Never Forget: A Novella in the Echo Platoon Series

by Marliss Melton

  “Mom!” He affected a look of disgust.

  “—then I trust you to walk away, understand? I raised you to be respectful of your elders, to think about your future, and to stay clear of trouble. Now I expect you to monitor yourself on all those fronts. You’re practically an adult.”

  “Okaaay.” He drawled out the word as if waiting for the other shoe to fall. “So I can hang out with him?”

  She cringed at the mere thought. “As long as his behaviors don’t rub off on you.” Any more than they have already, she added silently.

  “They won’t,” he promised, making her feel a little hopeful. “Thanks,” he added, sending her a remnant of his little boy smile, the one full of love for his mother.

  How she missed those simpler days.

  Chapter Six

  ‡

  CURTIS BACKED AWAY from Santana’s front door after knocking. It sounded like Draco was inside the house, barking furiously and clawing the door, but Santana didn’t even own a dog.

  Puzzled, Curtis checked the house number, making sure he was in the right place. The door swung open, and a Doberman Pinscher strained through the opening, caught back by a dark-skinned stranger, who held the growling menace by his studded leather collar.

  Curtis tore his nervous gaze off the dog’s snarling visage. “Uh, is Santana home?”

  The man regarded him with hard eyes. “He just left for Walmart with his mom.”

  “Oh.” Noticing a family resemblance, Curtis guessed that the stranger was a relative.

  “You want to wait inside?”

  Considering the stranger’s hostile look, the offer caught Curtis by surprise.

  “Santana won’t be long,” the man added.

  The dog continued to snarl.

  “Shut up, Lucifer,” the man scolded.

  “No, that’s all right,” Curtis said, thinking the dog’s name suited him. “I’ll wait until I see his mom’s car.”

  Hard eyes drifted over him again. “You’re that special investigator’s son,” the relative stated. “Schultz, right?”

  Curtis nodded. “Yeah, you know my mom?”

  “We’ve met,” he said. “I’m Santana’s Uncle Will,” he said.

  Curtis nodded and backed off the stoop. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Will. I’ll come back later.”

  “You do that,” said Will, managing a smile that failed to reach his eyes.

  As he walked away, Curtis could feel the man watching him. It was pretty obvious Santana’s uncle didn’t like his mom. She’d told him before that a lot of the men she worked with didn’t like her. Men had issues with women who were as tough as they were. He probably shouldn’t mention Santana’s uncle—or his dog—to his mom.

  *

  RUSTY FORCED HIMSELF to let his cellphone ring three times before he cleared his throat and answered it. “Kuzinsky,” he said out of habit.

  “Hi, it’s Maya.”

  Her voice sounded huskier on the phone. He pictured her lying back on her bed, the shoes kicked off her tiny feet, her purple-framed spectacles on a nearby nightstand next to a glass of red wine. The PG-rated vision aroused him instantly. How pathetic was that?

  “Well, you don’t sound like you’re mad at me, so that’s good,” he began.

  “Why would I be mad at you?” Her tone dismissed the mere idea.

  “For putting your son in harm’s way?” he suggested.

  She hummed her acknowledgment. “He did say that the dog is crazy.”

  “Yeah, well…” He couldn’t deny it. “War does that to everyone.”

  Her sudden silence made him want to retract the depressing statement.

  “I know it does,” she said, with enough compassion to reassure him. “But I trust you to know the difference between crazy and dangerous. You watched over Curtis today. Just promise me you’ll remain that vigilant until the dog settles down.”

  His hopes rose. “Does that mean he’s coming back tomorrow?”

  “Yes. Absolutely.”

  He closed his eyes briefly. “Good. It was touch and go today,” he admitted. “Draco could sense Curtis’s fear. Your son needs to establish himself as the alpha, which could take time and can’t really be taught.”

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I know you have better things to do than babysit my son.”

  “It’s not a problem.” Except that it sort of was a problem. His SEALs were showing up tomorrow evening.

  “There are so many pitfalls awaiting teens these days. I see corrupting influences everywhere, and there’s only so much I can do to protect him when I work every day. So, thank you. I’m really grateful for this distraction.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” he begged. “We’ve got a long way to go.”

  “I will understand if it becomes too much,” she said.

  An unmistakable warmth emanated from the vicinity of his heart. Hearing Maya’s gratitude, he didn’t care how hard it got. “We’ll play it by ear,” he promised.

  “Is there … anything that I can do to return the favor?”

  The ideas that popped into his head weren’t suitable to mention. In fact, they tied his tongue in knots, keeping him from saying anything.

  “What about your list?” she suggested.

  “My list?”

  “You know. The shopping list you had at Home Depot. Did you find everything on it?”

  “Uh, not yet.” But he wasn’t about to ask her to go shopping for him.

  “What do you still need?”

  The opportunity dropped so suddenly into his lap, he couldn’t afford to let it pass. “A date,” he suggested.

  “A date?”

  Her startled tone had him backpedaling.

  “Well, I’m taking Friday night to myself to get away from the house and all the guys who’ll be here. I thought I’d make a small bonfire on the beach, but if you’d rather not…” Maybe she wasn’t interested. Maybe he’d completely misread her.

  “No, that sounds nice,” she said with slightly more enthusiasm, yet still a hint of reservation. “It’s just … I haven’t been on a date in over a decade.”

  Suddenly, there was Ian Schultz’s ghost standing right in front him, just looking at him.

  Rusty gripped his phone harder. “Look, if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll be okay by myself.”

  “No, I’d like to join you,” she stated haltingly.

  “You sure?” he asked. She didn’t sound sure.

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  Maybe she just needed time to adjust to the idea.

  “In the meantime,” she added skirting the subject suddenly, “let’s see how Curtis does on his second day.”

  Ah, so a date with him depended on what happened between the boy and the dog.

  “Fair enough,” he replied. After all, the dog could end up biting the kid. The mother could end up blaming him. All hopes for a romance might burn completely to the ground. But hope was a stubborn son-of-a-gun, and he was still going to try. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said.

  “Yeah. I’ll see you.”

  At least he could tell that she was smiling when he hung up.

  Rusty shoved his phone back into his pocket and returned Ian Schultz’s steady regard. He suffered an urge to stick his tongue out at the man.

  “She must have really loved you,” he said to the big, burly warrior.

  Sometimes the ghosts talked back to him; sometimes they ignored him. Ian just shrugged with macho confidence.

  “You got a problem with me asking her out?” Rusty asked.

  Sliding his hands into the pockets of his desert camouflage BDUs, Ian looked Rusty over as if measuring up the competition. At long last, he shook his head.

  “What’s that mean? You don’t mind, or you think I can’t win her over?”

  The ghost sent him a knowing smile. And then he vanished just as suddenly as he’d appeared.

  Rusty sank onto the edge of his bed and scrubbed a hand over his face. What would a woman wh
o based her career on facts and hard evidence say to his assertion that he saw dead people—including her late husband?

  She’d accepted his offer of a date with lukewarm enthusiasm for a reason. Maybe he just didn’t live up to the standards she was used to.

  The sound of jets buzzing his rooftop on their descent to Oceana Naval Air Station prompted Draco to fly into a panic. Crated out back, his strident barks resonated with irrational fear.

  Poor dog. Poor him.

  Rusty heaved a tired sigh. His SEALs would show up tomorrow and he hadn’t put so much as a dent in his to-do list since the dog showed up. Maybe he ought to take up Maya’s offer of help after all.

  Chapter Seven

  ‡

  “CAN YOU GET the door, honey?” Maya called to Curtis.

  Rusty’s offer of a date for the weekend had led to a fitful night’s sleep. Her alarm had failed to awaken her on time, and now she was frantically applying makeup so as not to be late for the meeting with a JAG officer regarding three airmen who’d managed to steal weapons from Logistics, probably to sell on the black market. With scanty evidence to prosecute them, Maya feared the men were going to get away with their trafficking.

  Curtis crossed the living room, his footsteps audible through her bathroom wall. She heard him open the door, heard Rusty greet him.

  Just the sound of Rusty’s voice put a tremor in her fingers. All of this angst for what? It wasn’t like he’d asked her to marry him! She blinked at the startling thought, smudging her mascara. She reached for a tissue to wipe it off.

  A bonfire on the beach was a harmless proposition. But fires and beaches were so darned romantic. A couple couldn’t walk beside the waves without holding hands. They couldn’t sit in the glow of a snapping fire and not feel a kindling of desire. It had been so long since she’d done either, she feared she’d make a fool of herself.

  What were Rusty’s intentions, anyway? He’d been a bachelor all his life. Was he thinking of settling down and starting a family? She’d already done that—had no wish to do it again.

  But starting a family would compete with Never Forget Retreat. Perhaps he was only looking for a good time. A little fun, a light romance.

  She had never done “light romance” or one-night stands—ever. She and Ian had met at Texas A&M. They’d been each other’s firsts. She could scarcely remember the rituals involved in dating.

  With Rusty she wanted more than a dalliance. Until she knew what his agenda was, her only course of action was to hold back.

  Casting a harried glance at the peach shell and black skirt she wore, she squared her shoulders and exited her bedroom, running straight into Rusty, who stood at the breakfast bar in her kitchen. Curtis was wolfing down his cereal. Rusty waited, tapping an index card on the granite counter top.

  He turned at her approach, and her nerves started jangling all over again.

  “Hi,” she said, moving to stand beside her son.

  “Good morning.” Rusty’s haggard aspect suggested he hadn’t slept well either. Why not? Had he expected her to leap at his proposition?

  “What’s that?” she asked, glancing at the card.

  He tapped it two more times then held it out to her to take. “You asked if I’d found everything on my list. I’m still looking for these items.”

  Pleased that he’d taken her up on her offer, she took the card and skimmed it. Only five items comprised the list which included an off-white trash bin for a bathroom and a dog brush.

  “I’ll take care of this,” she promised. The offer made her feel better about stringing him along. “In fact, I’ll have them for you by this afternoon when I come to collect Curtis.”

  “That’d be great,” he said, his manner subdued. “Good luck finding the trash can, though. I’ve looked everywhere for a metal one.”

  “I’ll find it,” she promised.

  Curtis swung off of his stool and carried his bowl to the sink.

  “Teeth,” Maya said as he started for the front door.

  Rolling his eyes at her, he turned back to do her bidding.

  “Kids.” Maya heaved an exaggerated sigh and shook her head.

  Rusty just stood there looking at her.

  “Are you worried about your guests coming tomorrow?” she fished.

  He grimaced and nodded. “Yeah.”

  “How many will you have?”

  “A whole platoon. Sixteen men.”

  “That many? How on earth are you going to feed them all?”

  “I have cooks coming in.”

  “Really! Who’s—I’m sorry, I’m totally prying here—but where does the money come from to feed them?” She stepped closer, interested in his answer.

  “Various sources. I won a couple of grants, and I have private donors, mostly former SEALs who see the benefit of what I’m trying to do.”

  “You do all of the bookkeeping, too?”

  “The bookkeeping, the shopping, contracting with people to come in and offer various types of therapy.”

  “There’s so much to it,” she marveled. “You must be exhausted.”

  He sent her a weary smile. “Do I look exhausted?”

  “Kind of,” she said with sympathy and a wry smile. The offer to help him out further trembled on the tip of her tongue, but with Curtis thundering down the stairs, the time wasn’t right.

  “Time to roll,” Rusty said to her son.

  Maya’s heart stopped and then started again. That was what Ian used to say!

  “See you this afternoon,” Rusty called as he and Curtis headed toward the door.

  Watching them leave, Maya was struck by her desire to lend a hand. Rusty truly seemed overwhelmed. Taking on a traumatized dog on top of everything else had to be wearing him down. And now he had her teenager to look after, as well.

  Glancing at the list he’d given her, she vowed to find everything on it. Then maybe he’d let her help in other ways.

  Ten minutes later, she locked up her condo and made her way to her van. She’d forgotten about the man with the Doberman until she saw him in her side view mirror standing on the opposite sidewalk, watching her departure.

  The same sense of recognition niggled, and suddenly she remembered who he was—one of the three sailors facing charges for stealing a weapons shipment. What a coincidence! She would be working on his case that morning, trying to find evidence that still eluded her. Two crates of rifles couldn’t simply disappear into thin air.

  No wonder the man was glaring at her. What was his name again? She combed her memory. Ah yes, Petty Officer 2nd Class William Goddard. Pending his hearing, he’d been relieved of active duty, a quarter of his pay docked since he wasn’t working.

  And he lived in her neighborhood? Yikes. She was going to have to invest in an alarm system or, better yet, move before NCIS found him guilty and vengeful thoughts filled his head.

  She did have something to be grateful for—at least Curtis wasn’t home by himself anymore. Thank goodness for Rusty Kuzinsky.

  *

  “WHATCHA GOT THERE, dog?”

  Curtis transferred his gaze from the sparkling water of the creek to the muddy shore where Draco barked at something he’d come across. In the still silence of the great outdoors, the only other sound was the rustling of marsh grass and the keening cry of the osprey circling overhead.

  Heaving himself off the dock, Curtis went to investigate. He’d put Draco on the thirty-foot lead, winding most of it around one of the pier’s pilings while leaving just enough slack for the dog to entertain himself.

  Apparently, Draco had found something of interest. His hackles bristled and his tail arched over his back the same way it did when Curtis showed him the ball. The dog bowed low, stretching out his front legs, barked, and then pounced, only to back away and bow again.

  Coming up behind him, Curtis caught sight of a large Virginia blue crab cornered against a rotting log. It stood its ground, defending itself with outstretched pincers. Curtis knew from experience how
painful those pincers could be.

  “Foei!” he said to the dog, telling him no.

  But Draco ignored him, continuing to lunge toward the crab and then dodge out of its reach, teasing the crab into going on the offensive.

  Picturing the crab grabbing hold of Draco’s sensitive nose, Curtis took up the leash and pulled the dog away from the threat. “Foei,” he said again. “Los,” he added, using the words Rusty had taught him, though the dog couldn’t release something he hadn’t grabbed yet.

  As he pulled Draco back, he kicked his sneakered foot at the crab, intending to punt it over the log and into the marsh where it could hide.

  What happened next occurred so fast he hardly saw it, just the dog’s head moving forward at the same time as his foot. Shock kept him from crying out as he snatched his leg back and looked down. There was no denying what had happened. Blood welled from three visible puncture wounds just above his sock.

  The flipping dog had bitten him!

  Unconcerned with the damage he’d wrought, Draco lunged for his prize a second time. Without Curtis’s leg in the way, he seized the crab with one bite. Crunch. The crab was dead before it could pinch him. Draco looked up at him expectantly, the crustacean dangling from his mouth.

  “You bit me, you sonofabitch!” Curtis shouted.

  The dog flinched from him, clearly startled by the outburst.

  The numbness that accompanied Curtis’s shock gave way to sudden pain. “Shit!” he added. Lifting his head to look back at the house, he hunted for Mr. Kuzinsky, who’d gone inside citing the need to make phone calls.

  No one was coming to his rescue. He’d have to get to the house by himself.

  Hopping on one foot, he started up the bank before remembering the dog. He’d been told not to leave the dog alone with the lead or Draco would chew through it. Fine.

  Unfurling the length of nylon off the piling, Curtis started to limp toward the house with the dog following behind, dead crab still in his mouth.

  Halfway to his destination, it occurred to him that Mr. Kuzinsky had told him not to take anything away from the dog unless he was around to monitor the situation. He hadn’t thought of kicking the crab as taking it away, but it really was one and the same. So, theoretically, it was his fault the dog had bitten him.