Code Name: Forever & Ever (A Warrior's Challenge series Book 5)

by Natasza Waters

  Marg’s eyes rounded. “What?”

  Patrick stormed toward them, his shoulders taut and broad, his arms flexed. “This fell out of your purse,” he said, his eyes grilling Thane. “You forgot to mention the signature.”

  “Patrick. No.”

  “You fucking bastard,” he said, getting within striking distance of Thane.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you?” Thane said, taking a step back from Patrick.

  She put herself between them. “It’s not from Thane.”

  Patrick moved to the left and shoved the letter into Thane’s chest and pushed hard enough to make his friend stumble back two feet.

  Marg gripped his arm, but he tore from her grasp. “Patrick, listen to me.”

  Pat threw open the trunk and pulled his seabag out. Slammed the lid and started walking toward the taxi cabs, waiting in front of the airport.

  Thane’s gaze raced across the letter. “I didn’t fucking write this,” he yelled and then put it into a run, stopping in front of Patrick. “I didn’t fucking write this.” He shook the letter.

  “Has your name all over it.” Patrick didn’t shout, instead his voice lowered to a menacing timbre.

  Marg snatched the letter from Thane’s hand when she caught up to them. “I think Kit wrote it. It came from Fort Benning. If I’d told you, I knew you’d react like this.”

  Pat inhaled and stared at his friend and then his head slowly turned, putting a bead on Kit, who was still walking across the parking lot.

  “Don’t,” she said, placing a hand on his chest. He gently, but firmly removed it. “You will ruin everything you’ve worked so hard for if you fight him. Please, just forget it.”

  “Cobbs, listen to her,” Thane added. “We’ll take care of that douchebag in our own time.”

  “There’s something fucking wrong with that guy,” Pat said, his gaze still tracking Kit.

  Marg grabbed both of their hands. “Come on, let’s just go. It’s your first day back. Don’t let him ruin it for us.”

  * * * *

  Patrick sat quietly beside Marg after they’d dropped Thane at his parents’ place.

  “Is our night ruined?” she asked, keeping her eyes on the red stop light, waiting for it to change.

  “Why are you sure Thane didn’t write that letter?”

  Turning into the complex driveway, she slowed to five mph. “He wouldn’t do that. He’s my friend and your best friend.”

  “I know that, but sometimes I wonder. The way he looks at you, bothers me.”

  “He’s just being Thane.” She drove into the underground parking lot and turned off the engine. “Are you sure I can’t drive you home? As much as I want you to stay with me, I think you should be with your mom.”

  Patrick let out a deep breath and then got out of the car. Her heart sank a little. She wanted him to be happy about coming home, and she couldn’t pull him out of his funk.

  Before he lifted the trunk lid, her hand came down and stopped him. “Talk to me. I don’t know if you’re sad or mad or plotting. You’re not happy, and that bothers me.”

  His silver eyes rose to meet hers. They searched for something. Didn’t he believe her? Patrick couldn’t honestly think that Thane wrote the letter. He turned and rested his bum against the car then crossed his arms, the upper muscles pulling the camo T-shirt taut. “I worried about you all last night. Worried if you’d gotten home safely. Worried that someone could harm you and I’d be too far away to help. It drove me nuts and I didn’t sleep much.”

  She stepped between his long legs and rested her forehead against his. “I’m fine. As you can see. We don’t know for sure it was Kit, but if it is, we’ll ignore him.”

  Patrick gripped her arms, his jaw tightening. “It’s more than that.”

  She shook her head not understanding.

  “I don’t know if I’m the kind of guy that can do this.”

  “This?”

  Patrick chewed on his lip for a minute and adjusted his ball cap. “Care about somebody as much as I care about you, but know I have to leave you. This is only the training. Later, it will be for months while I’m on deployment. I don’t know how to break myself in half. How can I not think about you? Stop myself from worrying about you when I’m gone?”

  Marg’s heart raced to breakneck speed. “You’re not the first sailor to leave. Any girl who lo—who—who cares about the man in her life, knows this will be part of her life.”

  Patrick’s beautiful eyes squinted a little. “You’ve been talking to Lydia Redding about this, haven’t you?”

  “Maybe a little. She’s really nice, Pat. I like her a lot.” Marg forked her fingers with his. “Can we pretend the letter never happened and start this over again?” She paused. “It’s that, or I swear I’ll break out the big guns and show up at the airport in a bikini next time.”

  A twitch at the edge of his mouth turned into a small smile. “Please don’t. I’d have to put up with the entire team writing you letters.”

  “If you don’t start smiling, I will.”

  He shook his head, but a grin followed.

  “I have lasagna and beer waiting upstairs.”

  His hands burrowed into her hair and his full lips dove in for a lasting kiss. “What do you want to do while we wait for it to bake?” he asked when he let her breathe.

  “Break our promise?” she suggested, and gave him a pearly grin.

  “No.”

  “Patrick,” she squealed and resisted stomping on his foot.

  He pulled his bag from her trunk and threw an arm across her shoulders. “How the hell do you expect me to keep my promise with legs like yours?”

  Later that night, after a lot of kissing and lasagna, Patrick called a cab. He didn’t want her driving into the Heights at night. As much as she argued, he refused, and she had to back off. They only had the weekend and she didn’t want to fight about it, but she would not be thwarted.

  * * * *

  Monday morning, Pat met Thane inside Coronado base for their first day of demolitions training. Sitting in the classroom, he put himself next to Harper. Without looking at him, he said, “Have a good weekend, Harper?” They’d called a truce after the incident at Marg’s complex, but the truce was over.

  “Yeah, man. You?”

  “Sure did. Had a great weekend with Marg. Ate. Hung out.” Seething would understate Pat’s anger, but he was going to play this out. Almost certain Harper had sent Marg the letter, but wanting more info before confronting him. There was no doubt, he and Kit would be having some one on one time.

  Harper’s body tensed at the mention of Marg, but he didn’t respond. Pat shot a look at Thane, who’d been watching, too. Patrick was going to be pay a lot more attention to Kit Harper, especially after what happened at Jump School.

  They’d lost another team member, who happened to be Kit’s partner. During their training, they’d done day and night jumps. Learned how to navigate their chutes, land safely with the T-10C parachutes that had plenty of downward thrust and could easily break bones. They’d learned how to mass exit from an aircraft. During their first two weeks of training, they remained on the ground, jumping off the training tower. On the third week, they were jumping out of an aircraft. Something went wrong with Harper’s partner’s chute just before they graduated. Could have happened to any of them, but what was strange is that Pat had witnessed Harper and his partner in a heated debate the night before. Mark Wilson’s chute didn’t deploy properly and his backup didn’t either. Mark had to think quick to untangle his lines, but it wasn’t quick enough. He survived but broke both legs, shattered his pelvis, and his ability to proceed with his SQT’s was finished.

  Most guys on the course got along, but Harper seemed to rub guys the wrong way. He liked to start a fight. Pat didn’t know what started the fight between Kit and Wilson that night, but it ended when one of the instructors walked in. Kit had a way of baiting people, especially when an instructor was around, and then slink
ing into the background.

  “You men ready to blow up some shit?” the demolitions instructor announced as the lieutenant walked into the room and they all sat at attention.

  “At ease,” he ordered.

  Thane raised his hand.

  “What, Austen?”

  “Sir, do we have any Tonka pyrotechnics so Harper doesn’t blow his nuts off or ours?”

  The entire room burst out laughing. Even the instructor laughed. Everyone saw it as a joke among peers. Everyone, except for Harper. The guys often gave each other the gears, but the hate in Harper’s eyes as he turned to look at Thane would have shriveled a lot of men.

  After the class finished, they had a fifteen minute break. The room emptied fast, except for Thane. He sat there, and so did Harper.

  Harper stiffened at his desk when Pat closed the door.

  “I should fucking kill you now, you loud-mouthed prick,” Harper growled at Thane.

  Thane tilted his head. “Why don’t you write a letter home to your mommy if you don’t like it? Hear you’re good at writing letters.” Thane’s bland expression looked more intimidating than most men who wanted to cut someone’s hide with a blunt knife.

  Pat put himself in front of Harper. “You wrote that letter to Marg and signed Thane’s name.”

  Harper pushed to his feet and leaned over his desk. “You’re fucking delusional, Cobbs. I don’t know anything about a letter.”

  “I’ll tell you who’s delusional,” Thane said, breaking the staring contest between Patrick and Harper. “I’ve got no proof, but I think you sabotaged your swim buddy in Phase Three. I also think you did something to Wilson’s chute at Jump School.” Thane stood up and came nose to nose with Harper. “I think you’re dangerous, maybe even fucking psychotic. From this day forward, I’ll be watching you because I’m not going to let a piece of human trash like you ruin the reputation of the United States Navy SEALs. Or the men who serve. You want to write a Penthouse letter to some chick, you sign your own fucking name, not mine.”

  The door slammed shut and Patrick rested a look on the only person left in the room with him, which was Thane. “We just start World War Three?”

  “If he is crazy, we’re gonna find out. He’s going to try and take one of us down. I’ll watch your back, you watch mine.”

  He and Thane thumped their fisted hands. “Been like that from day one, bro,” Pat said.

  “Gonna be that till the last breath, my man.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Finishing the shoot in La Jolla, Marg dug for her cell phone. She called Thane as soon as she got behind the wheel of her car. “What’s his address?”

  Thane chuckled and spoke quietly into the phone, which meant Patrick had to be close by. “Trying to distract my buddy again?”

  “Don’t make fun of me. I want to meet his family. You’re a week away from finishing your SQT’s and get assigned to your team then leave.”

  She and Patrick had stolen every moment they could with one another during his training and her tight schedule. When he was away at Camp Pendleton for his Advanced Weapons and Marksmanship training, she spent time with Lydia, serving at the mission and trying to raise funds. After a lot of pleading, her father had agreed to help, and they raised enough money to give the mission a healthy bank account for a year without worry.

  Every time her father visited, he’d bring up Bruce at least once, making sure to mention he wasn’t seeing anyone and that he’d been promoted at the studio. Marg and her father had a couple frank discussions, but she defended Patrick. She wasn’t surprised when her father divulged he’d had Patrick’s family investigated. He didn’t tell her anything she didn’t already know. None of it had any bearing on the man she loved.

  Her sister Laurene had come to visit just before Christmas, and they’d hit the shopping malls. She and Patrick had spent Christmas Eve together. He’d given her a heart shaped necklace with a small blue sapphire. He’d kissed her the entire time it took to put the chain around her neck and fasten the clasp. She wore it almost every day.

  Her modeling checks were getting bigger, and she could have afforded to give him just about anything. Worried about Patrick’s pride, she did something else. Something just for him—his very own negligee modeling show. He’d sat on the floor with his back against the sofa while his eyes steamed watching her. She still didn’t know what “When we’re ready” meant to him, but that night they’d definitely got to second base. Cradled in his arms, they fell asleep till Christmas morning.

  They’d spent Christmas day with their respective families. Marg’s mom had been as frigid as an Alaska snowstorm, but as always, Grams had made up for it in spades. Time passed quickly with April just a few days away. Marg wasn’t waiting another six months before Patrick graduated after his probation in the field to meet his parents.

  Marg knew Patrick held some reservations about where he’d grown up, but she didn’t care. As she drove into City Heights, she locked her doors. People on the street watched her pass like she was an intruder. She kept her eyes straight ahead following Thane’s instructions. She’d met Patrick’s mom once, briefly. He’d been taking his mom to a clinic for an appointment and she’d been at the coffee shop next door. They’d only talked for a minute because Patrick was running late.

  Once she’d turned onto 49th street, Marg slowed down. The homes were small and distanced by tattered apartment complexes. Pulling to the curb in front of a small one-story rancher with paint peeling on the small porch and a roof that had seen better days, she checked the address. This was it.

  Marg looked around. No one loitered on the sidewalk. She gripped the bouquet of flowers and walked up the cracked cement path to the house. After knocking on the door, she glanced over her shoulder and waited for someone to answer. Maybe his mom was in bed resting. The door opened a crack and a young face peered out. She had silver eyes too, and Marg could only assume this was his sister.

  “Hi, I’m Marg Stines. I wanted to drop in and say hi to your mom.”

  The door opened and the girl stepped back. “Mom’s in the kitchen.”

  “Thanks, and you must be Chalise.”

  She nodded. Patrick said she’d turned sixteen in May. Her swarthy skin and beautiful eyes made her a striking young girl.

  “Mom, you have a visitor,” Chalise said, leading the way through the small home that needed a good housecleaning.

  She followed Chalise and rounded the corner. Karen Cobbs sat at a kitchen table with a stained arborite top and a cup cradled in her hands.

  “Marg, what a nice surprise.”

  She knelt down beside her. “These are for you, Mrs. Cobbs.” And gave her the large bouquet of flowers Marg had picked up before coming to visit.

  “They’re beautiful, thank you.”

  Karen’s body had weakened with the disease. She looked sick. Very sick. Frail, the sickness had creased its etchings of discomfort below her eyes. Something only constant pain could achieve. Marg saw the cup she held was empty. “Can I put on a kettle of water? Make you something?”

  “Maybe a little tea. Patrick bought it for me. It’s on the counter.”

  Marg saw the dirty dishes in the sink and the dust on the window sill. Karen couldn’t take care of her home anymore, and obviously her daughter didn’t want to clean it.

  “Mom, I’m going to Katy’s. Her mom is picking me up.”

  “Okay, dear.”

  Marg settled across the table from Karen.

  When the front door closed, Karen said, “Chalise doesn’t know how to deal with my illness. I don’t blame her for wanting out of here.”

  “I’m so sorry, Karen. Patrick told me you have cancer.”

  Karen nodded. “I was coping, and it didn’t seem to be making much headway. A couple months ago it decided to pick up steam.” She raised her eyes to meet Marg’s gaze. “I worry about Chalise and Patrick, but I know he’ll look out for her.” Her brow wrinkled with worry she didn’t need on her shoulders the
n looked thoughtfully at Marg. “And from what Patrick tells me, you’ll look after him.”

  “I will, but I wanted to sit down and talk with you. Spend time with you and your husband.”

  Karen’s upper lip disappeared as she bit on it. “He’s not really a stay at home father.”

  Marg grappled to read between the lines. The kettle whistled, and she rose to make them tea. Her eye caught a package of Ding Dongs on the counter. Not an apple or orange in sight.

  She set the mug down in front of Karen “Are you hungry? I could put something together. I’m not a great cook, but…”

  “You don’t have to do that, dear.”

  Marg wrapped an arm around Karen’s shoulder. “I don’t mind at all.” She scrounged through the fridge. There wasn’t much, and her heart sung out with sorrow. “I’m going to be right back.”

  Karen blinked. “Where’re you going?”

  “I’ll be back before you finish your tea.”

  Marg whisked her purse from the floor and ran out the front door. There had to be a grocers close by, and within three minutes she found it. She ran through the aisles, tossing beef and chicken, vegetables, milk, cheese, everything she clutched went into the cart. It was loaded by the time she reached the checkout. The girl behind the counter was barely fifteen and unamused at having to put through a huge order. Marg bagged so she didn’t have to.

  “Do you need some help to your car?” the girl asked.

  Marg stuffed the top of two bags with loaves of bread and lifted both bags into her arms. “I do.”

  A young guy appeared and helped her put the bags in the trunk. She raced back to Patrick’s house and gripped as many as she could possibly carry, and walked in without knocking.

  “What’s this?” his mother asked, seeing her place the bags on the table.

  Marg smiled at her. “Dinner. Lots of it. I’ll be right back.” It took four trips. She started browning some chicken in the pan while she put the groceries away, Patrick’s mother agog.

  With only three bags left, she heard the front door open. Was she finally going to meet Patrick’s father?