Chapter 11 Rosemary #2
I shrugged my shoulder and pulled back my lips, showing him my canines.
“Lookin’ sharp,” he commented.
I snorted. “Really?”
“Seemed like the right thing at the moment,” he chuckled.
My clothes grew more damp the longer we sat there, our conversation moving on to less fraught topics like the U-bolt that Pop needed for the tractor before he could use the brush hog attachment to clear out the small field behind the barn.
I forced myself not to look at the clock on the stove for as long as I could, but eventually my gaze landed there.
I nearly cursed out loud when I realized Daniel had been gone less than an hour and a half.
“Where do you think they are?”
“Probably gettin’ close to the coast,” Pop replied. “Want another?”
“No thanks,” I said as he put more whiskey in his own glass.
“You want me to get an edible?”
I shook my head. I needed to know how bad things would get without it, and I was a little afraid to have anything mind-altering when I knew Daniel was on—for all intents and purposes—a mission. If something happened, I wanted to be clearheaded.
“Did you know Daniel has his pilot’s license?” Pop asked as I stared at the clock.
God bless him for trying to keep me distracted.
“Yep,” I replied.
“Good thing to have in the family,” he mused. “Maybe he’ll take me somewhere tropical.”
“Uncle Dalton also has his pilot’s license and a plane. Plus, you hate the beach.”
“I don’t hate swim-up bars,” he countered.
“You’re so full of shit.”
“Did I ever tell you that Dalton took me up one time and let me take over the controls?”
“No!” I raised my eyebrows. “How was it?”
“Felt like I was gonna shit myself,” he replied, widening his eyes.
“Well, at least you didn’t crash.”
“Pretty hard to crash at that altitude when I only had the controls for about a minute,” he replied ruefully. “But, damn. It was wild while it lasted.”
“Did Mom know you two were fucking around in Uncle Dalton’s plane?”
“Hell no,” he replied immediately. “She would’ve killed me.”
I laughed. She probably wouldn’t have killed him, but she would’ve berated him for it until the day she died. My mother had married a man whose job was one of the most dangerous in the world, but she still lost her mind if he didn’t wear a helmet or did anything else that had the slightest risk.
She always told me she didn’t worry about Pop when he was working because she knew his training would bring him through, but she was terrified that he would do something stupid when he was home and get himself killed.
“Do you think Mom would like Daniel?” I asked just as the phone rang.
Pop was out of his wheelchair with a quickness I hadn’t seen in literal years.
My heart gave a pitiful lurch as I stood and watched as he snatched it off the wall.
“Halle,” he said.
His face lost all emotion as he turned toward me.
“You’re in the safe room?”
“Boys are with you?”
“Let me talk to Grant.”
His hand gripped the edge of the counter so tightly his knuckles were white.
“Hey, bud,” he said, his voice just slightly gentler than he’d been with my aunt. “How many did you see?” He paused. “Right. You did the right thing.”
I moved toward him.
“You know the password?”
“Arm yourselves.”
“Yeah, you stay where you are. You don’t leave that room unless you hear the password. I’ll be there soon.”
He went silent again, gritting his teeth so hard that I was surprised I couldn’t hear it.
“I’ll beat you within an inch of your life if you leave that fucking room.”
“All right. Hang tight.”
“What?” I demanded as he hung up the phone.
“Dalton and Halle’s is under attack,” he snapped, limping out of the kitchen.
“What do you mean, under attack?” I asked, following on his heels.
“Exactly what it fuckin’ sounds like.”
“How many men?”
“Grant wasn’t sure. He said he saw maybe ten before he got your aunt and Seamus into the safe room.”
“Fuck,” I mumbled as Pop opened up the safe in the living room. “Did they get ahold of Uncle Dalton?”
“He’s black,” Pop replied, handing me a rifle.
“Shit,” I whispered, laying the rifle on the couch.
It made sense that Uncle Dalton had cut all communication. It was imperative that they weren’t interrupted while they were breaching Adamson’s beach house. It was just really fucking terrible timing.
I took another rifle and set it next to the previous one. “I thought they had security.”
“They did,” Pop replied grimly.
It took less than five minutes before every weapon we owned that was readily available was staged in the living room. Boxes of ammunition were stacked by caliber on the coffee table. The armchair held pistols in neat rows. Rifles covered the couch.
“Pop,” I said softly, looking from him to the weapons and back again.
There were only two of us, and one of us spent most of his time in a wheelchair.
Against ten or more assailants.
I was sure of my skill, but I wasn’t fucking crazy.
“I’m goin’,” he said, brushing his thumb over my cheek. “I’ll make some calls on the way, see if I can round anyone up. If you want to stay—”
“Oh, fuck off,” I shot back, stepping away. “I need five minutes to get dressed.”
“Same,” he said, following me down the hallway.
Ignoring the way my muscles screamed and my guts clenched and my head pounded, I stripped down to my underwear and started from scratch.
Luckily, when we’d set me up to be kidnapped, we’d moved everything that would look suspicious to someone going through my shit to Pop’s house.
Kneeling beside the bed, I pulled out the long, shallow plastic bin and threw it open.
First, I tugged on a snug black sports bra. Then, a long-sleeved undershirt. Black trousers. Black socks. Black steel-toe boots. With every piece of clothing, I felt myself falling further into the familiar feeling of both detachment and laser focus.
I tossed the lightweight bulletproof vest on the bed, then the tactical vest, two holsters, two knife sheaths that hung on my belt, and my lucky hoodie. I started threading my belt as I got to my feet, adding the sheaths and one of the holsters.
Then I opened up my phone, found my contacts, and pressed the speaker button.
“Hello?” an unfamiliar accented voice answered.
“Erik?” I wrapped the other holster around my thigh, adjusting the tightness because I’d lost some muscle.
“Who’s this?”
“Is this Erik Boucher?” I asked, reaching for the bulletproof vest. It wasn’t rated for anything beyond handguns, but it was better than nothing. My heavier vest was still in my locker at Strike.
“It is,” he replied slowly.
“My name is Rosemary Whitlock.” I pulled on my hoodie.
He didn’t say anything.
“Uh…I’m your son Daniel’s mate.”
“Is Danny okay?”
“As far as I know,” I replied, shaking my head. “Look, he gave me your number and told me to call if I ever needed to.” Pulling on my tactical vest, I zipped it up the front, making sure that all the pouches were where I’d left them and in easy reach.
“What can I do for you?” The words were immediate.
“Well, Danny is, uh…unavailable at the moment, and I’m in a bit of a pickle.”
“Tell me what you need.”
It took less than a minute to explain the situation, and then I was on the move.
The pockets on my vest were full, and I’d already chosen my weapons when Pop came striding back down the hallway, his shoulders straight and his expression a mirror of my own.
“Do you think we’ll need explosives?” I asked, bouncing on the balls of my feet to make sure everything would stay where I put it.
“You want to explain to Dalton why we blew his property up?” he asked, his hands finding and choosing ammunition by rote.
“I’m bringing some anyway,” I replied. “I’ll meet you at the truck.”
I ran to the lean-to against the back of the barn and undid the combination lock while simultaneously trying to ignore the new way my body responded to my commands.
I felt awkward and uncoordinated, my muscles straining to do things they’d done automatically before.
I’d been so sick that I hadn’t even tried to work out after that morning with the tire, and now I was paying for it.
It didn’t help that running made the tightness in my chest feel like a balloon that had reached capacity and was about to pop from the pressure.
I stuffed a couple of small blocks of C-4 and a handful of blasting caps in my trouser pockets, just in case we needed them.
I locked up and ran toward the headlights shining through the side yard. Pop was already inside, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel as he waited for me. Thunder sat in the center of the bench seat, his tongue lolling halfway out of his mouth.
“Go,” I ordered as I threw myself inside.
Pop spun in a wide circle and raced back down the road while I pulled the rifle strap off my neck and set it next to the one I was holding at my feet.
“How are we doing this?” I asked, reaching up to pull my hair into a tightly woven braid.
“I’ll park at the end of the road, and we’ll make our way on foot.”
“Pop, how are you going to do that?” I asked reasonably.
I wasn’t even sure how he was carrying all the supplies he had. Walking a quarter of a mile up Uncle Dalton’s driveway was going to fuck him up big time.
“You got any other ideas?” he asked, barely glancing at me. “You wanna pull up to the door, Rosemary? Knock and see if they’ll let us in?”
“Don’t fucking snap at me.”
“Stop asking stupid questions.” He grimaced. “I’ll do what needs to be done.”
Fuck, I really wished my mate was with us. I tried to regulate my breathing as we raced toward Uncle Dalton and Aunt Halle’s property, but nothing seemed to be working. The heat was seriously fucking with my focus. My mouth watered and my throat spasmed as I tried to convince my body not to vomit.
I’d seen Daniel in action. If I’d had him at my back, I would’ve felt a lot better about what we were walking into. I wanted him close enough to touch. Just the sight of him would’ve made the fear that clung to me loosen its grip.