The SEAL's Special Mission

She’d spent that first year after Nash’s “suicide” looking over her shoulder, preparing for this moment. Panic set in now that her day of reckoning had come and she realized just how unprepared she really was. She should run up the back stairs and grab the stash of cash she kept in the lockbox.

But the hairs on the back of her neck kept her rooted to the first floor where she could see both the front and back door from the kitchen, while remaining within an arm’s reach of Ben.

No. There was no time to waste. She was already wearing her service revolver. And she had her badge and handcuffs, too.

Best to leave with as little as possible. They’d still need cash, but a single withdrawal from an ATM close to home would get them to their next destination. She’d planned this carefully enough so that no matter what direction she was forced to take, she and Ben would be able to start a new life.

Shoving the carton of broken eggs to the back of the fridge, she closed the door and then jumped. Nash stood on the opposite side of the refrigerator, looking scruffy in his ball cap with his overlong hair and five o’clock shadow.

“Hello, Mal.”

“There are two FBI agents out front.” She put the center island between them and picked up the butcher knife from the block of knives next to the cutting board. Reaching for the celery, which hadn’t made it into the crisper, she began chopping the bunch without washing or removing the rubber band. “I’ll give you a ten-minute head start before I scream.”

“I don’t need ten minutes. And you’re not going to scream.”

She didn’t scream as he moved right up behind her and stilled the knife in her hand with his hand. She let go and the butcher knife dropped to the cutting board. He picked it up and tossed it out of reach to the sink.

It would be futile to resist. She wasn’t about to challenge him in hand-to-hand combat—until she had to.

“They think you killed two marshals.”

He didn’t move from behind her. “What do you think?”

That he was capable of doing just that.

She ignored his loaded question as he reached inside her jacket for her gun. Her breath caught on the intake as his arm brushed the underside of her breasts and pinned her against his chest as he checked the safety on her firearm before tucking it into his own jacket pocket. “What are you doing here, Nash?”

“Smart move not going for the gun.”

He began patting her down underneath her jacket.

His impersonal check felt far too personal and she slid around to face him. With her back to the island, she groped for a steak knife and managed to get a good grip on one. He blocked the jab, took the knife and the whole block of knives and dumped them in the sink out of her immediate reach.

“Enough games, Mal. You and the boy are coming with me.”

He latched on to her elbow and she shook off his grip. “We’re not going anywhere with you.”

“We don’t have time for theatrics. Call him again.” He picked up what she recognized as her gym bag and tucked her gun from his jacket into a side pocket, and then picked up Ben’s backpack and tossed it over his shoulder as he nodded toward the back door.

“Ben.” She modulated her tone so there was little to no urgency in it, hoping he’d be too engrossed in his game to break away. Heart pounding, Mallory moved toward the living room as if to hurry him along. She flicked the kitchen light switch in passing.

Nash was no dummy. He hauled ass toward her with menace in his stride.

She stood there with her hands on her hips and made sure she had plenty of room to maneuver before picking a fight with him.

She was a trained professional. All she had to do was stand between Nash and Ben until two armed agents burst through the doors. If Nash dared to make a move in Ben’s direction, she would lay a world of hurt on him. Not even a Navy SEAL could easily get past a mama bear intent on protecting her cub.

“Can we get a big pumpkin this year?” Ben asked as he entered the kitchen. “I mean really big.” He held his arms out wide and then stopped just inside the doorway, frozen in his big pumpkin stance staring at Nash.

“Do you know who I am?” the man asked.

The boy nodded. “You’re him. You’re my dad.”

From one heartbeat to the next, Nash swooped up Ben along with their bags, and then ran for the back door as Tyler burst through the front door, splintering it off its hinges. Mallory barely had time to react before Special Agent Tyler shoved her out of his way. She went down hard, hitting her head against the granite countertop.

“You all right?” He glanced back without stopping.

Dazed, she waved him off. “Go, go! He’s got Ben!”

But Special Agent Tyler was already gone and so far ahead he probably didn’t even hear her.

* * *

NASH CROUCHED NEXT to the boy as they took shelter in the overgrowth, waiting for Mal to come out of the house. They’d hopped the chain-link fence across the alley just ahead of the first agent out the back gate. The narrow space beside the detached garage, bordered by the six-foot wooden privacy fence on the other side, hadn’t seen a lawn mower in years.

Since both houses were third from the end, Nash had counted on the agents to assume that he’d run the short distance out the alley. But instead of trying to chase them down, the agent on their tail had stopped by the Dumpster behind Mal’s house and pulled out his walkie-talkie.

The younger agent caught up to the older agent as he was calling for backup. The two men argued. Nash mouthed the word ninja to the boy, who stared back at him with big eyes. A shot rang out and Nash covered Ben’s near yelp with his palm.

Thankfully, the boy hadn’t seen the incident so much as heard it.

Nash, however, had a perfect view. He kept the boy’s face turned away from the old guy slumped on the ground.

The young guy would have shot the older man again, but a dark sedan, not the same model as the one parked out front, came screeching around the corner. Instead of looking guilty, the young agent—if that’s what he was—started shouting orders to the driver. Something not right was going on here, and all Nash needed now was for Mal to step out her back door right into the middle of it.

Maybe he should be more worried that she hadn’t exited the house by now.

Nash kept one hand curled over Ben’s mouth.

The other on his Glock.

Finger on the trigger, he held his breath until the young agent bolted down the short end of the alley while the car drove up the other end and disappeared—but not before Nash had caught a glimpse of the sedan’s rental plate.

Removing his palm from the boy’s mouth Nash brought his finger to his lips, warning the boy to remain quiet.

Picking up a flat, chalky-white stone—a native form of limestone—he scratched the license plate number into the wood siding of the garage.

Ben crouched beside him, his panicked breaths coming in hard and shallow. The boy started to turn his head toward the downed agent again.

Nash pointed two fingers at his eyes. Eyes on me, not on him.

The boy turned his head back to focus wide-eyed on him.

Nash didn’t know if the kid understood SEAL sign language, but he’d always kept his signs simple enough that any BUD/S on his first mission would get their meaning.

The next thing Nash knew Ben was burying his face in Nash’s shoulder.

He wanted to put his arms around his son, offer him the comfort and reassurance he needed. But he didn’t allow himself the indulgence to pull Ben closer for that first hug.

He needed both hands free. Especially his shooting hand.

Nash shoved Ben behind him, making sure to put himself between the boy and whatever was coming. The boy kept his face plastered to Nash’s back—which was exactly where he wanted him to be. As they crouched in the weeds Nash felt himself growing queasier by the minute and it wasn’t from the blood loss. The boy was probably worried sick about his aunt—and so was he.

There’d only been the one shot, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t been incapacitated. By the shooter or the driver. Or someone else. A silencer—even a pillow—could have muffled the sound of a gunshot.

Or a knife.

There was only one way to find out.

He was getting ready to pick up Ben again when Mal came barreling out the back gate. He didn’t immediately reveal their hiding place. But he did reach around to tap the boy so Ben could see his aunt was okay.

Now that they knew Mal was okay, he could get Ben to the SUV and let Mal catch up to them.

* * *

MALLORY FOUND STAN slumped against the Dumpster in the alley and hunkered down beside him. The agent was bleeding and barely breathing, but he wasn’t dead.

“Son of a bitch shot me.” Stan gasped for air.

“Shh...quiet, now. Keep pressure on it.” Mal pressed his hand to the wound at his gut as she looked up and down the alley.

No sign of Nash or Tyler. Or Ben.

She didn’t know how long she’d been out cold.

A few minutes, maybe?

Her head still felt woozy. She must have hit her head on the countertop harder than she thought.

When she’d tried to push to her feet to follow Tyler, she’d blacked out. The next thing she knew she’d heard the shot ring out. She managed to stumble to the back door and down the steps before tossing her cookies.

A concussion was the least of her worries right now.

Thanks to the static of Stan’s radio, she found it within easy reach under the Dumpster. “Did you call for backup?”

He offered a weak nod.

A curious neighbor stepped out his back door with a bag of trash and glanced their way.

“You,” she called to the elderly gentleman who looked as though he was about to head in the opposite direction toward another garbage bin. “Stay with this man until the ambulance arrives. Keep pressure on it.” She demonstrated before shoving the radio at her neighbor and reaching for Stan’s firearm.

Without hesitation, she wiped her bloody hands on the pants of her Ann Taylor designer suit for a better grip on the weapon. She hated to leave Stan like this, but Ben had to be her priority.

Stan latched on to her wrist. “Tyler—”

“Save your strength, Stan. Which way did they go?”

He pointed her in the right direction. Digging the Mustang keys from her jacket pocket, she raced the few feet to the garage. She stripped the drop cloth from the Skylight Blue exterior of the 1964 ½ classic, opened the door and sank into the blue and white pony leather. Blood from her hands stained the white leather steering wheel and gearshift as she backed out of the garage.

Assuming Special Agent Christopher Tyler was chasing Nash on foot, and that the ex-marine was in better shape than Stan right now, there was still a chance she’d find Nash hiding out in her neighborhood. Loaded down with a small boy and their two bags, he couldn’t have gone far. He wouldn’t try to outrun the agent—he’d try to outfox him. Maybe even lead him on a merry chase before circling back to wherever he’d parked his getaway car.

Which had to be around here somewhere.

Close. But not too close.

Not a car, an SUV. He’d want to blend in with the neighborhood.

She was wishing for the radio now or some way to communicate with the agent, but Stan had needed it more than she did. Why hadn’t she stopped to grab her cell phone? “Come on, Tyler. Flush him out.”

The average criminal wasn’t too hard to figure out. When he ran, you ran after him while your partner cut him off.

But Nash wasn’t your average criminal. He was better trained and he’d be familiar with their training.

But what he didn’t know was that she spent six days a week in the gym and had spent six long years studying everything she could about Navy SEALs in anticipation of this moment.

So if she was part of his plan A...

You and the boy are coming with me.

Somewhere in his contingency plan B, C or D, either he planned to leave her or, if she stayed visible and vigilant, he’d find her. Except she intended to find him first.

Mal never realized how many dark SUVs there were on her block until now. She rolled down the windows and opened the top of the old Mustang.

Listening. Praying there’d be no more gunfire.

Block after block she made her way in a crisscross pattern toward the highway. There were several on-ramps near her neighborhood, which bordered the park. Nash would have parked facing one of them. Somewhere he wouldn’t draw a lot of attention.

Somewhere familiar.

She backtracked toward the house where he’d grown up only to be disappointed.

Nash had the advantage over Tyler of knowing the old neighborhood. But maybe, maybe she had the advantage of knowing Nash. If she just put her mind to it, she should be able to figure this out. Unless of course he anticipated her trying to second-guess him.

“Where the hell are you, Nash?” She had to find him before he took off down the highway. Otherwise she might never see Ben again.

That bloodcurdling thought made her want to scream.

“Think, Ward. Think.” She prowled his old block tapping the steering wheel.

The street where Nash had grown up was catty-corner from their street.

One block up, one block over.

She was facing the direction of her house now.

Wait—what if he’d never left the alley? It was basically made up of a combination of wooden privacy fences and low chain-link ones. How hard would it be to jump a fence or break into a detached garage? There were two dozen backyards facing that alley. He could have ducked into any one of them. She glanced up the next block toward Jackie’s house.

Her persistence paid off; an engine roared to life down the otherwise sleepy street. Streetlights out. Headlights off. Directly across the alley from her house.

Exactly what she was looking for.

The driver pulled out just as Mallory entered the intersection.

She pulled a hard U-turn into its path. The driver slammed on his brakes, coming to a screeching stop inches from her driver’s-side door.

Mallory scrambled over the side of the convertible with her weapon drawn. She had Nash in her sights across the hood of his SUV.

Point-blank range. Finger on the trigger.

They stared at each other for a full second.

Nash revved the engine. All he’d have to do was roll forward and she’d be pinned between the two vehicles. All she had to do was pull the trigger to stop him. “Let him go!” She could hear sirens in the distance from the fire and paramedic station located right on the edge of the park. The police would follow. All she had to do was hold him off.

He leaned across the front seat and threw open the passenger door. “Get in!”

Ben’s dark head bobbed behind his father’s.

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