Drago slid into a chair across the table. “Soon. And based on past incidents with the Oshiro gang, they like to come in with overwhelming numbers. We anticipate at least six, and possibly many more guys than that, to come after him.”
Gunner stared at both men. “You’re not seriously thinking about going into a firefight against a bunch of hostiles with just the two of you, are you?”
“We’ll have you too,” Drago said jauntily.
“Still. Three against a couple of dozen isn’t ideal.”
Spencer shrugged. “We should have plenty of reinforcements, assuming we can get the Oshiro boys to come to us.”
“And who would these reinforcements be?” Gunner asked.
Drago grinned. “I might have made a call to an old friend over at the FBI. Turns out the feds are plenty eager to get ahold of whoever shot up a peaceful little New England town. When I told him I might be calling in the next few days with information as to the location of the shooters, he and his people were all over it.”
Gunner swallowed a bite of the hearty breakfast. “And how, exactly, are we bringing the Oshiros to us?”
“Easy. We’re going to make sure our prisoner sees Poppy, and then we’re turning him loose.”
“Are you actually going to release him, or are you going to make him think he escaped?”
“He gets to escape. We’ll control the direction of his egress from the property to make sure he catches a glimpse of Poppy on the way out.”
“When does this little maneuver go down?”
“This afternoon.”
“So we’ll need to be prepped for a full onslaught by Oshiro muscle by tonight?” Gunner asked.
Spencer nodded. “Yep. Gonna be a busy day. We need to recon the woods around here and figure out where we want the fight to go down.”
Gunner looked up quickly. Chas stood in the doorway, looking stressed, but not completely freaked-out. Which was good, given what was coming, but bad if it meant Chas was getting used to the violence and death of Gunner’s world. A fierce desire to keep one part of his life pure and clean and simple swept over him. And that part of his life was Chas.
“Hungry? I’m cooking eggs and bacon,” Spencer asked from over by the stove.
“Both sound great. I like my eggs sunny-side up if you’re taking orders.”
“Coming right up.”
Chas, of course, was no dummy and asked, “What will you guys do if both parts of the Oshiro gang show up here? Can you take them all on by yourselves? Couldn’t that be a lot of people?”
“Possibly,” Gunner answered evenly. He waved a half-eaten piece of bacon at Chas. “You have to understand. SEALs practice force multiplication tactics. One SEAL is the equivalent of ten fully trained soldiers from most other armies in the world in a firefight.”
“A firefight?” Chas echoed in alarm. “You’re planning on having a shootout with an entire crime gang? Are you guys nuts?”
Chapter Eighteen
CHAS SAT on a blanket in the front yard of Spencer and Drago’s house, playing with Poppy. She’d squealed in delight when she’d seen him and Gunner, and had run to them and grabbed their legs when they’d gone across the street to fetch her for this little outing.
It had choked him up, and if he wasn’t mistaken, it had choked up Gunner a little too.
Of course, with the prisoner about to be released and herded past him, this was no simple little playdate. A half-dozen commandos were hidden in the trees around the house and yard, and Gunner had assured him one of the best snipers in the business was out there somewhere, ready and waiting to assassinate anyone who tried to mess with Poppy while she played innocently in the grass.
This was no life for a little kid. She should be able to grow up in peace and safety without having to worry that bad guys were going to jump out and grab her at any time. That was, of course, the only reason he was going along with any of this madness.
If he was ever going to have a family of his own, he couldn’t do it around men like this, who lived lives like this, who drew danger to themselves at every turn.
Chas’s stomach dropped to his feet. No matter how much he cared for Gunner, he wasn’t sure he could give up on his own dream of one day being a parent. If Gunner refused to give up being some sort of private mercenary one step removed from being a SEAL, Chas couldn’t—wouldn’t—do that to his hypothetical children.
The plan today was for Spencer and Drago to strategically let their prisoner escape. The two of them were going to “chase him,” but in fact they were guiding him past the house and out to the main road. The idea was for the guy to see Poppy playing with Chas and report back to his people where the kid was, and that only three guys were protecting her.
Chas listened intently for noises to indicate that the prisoner had made his escape as he rolled a ball across the blanket to Poppy. She rolled it back to him, laughing. That game lasted for about a minute, and then she was up and running, chasing after a leaf dancing on the wind.
Chas jumped up and raced after her, scooped her off her feet, and spun her around until she howled with laughter. His instructions were explicit. Keep himself and Poppy on that blanket in the front yard at all costs. Apparently it had something to do with sight lines and fields of fire—none of which gave him warm fuzzies to contemplate.
Gunner had assured him that all of the shooters out here kept having to shove down an impulse to grab the toddler and race into the house to hide her. Funny how he didn’t worry about his own safety much. Ever since Leah Ledbetter had died on his porch, he had been mainly focused on keeping Poppy safe. Gunner seemed to feel the same way.
It was as if a parenthood switch had flipped on in their heads. Suddenly, the child was by far the most important thing—her safety, her happiness, her well-being. Some of his students’ more obsessive parents began to make a little bit more sense, now that he thought about it.
“Chichi?” Poppy said, screwing up her face into an adorable frown.
“I’m told that’s a nickname for daddies, Squirt. And as much as I’d like to be your chichi, I’m Uncle Chas. Can you say Chas? Chas?”
“Cha?”
“Good! Chas! Uncle Chas!” He poked himself in the chest. Lord, she was growing and changing and learning new things even in the short time they’d known her.
“Unca?”
“Yes! Uncle Chas!”
“Unca Cha!” She flung herself at him, and he caught her in a bear hug, laughing with her.
“Such a smart girl. I hear your name is Kamiko.”
She leaned back and studied him very intently with somber black eyes.
“Kamiko?”
“Ka.”
“That’s you.” He touched the end of her nose. She smiled, and then he tickled her until she was laughing and squirming wildly.
He almost missed the faint sounds of shouting from the woods behind the house and looked up sharply. Belatedly, he remembered Drago’s instruction to pretend to see or hear nothing. The less competent the Oshiros thought the people holding Poppy were, the less force they would likely bring to bear in trying to get her back. At least that was the hope.
Chas rolled onto his back and held Poppy up in the air, her chubby limbs flailing and her laughter clear and carrying. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave her so exposed, even knowing that the escaped prisoner would have no access to weapons of any kind.