A SEAL's Secret Baby

After dropping his helmet to the seat, he ignored the burning behind his eyes and mounted the small dune standing between him and the angry Atlantic. What had been a soft breeze in town was now a wind whipping sand against his cheeks. Deacon liked it. Liked the pain.

One year ago today, it should’ve been him taking that bullet.

Aside from his SEAL team, he had no one in his life. His folks had long since written him off, and he couldn’t say he blamed them.

Not bothering to remove his clothes or even his shoes, Deacon trudged into the surf, fighting his way out to black water, where the swells held him as surely as a lover. He generally saved this sort of thing for missions or triathalon training, but after tonight’s chaos he needed the comfort found in the familiar. Out here, he knew where he stood. He’d been trained to handle any contingency with either sheer strength of will or ingenuity. What he wasn’t equipped to deal with were his emotions.

What the hell was he supposed to do with this ache in his chest, making it so tight he feared it would explode? How did he look past images of his best friend dying in his arms, asking him to care for Ellie and his baby girl? Deacon had promised Tom he would, and he had, but he doubted his friend would have asked him if he’d known Deacon was the biological father of Tom’s child.

With every stroke through black water, Deacon told himself it wasn’t true, that Pia couldn’t be his. But in his heart, he knew. Maybe he always had, but didn’t want to admit it out of respect for the sanctity of his friendship with Tom. In certain areas, Deacon might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but he’d always done great at remedial math. As much as he’d tried forgetting the things he and Ellie had done, the way she’d unwittingly made him so crazy to have her he hadn’t even used a condom, the memories were still there, colliding with the respect he’d had for her husband. His best friend.

When Deacon’s body finally got around to telling his brain he was hungry, cold and tired, he sliced his way to shore. He had to be on base by 0800—preferably with his head in some semblance of a good place.

* * *

“YOU REALLY DIDN’T NEED to come in this early,” Ada declared, shortly after 9:00 A.M.

“Thanks,” Ellie said, hugging her friend and boss. “But yes, I did. You’re not going to believe what happened after you left.”

“Not sure if I like the sound of this.” As usual, Ada looked runway ready, her makeup and hair flawlessly done. She’d retired from modeling to marry an NBA superstar, but when she caught him with a cheerleader, she’d been the last one laughing—at least from a financial perspective. The divorce settlement had afforded her the elegant boutique, where she designed several of the store’s bestselling garments. “But you know me, always ready for a good story, especially if it’s calorie free.”

Having stashed her purse behind the counter, after leaving Pia at the part-time nursery school she loved, Ellie took the white leather armchair opposite her friend. “Deacon knows.”

Ada covered her mouth with her hands. “Weren’t you going to wait until the munchkin was a little bigger?”

“Yeah, well, I saw him yesterday and had a change of heart. Too many people told me his last mission was dicey. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to him and he never knew Pia was his. I tried telling him twice at the party, but both times got interrupted. Then what happens? He shows up at my house. One thing led to another, and instead of the calm, rational conversation I’d hoped for, I blurted it out.”

“Whoa. Good thing we don’t open till ten.” Shifting in her chair, Ada asked, “What are you going to do?”

Ellie sighed. “I guess try to as smoothly as possible introduce Deacon into Pia’s life. She already knows him, but not like a daughter should know her dad.”

“Where do Helen and John fit in?”

“If Deacon has any respect for Pia or myself, he’ll keep all of this on the down-low for at least a little longer. There’s no way I’m ready for my in-laws to know. The news would crush them. They live for Pia.”

“What about you? You’re pretty attached to John and Helen, too.”

“Granted. Last thing I want is for anything to rock that boat. Tom might be gone, but they’re still my family.”

“What about me?” Ada teased.

“Of course, you, too. But last I checked, I haven’t given you just cause to disown me.”

* * *

THAT NIGHT, after an endless day of firing drills, the last person Deacon wanted to find at his apartment door was Ellie, holding Pia in her arms.

Without so much as a hello, she asked, “You alone?”

“At least until Woof and Grinder get back with pizza and beer.”

Behind her dark sunglasses, he imagined, she was rolling her eyes. More times than he could count, he remembered her voicing her dislike of grown men calling each other by nicknames. Woof happened to be Garrett Solomon, who had the uncanny knack of being able to puke like a dog one second, then be up on his feet, firing off rounds, the next. No physical discomfort fazed him. Grinder, aka Tristan Bartoni, had earned his name from downing six of the meaty Italian sandwiches in under ten minutes during their first leave from BUD/S training. The man ate more than any horse Deacon had ever met.

“We have to talk.” Brushing past him, Ellie sat on the brown leather sofa. Since the three men were hardly ever in residence, the place was sparse, but held all necessary conveniences for a well-equipped man cave. Three recliners. Supersize, wall-mounted flat screen. Xbox, PlayStation and a fridge stocked with beer and the homemade boiled peanuts Southern boy Tristan had his mama send him each and every month. He’d once been married, but his wife couldn’t handle his SEAL lifestyle and had bolted a few counties away with his son.

“If this is about last night,” Deacon said, closing the door behind her, but preferring to stand rather than join her on the sofa, “I’m still processing, and this isn’t a good time for hashing it all out.”

“That’s just it,” she said with a brittle laugh. “There’s nothing to hash out.” She set Pia on the cushion beside her, only the kid promptly scooted off the sofa, making a beeline for Woof’s brightly colored comic collection.

“Hey, whoa!” Deacon swooped to deter her. He hadn’t meant to end up holding her, but now that he was, he took a good look. He and Tom had both been dark-haired, but Pia was a cotton top, much like Deacon’s big brother, Peter, had been at that age. Her big brown eyes were like his, but Tom had also had the same shade. Ellie had hit the jackpot when it came to Baby Daddy Bingo. Had she not confessed that Pia belonged to Deacon, he’d never have been the wiser. He may have had questions, but considering he needed a kid about as much as he needed a hole in his head, he never would’ve asked. “Those comics aren’t toys. Captain America set Uncle Woof back eight hundred big ones.”

“Ridiculous,” Ellie said under her breath. “All of you are hulking man-children with permission to use guns.”

“And? You married one of our best.” Deacon set Pia on her feet, pointing her in the opposite direction from his buddy’s collection.

“Tom was different, and the jury’s still out on what I feel for you.” Ellie clenched her hands in her lap.

“Then why are you here? Because I’m not exactly feeling warm fuzzies for you.” He wore desert camo fatigues with beige combat boots, the laces of which Pia tugged, then giggled.

“Up!”

He glanced down to find the toddler trying to climb his leg. Something about the stern set of determination in her jaw struck a familiar chord deep within him. Did she have his drive to succeed in whatever she started? But Tom had had the same drive. How was Deacon supposed to tell where his traits began and the ones she’d learned from Tom left off?

“She likes being held,” Ellie said, leaving the couch to claim her daughter. “But you’ll figure that out soon enough.”

“Help me out here, Ell. You saying things like that lead me to believe you want me to have a relationship with Pia, yet I have to keep it a secret?”

“Exactly. You wouldn’t blurt to Tom’s parents that the two of us had a fling, would you?”

“No.” Just thinking of that scenario had his pulse taking off. Which made him understand her reasoning behind the hush-hush attitude, though he couldn’t say he liked it any better.

“More than anything, I think it’s important that Pia know you as her father. But Tom’s parents would be devastated to learn the truth, and I’ve still got enough of my own grief to deal with. I just can’t…well, you know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” Deacon got the gist of her every word. He might’ve inadvertently donated Pia’s DNA, but when it came down to raising her, Ellie would appreciate him being MIA.

* * *

THE WHOLE RIDE HOME, Ellie couldn’t stop trembling. Her relationship with Deacon—if it could even be called that—had always been tenuous at best. Since it had been Deacon who’d introduced her to Tom, she owed him an incalculable debt. But with Tom no longer with her, could that debt be considered paid in full? Technically, Deacon had also given her Pia, but with enough time, she’d have eventually been pregnant with Tom’s child, right?

She didn’t want to admit it, but Deacon scared her. With barely any effort, he’d released a side of her she hadn’t even known existed. While their time together had been exhilarating, the aftermath had been somewhat terrifying. She was a good girl. She’d never been the type who would consider a one-night stand, let alone to engage in one without protection. Countless times she’d replayed the night in her mind, seeking answers. What had she been missing that a bad boy like Deacon filled?

From her car seat, Pia cooed, reminding Ellie that no matter how much she might personally wish to steer clear of Deacon, she couldn’t deprive her daughter of knowing her father. Oddly enough, in having two fathers, Pia had been given a sort of do-over, in that if Ellie chose to let her, she could now begin a new life, with Deacon playing a starring role.

* * *

“WOOO!” cried the bosomy redhead Friday night when Deacon dipped her on the dance floor. “You’re wild!”

“I do my best, darlin’.” While the woman giggled as he twirled her to the honky-tonk song, he couldn’t help but think of the time he’d held Ellie on this very spot. The fact that he could even remember such a thing was a sign he hadn’t drunk nearly enough.

Four quick shots later and Deacon’s head swam pleasantly.

It wasn’t often a man commemorated the loss of his best friend, then learned he was the father of that friend’s child, only to have said child snatched from him, all in the same week.

Worse yet, each time he touched the redhead’s hips, in his mind’s eye he saw Ellie naked and sprawled out before him, her blue eyes hazy with pleasure, her long inky hair playing hide and seek with her full breasts.

“Mind giving someone else a turn?” From behind him, a beer-bellied local copped an attitude. Ordinarily, Deacon would have graciously stepped aside, allowing a fellow dude the pleasure of a trip around the dance floor with a pretty lady. But as Deacon had already noted, there was nothing ordinary about this night, which was why he swung around to give the guy his best right.

“Hey, whoa!” Before he could launch another punch, Garrett grabbed Deacon’s swinging arm, while Tristan took his left.

“Please forgive him,” Tristan said to Deacon’s victim, whose eye was already starting to bruise.

Garrett took the liberty of tugging Deacon’s wallet from his back pocket and fishing out a few twenties. “Here,” he said, handing them over as a peace offering. There was nothing Base Commander Duncan hated more than hearing one of his men had started trouble—especially SEALs. “Our friend would love to buy your drinks for the rest of the night.”

“The hell I would,” Deacon snapped.

Tristan smacked the back of his head. “Would you shut up already?”

By the time his so-called friends shoved him into the backseat of Garrett’s Mustang, Deacon needed another few shots. “I was all right back there. I hardly need you two finishing my fight.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Garrett made a sharp left that sent Deacon flying. “Put on your seat belt.”

“Did he eat any of that pizza back at the apartment?” Tristan asked.

“Don’t think so. Makes sense. He didn’t eat lunch, either. Explains why he was such a lightweight.”

“I’m right here,” Deacon said to the two guys up front gossiping like old maids. “I hear everything you say.”

Garrett asked Tristan, “He ever tell you why Ellie was driving away in tears as we showed up?”

“Nope. I was too hungry to ask.”

Garrett nodded, glancing into the rearview mirror. “How about it? What was she even doing at our place?”

“I’ll tell you,” Deacon said, “but then I’ll have to kill you.”

“Fair enough.” Tristan angled to face him. “What’d you say that had her so upset and you drunker than I’ve seen you since finishing hell week?”

“You know Pia?” Deacon asked. “Tom and Ellie’s baby girl?”

“Well, yeah.” Stopped at a red light, Garrett glanced in the mirror. “She all right?”

“Oh—” Deacon had to laugh “—she’s just hunky-dory. Especially since I’m supposed to be her dad, only not around Tom’s folks.”

“What?” Garrett had just accelerated from zero to sixty, only to slam on the brakes, fishtailing into an empty grocery store lot. “Please tell me you didn’t just claim to be the father of your dead best friend’s kid.”

* * *

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, he’s not here?” Ellie felt bad enough about her last conversation with Deacon that guilt had driven her to ask Helen to watch Pia so Ellie could find him on base. She’d failed to tell Helen the true nature of her urgent errand.

The base security officer checked a computer screen. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hilliard, but Chief Petty Officer Murphy isn’t available.”

“He should be. Do you know where his team is?”

“Mrs. Hilliard, you know I’m not allowed to disclose that information.”

It took every shred of Ellie’s patience to thank the man and make an unhurried U-turn in the space so thoughtfully provided.

Damn the navy. Double damn all SEALs.

How many times had she needed Tom, only to be told he was unavailable? And then he’d show up days later, unable to tell her where or why he’d been gone. As much as she’d loved him, that portion of their relationship had been unnerving. All the pretty Virginia Beach barflies dreamed of snagging a SEAL. Little did they know that even after closing the deal, their lives would never be perfection. As much as she’d loved Tom, she’d equally missed him.

Where was Deacon?

Was he as upset as she was about the way they’d left things? Of course she wanted him to be Pia’s father in every sense of the word; she just wasn’t ready for Helen and John to know. Not yet. Deacon had to understand.

Why? a tiny voice prodded. Pia is his daughter. A flesh and blood part of him. Once Deacon got over the initial shock of learning he was a father, he would never back down. Not until the whole world knew Pia was his. Unfortunately for Ellie, he morally and legally had that right.

* * *

“I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE you just walked away.”

“From what?” At 1930 hours, Deacon glanced across the belly of the C-130 transport hauling them south to the Congo, where a U.S. ambassador and his family were being held for ransom by representatives of the wannabe government du jour.

From on top of an equipment crate, Garrett popped a sunflower seed in his mouth, snapping the shell open with his teeth. “Your daughter.”

“Stay out of it,” Deacon warned, his head still throbbing from his earlier activities at the bar. He had to cut back. Last thing he felt like doing was shouting above engine noise.

“No, seriously. You know what Tristan’s been through, missing his son. He tries hiding it with partying, but you don’t wanna end up hurting like him.” Garrett tucked the sunflower hull into his already bulging shirt pocket before grabbing another seed, then hopping down to join Deacon on one of the few rows of seats installed for their journey. “I never told you this, but I had a kid.”

One eye open, Deacon snorted. “You’re full of crap.”

“For real. Knocked up my high school sweetheart. Her dad shipped her off to some girls’ home, where she had my son, but he died.”

Deacon straightened. “Sorry, man. That’s awful.”

Shrugging, Garrett said, “It’s not anything I advertise.”

“Still…” Funny, how all of SEAL Team 12 had been through hell and back together, but there were still things Deacon didn’t know about his friends. With the remainder of their team either sleeping or off playing cards, he had the privacy to ask, “How did you work through something like that? Even a year later, losing Tom is damn near killing me. I can’t imagine losing a kid.”

“Compartmentalization, baby.” Tapping the side of his head, Garrett said, “Anything in me stings, I stick it in a box and shove it in the mental attic. Every so often—say, at Christmas—I take it out, toy with it a little—you know, wonder how different my life might be had our son lived. Would I have ended up with the girl? Ever joined the navy? Who knows?” He shrugged. “All I’m saying is that Pia is very much alive and cute as a bug. You should make getting to know her a priority.”

“Okay, whoa.” Deacon shook his head. “It’s hardly that simple. Ellie was Tom’s woman, not mine. The fact that she had my kid and not his is a crazy twist of fate. If guilt hadn’t been eating her alive over the fact that Pia needs a father and still has one, I don’t think she’d ever have told me I’m that guy. I know for a fact, now she did, that she wishes she hadn’t. She told me to my face she doesn’t want anyone—especially Tom’s folks—learning the truth.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Garrett popped another seed. “Way I see it, now that the cat’s out of the bag, you gotta feed it. Let’s say Tom was still alive when this came out. He knew you and Ellie had a fling.”

“He did?” Deacon sat up so abruptly he nearly choked on his spit.

“Everyone did. Thing is, he loved you like a brother, man. What happened with you and Ellie was in the past. He staked claim to her future. He never said anything, but given the short timing between their marriage and Pia’s birth, even he had to wonder. I know me and Tristan did.”

Deacon winced.

“Just think about it—becoming that little girl’s dad. She’s missing Tom, too. Maybe you could work through it together?”

* * *

AFTER TUMBLING FROM the plane’s belly in the dead of night, then floating silently to hostile ground, Deacon now stood, M-16 at the ready, just outside the U.S. ambassador’s home. The team stayed in the shadows—not easy, considering the obscene level of exterior lighting. They were used to trekking through desolate jungle or desert for miles to reach their targeted engagement arena, but this time had been different. Dropped on the outskirts of the capital city, they’d used lush tropical vegetation to their advantage.

The place was your typical British colonial, two-story mansion, complete with a glowing turquoise pool. The lower level featured plenty of open living space, which no doubt had contributed to the ease with which the bad guys had helped themselves to the ambassador and his family.

Aside from crickets, the only sound was tango music playing softly through hidden speakers. Above that rose an infant’s cries.

Once the team had surrounded the home, eliminating the remaining guards in the process, their leader gestured Deacon, Garrett and two other team members inside for a sweep. One by one, they searched the elegant rooms—now trashed—until on the second floor, they found a preteen male zip-tied to a desk chair, his mouth covered with duct tape. Given his wild eyes and dirty tearstained cheeks, Deacon wasn’t sure his immediate release was a great idea.

The spooked kid appeared capable of making a lot of noise.

On the other hand, he could also let them in on the secret of why the place felt voodoo deserted.

Deacon locked gazes with the kid, then put his finger to his mouth to urge him to silence.

Okay? Deacon hand-gestured to see if he understood.

The boy nodded.

The infant kept crying.

Deacon nodded to Garrett, who used his knife to eliminate the youth’s restraints.

Arms free, the kid removed the tape from his mouth. He whispered, “I don’t know where my parents are, but my baby sister’s still in her nursery.”

Deacon pointed to a closet, motioning for the kid to enter it. “We’ll come back for you. Until then, don’t move.”

Garrett led them out of the room, back to the wide, wood-floored hall. Someone had targeted a vase filled with fresh flowers on a marble-topped table and shot it to hell. A sick confetti of tropical greenery and blooms littered the water-slick planks.

Room after room they found ransacked and void

of life.

The infant’s ever-increasing wails grew harder to bear, but for fear they were walking into a trap, they couldn’t break the protocol of slowly securing the entire area.

Finally, Deacon and Garrett reached what must’ve once been a pretty nursery, only to now find “Die America” written in what appeared to be blood on yellow floral wallpaper.

Peering over the edge of a dark wood crib, Deacon found the source of the tears, only to recoil in horror. The infant wearing soiled pink pajamas couldn’t have been much over six months old. She also happened to sport a belt comprised of neat white strips of C-4 explosives attached to a blasting cap and timer. The glowing red digital display read :32, then clicked to :31, :30…

“Damn!” Deacon took what knowledge he had of the explosive to rationalize that without the blasting cap, the C-4 was stable. The problem was figuring which plastic-coated line was attached to what.

Outside, gunfire erupted.

The automatic rounds could be heard pinging off the house’s plaster exterior.

:20…

:19…

“Smile,” Garrett said, nodding toward a cheap video cam someone had thoughtfully set on a dresser. “We’re on Candid Camera.”

“Damn.” With twelve seconds to go, sweat literally dripped from Deacon’s forehead onto the wires he needed to clip. Odds were, whoever had planned this show wasn’t smart enough to have booby-trapped the explosives. Regardless, it was too late to do anything about it now.

At seven seconds, he said a prayer and eased his knife between rows of what looked like pale sticks of butter, to have his eye catch on what earlier had blended in. Velcro. The entire bloody thing was attached to the infant with simple strands of Velcro.

At four seconds, he ripped open the closure.

At three seconds, he kicked out the window.

Chapter Three

Ellie sipped green tea, staring out rain-streaked windows to the dark yard. How many times had she performed this vigil for Tom? Wondering where he was. What he was doing. Now that he was gone, she should’ve felt at peace, knowing he was safe in the arms of angels. But with Deacon now in danger, along with all Tom’s other team members, apprehension was still Ellie’s closest companion.

Wind shook the small house, pelting rain so hard against the glass it sounded like tacks hitting the panes. The night was miserable, blustery and colder than normal for the end of summer.

Though exhaustion clung to her like a heavy sheet, dulling her senses, sleep was out of the question. Ellie had tried reading, but her thoughts were too frenetic. TV held no appeal.

Wandering into the nursery, she peered at her child, at the long lashes sweeping those chubby cheeks. Even at rest, Pia’s beauty never failed to thrill her. Ellie and Tom had had epic, laughing battles over what their little girl might grow to be. Tom had claimed Pia was destined to be the first female SEAL. Ellie had insisted she would for sure be a doctor or movie star—maybe both.

Was Tom looking down on them now? If so, what did he think of Ellie’s deception? Would he have hated her for not telling the truth from the start? Or understood and appreciated her rationale, and invited Deacon to be an integral part of Pia’s life?