Devastate (Havoc Series Stand Alone Book 5) (15 page)

              The name takes me back to the day of the fair with Jazz. BBQ sauce on the corner of her lips. Fingers sticky from food. Body sticky from me. That was the night she gave herself over to me. The night she let me in. The night I made a new life in an old world. 

              “Look, it's hitting him again,” Glove pipes up. My eyebrows wrinkle and he shrugs. “Been there too, remember?”

              Grim and Glove both had their own messed up situations to deal with in this department. Yet both of 'em made it out okay. More than okay. Grim's married with a kid on the way and from the way Glove keeps talking I'll be without a roommate soon. Things between Jazz and I will get better. Fuck. They have too.

              “Don't you boys worry about Rascal. I'll have a long talk with him later. Come on. Y'all eat up. Need to be good and full for that flight back. Airplane food is terrible.” Ma hands plates to Glove who takes one and passes the rest around just as she exits to grab a couple more dishes.

              Together we eat and laugh over stories Ma shares about the ways Pa drove her crazy. Most of them are things I've either heard or grew up around, but it doesn't matter. It's what she needs. Time with grandsons. Time to pass on the stories once more before he turns into nothing, but a memory. Barkley rests his head on my feet, the saddest of us all with Pa. Leaning over I give his head a gentle rub wishing I hadn't run off the place I wish I could rest mine.

**

              Laying back in Pa's recliner, I simply stare vacantly into the whiskey glass. Never been a huge fan of it, but Pa wasn't a fan of anything else. Insisted that drinking beer was like drinking a coke. No kick. He needed the kick.

              “Rascal,” Ma calls to me from the kitchen.

              “Need help?” I place the glass down and spring to my feet.

              “Wouldn't mind it,” she answers as I walk in. Immediately she hands me a dish rag. “Remember, circles.”

              “Right.” I nod and begin on the dish she hands me.

              “Ya know Rascal, I know you don't care about what his will said in regards to what you'll be receiving--”

              “Nope.”

              “But you'll be mailed a copy anyway. Jazz left me your address.” Of course she did. “I do think it's best you hear this from me before you read it.” Slowing down I listen even more intently. “The company is passed down to me to run until I chose to retire.”

              With a smirk I question, “You know how to run the company?”

              “Who do think kept that old man afloat all these years?” I chuckle as the quote about a good woman rushes back to me. “However, when I retire, the company gets passed down to you.”

              “But I--”

              “Let me finish,” she demands scrubbing a fork. “I swear, Texas has done nothin' for your manners.”

              “Sorry ma'am.”

              “Mmm,” Ma hums. “The company is passed down to you. However it is set up so that your father and Jo will continue to run it just as they do now. They will take over decisions that would normally be made by Pa or myself unless you decide otherwise. At any point you may take full control of the company or chose not to. There is a set clause however that the company is passed down another generation. If you don't have kids with that sweet girl of yours, then you may choose a niece or nephew to pass it on to. So if you want Haven's child to have our peach kingdom then so be it.”

              In disbelief I put the dish down. “That can't possibly be legal.”

              “Oh Rascal with the best lawyers and enough money very few things aren't possible. And Pa was a smart man. He knew what he was doin' every step of the way. He knew you'd find a family all on your own even if it wasn't this one. He just didn't want you to forget that we loved you too.”

              Picking up a fresh dish to dry I manage to choke out, “Did you know? Did you know he was sick?”

              “Of course I did,” she softly sighs. “I knew the day his swan song started. About a year and half ago. Pa was always a bit...what's that word for being crazy with too much money?”

              “Eccentric?”

              “Exactly. But he woke up one mornin' and wanted to do things like take a cruise. He knows how much I hate boats.” She shudders. “But he started sayin' he didn't want me to miss seein' the world. I knew...typically people only start truly wantin' to live when death is close.” Letting the water out of the drain she shrugs. “I guess that's why I'm not the blubberin' mess you're expectin'. I had my chance to say goodbye. I made my peace with it every night before he fell asleep in case he didn't wake up the next mornin'.”

              I dry my hands and pull my grandmother into a warm embrace.

              “Promise me three things Rascal,” her voice softly speaks up from my chest.

              “Anything Ma.”

              Pulling back she looks into my eyes. “First thing. Forgive that girl you love so much. All she did was try to protect you. She brought you home when we needed you to be here. I think waiting for you to come back is what kept Pa holdin' on so strong, but he had needed to let go a long time ago Rascal. I know he didn't wanna say goodbye without sayin' it to you.” Another tear finds itself in the corner of my eye. “Jazz meant well. And I think she needed to be a part of a family too. So you forgive her.  You take your ass to her the minute you get off the flight and get a chance to, apologize for being so stubborn and beg for forgiveness while learnin' a little understandin'.”

              Lessons from Ma are just like lessons from Pa. Important. Not sugar coated. Definitely everlasting. “Promise.”

              “Second, you started livin' again Rascal. Don't you dare use your Pa's death as an excuse to stop. Enjoy your life.” A hand lands on my cheek. “Laugh. Love. Eat more peaches.”

              A small chuckle leaves me with the tear. “Promise.”

              “Last thing,” her tone gets stern. “You promise y'all will visit more often. I know you get deployed. I know you have a million things to do, but promise me y'all will come back and visit...”

              Eyes full of tears at the fact she felt she even had to ask, I pull her small body back against mine. “You have my word Ma. We'll be back. All of us...together.”

Home in Texas Day 1

              As it's announced our flight is descending, I look down at Pa's favorite hat Ma insisted I take with me as a reminder to return sooner rather than later. I didn't have the heart to tell her if I lose my job with HORN it'll be even sooner. No. I didn't directly do anything wrong. I wasn't the one who lied. I wasn't the one who kept us hidden. I wasn't the one who insisted on opening back up files that were probably finished because I'm anal retentive. Nonetheless, I benefited from it. And most importantly I'm madly in love with the woman who did it, so even if she's forgiven for everything else, we won't be allowed on the same team. Fine by me. I just need us to end up together again. In love like we were. My brothers will understand it doesn't mean we're no longer family, if we can no longer be in the field together. I'm ready to deal with the consequences of the actions beside her with my head held high. I promised to keep living life and it's one I intend on upholding.

              Thankfully, deboarding is smooth allowing for a swift exit out of the airport where I'm expecting to see a HORN vehicle for pick up. Unsure exactly who should be picking me up, I check my cell phone for an answer once more. Jazz has always been prompt about providing information. Uncomfortable I haven't received word feels like a whisper of the hell that's coming. What if it's The Director himself who picks me up? Fuck. I'll sign my transfer papers now instead.

              Leaning against a pillar I continue to wait for another 10 minutes, each minute more excruciating than the last. Helplessly, I scroll through my contacts and press Jazz's number in hopes to hear her voice, even if it's just tell me that a vehicle has been sent. Instead of receiving the sound of a ringing phone, I get an immediate disconnection notification. On the off chance, I hit the wrong number, I hit it again, the same message received.

              So that's it huh? She's gone from my life just like that? Not even so much as an echo of hope for me to cling onto? My fingers scroll up to Glove's number shaking my head in disbelief.

              When he answers he doesn't sound like he's at HORN where he should be. “Director let you keep your phone? Was he feeling generous?”

              On a chuckle I reply, “I wouldn't know yet. Haven't been in.”

              “Really? You either?” Glove questions. “Huh. That's not normal.”

              “Wait. What do you mean me either? You got in last night.”

              “Yeah. And there was no one there to escort us back like Jazz said there would be. Mindy was there to take Haven home and ended up dropping us both off. We tried to call Jazz and nothing. Tried to report in to The Director and all we received was a one line text telling us we would be summoned at a later date. To return home and wait for further communication.”

              The explanation has panic settling in more than just my veins. “None of that seemed fucking suspicious to you?”

              “It did. Grim too. But it was given as an order from The Director. Considering everything that just went down, we figured maybe it was backlash. The start of our team being dismembered.”

              While it's a valid point, it doesn't sound like the way we operate. The Director is cold and calculated, but prompt. He never delays an ass chewing. “Look, I'm still at the airport. Think you can pick me up?”

              “Yeah,” he quickly agrees. “No one came to get you?”

              “No.”

              “On my way now,” his unsure voice assures me I'm right.

              “I'll call Grim and tell him to meet us at HORN. Something isn't right. None of this is right.”

              “Alright,” Glove replies before hanging up.

              Immediately, I call Grim who answers on the first ring. “He let you up keep your phone. That has to be a good sign.”

              “Just the opposite,” I groan moving around the pillar at an attempt at privacy. “No one came to pick me up.” His silence says exactly what I imagined it would. Further assurance that something major is wrong. “Gloves on his way now.”

              “I'll meet y'all there.”

              “Grim is Haven--”

              “She's safe.” He replies. “And I intend to keep it that way.”

              “If Jazz--”

              “She's a grown woman. If anyone can watch their own six, it's her.” The words should bring me comfort but bring anxiety instead. She can watch her own back. She needs no one. She's never needed any one before. She's never wanted anyone before, but I know that's not the truth now. She needs us. She needs me. “See you soon.”

              As soon as the line goes dead, I try Jazz's number once more for good measure before trying The Director's. His number doesn't ring either. Her's could easily be passed off as being fired or whatever happens to HORN members who go rogue, but there's no reason he shouldn't answer.

              Glove arrives about twenty minutes after the call in my truck. Confused by his choice of actions, I toss my luggage in the back seat, and demand, “Get out my seat.”

              He chuckles and crawls out. “I thought sharing was caring cowboy?”

              “My truck is like my women. I don't like sharin'.” Hopping in, I buckle my seatbelt and look at him in disgust at what's blaring through the speakers. “Really Glove? Beyoncé?”

              “She's catchy!” He defends himself. “She soothes me. Not to mention I'm flawless.”

              “Remind me to make fun of you for that later,” I note pulling out of the airport traffic that's backing up quickly.

              “Remind me to make fun of your accent.” A laugh leaves him. “You sound like you're gonna bust out in song any second.” His humor defense mechanism is distracting, but far from calming. Suddenly he starts singing, “Don't break my heart...my achy breaky heart.”

              “Don't sing,” I hush him. “I need you to focus. Can you do that?”

              He nods. “But you're not gonna like what I have to say.”

              “Do I ever?”

              “Fair,” he sighs.

              “I tried Shepard. Disconnected.”

              “Yeah well, Grim tried Merlin. Nothing.”

              “No one is answering?”

              “I can't help, but feel this is the tip of the iceberg.”

              “Fuck!” I hit the steering wheel, flying onto the highway, my speed kicking past lawful limits. Cars seem to part out of my way, emergency signals seeping out of me every time my foot presses harder on the accelerator. “Tell me, you're ready.”

              “Nothing.” He tries to lightly say. “Guess that makes two of us huh?”

              “Nope.”

              “You pack in your truck?” Glove questions. When he receives a sarcastic look he grunts, “Am I the only one who doesn't? Goddamn it, Grim gave me the same fucking look when I asked him that one day.”

              “What kind a Marine doesn't pack in his vehicle?”

              “The kind that assumes off duty means off fucking duty,” he argues. “I pack a knife on me.”

              “So do I. Typically in my boots.”

              “'Cause a good cowboy is always ready to go John Wayne on someone?”

              “I'm never taking your ass back to Georgia,” I grumble, taking the exit sharply.

              “You have to. You promised,” he whines.

              “Under your seat. Velcroed. Grab it.” Glove reaches for the handgun I keep there. “Extra bullets in the glove compartment.” He attempts to open it when I instruct, “Spare key taped under the seat lever.” Following my instruction, he grabs the key unlocking it, and loads up with the spare ammo.

              “Grim's like Rambo. You're clearly Walker Texas Ranger. Who am I?”

              “At the moment? A pain in the ass,” I describe pulling around back streets towards the employee entrance of the building.

              That's when we see it. The empty security booth. The lot full of vehicles and no one on duty. There's a clear breach of protocol. At any given point there is someone in that booth. There is someone to take all communication devices and check badges. The fear that this is much worse than we were anticipating seeps into my lungs as I glide through to park my truck.

              Glove's demeanor now shifts into HORN mode, jokes of comfort put on the shelf.  Loading the weapon he asks, “Vest?”

              I shift my truck into park. “No.” When his eyes look up to mine I command. “So don't get hit.”

              He nods in understanding before we get out and I move around to the backseat where I keep a couple more guns in a compartment built into the floor. For the most part, I used some of the money I had saved before running away to modify my truck shortly after we were enrolled in HORN. Figured it would be a good idea to be safe rather than sorry.

              I grab the two weapons at the same time Grim parks beside me. Slowly he pulls himself out of the vehicle, the look on his face one I can honestly say I haven't missed. Without a word, he moves around to his trunk, grabbing weapons and ammo of his own.

              Once we're all strapped for what's feeding our insecurities we gather between the vehicles. Leaning against his car, Grim questions, “What are the chances we're overreacting?”

              “Slim,” Glove replies.

              “Chances there are survivors?” His eyes cut to me.

              Uncomfortable with my answer I sigh, “Slim.”

              “Possibility this was an outside job?” We shake our heads in unison. “We go in together. Stick close. We head for Merlin's first. That's our greatest shot at locking whatever's inside in.”

              “Grim, what makes you think we can get in?” Glove's question is one I have as well.

              “Because if they've wiped out all other parts of this unit, they're waiting to wipe us out too.”

              On a hand signal he indicates it's time to move. Together we jog to the door, slip inside, and follow Grim as he moves us flawlessly around corners like the shadows you're afraid of in the depths of night. The lights in the building flicker. Maneuvering past the employee designated sleeping area I notice there are bullet holes in the walls.

              “Took you long enough,” a familiar voice announces over the intercom.

              Grim holds a hand for us to cease movements. Pressed against the wall, he holds a finger to his lips.

              “Oh, don't be shy,” Tyger playfully says. “Just because I can't see you, doesn't mean I don't know you're here. In fact, I know more about the three of you than you think...”

              Glove whispers, “He can't see us?”

              “Merlin must've disabled the cameras at the first sign of trouble,” I whisper in return.

              “Remind me to buy that hobbit a gift when we make it out of this alive,” Glove's comment makes us briefly smirk.

              Grim makes another hand motion for us to return to moving, our movement up the stairs flawlessly silent as we slip onto the second level.

              “You don't think I know you're moving,” Tyger starts again. “You three are so fucking predictable. You think you're better than me, but you're so wrong.” His monologue continues as does our movement until Grim stumbles backwards finding wires waiting for us to trip over. “This was planned from the day you stepped into the training center. JZ's prized possessions.” He sneers. “Pathetic. Tearing your team apart has been easier than playing chess with a chicken.” The southern reference has me scowling. He gives us a bad name. “You thought you'd trick me? Make me think you were no longer together? Please. You played right into my hand. Together you are much harder to manipulate than when you're separated. But apart....you're so easy.”

              Grim gestures we move the other direction to take another route, as we do, we take a corner stumbling upon a lifeless body from another team that reports to this location. The sight hurts, but we have to keep moving.

              “Create tension. Apply just enough pressure to a wound and watch it infect the rest of the body...speaking of, Lordy how was it to watch your grandfather die?” The question has me shaking my head. I'll be the one to drop that asshole. Grim glances at me and nods as if he heard me. “Bet the sympathy sex JZ gave up was hottttt....”

              Hearing him taunt me about her has me lunging forward to run. Grim holds up an arm to stop me, demanding I keep my focus. I know that. I know to stay focused. I can do that. I can remain focused.

              “How livid were you when you found she lied to you? Lied to The Director? Probably as livid as Grim was when he had to play old reliable and swoop down there to bring you home and execute that fake mission I set up huh?”

              “I hate people who monologue,” Glove growls in a low voice. “It's the part in the movie, I wish someone would just shoot them in the forehead.”

              “God fucking willing at this point,” I grumble back.