dead silence around him a welcome relief from the mocking. He stood, closed his locker, picked up his dirty uniform, and started for the exit.
Bram put out a hand and halted Dan. “Jon can be a little hard-headed, but he is a decent man and the best tactical leader in TRF. Give him a chance. You did well today.”
Dan studied the massive man. His blue-green eyes revealed gentleness, and Bram’s kind words … the first from any of the team today … appreciated. Responding to the gesture, Dan softly said, “See you tomorrow.”
Unsettled by his glimpse of Broderick’s eyes, a small sigh escaped as the door closed behind Dan. In the brief flash of his blue eyes, one which lasted for no more than a fraction of a second, Bram got the impression their rookie was lost. He witnessed a look he had seen only once before in his three-year-old daughter’s eyes when Allie got lost in Wacky Willy’s Wild World. She had been so scared believing they left her, and she was all alone. The thought left Bram wondering what would cause such a thing in Broderick.
Lexa’s Home – 8:30 p.m.
The sledgehammer slammed into the drywall again sending dust and debris flying. Lexa brought it back up and swung again and again. She kept striking until she demolished this section of wall.
Dropping the heavy mallet on the floor, Lexa wiped the sweat from her forehead. Mom was wrong. Women don’t mist we sweat like hogs when we exert ourselves. Needing to exorcise her demon, one Daniel Broderick, she picked up the hammer and set to work again. Sweating would cleanse her body, swinging the sledge would bring down the wall of frustration, purge the emotional turmoil contained within, and bring her mind peace.
At first, every swing had been punctuated with a vision of Dan’s smug face, but after about the tenth swing her head began clearing and her anger ebbing. She found her calm being restored as she tore down the rotted wall. Exhausted, she dropped to the ground as flecks of plaster and gypsum particles floated in the humid air. After the dust settled, she removed her mask and stared at the destruction around her.
Why does Broderick tick me off? Unquestionably a cocky soldier … so full of himself … revoltingly so. Training with him today, it seemed like he went out of his way to show them up. Poor Loki—the rope climb had never been his thing. He struggled with reaching the top when he first joined, but she worked with him to build his confidence and improve his technique. Loki was now reasonably quick and skilled with that obstacle. But today, the detestable soldier blew Loki out of the water … thoughtless and mean to gloat he shattered the climbing record.
Lexa took a deep breath. No, I’m not being fair, he didn’t actually gloat, but he did stand there with no expression like he’s above us and what he did was a simple thing. That is what bothered her. The smug attitude he projected … like he was nonpareil because he was elite ex-Special Forces and mere police constables were beneath him fueled her ire.
&nbs
p; Well, Broderick would learn a few things … they were the elite TRF team because they all brought their specialties together in a unified goal. Not all of them were physical powerhouses. No one better than Boss at negotiating … his insight and ability to read situations and people saved so many lives. Loki might run and climb slower, but he was a technical rock star ... the best techie in the entire country who turned down many lucrative private sector jobs.
She grinned as she recalled giving the rookie a dose of his own medicine at the long-distance range. Her accuracy bested Broderick. Sure, he hit the target each time. He shouldn’t be in TRF if he couldn’t do that. However, her groupings were tighter and her shots faster. He took too much time fiddling with his scope between shots and writing in a notebook.
If Jon had been shooting today, Broderick would’ve seen the proficiency of their best sniper. She liked to challenge Jon and tease him, but she knew she would never be the marksman he is, but she was better and faster than the conceited soldier. Lexa snorted. Maybe that’s the reason he is no longer in the military—he couldn’t cut it as a sniper. If it takes him that long to line up a shot during a call, someone is gonna be killed.
She stood and dropped the dust mask on her workbench as she sauntered toward her kitchen. Opening her fridge, she stared at the salad then closed the door. She opened the freezer section and pulled out the container of double chocolate fudge and brownie chunk ice cream. She got a spoon out of the drawer and sat at her restored kitchen island.
As she scooped out a spoonful, Lexa sighed. Today required chocolate. Lots of chocolate. God, if she could only rewind to yesterday and make a different choice. If only she had … not gone to his table or his room … taken him up on his no harm, no foul comment at the elevator and left … not stripped in front of him and stripped him … and not carried condoms.
“If … if … if!” Lexa spooned in another giant bite. Letting the frozen chocolate melt in her mouth, she tried to understand what compelled her to behave so out of character yesterday.
“Eyes!” Those eyes intrigued her. She had never seen eyes that shade of blue before. Deep, sapphire blue eyes. Lexa felt herself becoming wet at the mere thought of his eyes. What the hell? Damn!
“Mr. Sapphire-Blue-Eyes is a teammate, nothing more. An unwanted teammate!” Lexa clung to that thought. Unwanted, not needed. She didn’t need any man, least of all Broderick. Her shattered heart now sheltered and well protected in the fortress she built after her family turned their backs on her. Never again would she open her heart to a man—it hurt too much.
A thought formed as she took another bite with a chunk of brownie. She would be professional. She would keep Broderick at a distance. If she presented a cold, professional front, she would discourage any notions he might hold that they would ever repeat last night … definitely not going to happen again. Ever.
July 16
Grand Citadel Hotel – Dan’s Room – 2:00 a.m.
“Noooooooo. Brody. God no! Brody!” Dan bolted upright, panting heavily, soaked in sweat, awakening for the fourth time tonight from the nightmare plaguing him every night.
Tears flowed unrestrained, wanting … no … needing to put an end to his torment, Dan reached for the bedside table and for his ivory handled pistol. He leaned back on the headboard and placed the muzzle of the gun to his heart.
His fingertip curled around the curved metal mechanism as he slid the safety off. He bought ammo today … now he had a way. He could end the pain … caress lightly … squeeze …. end his miserable life.
“I’m so sorry, Brody. I wish we could trade places. It should’ve been me. I saw your eyes. I should’ve known,” Dan cried in anguish.
Dan tightened his finger. Just a little more pressure and this will be all over. Justice would be served. I killed Brody. I didn’t protect Sara. Everyone I care about dies because I’m a fuckup.
“I should die. I deserve to die. I want to end my pain. Brody, tell me I can pull the trigger. I hurt too much. Release me, Brody.”
Dan sat for a long time with tears streaming down as he did most nights, as he struggled to apply the necessary pressure to wipe away all pain. Listening for Brody to talk to him, waiting for his brother to release him from his vow and help him die.
In the deep silence of the dark room Dan heard a soft whisper in the air or in his mind, he wasn’t sure of which. “Not tonight, Danny, put the weapon away. Time. You just need time. Lay the gun down. Do it for me, Danny.”
Powerful, racking sobs consumed Dan as he lowered the revolver because Brody refused to allow him to find solace in oblivion. Hand limply dropped to the bed, and the pistol tumbled to the mattress as he curled up into a tight ball, becoming very small on the huge king size bed.
Dan cried himself to sleep.
You Call This Teamwork?
13
August 3
TRF HQ – Gym 5:15 a.m.
Jon studied the rookie as he pounded on the heavy bag. Every morning he followed the same routine, you could almost set a clock. At four-fifty, Broderick always came early, he arrived in his workout clothes, silently wrapped his hands, and beat the hell out of the punching bag. At twenty-minute intervals, he would cycle through the bag, a treadmill run, upper or lower body weight session, the stationary bike, and finally stretching exercises.
For the past three weeks, their rookie never dressed in the locker room, always in the shower stall. Jon couldn’t figure out why. He made the mistake of asking once causing Broderick to glare at him for a moment then flippantly say ‘didn’t think you’re into men’ … the remark pissed him off.
Much of what the ex-soldier did annoyed him. One key item was the way he eyed Lexa when he thought no one watched. Bluntly, Jon pointed out relationships between teammates went against protocols and Broderick better quit eyeing her like a military objective to be won. She is a valued team member deserving respect. Since that day Jon had not caught him ogling Lexa.
Another bone of contention … Broderick’s continued use of ‘target’ instead of ‘subject.’ So far, Jon’s assessment of Broderick found the man wanting. Reckless, aggressive, and unable to stay in the position assigned to him. Broderick had a bad habit of thinking he knew the best Zulu location and moving unless Jon made it a direct order for him to remain in place.
During debrief, the arrogant and pompous rookie made excuses for his impulsive actions and challenged his tactical plans. Obviously, Broderick thought his military tactics were superior to police tactics. Well, the egotistical rookie had a lot to learn. His irresponsible and hard-tactical actions put the team at risk and would end up getting one of them killed.
As he noted Broderick switching to the treadmill, Jon wondered what the hell to do with him. The sniper’s lack of emotional response worried him. He always seemed to possess a blank face, dead eyes, and he never smiled. Completely indecipherable, just like Alejandro Espina. Alejandro had been Jon’s junior partner when he worked in the Organized Crimes Unit. Alejandro’s cold and unreadable countenance perfect for undercover work, but the impassiveness also harbored a traitor. Jon’s teeth set on edge when Broderick assumed a similar implacable, emotionless expression.
Broderick appeared to be the perfect soldier, no hint of emotion, ever. Point, shoot, kill, would be no issue for the stone-cold rookie. The one thing he conceded is the soldier was one hell of a shot. The first day on the range he had doubts, but once Broderick dialed in his Remi, he became the best-damned shooter in TRF. Broderick fired lighting fast, accurate, and his groupings so damned tight he often shot through the same hole. Jon loathed admitting the man was a crack-shot sniper and better than him.
So why the police force? Broderick appears to be a capable one-man killing machine, a perfect tool for the military to use for eliminating terrorists. That was the crux of Jon’s dilemma. Both constables and soldiers served and protected the citizens, but for the TRF that meant safeguarding everyone, even the so-called bad guys. They talked people down and only used lethal m
eans when zero options remained. That’s why they called the sniper position Zulu. They only took the shot as a last resort.
Dan glimpsed the tactical leader eyeing him again. Hardy never let up, riding him from the moment he walked into headquarters until he left at the end of shift. Hardy yelled at him for every perceived error and never allowed him to explain himself. They always cut him off or dismissed his reasons.
The first week on the team, he made an effort to suggest things during calls like he did with the unit. Blaze encouraged and expected input from the guys when they devised their tactical plans. It became apparent to Dan the usage of ‘team’ in their designator was a misnomer since from the team leader’s remarks it was Jon’s way or the highway.
As Dan acclimated to the many difference between TRF and Special Forces operation protocols, he quickly understood debrief was the only time he could voice his opinion on tactical solutions. He almost snorted aloud at that thought. Yeah, right! Debrief is where everyone except me gets to express their views. Every time I say something, I’m shot down, ignored, or my opinion is dismissed as stupid, reckless, or not the way we do it here.
He got a lot of the last one from everyone … the most often phrase out of their mouths. The second most frequently uttered phrase, typically from Hardy, was ‘Dammit Broderick!’ followed by a dressing down for something he supposedly did wrong or not in the manner Hardy preferred.
Sarge provided him the protocol and negotiation manuals to read in his spare time, but beyond that, no one bothered to explain things to him. They expected him to somehow know how everything operated. He was intelligent, but not omniscient.
Dan endeavored to give TRF a chance. He needed a job, his skills best fit this one, and he desired to serve and protect. Although striving to fit in, he realized he didn’t. Survival instincts honed and developed to a razor’s edge in the past six years were quite different from what constables needed. On top of that, they still didn’t want him. Plainly forced on them, they were not shy about letting him know he remained an unwanted mate.