Seth (In the Company of Snipers Book 17)

by Irish Winters

  When he didn’t find her at Trish’s, apparently, he’d found evidence of Devereaux. Tit for tat, he’d hunted Devereaux once the news of Bagani’s death hit the airwaves, though how Khadeem tracked Lianna to Trish’s bungalow remained a mystery.

  Eric had finally gone home after spending a long day with the local police. At the conclusion of their interrogation, they’d had no recourse but to chalk Khadeem’s death up to Eric’s quick response in saving Devereaux’s life.

  It was interesting that not one of the hospital’s security cameras on that floor had caught a single shot of Khadeem or Pagan Sinclair, though, and that was just plain spooky. Guess they had some kind of an electrical short before everything went down. Sinclair had to be one of the blackest of black operators to have gotten in and out of the hospital like he had. Damn, he was good.

  “When’s Alex due?” Seth asked, his hands roaming down Devereaux’s back, sliding into the waistband of her shorts in case they had time to play. He sighed as his fingers cupped the warm cheeks of her backside. This right here, this ability to intimately touch the woman he adored any time he wanted, grounded him like nothing before.

  “Mmmmmm,” she purred, rubbing her nose against his chest like a cat marking her territory.

  “Are you smelling me?” he asked, though he knew she was. He could tell by the way she inhaled deeply whenever they were wrapped up like they were.

  “Ah-huh,” she murmured, the tip of her tongue tasting him, too. “You belong to me. I get to nibble on you anytime I want, and” —she growled the most seductive growl— “I want.”

  Didn’t that warm Seth from the inside out? He belonged to her and nothing made him happier than that single truth.

  They’d settled easily into domestic life while they packed Devereaux’s few household belongings, but there was still time for a break. Unless Alex showed. “Answer the question, woman. Do we have time, or should we wait until later?” he asked, tapping her cheeks with his fingertips.

  “He said in an hour, but you know he’s always early.”

  Which meant Seth had better remove his hands from her sweet ass. Seth growled, annoyed at the OCD boss who never seemed to take a day off. “What’s he want now?”

  Her shoulders lifted. “He didn’t say, but I’m sure the anticipation won’t kill you,” she chuckled.

  He squeezed her bottom, relishing the unique softness that was Devereaux. “Is that why you baked? For my boss?”

  “Uh-uh. I baked because chocolate cake is Scottie’s favorite, and because we need to celebrate. Your realtor called, and—”

  He tilted his torso from her to look down into her mischievous blues. “She found a home for us? Already?” He’d only last night called the realtor friend whom his good buddy Taylor Armstrong had recommended. Another jarhead, Taylor restored derelict colonials in his spare time. The man had crazy woodworking and carving skills.

  “She did. It’s a four-bedroom colonial, and you’ll never guess who lives across the street.”

  His brows pinched. Guessing wasn’t his strong suit.

  Devereaux tipped far enough back to fiddle with his t-shirt collar. “Ever heard of Taylor and Gracie Armstrong?”

  “That dog. I’ll bet Taylor set this up. Sweet!”

  Devereaux shrugged. “At least I’ll have a girlfriend when I show up in chilly Virginia. Brrr. I’m going to miss the ocean and the sunshine.”

  That was the hard part about moving. Seth had fallen for Florida, too. What was not to love?

  A sharp rap at the front door announced Alex’s arrival, but Seth didn’t recognize the Hispanic male at his side when he opened the door. Of average build and his short dark hair combed to the side with a meticulous part, the stranger didn’t crack a smile.

  Alex inclined his head to Devereaux as he stepped inside and said, “Seth. Devereaux. I’d like you to meet Special Agent Julio Juarez, a good friend of mine.”

  Interesting, Alex hanging around with a Fed. “Good to meet you,” Seth said as he extended a hand in friendship. “What can I do for you?”

  Julio’s sharp, black eyes zeroed straight through the bungalow to the kitchen screen door. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Agent McCray, but I’m here for him.”

  Seth looked over his shoulder at Cord and Scottie. “Cord?”

  “Yes. We need to talk. Do you mind, ma’am?” he asked Devereaux.

  “No, not at all,” she said as she gestured him to help himself.

  “Ah, you’re that Julio,” Seth murmured. “You worked with my Uncle George.”

  Julio nodded. “I have, yes. How is your uncle? I heard he’d had a stroke.”

  “Still holding his own. He’s up and walking now, but his doctor says he might never speak again.”

  “It was bad then?”

  Seth nodded. “Bad enough, but he’s a strong old fart. He’ll be back, just wait and see.”

  Julio stepped up to Seth and took hold of his shoulder. “Never doubt the determination of your uncle, Seth. George is one in a million, and you, sir, are just like him.”

  What an odd thing for a guy who’d never met Seth before to say. “That’s very kind of you,” he replied, curious as to who’d been talking about him to Julio, and why Julio was really there. “Shall I call Cord for you?”

  “No, I’ll go to him. Please excuse me,” Julio said as he proceeded through the house and out the back door.

  “What’s going on, boss?” Seth asked once the screen door squeaked shut, and Julio was out of earshot.

  “Juarez works for the same man Pagan Sinclair works for. I think he may be asking Cord to team up with him.”

  “Who does Pagan Sinclair work for?” Seth had to know.

  Alex shook his head. “A patriot and another good friend of mine. That’s all I can say.”

  Okay, then. Seth glanced through the house to where Julio and Cord crouched alongside a stack of pre-cut, pre-drilled redwood timbers, their heads tilted together in earnest conversation. It made for an oddly comforting scene, two worthy men in the same line of work, both fighting the good fight to keep America safe, while Devereaux’s innocent little boy sat beyond them in the grass, petting one damned handsome iguana.

  “This came for you,” Alex said as he drew an envelope out from his inner jacket pocket.

  Seth could’ve cried when he opened the seal, and a single black and white photograph fell into his hands. “What’s this?” he asked, though he damned well knew.

  “Corporal Ritter thought you should have it.”

  Tears burned at the corners of his eyes. There in western clothing, jeans, and a button-up shirt, stood a young man whose face he recognized instantly. Husam. Three younger girls stood meekly at his side, smiling the widest smiles Seth had ever seen. They had to be Husam’s sisters. “But how—?”

  Alex stuck his chin at Seth. “You asked me to send someone after these girls, didn’t you?”

  “But Boss—” It had only been days since Seth made that audacious request. How had Alex gotten Husam out of CIA clutches in GITMO so quickly? And those girls? They lived halfway around the world. Alex had to have put a man on this request immediately after Seth had asked him. Holy shit.

  “So, wait…” Seth squinted through blurry tears. “You did all this—?” He wanted to say, ‘For me?’ but that sounded self-serving and too proud for Seth’s tastes.

  “Agent McCray,” Alex growled, a spark of amusement flashing deep inside those blues. “Don’t ever come to me with a problem, and not expect me to handle it. It’s your job to perform as you’re trained, and it’s my job to make sure you have the tools to get the ugly jobs done.”

  Seth’s head bobbed as he stared at the picture. “I know, Boss. I know, but…” This was so much more than just a boss taking care of his employee.

  There were no words adequate enough to describe the joy suffusing Seth’s heart at the tender reunion depicted in his hands. Husam and his sisters were
safe, and damned if that didn’t assuage some of the guilt he carried for defending himself against Husam’s brothers. They’d deserved better, too, but knowing that this one tiny family was finally safe from the likes of Khadeem’s men—helped. Man, how it helped.

  But wait. Seth looked closer, blinking to see past his sappy heart. “Who’s the old guy standing behind Husam with his hand on Husam’s shoulder?” It can’t be. No! Alex wasn’t that good—was he?

  “Who do you think he is?” Alex asked, those icy blues warm with kindness.

  Seth looked his boss in the eye. “Husam’s father? But the man’s been in prison for years.” Please say yes.

  Alex nodded. “Of course it’s Husam’s father. I couldn’t leave him behind bars while his children came to America.”

  “Where are they?”

  Alex shook his head. “That I don’t know, but they are in the States now, in protective custody. All of them. It took both Maverick and Adam to get him out of that prison. They had to” —Alex cleared his throat— “convince a few guards. He’s had a tough time, but he’s going to be okay now.”

  What does one say to an unimaginable gift like this? Seth lurched, grabbing Alex into a guy hug. “Thank you, Boss. You didn’t have to do any of this,” he breathed, as he squeezed his boss like he’d never—EVER—done before. Alex wasn’t what you’d call a huggable guy.

  “I don’t have to do a lot of things,” Alex muttered as he pulled away and took hold of Seth’s hand instead. “But that’s who we are, isn’t it? We do the hard things others can’t or won’t do. Like your uncle before you, we make a difference in the few years allotted to us to live on this planet. We reach out and we lend a hand. One hand can make a helluva difference.”

  Seth could only nod, his own hand still in the grip of a most extraordinary man. “Boss, please. I’d love for you to meet Uncle George someday. My mom and dad, too.”

  “And I want to meet them, but I’ve got a plane to catch right now.” Alex dropped Seth’s hand, nodding toward the scene outside the kitchen door. “You two take care of that little guy. He’s your mission for the next couple weeks, Seth. We’ll talk once your family’s settled.”

  “Thanks, Boss,” Seth said as he looked to the backyard, expecting to see Julio and Cord still talking. Only Cord and Scottie were there now, both were on their knees, hammering on the same piece of lumber. My family. What a sight.

  Scottie’s tongue stuck out as he took short, concentrated strokes with his much smaller hammer, his hands up too high on the handle grip to make much of an impact. Cord’s brows furrowed as he dealt heavier, more decisive blows. Beyond them, Gru stretched his handsome emerald body in a long shaft of golden sunlight, his eyes closed, and his chin up, posing like iguanas are prone to do when they’re happy.

  It could’ve been a slice of paradise, framed the way it was within the confines of Devereaux’s aluminum screen door. The peace that surpassed all understanding settled over Seth’s shoulders like a warm hug from Heaven. He’d finally come full circle, through tragedy and war, through heartache and misery, and he was—home. Devereaux Shepherd, she was his home.

  When he turned to tell Alex goodbye, only she stood at her open front door. “Why do I feel like we’ve just been visited by two ghosts?” she asked.

  There was no need to look for Alex. Seth knew he wouldn’t spot him. Like Julio Juarez and Pagan Sinclair, the man disappeared like the ghost he was. Only these three ghosts were nothing like Latoya Franklin. They hadn’t come to haunt, whine, or complain. Only to serve. And their special kind of service made all the difference to a world gone bat-shit crazy.

  “Because you have,” Seth said as he looked at the happy picture in his hand.

  “What do you have there? I want to see what had you so upset.” Devereaux said, her head cocked and her pretty blues aglow.

  “I’m not upset. Just in love,” Seth told her as he wrapped one arm around her shoulders and kissed the side of her forehead. He angled the photo so she could see the miracle at his fingertips. “Let me introduce you to a kid I met in Cuba. His name’s Husam, and he’s one of Lianna’s countrymen that her father sent to start his war. These three girls with him are his little sisters, and see that white-bearded guy behind Husam? That’s his father. Alex got him out of Khadeem’s prison, well, actually Maverick and Adam, two of my good buddies did. But the important thing is that Husam and his family are in the States now. He’s going to live happily-ever-after. Like you, Scottie, and me.”

  Devereaux peered at the picture. “So Alex saved him and his family? Really?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Seth murmured, his heart stuck up high in his throat all over again. Damn, he hadn’t been this emotional in a long while. “Alex does stuff like this,” he said, his voice gone hoarse. “He saves people, and sometimes, he even saves them from themselves.”

  Like me.

  Epilogue

  “Are you sure about this?” Seth asked as he and Devereaux stopped short of the front door to Jordie’s World of Ink.

  Despite the fact that this was to be their final day in Florida, the girl was all smiles. The moving truck sat loaded at her curb, ready to take them to Virginia come morning. For one last night, Scottie was sleeping over at Trish’s. Cord had turned into a very busy man now that he’d moved his business to Drunken Sailor Island.

  Uncle George wouldn’t mind, in fact, Seth knew his uncle would want the work he’d begun to continue. After all, it was his little speck-of-dirt island where he’d arranged Cord’s usual landing place for his rescued ladies and children. It only seemed fair that the island Gru and George loved remained active duty. Yeah. George would want it that way.

  Even now, Uncle George was learning to walk again, and Seth’s father and his doctors were impressed. He might never talk again, but it seemed George had an extra-large serving of that cocky, ‘I’m a Marine. Get the hell out of my way!’ attitude of Cord’s.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” Devereaux answered, a mischievous smile tweaking the corners of her sexy mouth. Her breast had healed from the inside out after her outpatient plastic surgery, and romance was in the air. Just this morning she’d been to Victoria’s Secret. And if he knew Devereaux, she couldn’t wait to show him. Tonight was the night. Seth just didn’t want to ruin it by putting another woman’s face inside the empty heart on his arm. It didn’t feel right. At all.

  “Come on in, worrywart,” she cajoled as she tugged him into the tattoo parlor. “You’ll survive a few needles.”

  “I know, but…” Still. One stupid decision could derail the most precious thing in his life.

  Three young girls sat at the first station, their eyes wide as the tattoo artist, a shaggy-haired college-aged kid applied a healthy smear of Aquaphor® Healing Ointment over the artwork on the middle girl’s upper thigh. A butterfly. Of course. At least it wasn’t a tramp stamp that screamed, ‘I’m easy. Come get some!’

  “Hi, Jordie!” Devereaux called to the overweight, dark-haired man in denim and a t-shirt that declared: INK is FOREVER, at the rear of the shop. The lettering was a fine example of scrollwork that almost made a believer out of Seth. Almost. He wasn’t one of those guys who needed his body adorned with any more ink than what would darken it today. This was it. The end.

  “Hey, Dev,” Jordie answered. “Haven’t seen you since Cord got that Navy Cross. What’s your brother been up to lately?”

  “Cord received the Navy Cross?” Seth hissed, impressed as hell. “Why didn’t you tell me?” If I’d known that, I might’ve been nicer to him. Once or twice.

  The Navy’s highest award for extreme valor in combat, the Cross singled out very few in the ranks for acts of extraordinary heroism.

  “Not that Navy Cross,” Devereaux muttered. “Cord’s is in ink on his chest, not in real life.”

  “Oh. Okay.” That made sense, not that he was jealous of Cord getting the Navy Cross or anything, but the Cross had one hellacious coordination process that no
rmally took years from the initial recommendation to the final presentation by the Secretary of the Navy. Not to mention that receiving the Navy Cross was a substantially big deal.

  “That’s too bad,” he said under his breath. “Cord’s a stand-up guy. He deserves something for all he’s done since he left the Corps.”

  Devereaux shrugged. “He could care less about medals. You know how it is.”

  Seth did. Military service men and women didn’t see their heroism in the same light civilians did. Every one of those medals was just another reminder of those who’d borne the ultimate cost of combat and who hadn’t come home.

  Jordie beckoned him to take a seat and asked, “Whatcha got in mind?”

  “He wants his fiancée’s face inked into the heart already on his bicep,” Devereaux said brightly. “Can you do that for him?”

  “Sure,” Jordie muttered, his brows furrowed, and his nose wrinkled as he tugged Seth’s bared arm beneath the bright lamp at his workstation. “Got a picture of her?”

  “I do.” Seth drew his wallet out of his back pocket and tugged a two by three photograph out its plastic sleeve. But to Devereaux he said, “Why don’t you go shop for a while? Buy something pretty to wear tonight.”

  She cocked her head at him, the sweeter than sweet pixie smile shining bright in her eyes once more. “I’ve already done that.”

  “Well, do it again.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He waved his fingers at her. “Go on, shoo. We’ll swing by Molly’s when we’re done and get some of those pancakes you love.”

  She winked. “I won’t be long.”

  “Take all the time you need,” Jordie said. “This’ll take a while.”

  The moment she trotted out the door, Seth leaned over the desk and told Jordie, “Not that picture. Here. This is the face I want on my arm.”

  Later that night, Seth kicked in Devereaux’s front door. He had to. His hands were full of one intoxicated lady who’d been mauling him the whole drive home. He’d barely turned the key in the lock when she’d attacked him again, tugging his t-shirt over his head, jerking at his pants zipper, and all but undressing him on her front step.