“Are you hurt?” I asked.
She shook her head.
I let out a heavy sigh. “Did he--”
After taking a quick look at him, she looked at me and then swallowed hard. “He made me…” Her gaze fell to the floor. “He uhhm.” Incapable of continuing, she looked up. “He....”
I didn’t need her to say another word.
“Take her to be with the others,” I said.
With slight hesitation in her stride, she walked toward me. As she stepped around me, she looked up. “Why are you wearing masks?”
It wasn’t a question I expected to have to answer. My mind searched for what to say. The only answer I could come up with was simple, but true. “We’re hiding our identities.”
“Like Spiderman?” she asked.
I smiled, but she couldn’t see it. “Yeah. Just like Spiderman.”
While Pee Bee escorted her to the back room, I dragged the piece of human filth into the hallway. In the process, his unfastened pants slid to his knees.
Having him where Watson could see him would allow him to spend less time searching rooms, and more time getting the little girls to the hospital. I gazed down at him and imagined the fear the girls had lived with for the last two weeks because of his lack of having a conscious. To describe men like him as evil wasn’t even close to accurate.
Anger filled me until I reached a point of bursting into tears. I pointed my pistol at him and fired into his crotch and chest until the slide locked, indicating all the rounds had been spent.
Then, I reached into my pocket, pulled out the burner phone, and made the call.
“Come on, Boss,” Pee Bee said. “I told ‘em help is on the way. We need to roll.”
I shook my head. “You guys go ahead. I’m not leaving these girls alone until I know they’re safe. Pick me up at the ball diamond. As soon as he pulls up, I’ll slip out the back.”
“You’re covered in blood, and you gave up your shirt, Boss. You’ll get picked up by the cops for sure.”
“Not leaving the girls, Peeb. Get gone,” I growled. “I’m not asking, I’m telling.”
He pulled off his shirt and handed it to me. I hadn’t noticed until he stood before me shirtless, but his shoulder and chest were covered in blood.
“You get hit?”
His black mask nodded. “Just once.”
“You alright?”
“Better off than those kids in that room,” he said. “See you at the ball diamond, Boss.”
The men had no more than walked out the front door, and I heard the siren. I peered through the open front door until I saw his lights illuminate the driveway. As he stepped out of the car, I turned and slipped out the back door.
While I jogged the half mile to the ballfield, I recited a part of the SEAL code along the way.
I humbly serve as a guardian to my fellow Americans always ready to defend those who are unable to defend themselves. I do not advertise the nature of my work, nor seek recognition for my actions. I voluntarily accept the inherent hazards of my profession, placing the welfare and security of others before my own.
I may have left the SEALs, but the SEAL in me will always remain.
I took one last look toward the drug house.
Get ‘em home safe, my brother.
Chapter Two Hundred Sixty-Four
Marc – Day twenty-four
Nervously, I sat in the parking lot of a run-down baseball diamond within half a mile of where Navarro and his men were, but had no idea of the actual address.
I couldn’t believe what I’d agreed to, but when it came to saving the lives of nine teenage girls, I would take whatever measures I had to.
My phone buzzed.
I swept my thumb over the screen. “Watson.”
“2143 14th Street, North.”
The phone went dead.
I shifted the car into gear, turned on the lights and siren, and screeched out of the lot and into the street. The address was a little less than half a mile from where I was parked. At 2:30 a.m., I had little traffic to deal with, and was within a block of the residence within minutes.
I flipped off the siren, careened into the driveway, and drew my service weapon. The front door was open, and although I had no reason to believe Navarro would set me up, I proceeded into the home no differently than if I was entering a combat zone.
The sidewalk leaving the residence had a trail of blood along it. I prayed none of Navarro’s men were killed in the makeshift raid. Cautiously, I followed the trail to the door. Directly inside the threshold were two men, obviously deceased. As each of them had been shot in the forehead, I assumed it was Navarro’s marksmanship and training that took their respective lives. In the entrance to the kitchen were two more men, their bodies covered in blood.
I checked their pulse.
Both were deceased.
I opened the pantry.
Clear.
The hall closet.
Clear.
I scanned the interior of the filthy home. Another man lay dead in the corridor, just outside an open bedroom door. His chinos were around his ankles, and his dingy wife beater was soaked in blood. As with the other men, his face and neck were covered in tattoos.
The smell of urine, sweat, and death hung heavily in the air. I pressed my tongue against the roof of my mouth and swallowed hard.
The home appeared to have two bedrooms. I stepped to the door of the first room, made note that the frame of the door was shattered, and made my announcement.
“Policia. No te muevas, o te matare.”
The door was ajar. I pushed it open and peered inside. Short of what appeared to be a few kilos of cocaine and a coffee table covered in money, the room was empty. I stepped inside and checked the closet.
Empty.
I stepped to the half-naked man in the hallway, and immediately noticed the numbers one and three tattooed on his cheeks. Using the heel of my boot, I rolled his head to the side. A scorpion tattoo covered the side of his neck.
I took his pulse.
Deceased.
It’s a good thing they killed you, you cock sucker. You wouldn’t have liked what I would have done to you.
I turned toward the rear bedroom. Muffled sounds of talking and whimpering came from behind the door. I stepped to it, drew a slow breath, and reached for the handle.
“San Diego County Sheriff, I’m going to open the door!” I shouted.
I pushed the door open. The smell of urine, feces, and fear almost knocked me to my knees. What I saw, however, fed me the energy to remain standing.
“I’m a police officer,” I said with a shaky voice. “I’m here to take you home.”
I bit against my quivering lip and counted.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine.
I lowered my head.
I owe you one, Navarro.
Chapter Two Hundred Sixty-Five
Taryn – Day twenty-five
After waking up at 6:50 a.m. to an empty bed, I was worried that something terrible had happened. Frantic, I ran to the garage. I pushed the door open, hoping his car was home, and he was on his morning run. My heart sank into the pit of my stomach when I saw that his car was gone.
Please, not again.
I walked into the living room and began to look for the television’s remote. I’d never seen him use the T.V., and wondered if it even worked. After a frantic search, I found it in one of the many drawers of his console.
I turned on the television just in time to see the start of Channel 10’s news. The label at the bottom of the broadcast was exactly what I didn’t want to see.
KIDNAPPING SOLVED - FIVE KILLED IN RAID ON GANG DRUG HOUSE
The screen was split in two, with a man on one side, and a woman on the other. The man was obviously at the television station, and the woman was standing in front of a large crowd of reporters who were gathered outside the San Diego County Sheriff’s Office.
As they lobbed questio
ns back and forth, my stomach began to do flip-flops.
“Mary, what do we know about this extremely terrifying and troubling case?”
“At this time, John, we know very little. We have been assured, however, that the man in charge of the San Diego Sheriff’s Office Gang Task Force will be with us any moment now for a briefing.”
“Mary, what can you tell us about the hostages?”
“It’s our understanding, John, that they were not hostages. Initial reports were inaccurate in that respect. We have confirmed that the nine females who were rushed to Mercy Hospital were all teenagers who had been reported as being abducted in the last two weeks. We’re happy to report that thanks to the detective in charge of the case, the families have all been reunited with their loved ones.”
“Mary, do we know the name of the detective?”
“John, the detective, for now, is unnamed. We’ve been advised that it’s the department’s policy to not name or show the faces of detectives in charge of such investigations when gangs are involved. Fear, they tell us, of repercussions prevent them from naming the men who work so diligently to maintain our safety.”
“Silent heroes.”
“That is correct, John.”
“Mary, it’s our understanding that there were several men taken from the home that was raided to the District Medical Examiner. Were men killed in this raid?”
“John, we have early counts of five men being killed in this operation, but that has not been confirmed.”
I felt like I was going to throw up. I had no idea what the pecking order was where Marc worked, and wondered if he might be the detective in charge, or if he was one of the bodies at the coroner.
“John, we’ve got to break to the briefing. Captain Sprague is approaching the podium now.”
The camera panned to the podium. A man dressed in a navy police uniform covered in medals leaned over the microphone and cleared his throat.
“I will take a few questions following this briefing.” He picked up a sheet of paper and began to read his statement. “At approximately zero-two-fifty-six this morning, a Gang Task Force Detective was acting on information received from a confidential informant. In doing so, he observed who he believed to be gang members approaching a residence on the city’s east side. The detective’s knowledge of the neighborhood led him to believe the residence was being utilized a gang drug house. The detective’s surveillance confirmed his suspicions. However, due to vandals stripping his issued vehicle of the radio, he was unable to call for backup. Acting alone, and with little concern for his own safety, the detective entered the residence. Upon entering, he encountered five adult males, all of which have been listed as deceased. He then located nine teenage females who were being held in the residence. The females have been identified as the nine teenagers that had previously been reported as missing, all in the last two weeks. The five deceased males have been identified as members of the La Mara Salvatrucha gang. Roughly $273,000, three kilos of cocaine, and two kilos of heroin were seized in this operation.”
He lowered the paper. “That’s all I have. I’ll take three questions.”
A reporter’s hand shot into the air. The Captain pointed at him. “You, go ahead.”
“Can we have the name of the detective in charge of the--”
“You may not. Next question.”
He pointed at someone else. “I’ll take yours.”
“Captain Sprague. Did the detective singlehandedly shoot all five members of the--”
“I’m sorry, I cannot release that information. Next question.”
He pointed at the next person. “You. Go ahead.”
“What is the condition of the nine teenage girls? Were they harmed?”
“Finally, question I can answer. The females were suffering from malnutrition and dehydration. It is our understanding that all of them are expected to recover swiftly and fully. I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but that’s all I have time for.”
As he stepped away from the podium, I noticed that a man was being rushed out of the building behind him by two uniformed officers. A navy trench coat was draped over his head to hide his identity. From the bottom of the coat, black pants protruded. My heart raced.
I rushed to the television for a closer look.
When he was helped into the SUV, I saw his boots.
One of which had a white scuff mark.
I choked on the wad of emotion that rushed through me. As the tears began to well in my eyes, I realized just how much Marc had come to mean to me. How proud I was of the man he so humbly attempted to hide.
Grateful that he was alive, I kissed the tip of my index finger and placed it against the television screen.
I let out a sigh of relief as he came through the door. Carrying the same items he had left with, he nonchalantly walked into the living room, looked at me, and paused. His eyes were tired and his face was covered in stubble.
He lowered everything to the floor. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, his voice raspy and tired. “I got tied up on an investigation.”
I wanted to run to him, hug him, and tell him how proud I was of what he’d done and who he was. Instead, I acted like I knew nothing. “Did everything go okay?”
“Great,” he said with a mock smile. “It was just a long night.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Do you want something to eat?”
He glanced around the living room as if everything in it was new to him. I wondered just what was going through his mind, and how long it would take him to recover from what he’d seen and done.
He met my gaze. “No, thank you. I haven’t got much of an appetite yet.”
I stood. “You’re probably tired. Want to take a nap? I can go sit at the pool while you sleep.”
He raked his fingers through his short hair, and then looked at his hands. “Have you showered yet?”
I couldn’t help but smile. “No.”
“Let’s take a shower.”
I giggled. “If you insist.”
He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms and then lowered his hands. “How many days do we have left?”
“Five.”
He reached for his things. “They’ll be the longest five days of my life.”
I followed him toward the bedroom, wondering whether his comment was a good thing or a bad thing. I hoped good, but then decided to simply agree. “Ditto. Longest five days of mine, too.”
I was pleased to see the shower in his master bedroom was a very large walk-in. Without speaking, we got in, and he turned on the water. As it cascaded down onto us, we silently admired each other.
On that day, there were no blowjobs or groping, nor did I want there to be. As he washed the drug dealer’s filth from his skin, I reluctantly washed his scent from mine.
Without being prompted, he washed my back with his hands, gently rubbing every inch of my body with the tips of his fingers. After I rinsed, I did the same to him, paying special attention to his shoulders.
I stood on my tiptoes and rested my chin against his upper back. “You’re tense,” I whispered.
“Let’s take that nap,” he said. “Eat later?”
I wasn’t tired at all. The thought of resting my head on his chest while he slept gave me chill bumps.
“Sounds perfect.”
After we dried off, he pressed the button on the wall and opened the blinds. I watched the waves wash ashore for a few seconds, and then turned toward him.
He climbed under the blankets, naked.
I did the same.
He slipped his arm under my shoulders. I laid my head on his chest and nestled against him. I closed my eyes at the feeling of his warm body against mine. In a few minutes, his breathing became shallow.
I lifted my head and looked at him. He was fast asleep.
I stayed awake for some time, alternating my looks of admiration between him and the beach. Grateful for what my life had become, I closed my eyes and said a prayer.
I
have no idea what’s best for me, but I know you do. All I ask is that you let me find a way to accept your will.
Then, I fell asleep.
Chapter Two Hundred Sixty-Six
Marc – Day twenty-six
I knocked on the door of the Captain’s office. He looked at his watch, acknowledged my presence, and then waved for me to come in. “Enter!”
I pushed the door open. “Morning, Captain.”
“Surprised you came in today. Didn’t expect to see you for a week. Since when do you get in here at the ass crack of dawn? It’s 6:05.”
“I’m headed to breakfast. I knew you’d be here, so here I am.”
He stood. “Before you get started on whatever you think you might need from me, I’ve got a question for you.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Ballistics came in on the five men from the drug house. Three were killed by the same weapon, a .45 H&K SOCOM that was reported missing from the Navy Armory in Coronado several years ago. The two other men were killed by two separate weapons, a 9mm and a .40 cal. Those weapons have no trace data. We both know that SEALs are trained at Coronado. Is there anything you want to tell me about a missing Navy SEAL pistol?”
“No, Sir.”
He rubbed his temple with his fingertips and then met my gaze. “Is it a mere coincidence that I have a Navy SEAL in my employ, and three of the men at the drug house were shot by one hell of a marksman with the same aforementioned pistol, which, coincidentally, came from the Navy Armory on SEAL island?”
I gave a dismissive shrug. “Sounds like a hell of a bunch of coincidences, Top.”
He tossed his hands in the air in mock frustration. “You know what? I’d dismiss it and say some turd gangbanger ended up with a stolen weapon, but it’s clear that’s not what happened here. Someone went into that home, popped two of those shit birds before they had a chance to get their hands out of their respective pockets, and then shot the third right between his tits. After the fact, the same man – with the same pistol – dumped nine more rounds into him just because. A few of which, I might add, were in his nut sack. For a man to kill that many men that quick – and make it out alive – tells me he’s either a trained assassin, a former frogman, or he spends a hell of a lot of time practicing.”
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