Chapter 3
Monica mentally kicked herself for saying as much as she had to the two men.
She’d been taught to never give out more information than was strictly necessary.
And she’d sat there and blabbed on and on about herself.
For a second, the sick feeling she got every time she knew she’d done something her dad would disapprove of welled in her belly and throat. But she pushed it down.
She was an adult, and he didn’t have any control over her anymore.
It was ridiculous that fourteen years after escaping from his iron fist, she still made decisions based on the warped lessons he’d taught her.
She’d been to therapy. Intellectually, she knew she was letting her father “win” by continuing to live by his tenets.
But the fear he’d instilled, the control he’d exerted, was seriously hard to break.
Though she had to admit, the outrage the two men felt after hearing what had happened to her hand made her feel…good. It was a lame word, but it fit. She didn’t hear pity in their voices, only fury on her behalf.
Her childhood had been hell. Absolute hell.
It was a miracle she hadn’t turned out to be a serial killer or something.
She’d left home as soon as she’d been able to at age sixteen.
She’d managed to get her GED while working minimum wage jobs and staying at crappy motels.
Oddly, her dad hadn’t even tried to find her after she’d left.
She babysat for money during that time, then lucked into her first live-in nanny job.
And she’d never looked back. Not even when she’d heard her father had died.
He’d been hunting and had fallen out of his deer stand.
Since they lived in Wyoming, and it had been January, he’d frozen to death before anyone found him.
Good riddance.
As for her mother…Monica had never understood her at all.
Not even a little. Why had she stayed with that man?
Why hadn’t she protected her daughter when he turned on her?
Her mom hadn’t shown her an ounce of affection, but she’d remained loyal to her husband to the very end.
The last Monica had heard, she’d remarried a man exactly like Darren Collins.
The last therapist she’d seen had of course pointed out that not all military men were like her dad.
Most were upstanding men and women who would never hurt their children.
The woman had even suggested that maybe being around other military members would help her heal…
which was why Monica had begun nannying for ambassadors.
They weren’t actually in the military, but worked closely with them enough to count.
It was one of the most difficult things Monica had done, purposely putting herself in a situation where she’d occasionally interact with military members… but she’d done it.
Some days she thought she was making progress at not immediately being terrified of anyone in a uniform, and other days it was more of a struggle.
She wanted to leave everything her dad had taught her behind. Wanted to move on with her life, to heal…to not immediately suspect anyone in the military was out to get her. But she still struggled to block her dad’s voice and hard lessons from dictating her actions.
Stunningly, after overthinking everything she’d told the two SEALs, when the men remained silent, Monica fell into a light doze.
She jerked when Stuart spoke in a low, easy tone. “You ready to get out of here?”
Monica was asleep one second and completely awake the next. That never happened. She never let down her guard like that in front of strangers. Something else her father had drilled into her head.
She looked over at Stuart. He’d promised to get her out of the country safely.
He’d been so serious, so sincere, that she was tempted to believe him.
She’d come to terms with the fact that the first man who’d claimed to be a SEAL and had broken into the house probably wasn’t actually in the Navy.
But a niggling feeling of doubt remained.
He’d looked military…and it wasn’t just his clothes.
It was the way he carried himself. The way he’d methodically searched the house.
It was the way he’d easily broken into the ambassador’s safe.
She’d grown up around men like her dad and his friends, and Monica had a feeling if the man wasn’t a SEAL, he’d definitely been in some branch of the military.
But she kept her mouth shut. That guy was no longer her problem, and in a few hours she’d be back with the ambassador and his family and doing what she loved.
“Monica?” Stuart tried again.
She took a deep breath. “How long have I been asleep?”
“A couple of hours.”
Monica’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. You obviously needed it. How do you feel?”
She felt much better than she had earlier. Less jumpy. But she didn’t want to talk about that right now. Didn’t want to think about the fact that she’d managed to let down her guard enough to actually sleep.
“I’m fine. And yes, I’m ready to get out of here,” she said.
Stuart studied her for a long moment. She was sure he was going to ask a few more questions, until Slate stood up and wandered over to one of the windows to peer out.
The night was completely silent now. Monica couldn’t hear any of the shouting and cheering that she had earlier.
She pushed herself to her feet and swayed a bit.
Stuart was next to her in a heartbeat. He didn’t touch her, which she appreciated, but it was more than obvious he would help her if she needed it.
She didn’t need assistance. Asking for help brought back too many painful memories. She flexed the stubs of her fingers on her left hand and took a deep breath. The day she voluntarily asked for help again was the day she grew horns and learned how to fly.
She straightened her spine and lifted her chin, staring at Stuart, daring him to say something about her momentary weakness.
He just stared back, then nodded, turning to join his teammate at the window.
Letting out a long breath, Monica mentally shook her head. She knew she was too defensive. Too quick to judge. Even with all the therapy she’d had, it was why she preferred to spend her time with children.
Stuart walked back toward her. “It looks clear, but we still need to be very cautious. If the rioters are still around, the second they hear the chopper, they’re gonna zero in on it. They could shoot at it in the hopes of bringing it down and adding even more chaos to the area.”
“Is that possible? I mean, these aren’t terrorists, they’re just people taking advantage of the turmoil to get their hands on stuff to make their lives easier,” Monica said.
“Maybe, maybe not. But even though the situation isn’t the same, I can’t help but think about Mogadishu,” Stuart said.
Monica shivered. Yeah, she knew all about what happened to the American soldiers in Mogadishu.
“They’ve probably all slunk home to rest up for another day of destruction,” Stuart said, obviously attempting to put her at ease.
Monica could’ve told him there was no need to baby her, but she simply nodded.
The threesome headed for the same door in the back of the large empty building.
Slate exited first, while she and Stuart hung back, letting him check out the immediate area.
He reappeared two minutes later and nodded at his teammate.
Stuart nodded back, and Monica expected him to lead the way out of the building immediately…but instead he turned and held something out to her. It was a knife. The one she’d seen strapped to the side of his vest earlier.
She looked at it, then up at Stuart, but she didn’t reach for the K-BAR.
“Take it,” Stuart insisted.
Still Monica didn’t move. “Why?” she asked.
“Why?” Stuart echoed in confusion.
“Yeah. Why now? What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing. But after thinking about what you said, and after seeing how you handled that pistol back at the house, it’s obvious you have some knowledge of weapons. If I was in your shoes, I wouldn’t want to be unarmed. I can’t give you a gun, but I can at least let you have this. Just in case.”
Monica was conflicted. She wanted that knife more than she’d wanted anything in a long time. She wanted to be able to protect herself if they ran into any stray members of the mob. But she didn’t want to be indebted to a SEAL. It went against everything she’d ever been taught.
As soon as the thought entered her brain, she heard one of her many therapists in the back of her mind telling her she wasn’t under her father’s thumb anymore. That he wasn’t representative of everyone who wore a military uniform.
“No strings,” Stuart said quietly, proving that he’d definitely listened closely to her babbling earlier. “But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t stab me in the back.”
Monica’s gaze whipped up to meet his. Was he kidding? He was staring back at her without even a hint of a smile on his face. He definitely wasn’t making a joke. She didn’t know if she should be offended or satisfied that he thought she might hurt him.
Reaching out slowly, she took the knife from him with her good hand.
“It’s sharp,” Stuart told her. “I recommend you keep it in the sheath unless you need it.”
Monica pulled the weapon from the leather sheath and tested the blade.
He wasn’t kidding—it was sharp. Deadly sharp.
Feeling an uncomfortable surge of gratitude toward the man standing in front of her, Monica nodded her thanks.
She didn’t have a fancy vest to strap the sheath to, but she hooked it in the waistband of her jeans, making sure it was secure before looking back up at Stuart.
He hadn’t moved from his position in the doorway, and his gaze was fixed on her. “Good?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Like before, hold onto me and don’t let go. Not for any reason. Okay?” he asked.