Chapter 8
The first thingthat D-Day saw when they entered the DEA conference room was Buck with his arms crossed, glaring at Kat, their CIA contact from the time they spent in West Africa. He couldn’t stop the twinge of guilt from biting him. Joker was standing next to him. Buck looked pissed, and from D-Day’s experience in gauging body language and threat levels, Buck’s was off the charts. What the hell had happened? He took a seat at the table along with his other teammates.
“What’s going on?” Blitz asked. “Has there been a break in the manhunt for Nacho?”
“No,” Joker said with a sigh. “More on that in a minute. This is about our rescuers in Costa Rica, the Navarro family.”
“Are they being threatened?” Zorro asked, his posture and tone protective. “I’m ready to go back down there to?—”
“They are in trouble, and it’s possible they are in danger as well,” Joker said. His LT looked one hundred percent after two months of recovery, but there were shadows in his eyes. D-Day couldn’t blame him. If it hadn’t been for Sofia Morales, he would have died. There was no doubt in D-Day’s mind about it.
“They have her under surveillance,” Buck gritted out. “The whole family in fact.”
“What? Why? That gifted woman saved his life. Why are they suspects?” Zorro said, standing up and looking between Kat and LT.
“Let’s all take a seat,” Kat said, looking at Russ Watson, the DEA agent who had been working this case in tandem with authorities in Mexico, Colombia, Guatemala, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, and Panama to apprehend and dismantle the transshipment of illicit drugs through Central America. She took a breath, then said, “I’ll let Russ fill you in.”
“We have evidence that someone on the property contacted representatives of the Siachoque Cartel to give away your position. At this moment, we don’t have any evidence that someone on the plantation is running drugs through there. We’ve been following and conducting surveillance on all members of the Navarro family. Someone fucked with our mission to get our hands on Nacho. We were compromised in some way, but at this time we don’t know what happened. We’re still sifting through everything.”
“And our mission?” D-Day asked.
“Three-fold,” Joker said, shifting to the front of the room. “We’re going to be deployed to La Buena Tierra Plantation to protect against the Siachoque Cartel’s retaliation for the Navarros’ assistance in giving us safe haven after the helicopter crash, and we’ll be looking for Nacho, but…” He trailed off and gave Buck a quick glance. “Our main reason for being there is information gathering. Buck has developed a close relationship with Maritza Navarro. He will be going undercover while there to acquire information that may be helpful to the investigation.”
Buck made a disgusted noise, and Joker shot him a stern look. “You’ve got eighteen hours before wheels up.”
“Welcome back to the cycle,” Professor said.
“Dismissed,” Joker said, but D-Day didn’t immediately rise. He thought about how he’d left Wyoming and that he hadn’t spoken to Buck regarding Helen. He still wasn’t sure he even should. He’d knowingly crossed the line, and although he felt like it had been something out of his control, it did reflect on his honor and his commitment to his team.
She hadn’t contacted him since they parted ways, and it was both painful and a relief. He decided it was how it should be since getting involved with her would be too difficult, and her connection to Buck’s family problematic.
“Buck, you stay,” Joker said, which was his cue to leave.
He couldn’t seem to let go of his concerns, especially with the way Buck looked. So, instead of going home, he drove over to Buck’s townhouse and sat in his car waiting for him. Blitz pulled up behind him, then Professor, Gator, Zorro, and Bear showed up, taking slots up and down the street. Buck pulled into his garage, and when D-Day and his other teammates stepped out of their vehicles, Buck set his hands on his hips for a moment as if gathering himself, then he waved them in.
Buck went through the house to the stairs that led to his roof patio, muttering, “Nosy bastards.” He went to the small fridge there, and as the guys came onto the roof, Buck tossed them a beer. D-Day caught the bottle with ease and settled into one of the many deck chairs facing the spectacular view of the ocean. For a moment, he was back at BUD/S, leaping into the dark ocean, gasping reflexively as the water closed over his head. Although he hated the cold, he couldn’t hate BUD/S or that rotation. All his life he knew a desk job would kill his spirit. He wanted to do something bigger than himself, expand his consciousness, and here it was, aching in every bone, coursing through every strained muscle, and in every beat of his heart. The bite of the ocean, the briny smell of rotting kelp, the sand abrading his legs—it all pointed to one glorious conclusion: he was living his dream. A smile broke out on his face as he watched the waves wash to shore.
That feeling during BUD/S increased tenfold when he was in Wyoming. Nothing, other than his service to Uncle Sam, lived up to it. The sheer guts, the required physicality, the hard work, and the satisfaction of a job well done filled him with a craving for more. There was something so honest and clean about the Bucking Horse ranch that drew him back there as often as Buck would let him visit. Not to mention how much he loved his teammate’s family…Helen. The guilt filled him again. The thought was wistful and much too painful as he pushed away her image and his emotions and needs surrounding her. Nothing would be right now that he’d transgressed on their sacred oath. Was their relationship permanently tarnished?
He twisted off the top and chucked the disk into a bucket near him, the sound of it hitting made a tinkling metal sound. He took a swig, the heat of the sun beating down on him. It was cold and refreshing as he swallowed.
“Close relationship?” Blitz started the conversation. “How did that happen? We thought you were in Wyoming.”
Buck looked solitary with his Stetson still on his head and his expression fixed. He could tell by the look in Buck’s eyes that the very last thing he needed today was this.
There was a strained silence as all eyes fastened on Buck. “He wants to tell us that it’s none of our goddamned business,” Gator said, his accent thick, sending Buck a contentious look. “And, in part, he’s right. But he knows that’s not going to fly now.” He leaned forward, his expression full of intent. “I know what it’s like to be caught up in a situation you feel powerless to affect, and throw into the mix a woman of such exceptional quality that you can’t keep your hands off her…” He looked at Blitz and Professor, and if Joker had been here, Gator would have looked at him, too. “First and foremost, we’re here for you, Buck. Always and forever. Hoo-yah!”
That got to D-Day, and his throat got tight. He wanted to support Buck as well, fully and completely, and the guilt eased a little at Gator’s fierce tone. This is how he felt regarding Helen, a woman of exceptional quality. “So, fill us in so our nosy bastard radars are appeased, and we can support you in whatever it is that you have to do.”
Buck’s mouth tightened, and the deep green eyes, which had moments ago glowed with the bright lights of anger, hardened like emeralds. “We ran into each other in a dress shop.” He delivered this news like it wasn’t a big deal.
Scoffs and amusement erupted all around the circle. Professor slid his sunglasses down his nose, his brows lifted a notch, and a smile hovered around his mouth. “A dress shop? You going to the prom?” he asked.
Gator leaned back and eyed Buck as dubiously as if he had announced he was from the planet Krypton. “I think pink is your color.”
“I hope you did swatches before picking it out,” Blitz said, giving a snort and waving off a buzzing fly. He chuckled.
“Three thousand miles and some change between you, and she drops into your lap. Sounds like fate,” Zorro said.
Scowling ferociously, as Professor started singing “Buttons and Bows,” Buck gave them looks that most men would have heeded. They weren’t most men. “The dress was for my sixteen-year-old sister,” he gritted out, no humor in his tone.
“We,” Gator said, encompassing Blitz and Professor in his looks, “know what you’re going through. We’ve been there. It’s a hard maze to navigate, and that’s something you’ll have to work out as you go.” He sighed. “If it’s any consolation, I wouldn’t give up Izzy for anything.”
Blitz nodded. “Bree is my foundation and my life. But it was touch and go there for a while, a personal journey. But I didn’t have to deal with wondering if the woman I was involved with was the enemy.”
Gator sniffed and met Buck’s eyes. “Izzy was…challenging. Supremely annoying and complicated, and pushy, and…wonderful. But she was fully on our side.”
“There’s no evidence, not a shred, that Maritza is involved in drug trafficking. She’s a skilled and passionate businesswoman, but my hands are tied here. This mission is classified, and I can’t share anything with her about it. She’s going to think we’re there to protect her, her family, and their plantation. It goes against everything I believe to be dishonest, but my loyalties lie with Uncle Sam, first and foremost. If she’s guilty, she will be brought to justice along with anyone else who put us all in danger and obstructed our mission to get that fucking Nacho.”
“That’s got to be the most ridiculous name on the planet for a drug-dealing, murdering scum-sucking fucker I’ve ever heard,” Zorro said.
There was a chuckle around the circle and Buck nodded. “Yeah.” He sobered, then said, “I spent some time with her.” His voice lowered into an aching whisper. “Intimate time with her, and I like that girl. Dammit.” He looked away and let out a hard breath. “Lying to her won’t be easy. None of this will be easy.”
“The only easy day was yesterday,” Blitz intoned.
“Well, you’ll put on your Big Frogman Pants, and you’ll do the job. We’ll all be doing the job, Buck. You can count on that,” Gator said.
Buck nodded and took a long drink of his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Zorro looked at Bear. “You’ve been quiet. What do you think of all of this?” All of them riveted on Bear and his deep wisdom.
Bear, his face as inscrutable as usual, said, “Whatever braces Buck’s tepee pole is fine with me.”
That did it. The line delivered in Bear’s usual matter-of-fact tone got to them all, including Buck. Buck gave the big man a menacing look then grinned as he shook his head.
A moment later, the very air seemed to shiver. Bear’s eyes narrowed as if he was channeling something none of them could see. “As we know, wolves run in a pack, and we’re always out for blood. Those who challenge us will go under our teeth one way or another.”
The spark of humor in Buck’s eyes faded, and he stared at Bear, then the rest of them, a heavy retrospective look settling on his face. He lifted his bottle. “To the pack,” he said.
“To the pack,” everyone repeated, then they clinked bottles to seal the deal.
When the party broke up, D-Day headed out of Buck’s townhouse.He looked out to the ocean at someone fishing from the shore, his heart heavy. The sky that had been a fine clear blue earlier was now banded with clouds tumbling up from the far horizon. The wind had come up as well and shook the leaves of a tree that grew near his car, flipping them inside out.
He stood there for a long moment beside the door to his vehicle, just staring at the ocean, wondering at the mistakes he’d made. Not even time away from Bedford softened the memories of his humiliation, just the image of the town resurrecting old pain, old shame.
He raked his hand through his hair and rubbed at the tension in the back of his neck. He should have stayed here in San Diego.
The if onlys piled up all over the place, adding to the pile he’d started as a teenager. The layers below were thick with remorse, hard with guilt. If only he’d seen his high school crush Heather for who she was…If only he hadn’t gone to Wyoming…If only he could overcome his own self-disgust…
If only he weren’t so ineffectual and weak…
If only.
But even with all that, the image of Helen burned in his mind like a beacon…of hope, of an even harder fall from grace, of a salvation that he craved and didn’t think he would ever achieve. He learned all over again how cruel life could be, even as he faced the fire in his own soul. He wasn’t destined to lose her, that battle had already been lost when he walked away. Now? Now he had to live with his decision, even as that image of her still burned.
* * *
After no responsefrom the first three texts Mari sent Buck, she wasn’t worried. He was a straight shooter and wouldn’t have ghosted her. He also wouldn’t have spent two of the most wonderful days she’d ever experienced with her if he hadn’t been interested.
She hadn’t managed to avoid thinking about him, even when it came to her business trip and all that was riding on her success. What she remembered most about him was his honesty, and his directness when he was talking to her about his life, especially about his time growing up on his ranch. There was more to that story, and she craved the information as much as she craved his hard-muscled body. Thank you, Uncle Sam.
All the memories came rushing back, flooding her mind with vivid details and forcing her to recall every grin, every nuance of his personality, every pleasurable, thrilling, and emotional sensation of Sam “Buck” Buckard. Especially the way he’d lost control of that tough resolve with her.
It was the emotional part that she was surprised about because she’d never, ever expected to feel so connected to Buck in anything more than a physical way. Sex with him had been exceptional, hotter and better than she’d ever imagined, but it was the aftermath of their time together that shook Mari to her core.
Something was happening between them that Mari couldn’t quite define, but whatever it was, it was something she did not want to jeopardize. Add to that the glimmer of tenderness she’d seen often in his gaze, and was it any wonder that her heart was feeling a bit torn and confused?
If he’d been able, he would have answered her. There was no doubt in her mind.
No, he must have been deployed. She mollified herself with that thought as she kept her appointment with a building owner in the Gaslamp district. The rest of her trip had been a resounding success with a beautiful venue bought and ready for renovation in each city: LA, Monterey, San Francisco, Portland, and Seattle.
The brick building was a bit dilapidated for the location, but she could see the charm and potential of the ground floor transformed into the Golden Grain lobby and coffee shop with the corporate offices on the second floor, and her living space on the top floor, a loft-sized area of five-thousand square feet.
She had bought the building on the spot, then went on to visit her grandparents, eager to tell them about Buck, but refraining. She couldn’t really say she was seeing someone when it had only been a few days. As hard as it would be to swallow, the reality of their jobs kept them apart. At this time, she didn’t even live in San Diego, and he was tethered to Coronado and the Navy.
To keep her mind occupied, she threw herself into her work, neglecting even contacting her family as she negotiated construction contracts, picked out building materials, tiles, flooring, furnishings, office equipment, and planned landscaping.
She finished everything she needed to do, hired a manager to oversee everything, then took a late-night flight home. At the airport, she caught a late bus back to La Cruz. Except for Carmen’s dress, she left her luggage with the bus company for pick up the next day and grabbed a ride from one of her laborers to the crossroad near her house, walking the rest of the way back to La Buena Tierra.
Everything was dark when she got there, and she was startled when she encountered one of the guards, who let her through the moment he recognized her. When she reached the house, she slipped inside quietly so as not to disturb any of her sleeping family. When she reached her room, she undressed, washed up, and fell into bed.
The next morning, she overslept and woke up as if she was coming out of a three-day drunkenness. She immediately checked her cell phone. Nothing from Buck.
After trying to alleviate her gray mood in a long hot shower, Mari put on a ratty T-shirt and an old pair of ripped jeans that had seen better days. She was going to keep herself occupied by cleaning out and scouring the roasting shed. They were getting ready for the tail end of the harvest, which began in October, and she would be roasting a lot of coffee in the next few weeks. Her deputy roaster had taken over for her when she’d gone to San Diego. The hard labor would also keep her mind off Buck. He was going to respond to her. It was just a matter of time.
She tried to shore up her disappointment by remaining positive. When she reached the shed, she opened the door and went inside. The most important part of their business other than growing and picking the coffee beans was the roaster. It was imperative to keep it in working order, and not just because the taste of the coffee could be compromised, but for safety purposes. She’d noticed the last time she’d roasted that she’d had to up the airflow, and bad airflow could reduce her machine by ten to twenty percent efficiency.
One of the main issues was the buildup of oils, creosote, and other solid waste in the exhaust ductwork during roasting. When green coffee beans were heated, they released various by-products that could disrupt airflow and increase the risk of fires if they weren’t maintained—namely chaff, which was highly flammable.
This was one of the dirtiest jobs, and she always did it first to get the hard work out of the way. After donning protective eyewear, gloves, and an apron, Mari got her brushes ready and mixed up a solution to get the more stubborn oils out of the pipes.
She disassembled the silver pipes into their respective pieces, then using one of the wire brushes with the appropriate length, swept it inside the tubes until she’d brushed all the brown residue and chaff into a garbage bag. Once they were all free of most of the deposits, she used the solution to scrub each piece. Then reassembled the ductwork back into the nozzle on the machine so it once again vented to the outside.
With that done, she tackled the inside of the roaster, taking care to remove all the residue, including underneath and behind the shutter that let the green beans into the pan. The chaff collector was cleaned at the end of every day, but she took a grate roller to the holes to keep them clear. The chaff was recycled for use as animal bedding or compost.
“Wow, when did you get home?”
Mari turned to find her sister Carmen at the door to the roasting shed. She was home from school, and Mari was shocked at how much time had passed. The roaster was finished, gleaming, and ready for her next session. She was filthy from head to toe.
“I’d hug you, but you are all icky and smelly.” Carmens eyes were twinkling as she wrinkled her nose.
“Gee, thanks, kid,” Mari scoffed.
Carmen was practically dancing. “So, the dress?”
“Gorgeous and in my room, but you’re going to have to wait until I’m clean. I want to see you open it. Give me twenty minutes.”
Twenty minutes to the second, Carmen knocked on her door. Mari opened it still in her bathrobe. Carmen grinned and ducked inside. The box was on the bed, and she made a beeline to it. She looked at her sister and Mari nodded. “Go ahead.” As excited as her sister, she waited for her reaction.
Carmen ripped through the tissue paper and gasped, then sighed. “Oh, God. It’s more beautiful in person.” She pulled it out of the box, her eyes shining, and her face suffused with joy. Mari was so happy for her sister.
Carmen held it up to herself, turning to Mari’s full-length mirror. “Thank you so much for doing this for me, Mari. I love you so much! I’ve got to show my friends.” She headed for the door and was gone.
Mari chuckled and got dressed for dinner in an off-the-shoulder black, red, and yellow floral sundress that hit her just above the knee along with a pair of black strappy sandals. She left her hair loose.
When she reached the kitchen, it was empty, only the smells of the prepared dinner lingered. She frowned, poking her head into the main dining room, but there was no one there. Strange.
As she approached the back patio, which was aligned with tables for when they had a party or gathering, voices drifted in from the open French doors. She slipped through the opening and walked onto the river rock patio, then stopped. Her family was here, everyone, and…special forces, identifiable by their jungle camouflage uniforms. There were also two other people she didn’t recognize, a tall, beautiful redhead, and a dark-haired man sitting next to her. She wondered who they were, and what had prompted this invasion of her peaceful home. Her sister spied her, carrying a large bowl of salad.
She breezed up to Mari and said, “Welcome back.” Her eyes were dancing with mischief. “Our team of warriors are back, including your hunky man. They’re going to be protecting us from the cartel. What do you think about that, Za?”
She was turning her head to face the unexpected visitors when she saw Buck. His shoulder was braced against one of the old wood posts holding up the roof, and his thumbs were hooked in the pockets of his camo pants, the stance pulling the fabric of his green T-shirt across his chest. As he shifted his weight slightly, his altered position accentuated the strong contours of his jaw and the muscled thickness of his neck, making her so very aware of his powerful build.
For a breathless moment, they stood staring at each other, then her father broke the spell. “My light,” he said in Spanish, and she broke eye contact with Buck, focusing on her father. “You’re home. Come sit next to me. I want to hear all about your trip.” He patted the chair, and Mari had no choice but to comply. She nodded at the men she’d met briefly, noting how good they all looked, as thankful as she had been for Buck’s health, especially Joker.
“It’s good to see you all, and you, Lieutenant Jackman. Welcome again to La Buena Tierra.”
“Thank you. I’m only sorry that both times aren’t under more favorable circumstances. I’m in debt to your family for your assistance to me and my men. I couldn’t offer my thanks the last time I was here.” He turned to look at Sofia, who smiled warmly. “Especially to your sister.”
Mari nodded, feeling as if she couldn’t breathe. So, Buck had been deployed. That’s why he hadn’t responded. But here, at La Buena Tierra was the last place she expected to see him.
She took her seat, and Buck moved to the table and sat across from her in the vacant seat near her father.
She avoided looking at him as the dinner progressed, aware of every move he made and the conversation between him and her father. There was no way to talk to him with her raucous family, knowing full well that her sisters watched her with bated breaths.
Her heart was pounding wildly, and her hands weren’t quite steady as she finally looked at him, expecting that intent, volatile gaze burning through her. But a strange tightness filled her chest as she met his eyes, hoping for some clue as to what was going through his mind.
His full mouth was pulled into an unyielding line, and there was an unusual tenseness about him that she found particularly distressing. He seemed so isolated, and Mari had the sudden urge to comfort him. He blinked and for a split second, there was a bleak look in his eyes, then he looked away.
Gone was the man who had wooed her, seduced her with his body, eyes, and smile. It suddenly felt as if she was truly looking at a stranger.