by R. J. Blain
When the coffee was ready, I added a pinch of salt and sipped it. I headed to the suite’s balcony, sweeping aside the curtain to look out over the sea.
“According to my briefing, you had very unconventional training for a Marine, Major. Do you even know how to swim, sir?” The humor in Lane Fredrick’s voice partnered with the competitive edge I expected from a SEAL.
“I jumped off a hundred-foot cliff into the ocean about a week ago and only got shot twice in the process. I’d like to see you do that, Petty Officer Fredrick.” I took another sip of my coffee. The waves swelled and rolled, large enough to give the cruise ship the slight rocking motion I liked about traveling at sea.
Had things been different, I probably would’ve enjoyed a life in the military, especially within the Navy, held at the whims of the fickle ocean.
“You’re a cliff diver? I didn’t take you for the extreme sports type.”
“I’m also a gymnast and figure skater.” Both were true, though I hadn’t laced up in well over a year. I hadn’t done traditional gymnastics in ages, although I found practical uses for the skill.
“That explains that rather untraditional usage of Aikido during our scuffle.”
“It comes in useful from time to time.”
“What made you resurface now?”
“If I had known I’d be ambushed by a SEAL, I would’ve taken the risk of being tracked by my client. Being railroaded into performing an unexpected extraction is safer, and I think I would’ve preferred it.” Voicing a dissatisfied huff, I turned to face my new detail, looking him over from head to toe. I pegged him at twenty-five, in the height of his prime, with a single scar across his cheek, which I figured came from a too close call with a high-caliber weapon. “Before you start with your sir poppycock again, I’ll set the record straight. My name is Declan McGrady. I’ll answer to Declan or McGrady, and I’ll even pay attention if you use both if you want to be uptight about it. You toss a sir at me, and I’ll pretend I didn’t hear a word you said. Understood?”
“That’s the name on your other passport.”
“Sure is, Fredrick. Good to know basic reading comprehension is still a requirement for a SEAL.”
Laughter answered my taunt. “If you call me Lane, I’ll call you Declan.”
“Deal. I’ve been out for almost a decade, Lane. The last thing on my agenda is to make any form of return to military service. I don’t know what sort of swill you’ve been fed, but I’m not your caliber, never was, and never will be. That so-called promotion to Major was part of some cover up on route to my last op, and that’s where the story begins and ends. I’m out, and fully intend to stay that way. I was never technically an actual Marine despite the bullshit promotion they tried to foist on me. I wasn’t officially anything.”
“You are now officially a major, Major. I was told you’d likely feel that way during my briefing. However, from my understanding, you rank among the elite extraction specialists despite your unconventional training. Compliments don’t come down the line readily, and but there were a lot of pretty words being tossed around by the uppers. They certainly don’t send a SEAL on a manhunt for a nobody.”
I snorted. “I’ve worked with enough Marines, SEALs, and Rangers to know exactly how your ilk feels about pretty words. Did you wipe your ass with them before or after they dropped you in Hamburg? Did they loosen the restrictions on drug use? It sounds to me like a lot of commanding officers were dropping acid over the weekend.”
I drained my coffee and limped my way to the kitchenette to refill my mug.
“The limp from your op?”
“How many ops have you gone on where you walked away clean, Lane?”
“Plenty,” he replied, his tone full of pride.
“How many S missions?”
Pouring my coffee and adding my pinch of salt filled the silence, and when the SEAL remained silent, I strolled back to the window, staring out over the sea. “Every time you get your assignment, you probably offer thanks your mission isn’t one you know you’re being sent on with the expectation you’re not coming back.”
“I won’t deny it.”
The past always found a way of biting me in the ass, but I was running out of ways to avoid it. I’d lied to my client more than I liked; maybe I wasn’t traditional, but I was ex-military. I defined what it meant to be expendable, and everyone knew it. “When they briefed you, did they tell you some of my nicknames they liked to call me?”
“They called you the Bard, I assume due to your enjoyment of dated language. It was the only nickname they mentioned.”
I laughed long and hard. “That part’s a little true, but that’s not the reason they gave it to me. It’s a lot more nefarious than that. The full title was ‘the Man the Bard Couldn’t Kill.’ My commanding officer was the original Bard.” Sighing, I fiddled with my mug, staring down at my coffee. Knowing the man, he probably was still around, haunting some government facility. “I spent the last three years of service sliding from S mission to S mission. The government aborted my last mission after we were on the ground and we had already extracted what they were after. Some say the S means suicide, others claim it means sacrifice, but either way, my team was laid out on the altar with knives at our throats, cut off with no back up and no hope of extraction. Five of the team died on the way out. I was split from the others and decided to go underground.”
Underground was exactly where I wanted to go again, and I once again evaluated my chances of dodging a SEAL in his prime. I canted my head so I could watch Lane in the window’s reflection.
If my words bothered him, he showed no sign of it. “Part of my orders are to determine if you’re the real deal or an enemy with a stolen passport.”
“What do you think?”
“You haven’t aged much.”
“Good genes.”
“You might be interested to know you’re the last asset that hasn’t been recovered from that mission.”
I grimaced. Ten men had gone in, five had died during the mission, I had escaped, and the last thing I saw of my other four teammates were their backs while I drew fire away from them.
A decade hadn’t been long enough to erase their names and faces from my memories.
“Is that what they’re going with this time? Asset?”
My client had called me an asset, too.
“A very valuable one. When I signaled mission success, they flew in someone else to make certain there were no difficulties on board until this ship reaches a set coordinate, after which we’ll be joining a submarine.”
I choked on my coffee. “Is there a second SEAL on board?”
“You’ll meet him later. He’s scouting the ship and doing recon.”
“Is he a SEAL or someone playing pretend?” I knew all about playing pretend, and the last thing I wanted was to have to dodge around someone after the secrets I wasn’t ready to reveal on my own.
“I’m pretty sure that’s above your pay grade and clearance, Major.”
“I’d have to get paid to have a pay grade, Lane. Do I still have clearance? If so, someone’s botched things up.”
“Point,” he conceded.
“You people really aren’t going to let me enjoy my cruise, are you?”
“Afraid not. For mission security, the exact time and location of the transfer is confidential.”
“You’re going to make me jump into the ocean again, aren’t you?”
“Don’t worry. We won’t let you drown, Marine.”
“Fucking SEALs!”
Lane laughed.
With my unwanted audience, taking full advantage of the buffet wasn’t an option. I sighed and stared at the selection of meats. I needed protein and a lot of calories to sustain my wolf. My flight across Europe and my inability to hunt thanks to my glowing fur coat had reduced my healing to human average.
Grumbling over the effort involved in filling my plate to a normal man’s standards, I trudged back to the table Lane had chosen, t
ucked to the side with two easy routes of escape while a wall guarded our backs.
The SEAL’s eyes narrowed as he considered my choices. “Your file stated you had a high metabolism and required protein additives. That can’t be nearly enough food.”
The temptation to dump the plate over Lane’s head before beating him with it almost got the better of me. Instead of venting my frustration, I sat, picked up my fork, and took a dainty bite, meeting him glare for glare.
“He’s worse than a bitch with a bone, McClain. Or, should I say McGrady? Give it up and do what he wants, or he’ll annoy you to death.”
I inhaled my food and choked on it, wheezing as I got a lungful of roast beef. By the time I dislodged it, the shock of someone sneaking up behind me wore off enough to realize I recognized the voice. The roughened, gravelly voice hadn’t changed much over the past decade, and the years hadn’t erased the instinctual need to rise and salute, though I capped it before I got to my feet.
The real Bard of the US Navy, Rear Admiral Jack Haney, sat between me and Lane, setting a plate piled high with fried chicken in front of him. When I had last seen him, his hair had been solid black. Streaks of gray ran through it now, but there were few other signs of his age. The hours before deployment on my final S mission remained a bitter memory, and his presence served as living proof I hadn’t been an official anything and passed around the branches of the US military.
I’d only seen him in uniform, and his black suit bothered me almost as much as his presence on the cruise ship. My wolf cowered, his presence retreating to the back of my head, leaving me to face off against the man who had successfully brought my entire life to ruin.
He didn’t smile, but there was amusement in his dark blue eyes. “He’s right, you know. I’ve seen you eat, boy, and that ain’t nothin’ more than a bloody appetizer.”
Several pieces of chicken made their way onto my plate, and Haney’s subtle squinting warned me against arguing.
I turned my glare to Lane, pointing my fork at my former commanding officer. “This rump-fed, pickled liver nuisance is the Bard. If I throw him overboard, do you think anyone would notice? He’s gotta be at least ten years over his expiration date.”
“You two have become friendly. Fill me in on the details, Lane.”
“Probable concussion, two gunshot wounds, potential fractures, substantial bruising, and probable malnutrition,” Lane reported.
Haney grunted, and I felt his gaze focus on me, sending shivers running through me all the way down to my toes. Even after a decade, the man put me on edge, and I tensed, waiting for him to play his hand.
Instead of launching into a lecture or dishing out orders, Haney remained silent.
If he wanted to play, I’d play, and I meant to test his mood with my opening volley. The man had more layers than a Picasso and was equally difficult to categorize.
“Of all of the louses the military could send, they sent you?” I muttered, stabbing at a piece of meat so I wouldn’t be tempted to assault an officer of the US Navy. I ignored the chicken, although by the time I finished my roast beef, my wolf’s appetite would likely demand I accept the man’s offering.
“I sent myself, son. It happens from time to time. I like the new name; it suits you better than McClain. I like it so much I’ve decided you get to keep it. Been sitting on it long?”
“What, didn’t bother with running my passport through the system? You’re losing your touch, Haney.”
“Vice Admiral Haney to you, son.”
“Don’t you mean Petty Officer, with the emphasis on petty?” At the rate I was stabbing my roast, I’d break the plate in half and shred the meat long before I finished eating it. “Did you run the passport or not?”
“You’ve put some steel in your spine over the years. Good. You’ll need it.”
When I said nothing, Haney shrugged and took a bite of his chicken. I waited for him to chew a few times, timing my words for right when he was about to swallow. “McClain’s the one with the fake passport, sir.”
Payback was a bitch, and I got a certain amount of satisfaction watching my former commanding officer cough, splutter, and choke on his meal. Unfortunately for me, he recovered, leveling a glare at me. “You were investigated and vetted, son. Don’t think you can pull that bullshit on me.”
I held my hands up in surrender, allowing myself a smirk. “You didn’t vet and investigate hard enough.”
“You smug little son of a bitch.” Haney’s admiring tone surprised me, and keeping a wary eye on the man, I turned most of my attention back on my dinner. When I kept quiet, both of the other men followed my lead, eating without a word.
I finished first, setting my plate aside and wondering if it was worth the effort to get up and get more. Life as a werewolf was a constant Catch 22; if I didn’t eat enough, my body pillaged the little reserves I did build, making it that much harder to scrounge the energy to be bothered with eating.
I was at the point I wanted to crawl back to my suite, collapse on the bed, and sleep for a month. Throwing myself overboard was also looking like a viable alternative to dealing with the circumstances life threw my way. Instead of holding onto the past, I should’ve burned my old passport so I never would’ve been tempted to use it.
“You can either go get yourself a proper plate of food, or I will get one for you,” Haney threatened, pointing a drumstick in my direction. “March, son.”
I wasn’t his son, nor would I ever be, but I was too tired to argue with him. Sometimes obedience paid off, and maybe if I did what he wanted, he’d leave me alone. I had my doubts.
The real bitch with a bone was Haney, and I knew it. He’d keep gnawing away at me until he got exactly what he wanted, and as always, I’d be powerless to do a single thing about it.
Chapter Eight
Common sense dictated I stop eating when I matched the normal amount of food a man consumed, but Haney and Lane joined forces, coercing me into just one more plate of food.
Five mountainous plates later, the sharp bite of my hunger eased.
Declan: 0, SEALs: 1.
I wasn’t sure Haney had ever been a SEAL; there was a lot I didn’t know about the man, including his fixation on fried chicken, half of which ended up on my plate. My wolf was both wary and intrigued by the man’s determination to turn me into a glutton.
At least the waiters took away the empty plates as we emptied them, and all I could smell from them over the myriad of scents in the air was their amusement.
Almost two hours later, I signaled my defeat with a shake of my head and a wave of my hand when Haney tried to pawn off yet another piece of chicken onto my plate. There was a fine line between full, functional, and comatose, and I toed it. It was tempting to flop onto the table and sleep it off, although I doubted anyone would appreciate it. “Eat your own ruddy chicken.”
“I suppose you’ve eaten a satisfactory amount,” he replied, and at the doubt in the man’s voice, I jerked my head up to stare at him.
“I’m impressed at how much you can pack away.” Lane chuckled, shaking his head. “Healing takes a lot out of a man, and you have a long way to go until you’re fit. Did you acquire a cabin of your own, sir?”
“Plenty of room for the three of us in McGrady’s suite if my understanding of the situation is correct. We can talk there, and I’ll brief you both on the situation.”
“Debrief,” I corrected.
“That, too.”
With my stomach full, my wolf passed out in a content, satiated daze, once again leaving me to deal with the human element of our lives. I swallowed my sigh, staggered to my feet, and hissed at the ache in both my ankles.
Haney stood and caught my elbow before I had a chance to regain my balance. “You’re moving like you’ve been flogged, son.”
“Partially my fault, sir. We had a scuffle when he first arrived,” Lane replied.
“Of course you did. McGrady’s jumpy on a good day, and he’s as much of the fight type a
s he is the flight type.” Once I straightened, Haney released me. “Where’s the suite?”
The problem with my suite was its location; for the convenience of the majority of passengers, the buffet was located in the heart of the ship, requiring us to traverse the Snow Princess, which meant we had a long walk ahead of us. Lane adopted a brisk stride, which was matched by Haney. Pride dictated I keep up to prove I hadn’t gone soft.
In some ways, I had. I felt thin, and I was glad my suite didn’t have a scale, because I suspected I was at least thirty below par. One forced feeding at a buffet wouldn’t restore what I’d lost, and if my guess was correct, I’d need an entire winter of hunting as wolf and man to build myself back up to what I had been prior to accepting my client’s job.
Two months of slimming down hadn’t done me any favors.
Lane entered the suite first, his body tense as he scouted for trouble. I waited in the entry with Haney while he did a sweep of the entire place. Only after Lane signaled the all clear did the Vice Admiral close the suite’s door and head for the couch.
I was tempted to flop on the floor and sleep, but instead, I made my way to the kitchenette and brewed a new pot of coffee. Several cups and staying on my feet would keep me conscious long enough to find out what my former CO was up to.
“The answer is no,” I informed Haney, drumming my fingers on the counter while waiting for the coffee to brew. “I don’t need briefed. I need debriefed.”
“You might change your mind once you hear the situation, McGrady.”
I had heard those words before, and we both knew they were the truth. All it took was a good sob story to rile my wolf up, and once he demanded justice, I was powerless to say no. “You sound confident.”
“Seven Americans have disappeared, are suspected to be in Europe, and we want you to be a part of the rescue and extraction team, McGrady. You’ve a knack for finding things people don’t want found, and we haven’t been able to locate these civilians. We have limited information, but we’re of the opinion they have been kidnapped in order to manipulate some rather influential American businessmen.”