Epilogue
NEW YORK CITY, FOUR WEEKS LATER
Situated flat on his belly, elbows propped up, legs stretched out behind him, Wyatt was in one of his favorite positions. Well, one of his favorite non-sexual positions. Behind his rifle on overwatch.
On the rooftop of a restaurant, which ironically happened to belong to Asher’s sister and mom, the smell of garlic, oregano, and other delicious Italian scents wafted all around him even though the kitchen had closed an hour ago.
His target and reason for being there? The club across the street. His daughter’s first stop in her night of celebrating her twenty-first birthday party.
“This is Echo One, all stations, radio check.”
“This is Bravo Three, that’s a good copy,” Asher responded over comms, followed by the rest of his teammates announcing they were in position. He had over half the guys with him tonight, and if he’d needed all of Bravo and Echo, they would’ve suited up without question.
Everyone happened to be in the city, and that may have been a strategic plan on Wyatt’s part, nudging Harper to choose this weekend for when she threw the triple baby shower party.
Harper had organized the event for three of the couples expecting: Eva and Luke, Jessica and Asher, and Emily and Liam. The babies were all due at different times that year, but it was hard to get the entire team and their families together at once.
Somehow, after the gifts and the baby excitement, the party last night turned into a Bravo-Echo face-off in terms of who could out drink the other and still be able to walk straight (not shoot straight, they weren’t that crazy).
We need a real matchup. Bravo versus Echo. It’s time we settle this, A.J. had urged after Bravo wiped the floor with them in their ridiculous drinking competition.
We’re all here. How about Sunday? Asher, the other instigator in all this, had pitched the idea.
Nah, brother, who is gonna judge? We need unbiased people.
A.J. had then turned to Natasha, a grin on his face as he struggled to remain standing, bracing the table off to his left inside Harper’s flat where the party had been.
Didn’t you say your brother is wrapping up a job in Syracuse?
Maybe he can come down on Sunday, bring some Army buddies with him. They’ll be unbiased.
Ha! Chris had shouted. They’ll probably want to face off with us themselves.
Not a bad idea, Captain America, A.J. had slurred. He’d removed his cowboy hat and placed it on Chris’s head, which he’d never do if he was sober. First, we brothers face off, then we have a good ol’ Navy versus Army football game.
“All stations, be prepared. Target’s limo should be arriving outside the nightclub soon,” Luke announced, interrupting Wyatt’s memories from last night.
Hopefully, he made it to tomorrow’s planned events and didn’t wind up in jail tonight for clocking some guy who decided to get handsy with his daughter on the dance floor.
And was Gwen really twenty-one?
Wyatt had taken time off from operating to spend time with Gwen, and of course, Natasha. Even though Balan was dead, the fact he’d known Natasha’s address and provided it to God knew who . . . they decided she ought to move.
Last week, they made an offer on a row home a block away from where Knox and Adriana lived. The whole having-a-permanent-address thing wouldn’t be so bad, especially since he’d be living with Natasha, and Gwen would be fifteen minutes away at uni starting in the fall.
“Can you believe I’m getting married this summer?” And had Wyatt really spoken his thoughts out loud?
“At this point, I should’ve given in and bought a monkey suit already. All the rentals are adding up with you guys tying the knot every five minutes,” Chris griped over the line. He was positioned inside the club, and the beats the DJ spun popped into Wyatt’s ear over comms.
“Yeah, well, maybe you’ll be next,” Finn said, and Wyatt waited for someone on his team to knock that idea out of the park in about two point five seconds.
“All the bad guys in the world would probably retire before Chris settles down.” And, of course, it was A.J., their quarterback for tomorrow’s impromptu Army–Navy game, to speak up.
“You said the same thing about Wyatt,” Finn reminded A.J. “And look at him now. A summer wedding. A daughter. A happy life.”
He was happy, wasn’t he? How’d he get so lucky?
“Not to break up this riveting conversation, but we’ve got incoming,” Roman announced, and by his tone, you’d have thought they had an inbound RPG headed their way instead of Wyatt’s daughter’s limo.
“What’s the count again?” A.J. asked.
“Four guests entered the limo outside Gwen’s hotel,” Luke answered. “Two guys in their late twenties.”
“Damn. I don’t know what I’m gonna do if I ever have kids. This shit is more intense than being on the Iranian border and having brought a knife to a gunfight.” A touch more of Alabama cut through the line as A.J. dragged out his words.
“Well, maybe if you get up the nerve to ask out a certain someone, you might—”
“What’s that?” A.J. cut off Asher. “I can’t hear ya, brother. Must be a bad connection.”
Wyatt bit back a laugh before growing serious, remembering the gravity of the situation.
His daughter. A nightclub. Alcohol and guys.
“Echo Four, when they get out of the limo, can you get some photos of the two guys and head back to HQ. We can run their images through facial recog and get their stats,” Wyatt requested.
“Roger that,” Roman answered.
“This is Bravo One, the doors are opening. They’re getting out.”
“Echo Three, they should be coming inside soon,” Wyatt alerted Chris.
“Roger that. I’m just sitting at the bar watching a few women that look like they’re mostly naked—well, does body paint count as being dressed?
” Chris paused for a beat. “Anyway, they’re doing some trapeze thing.
I’m surprised Gwen would pick this club.
It’s filled with a bunch of snooty A-listers, overpriced drinks, and—”
“Damn it,” Wyatt cursed over the line. “All stations, come in. Gwen’s not in the limo. What in the hell is going on?” His mobile phone began ringing seconds later before he had time to make sense of how his boys lost his daughter. “Hey, Natasha. I’m, um, a bit busy right now. Can I call you back?”
“Did you just discover Gwen’s not in that limo?” she asked with a laugh, and he sat back in surprise.
“Natasha,” he playfully growled out. “Babe, where is she?”
“Gwen asked for my help in ditching you and your guys. She had a feeling you’d be playing the role of overprotective operator on her birthday.”
“Why are you on her side and not mine?”
“Because I was twenty-one once and had to deal with Gray and the admiral. And Gwen’s smart and strong.
She’ll be fine, I promise,” she said far too casually given his daughter was out in the city somewhere.
“Now, round up the boys. We have two tables going at Jessica’s place.
” Her order came out soft and smooth, and that irresistible voice got to him every time.
“Two tables?”
“Poker. I mean, right now, it’s just us ladies, but if you boys want to join us . . .”
“You had this planned already, huh? A way to distract me so I don’t lose my bloody mind tonight?”
Natasha chuckled. “I’m pretty sure you’ve lost your mind already since you’re probably perched somewhere in the city with your long gun, am I right?”
He eyed his gun and scowled as if she could see him.
“Come on, head to Jessica’s.” Her tone remained light and relaxed, so different from when they’d been in Montreal when the problems of the world had weighed heavy on her shoulders.
She’d be heading back to the Agency on Monday, and although he knew her job was hunting down bad guys, same as him, he hoped she’d never have to deal with another arsehole like Balan again. But if she did, he’d have her back. Always.
“Just come,” she pleaded again. “Maybe you’ll even get lucky tonight.”
“At poker or in the bedroom?” he asked, but she’d already ended the call.
One thing he’d never grow tired of was making love to that woman. The idea alone had his cargo pants tenting. “Abort mission, guys. Gwen had help from Natasha to lose us,” he reported to the team. “I guess I gotta learn to let go.”
“You sure you can do that?” Asher asked, surprise in his tone. “I mean, we can Charlie Mike and find her. I got my sources.”
He took a moment to consider the idea, then he removed his jacket and pushed up his sleeve to look at the ink he’d gotten as a reminder of Arthur.
His eyes lifted to the sky. I won’t let you or her down. I’ll keep her safe. I promise. He hoped Arthur could somehow hear his thoughts. But he had to know, right? Arthur had to know Wyatt would take care of Gwen like his own daughter, because she was, in fact, his.
He took a deep breath, doing his best to conceal the emotions in his voice. “As much as I’d like to, I gotta give her some space. Do that trust thing I hear kids always asking their parents to give them.”
“Well, look at you being all wise and shit,” A.J. remarked. “Or . . . did Natasha call you and give you no other choice?”
He closed his eyes and smiled. “Something like that.”
After three hours of what the boys on both Bravo and Echo had described as being like a mini-version of Hell Week at BUD/S, they were flat on their backs, eyes on the sky trying to catch their breath as the judges decided on which team won the Bravo-Echo matchup.
Aside from swimming in the freezing New York waters, which would be crazy to do in March, they’d raced, carried heavy objects together as a team while marching, climbed and jumped over stuff with eighty-pound gear strapped on, shot at targets from various ranges, stripped and reassembled rifles, and more.
Natasha and the rest of the ladies had sat comfortably in their camping chairs, bundled in their jackets, coffees in hand, while they watched the boys in the insane competition.