SEALed With a Twist

by Kiersten Hallie Krum

  Or at least his equipment. When Grant let himself into the unlocked villa, Jasper was alone, standing before a monitor legs spread, hands on hips, with a scowl on his rock of a face. He once heard Quinn call Jasper a poster boy for Badasses ‘R Us. A more apt description of his friend Grant had never heard. One glance told him six months away from active combat hadn’t softened the man at all.

  Jasper still looked like a mean motherfucker.

  “Trouble?”

  “Not anymore.” Jasper looked over his shoulder and summed Grant up in a glance. “You?”

  “Fuck ton of it, just not our usual brand.”

  That deepened Jasper’s scowl. “How do you mean?”

  “Weeell.”

  “Spit it out, Twist. Whatever you need, it’s yours. You know that. But let’s do it quick so I can at least spend a few hours of my honeymoon with my own wife.”

  A dark chuckle emitted from the armchair by the door. Grant whirled around to find a dark-haired man of Italian extraction watching them both, overlong black hair topping a pair of shockingly blue eyes that almost gave Thornquist blue a run for its money.

  “Shit, I didn’t even notice you were there.”

  The man shrugged. “Most don’t.”

  He wore casual clothes that fit the island milieu and wouldn’t flag him as anything but a local resident. But a dangerous vibe pulsed around the man, telegraphing his lethal readiness, even when appearing to be relaxed and at rest. Grant guessed most people likely never picked up on it, but then, Grant wasn’t most people.

  “Don’t beat yourself up,” Jasper advised. “Rossi here was a legendary spook before he retired.”

  A shiver writhed down Grant’s spine. CIA agents were his least favorite operators. He didn’t doubt their allegiance, but their methods often lacked honor and he never trusted them at his back.

  SEALs never left a man behind.

  Spooks never even got acknowledged.

  More than one of the missions he’d been on had succeeded solely thanks to intel provided by CIA operatives. They didn’t lack for bravery that was for sure.

  “Grant Sisti,” he said, stepping up and offering his hand.

  “Gabriel Rossi,” the man returned, taking it in a grip whose callouses were a catalog of combat prowess Grant knew how to read. “I promise not to bite.” Rossi flashed a set of white, straight chompers. “Unless you ask nice.”

  Jasper snorted. “Don’t start, Rossi. McBain’s out of town,” he explained to Grant. “When I called him for a secure line, he sent Rossi over to let me in and set me up with the right passcodes. Not sure why he hung around,” he said with a pointed look at Rossi, who merely smiled, as innocent and harmless as a scorpion. “But his clearance level is good enough not to give me the excuse to boot him. What’s up?”

  Grant wasn’t thrilled with the idea of reading a stranger in on Skye’s personal business. He eyed Rossi up and down, not buying his act for a minute.

  Spooks didn’t retire. Not any he’d ever known.

  “Twist?” Jasper called. “Clock’s ticking, brother.”

  Grant sighed. “I don’t suppose you’d give us some privacy?”

  “You fuckin’ kidding me? My wife and Uncle Nino took my kid to the goat farm. Sent my last client off into the safety of anonymity this morning. This is the most entertainment I’ve had all week.”

  “Client?”

  “Rossi here runs a kind of private WITSEC program out of Barefoot Bay. People in trouble with criminals or whose problems aren’t at a level to make them interesting for the police or Uncle Sam to get involved, but enough of a threat to be a prime target for assholes.”

  “Ah, excuse me?” Rossi said, uncrossing his legs and shifting to the edge of his chair. That lazy look was long gone and Grant went for his hip where his gun wasn’t when that lethal vibe of Rossi’s crackled through the room. “You wanna tell me how you know so much about my fucking business?”

  “McBain filled me in,” Jasper calmly explained.

  Exasperated, the man flopped back in the chair and rubbed his face. “Jesus, why doesn’t he take an ad out in the local?”

  “He wanted me to know I could trust you.” Jasper gestured between himself and Grant. “Not like we’ve got reason to tell anybody.”

  “McBain needs a refresher on the meaning of clandestine,” Rossi muttered.

  Jasper speared him with what Grant used to call his shit-kicker glare. “We done with the ice breaker, ladies? Can we get on with Twist’s problem now?” He shifted that stare onto Grant. “Speak.”

  “Woof fucking woof to you too.”

  “Twist.”

  “Okay, fine, but next time I get to air your secrets in front of strangers.”

  He flopped into the chair before McBain’s desk and leaned forward, elbows to knees with hands clasped between them. “You remember the Thorny wedding last year?”

  “Uh, yeah. Think I’d remember the event that brought my wife back to me.”

  “Right, well, the woman I was with that night? She’s here again. At the resort.”

  Jasper’s eyes narrowed as he thought back. Grant saw the instant he made the connection. “The drunk debutante in the pool.”

  Rossi perked up at that. “Oh, this I’ve got to hear.”

  Grant shot him a sour look from under his eyelids, but gave a bare-bones account of how he’d first met Skye. “Far as I can tell, she came back to the resort a few weeks later and signed on with the cleaning company that provides maids to the resort.”

  “Mimosa Maids,” Rossi murmured. “I know every outfit that has anything to do with this resort,” he explained in answer to the men’s silent query. “Your girl. Brunette with blonde streaks? Too much makeup, but not enough to hide she’s a looker? Tattoos that either are fake or really badly art?”

  “How did you—”

  “Please. My business is hiding people. You think I wouldn’t ping on a woman working that hard not to be recognized? Forget the fact that Luke vets all employees from all contractors. I saw that woman once and marked her in the next second. I’ve never seen somebody as bad as she at hiding out. Who’s after her?”

  “No one, anymore. Her douchebag ex-fiancée showed up at Casa Blanca today looking for her. He’s got some bullshit tale of needing her in order to probate her grandmother’s will. The old woman changed the terms soon after Skye took off and now her family can’t find out dick without her being there.”

  “Hate to say it, but it all sounds pretty straight forward. Sucks for sure, but shit like this happens. What’s twisting you up about it?”

  “Cute.” He sighed and tried to put his disquiet into words. “I know Skye’s family. Or of them to be more accurate. They run in the same circles as my parents. I didn’t realize Skye’s place in the mix back then, but today’s been a big fucking eye-opener, believe me. Her family—this is old money. Snooty money. Shit doesn’t stink money.” He met Jasper’s unyielding gaze. “No way it’s this easy.”

  “How does she feel about it?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not even sure she’s processed it all. Her grandmother only died a week ago. Her friend Mandy told me Skye only found out yesterday the funeral was held that morning. It’s cutting her up, man. Slicing her to bits. Far as I can see, they’ve done nothing but use and manipulate her all her life, even the old woman who she seems to have been the closest to.”

  “What’s your objective here? Family shit is messy. We dig into it, you might not like what you find. She might not like that you found it.”

  “They made her be a bridesmaid while her pregnant sister married her fiancé.” Saying it made the fury he felt on her behalf rise in his throat. “She stood up there, alone, the whole of her world knowing exactly how she’d been humiliated. She is not going to face those assholes alone again.”

  “You sure you’re not trying to make up for something?” Jasper asked. He raised both hands when Grant snarled. “Easy, brother. I’m sure you gave as good as you go
t, but fact is, she was drunk and vulnerable and you took advantage. You looking to make amends now to make up for something else you can’t do shit all about?”

  Grant held his friend’s eye for a moment and then a moment more. “Care—” He swallowed hard when the word got stuck in his throat. He gritted his teeth and spoke between them. “Be very careful. Brother.”

  Jasper crossed his arms, unconcerned by Grant’s rapidly deteriorating temper. “We’ve been dancing around this all weekend. I’m done with this shit.”

  “You weren’t dancing around anything this morning when you ambushed me at the villa.”

  “You think Maverick’s death doesn’t haunt me? You think I don’t wake up from nightmares in a sweat? You think I don’t wonder every single day how I fucking missed it?

  “It wasn’t your job to see it!” Grant shouted, springing out of the chair. “Jesus. Fuck. Years of education and experience and it was there, right in front of me, and I missed it. Again.

  “You know what made me join up?”

  “You told me in BUD/S that you wanted to be on the front line. Catch the ones at risk before they get lost in the cracks. You were tired of being on clean up.”

  “Clean up. Yeah, like cleaning brain matter off the walls of my office. I had a patient, a combat vet from the second gulf war. Ranger. Sniper. Yeah, those guys. Guy was a blank wall. Couldn’t get him to talk. Only thing he’d do was play chess.”

  “You hate chess. Refuse to play it.”

  “Ever wonder why? I’d study at night, computer simulations and shit, but he’d whip my ass every day. He started talking about nonsense shit. His dog. His nephew. His construction work. But he was talking. I thought it was working. Finally, I managed to take his queen, was three moves away from checkmate. Soon as I knocked over his king, he smiled, congratulated me, then took out a gun and shot himself in the head.”

  “Shit,” Rossi muttered from the corner. Grant had forgotten he was even there.

  “Twist,” Jasper whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Come on, Queen,” he scoffed. “Would you have wanted a guy on your team, at your back, who’d already lost a soldier to that shit? Besides, I figured you read it in my file. If you had a problem, you would’ve told me.

  “I dissolved my practice, hung on to my medical license by my fingertips. Then it hit me: we were doing it backwards. We were coming at it after the fact. Guys talk to each other before they’ll talk to a shrink. But if a shrink was their teammate…

  “But I failed. As a shrink. As a friend. As a brother SEAL. What kind of doctor, what kind of man am I, Queen, when I can’t even tell when one of my own men, one of my brothers, is spiraling out in front of me? I don’t deserve to stay with the team when I can’t serve them the way they need.”

  “That’s it, then? That’s what made you such a broody fuck all weekend? You leaving the team?”

  “No. Yes. I haven’t decided.” Grant raked a heavy hand through his hair and left it on the back of his neck. “I got the paperwork, but that’s it.”

  “Did you come for my blessing or for me to talk you out of it?”

  “Both, probably,” he grudgingly admitted.

  Jasper considered him a moment. He leaned back against the desk, palms on the edge. Grant could see his next words were carefully chosen.

  “We’re all, each of us, crating around trauma, Grant. The shit we’ve seen? What we’ve done? There’re holes in all our souls that’ll never close. How many of our guys have you held together when they show up on your doorstep in the middle of the night? How many times have you sat up with them, drinking a beer, taking a run, swimming at their sides as they get that shit out of their systems? Even being a wingman when sex and booze is all they’ll allow themselves as an outlet?”

  He closed the distance between them to clasp Grant’s shoulder hard, jerking it once. “You stand by our guys every fucking day and you don’t ask for any of it back. When’s it gonna end, Twist? You think those boys don’t know you’re in danger? I got a fuck ton of calls about you soon as word went out you were headed my way. The whole team’s trying to figure out how to fix their fixer.” He jerked Grant’s shoulder again to emphasize his point. “You think I didn’t worry whether you’d even get off the plane? I already told you I worry you’ll eat your gun. What do I do then, brother? Huh?”

  “Jasp.”

  “I missed it too,” Jasper reminded him on a quieter note. “He was my responsibility, I was his commander, and I missed the signs too. I have to live with that, same as you. Every day, I wake up and think that Maverick doesn’t get to see this sunrise or the next. He doesn’t get to lay down next to an unbelievably fantastic woman and know she’s his. He’ll never get his own Quinn or have kids that’ll know how fucking loyal Mav was, never get the chance to watch Top Gun with their old man and listen to him recite the whole goddamn movie from memory. Jesus.” He shook Grant with enough force to rock his head from side to side. “Brother, you’re not alone with this shit.”

  “How do you do it, Queen?” Grant asked. The words ripped out from the source of all his middle of the night terrors: that one day, he wouldn’t be able to do the job anymore. “How do you get up and keep doing it? Because I don’t know how much longer I can and I don’t know who I’ll be if I don’t.”

  Saying it out loud, admitting it to his strong friend, went against all his training and every instinct. Weakness was an unacceptable vulnerability. And yet, he couldn’t imagine himself in a weaker place than this.

  “I have Quinn,” Jasper answered, as though the answer was obvious. And there was no shame in his voice, no censure for Grant’s revelations. Jasper had long since come to terms with the complexity of his own manhood and wasn’t ashamed to show it. Grant knew no better soldier and no better man.

  No better friend.

  “She’s my absolution. She reminds me not to take it all on my shoulders. Even when I can’t tell her the specifics, she shares the burden. Takes me any way I come, that woman.

  “I had to do some practical things too. The job change helped. Gave me a new environment. And I’ve been seeing a Navy doc on the reg. Combat vet. Noncom. Talking things out. He hooked me up with the Wounded Warrior Project. Doing good things there. Gives me a chance to work with the guys. It all helps.”

  “Shit. I never even thought of WWP.”

  “Brother, you’ve been beating yourself up enough to make Hell Week look like a vacation. No man can think clear when his head is that far up his ass.” He got up in Grant’s face. “That’s what your friends are for, dumbass.”

  “Yeah, well, my best friend was 3,000 miles away.”

  Jasper sobered abruptly. “Yeah. I shouldn’t have left knowing you were fucked up over Maverick. That’s on me and I’m sorry for it.”

  “I’m a grown man, Queen. A Navy SEAL. I don’t need you to hold my hand.”

  Jasper put his free hand on Grant’s other shoulder and gave him a solid shake. “Twist, you’re not getting it. This time? Yes, you do.”

  Grant thought back over the brutal loneliness of the last six months, loneliness he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge until he’d seen Jasper again.

  “You may have a point.”

  Jasper slapped him on the back, which was like being whacked by a two by four. “You gonna leave the team?”

  “No,” Grant answered. It’d been stupid to think he would in the first place. “Not as long as the guys’ll have me.”

  “Bet your ass.”

  “This episode of male bonding has been a treat,” Rossi said in a low drawl. “But if you’ve finished the heart to heart, I’ve got some new intel on your girl and her family.”

  “Shit. Skye.” Grant had got so caught up in Jasper’s Come to Jesus intervention, he’d momentarily forgotten the reason he’d called him in the first place. “You got something already? Shit, that’s good.”

  “Bet your ass,” Rossi repeated with a grin. “Though she’s recently followed
in my footsteps with the Agency, my little sister Chessie started out as a techno wunderkind. She likes to keep in practice when not chasing bad hombres and nasty women with her husband, Mal. Gets twitchy when she hasn’t hacked for a while. I set her sniffer on it while you two were doing the SEAL version of catching up.” He lifted a brow at Grant. “Do your kind actually eat their young or just make them wish they’d been eaten?”

  “Depends on the holiday,” Grant quipped. “Christmas can be a real bloodbath.”

  “Whatcha got?” Jasper asked, once again leaning back against the desk.

  “Oh, Santa’s helper got lots of treats for good girls and boys.”

  Grant felt the prickle in his gut that signaled the start of a hunt. The same prickle he got before every mission. For the first time in months, he felt a bit like his old self.

  “Show me.”

  “The guys are here.”

  Skye looked up from her fascinated examination of the cut crystal glass in her hand. Curled up in the couch across from her, Quinn’s eyes were fixed on the door, her lithe form taut with a subtle tension.

  Skye heard the beeping sound of a card key lock and saw that tension immediately vanish.

  Quinn was on her feet in the next second, crossing the villa’s main room to leap into the arms of the tall man who preceded Grant through the door and lay a hot, wet kiss on him.

  Skye took a wild guess this was Quinn’s husband, Jasper.

  Grant slipped past them with a mumbled, “Jeez, save it for the honeymoon.”

  “This is our honeymoon,” Quinn replied, coming up for air.

  “You’re embarrassing Skye. She’s not used to married couples who actually like each other.”

  Skye smiled at the friendly bickering. “No, please. Carry on with your make-out session. Don’t mind me.”

  Grant dropped into place on the couch next to her as Jasper hefted Quinn in his arms and carried her back into the room.

  “My husband, Jasper,” Quinn introduced.

  “I’d guessed,” Skye replied as the man nodded to her.