Chapter 9 #4
She had a clear assessment of the problem. And, aside from Robert, the men seemed to be stand-up guys.
“We’ll start the next scenario as soon as we move the props around.” She opened the other bottle and took a sip. “Would you prefer to play good guy or family member?”
“Fight or sit on my ass. What do you think?”
Her husky laugh made him harden to discomfort. “All right. Are you any good at hand-to-hand or—”
“Put me where you need me, Anne. I can hold my own.”
“As you wish.” She smiled. “The second scenario is done in full gear. Prepare to get sweaty.”
The end of the third scenario escalated into a total brawl. Grinning happily in the humid night air, Anne dodged a fist and counter punched. Hers landed. Sweat trickled down her back. Her hair had come loose from the braid and was sticking to her damp face.
The final takedown had turned into a free-for-all. The fugitive—she’d assigned Robert as a punishment—had broken out of the house, along with his violent relatives who were determined not to let the agents take him. The team had surrounded the group in the backyard and moved in.
So. Much. Fun.
The ground was soft, and the filtered moonlight made opponents difficult to see. By tradition, the game used an honor system of light torso hits. If two blows landed, the receiver went down for a ten count.
Ben was amazing.
As Aaron had noted, the guard dog was surprisingly fast. He was also excellent at hand-to-hand. If he wasn’t a black belt in a martial art, she’d eat her pistol. And he was obviously enjoying himself.
Even better, he’d fought beside her, and—rather than going all protective on her ass—he’d grinned as she flattened a bad guy. “Bravo Zulu, Ma’am.”
She swiped an arm over her forehead and stepped back to assess the situation. Only two of the skip’s relatives were still fighting. And the fugitive—
“You’re all dead,” Robert screamed and aimed at Anne with a pistol someone had dropped.
Her weapon was holstered. She heard the ping of a bead hitting cloth—and then multiple pellets hit her in the chest.
Robert, the repugnant rodent, had killed her. He’d also won, since the “death” of anyone stopped the play. The fact was acid in her gut.
“Stand down,” Anne shouted. “Game over.”
As the casualties regained their feet, Anne turned toward her brother. As the backup guy, he was to be standing off to one side, and available to use “lethal force” if needed. “Why aren’t you in position?”
Travis shrugged. “I wanted to fight, so halfway through I traded assignments with Ben.” He glanced at Ben. “Why didn’t you shoot him?”
Ben smiled slightly. “I did. Before he pulled the trigger. He ignored it.”
Anne stiffened. “Seriously?” The rodent had screwed up again? She raised her voice. “Robert, Ben says he shot you before you started shooting.”
“Nah, he didn’t. No one shot me. He must’ve missed.”
She didn’t doubt Ben’s word at all. Anne glanced around at the rest of the players. “Did any of you see?”
No one had.
“There should be two marks on his sternum,” Ben said, an amused glint in his eyes.
Anne studied him. She’d seen him angry once—at a bachelorette party when someone had harassed Rainie. Today? Despite having his word questioned twice, he wasn’t even close to being upset. She turned back to Robert. “Lift up your shirt. Let’s see.”
“You want to look at my cock too, while you’re at it?”
Oh, she’d had enough of that. Anne’s foot impacted said cock—and balls as well—solidly enough to fold the idiot half over…although not nearly enough to have him puking for an hour.
Sometimes she hated showing restraint.
However, he was nicely bent over so she could grab his shirt’s hem and yank the garment up and off.
He remained bent over, hiding his chest.
Still annoyed, she kicked his feet out from under him.
He landed on his back with a solid thud and made a pitiful whining sound.
Laughing under his breath, Travis shined his flashlight on Robert’s pale white chest. Everyone could see two red marks within an inch of each other.
“You were dead already.” Anne stared down at him in disbelief. “That makes twice you’ve cheated and lied.”
He scrambled up. “Those marks were from when I ran into a tree. You’re just trying to make me look bad because I’m better than you are.”
“In your dreams,” she said.
“You won’t lead this team for long, bitch.” After yanking his shirt back on, he scooped up the weapon he’d lost. “I’m out of here.”
His departure didn’t bother her, but two men followed him. He’d created a schism in her team.
“Hey, Anne. I caught the ending. Hell of a finale.” Her brother Harrison strolled across the grass, looking like a GQ model, quite the contrast to the bedraggled, muddy, sweating agents.
He offered Ben his hand. “Nice fighting and shooting. I don’t go out in the field often, but I’d team up with you any day. Harrison Desmarais.”
“Thanks. But I’m not on the crew. Just visiting Anne.” Ben shook his hand. “Ben Haugen.”
“That’s too ba—Ben Haugen, as in a Ranger?”
Ben’s face went blank. He nodded.
Frowning, Anne moved closer in case he needed her help.
“Jesus fuck. You’re a legend, man. I’m proud to meet you.” Harrison turned to Travis. “Bro, you’re playing with an Army Ranger sniper.”
Well. No wonder the man was so comfortable with team games.
Travis grinned. “And Robert tried to say you’d missed? What a dick.”
“C’mon, let me treat you to a beer.” Harrison slapped Ben on the back.
When Ben gave her an inquiring glance, she smiled and nodded. She needed to start debriefing the team on the latest exercise; he might as well go have a drink.
As Ben and Harrison headed toward the front yard and the cooler, Anne noticed her father in the parking area. He strolled up, shoulders still military straight, gray hair kept short, aware of everything around him. If a grizzly attacked, her father would probably put it down in speedy order.
“Hey, Dad,” Travis said from beside her. “What brings you out?”
“I came with Harrison to watch the last game—or should I call it a brawl?” He smiled and slapped his son’s shoulder. “Fine job with the old one-two-three.”
Travis grinned. “I let a punch past that I should have blocked, but it was a good fight.”
“Until the end,” Anne’s father said and turned to her.
Her hopes rose for one brief second. Since she’d kept an eye on the others, she knew her brother had skirmished well. She also knew her fighting had been as good, if not better than her brother’s. Would her father say so?
“What the H were you doing out there in the fight?” her father snapped. “What Robert did was exactly what I worry about—that you’ll get yourself killed. You shouldn’t have been involved at all.”
Her anticipation collapsed into bitter disappointment, and the backs of her eyes prickled. Why did she always set herself up this way? She knew—knew—he’d never praise her fighting. He’d been generous with approval when she was singing, cooking, painting, or doing school projects and homework.
But get a compliment from her father for something traditionally performed by a male? Never.
Her head knew he wouldn’t ever change; for some stupid reason, her heart kept hoping.
“Maybe…” She evened out her voice. “Maybe someday, you’ll realize you were a good teacher.
” He’d taught all his children to fight and shoot, although when Anne started taking martial arts seriously, he’d refused to teach her any longer.
She’d paid for additional lessons with her own money—although her mother had quietly raised her allowance to help.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to gather my crew and start the analysis. ”
By the time she’d reached her group, he was already leaving. She shook her head. Wasn’t it funny that a parent could shape who a person was—and then refuse to see them that way?
While Travis handed out sandwiches, beer, and cold drinks, the team sprawled out on blankets as Anne led the wrap-up and dissection of the scenarios. Everyone ignored the fact three team members were missing. The discussion was lively.
After dismissing the group, she waved a farewell to Travis and headed for the parking lot.
Ben waited patiently by the SUV where Bronx had been tied.
Anne glanced around and saw the retriever was hunting field mice in the grass.
“Time to go, buddy,” Ben called before smiling at her. “You want to drive or want me to?”
“You can, if you don’t mind,” she said. “I’d love to be pampered.”
He touched her cheek with gentle fingers. “It would be my pleasure to pamper you, Ma’am.”
She laid her hand on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through the T-shirt. Somehow, being cared for by him felt…different…than from her slaves, yet his obvious delight in serving was the same. “Thank you.”
The highway was dark and soon empty as the others turned off, going their various ways. Leaving the smaller road, Ben swung onto Highway 19, heading south.
After pulling a sparkling water from the cooler for her and handing him a Coke, Anne settled back against the seat cushions. “So. Army Rangers?”
“Been a few years now.”
She took a sip of her drink and considered asking more questions. Something wasn’t quite right with him, and she itched to explore further. To fix whatever was wrong. But it wouldn’t be fair to him. He wasn’t her boy; he wasn’t her job. “Okay. So what did you think of the team?”
He glanced at her. “You’re not going to push for more information?”
Definitely a smart guy. “No. You’re not my slave. I don’t have the right.”
The light from the dash showed how his lips pressed together. After a long pause, he said, “I was a sniper and good at it. Killed a lot of the enemy. I caught a bullet, was on medical leave. After thinking about it, I didn’t re-up.”
Short and terse, yet the words seemed drawn from the bottom of his soul. Something in there still bothered him.
And why was he telling her? Because he disagreed with the limits she’d placed on their…whatever this was?