He rolled over onto his hands and knees with Poppy lying on her back beside him. He used his body as a living shield while he surreptitiously looked around the yard for movement.
He saw a flash in the trees but had no idea if it was the escaping prisoner, a sniper watching him, or Spencer and Drago herding the prisoner toward the road as they “chased” him south off the property. Poppy pulled her thumb out of her mouth and reached out to grab his chin with her wet fingers.
“Ee-yew,” he said in exaggerated disgust, making a horrified face. Poppy giggled on cue and grabbed his nose. “You’re quite the tease, missy. Gonna lead your daddy on a merry chase, aren’t you?”
A pang of grief at not being there to see her grow up almost made him cry out in pain at how sharply it hurt. He sincerely hoped she was not Kenji Tanaka’s daughter and that he and Gunner could keep her as their own for a little longer. If he was being honest with himself, he desperately hoped they could keep her forever.
He knew it for the fantasy it was. Not only the part about keeping Poppy, but also about settling down and having a family with Gunner.
At this point, he didn’t even know if Gunner wanted a long-term relationship with him, let alone a permanent one that included kids. The guy’s declaration of love had been less than stellar and certainly didn’t inspire any confidence that Gunner planned to stick around any longer than it took to return Poppy safely to her family.
He sighed.
Poppy yanked at his ear and he yelped, his attention snapping back to her. “So that’s the way you want to play it, do you, kiddo? The tickle war shall now commence! Prepare to giggle!”
GUNNER SAT in the woods under his ghillie net—a sniper’s camouflage gear—peering at Chas and Poppy wrestling and laughing on the grass. Right there was everything, everyone, he wanted in the whole wide world. If he could have Chas and Poppy for the rest of his life, laughing and loving and happy, he would die a happy man.
But damned if he had any idea how to get it. Chas was miffed at him for the way he’d told Chas he loved him, and Poppy’s father would take her back as soon as the DNA evidence proved she was Kamiko Tanaka. Which Gunner’s gut told him she surely was. The perfect Norman Rockwell moment playing out in front of him was an illusion. Guys like him didn’t get happy-ever-afters.
If he was lucky, he might get to retire with the aches and pains left over from using his body far harder than it had ever been built for. He would get to relive past glories now and then when he got together with the old gang, assuming he made it to retirement alive.
At least Chas could go back home, resume his normal life in his little house, teaching kids and finding happiness with some lucky guy someday.
But him? He didn’t fit into normal. Had no idea how to do it. Hell, he probably didn’t even deserve it. His entire life until the past week or so had been a lie. Maybe this was karma coming back to bite him in the ass. The universe was dangling the perfect guy, the family, the happiness he could’ve had in front of him, taunting him.
God, this sucked.
He heard movement off to his left and swung his weapon in that direction, scanning the woods intently.
There. A glimpse of black clothing. That would be the prisoner. The guy was running, stumbling, looking back over his shoulder. Gunner heard Spencer and Drago behind the guy a bit, making a lot of noise, shouting back and forth and making sure the idiot kept running in the correct direction to go right past the house, see Poppy, and then hit the road.
The prisoner passed between him and the house, about fifty feet in front of Gunner. As the guy realized a clearing was off to his left, he slowed and moved away from it, toward Gunner. Dammit, they needed the guy to see Poppy.
Gunner picked up a rock and heaved it at a tree between himself and the prisoner. It hit with a thunk and the prisoner lurched away from the sound in panic. He practically bolted right out into the front yard before he contained his panic enough to stop.
Gunner watched in satisfaction as the prisoner crouched low now, moving along behind a line of brush and brambles just inside the tree line. In the yard beyond, Poppy let out a squeal, and Chas’s warm laughter rose to meet the piercing giggles.
Poppy, who’d been lying down, pushed up to her feet and took off running across the grass, straight at the prisoner and Gunner’s positions. Chas, racing after her, scooped her up and carried her back to the blanket, blowing raspberries on her tummy as he went.
Perfect. The Oshiro guy could not have failed to see Poppy clearly enough to positively identify her. Now, to chase him off the property and into town to call in reinforcements.
A swift-moving shadow off to Gunner’s left startled him. Damn, Drago was good. He moved with every bit as much stealth as a SEAL would have, and every bit as quickly.
Drago deliberately scuffed his feet through a small hollow that had collected a deep layer of dried leaves, and the noise was impressively loud. Gunner’s last glimpse of the prisoner was of the man sprinting full-out toward the main road, paralleling the long front lawn about fifty feet inside the trees.
The bait had been taken. Now all they could do was wait and hope the Oshiro gang took it and came after Poppy.
In the meantime, he was going to spend a few minutes playing with her before they had to return her to the safety of the Brentwoods’ estate across the street. He missed her laughter like crazy, as it turned out. And oddly enough, he missed squeezing her chubby little legs and tickling her feet until she laughed. It was official. He’d lost his mind.
Or maybe you’ve lost your heart. To a little girl with an infectious laugh.
CHAS WAS subdued at supper, but he took comfort in noting that Gunner was equally subdued. The two of them missed Poppy terribly, and neither of them had liked having to hand her back over to the nanny, even if it was for safekeeping.
Spencer was asking Drago, “The call with your buddy at the FBI went well?”
“Oh yeah,” Drago answered, grinning. “He was all over wanting to know where the shooters from Misty Falls might be. I told him I know they’re in the Washington DC area and that he should put a tactical team on standby.”
“Did he believe you?” Gunner asked.
“I gave him plenty of details that never made the news about the Misty Falls shooting. He and his team will come running if we need backup.”
“What’s to keep your buddy from tracing the phone call and figuring out who you are and where you are?” Chas asked curiously.
“I used a burner phone and routed the call through encrypted internet servers all over the world. He won’t be able to trace it.”
“May I just say, as a civilian, it’s scary as hell realizing how easily you guys can avoid law enforcement when you want to?”
Spencer leaned back, laying down his napkin. “That’s why we’re so particular about who we train to do what we do. People who go into our line of work are investigated exhaustively and then put through the emotional wringer. Our training is designed to strip away all layers of artifice and deception and lay bare the core of a person. Many a SEAL wannabe has washed out not because they couldn’t hack the training but because the instructors simply didn’t trust him.”
Chas frowned. “I get that young recruits start out as white-hatted hero types. But over time, as you all do… awful things… doesn’t that take a toll on a guy? Don’t people—what do you call it when a SEAL goes bad?”