Chapter 22
Would there ever be another sound to ground even the most irritated or frustrated of Operators quite like an underground range that echoed with the sharp crack of gunfire?
Tyrone didn’t think so. He adjusted his grip on the SIG Sauer, exhaled, and squeezed the trigger.
At the opposite end of the range alley, his target jerked as his shots hit center mass in a tight grouping.
Bullets, he understood. Targets, he could shoot at them all day, every day.
Smooth is fast and fast is smooth.
Everything and anything he could use to keep his mind sharp and focused was a tool to be utilized in the world of warfare and special operations.
Mind games, brain teasers, meditation, or even those phone games that emphasized hand-to-eye coordination, all of them were on his task list. Every single one.
But none of them gave him the skills to know how to proceed with Glenna and Kelsey.
There was a part of him that craved throwing caution to the wind and going all-in, yet there was another that put building something with them right at the top of his most deadly COA’s. Did Concepts of Operations apply to considering a relationship with the spouse of a fallen teammate?
If they don’t, they fucking should.
He could do with a PowerPoint of the pros and cons right about now.
The ping of the security lock barely registered in his mind as someone else entered the range. He hit the button to swap out the targets and retook the shots.
“You’re wasting ammo.” Levi’s voice came from almost directly behind him. “That thing’s already dead.”
“Not dead enough.” He set the pistol down, stripped the mag, and reached for another.
“What’s eating you?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.” Nemo snatched the fresh mag from his hand. “You only stick to one target zone when something is on your mind that you can’t shake. Spill.”
How did he explain it to Levi when he couldn’t work it out in his own mind? Glenna and Kelsey were Dwight’s, but damn it, he wanted them to be his, too. Before he could figure out how to put the thought into words, his phone buzzed on the table behind him.
Why the hell is Sullivan calling me?
His instincts warned him that this call could change everything, and his finger hovered over the answer button. Did he really want to hear that it was safe for Glenna and Kelsey to go back to the US? Was he ready for that?
“You going to answer that?”
“Yea—” the phone stopped ringing.
“Who is it?”
“Sullivan.”
“He’s not calling you for nothing.”
Damn it, he knew that. He hit redial and put the phone to his ear. The line picked up on the second ring.
“Rone. I thought I’d hit your shit-box there for a second.”
If you’re about to tell me that my girls can safely go home, you still might.
“Hello, Sir. What can I do for you?”
Levi’s eyebrows flew upward at the gruffness in his tone, and based on the pause from the other side of the call, Sullivan’s probably did, too.
“I’m in La Spezia.”
Tyrone’s fingers tightened around the phone so hard he felt the case shift. “Since when?”
“An hour ago,” Sullivan replied. “We need to talk. In person.”
Oh, fuck me.
Maybe he’d been wrong about it being safe for the girls to go home.
Relief mixed with concern, sending his guts into a twisted mass of unease.
Tyrone turned his back to the targets so Levi would know he wanted his opinion, and hit the speaker on the call.
“No one steps foot on this compound without clearance.”
“Then get me clearance.” Sullivan’s tone brooked no argument. “I’m at the Caffè del Mare. Corner table. One hour.” The line went dead.
“Why the hell is Sullivan in La Spezia?”
“You find it odd, too?” His finger scrolled through his contact list until he came to Gunnar’s.
“Damn straight. Why would he come all this way? Unless…” Levi trailed off.
“Unless he found something fucked-up that he can’t put over the wire.”
“Exactly.”
Fuck, this wasn’t something he wanted to talk to Gunnar about over the phone. “Will you check the weapons back in for me?” As soon as Levi nodded, he grabbed his jacket off the hook on the wall. “I’m gonna go find Grizzly.”
“Roger that. I’ll follow you up.”
Racking his brain and trying to come up with logical reasons for Sullivan’s appearance in Italy from the range to the main compound didn’t help. Tyrone pulled the golf cart to a stop and made his way to the war-room. He stuck his head in the door. “Zipper, you seen Grizzly?”
“He’s in his office.”
“Thanks.” He ducked back out before Remi could ask questions and hurried across the courtyard to the door in the far corner and knocked.
“Enter.”
“Grizz?”
Gunnar’s fingers stilled over the keyboard. “What happened?”
“Sullivan’s in town and wants a face-to-face.”
That got his attention, and Gunnar’s eyebrows shot upward, almost disappearing into his hairline. “Did he give a reason?”
“Nope. But he was pretty damn insistent.”
Gunnar reached for his phone and shot off a text. Within moments, his phone pinged a couple of times in response, telling Tyrone that Gunnar had probably texted his brothers. “Where is he?”
“Caffè del Mare.”
“Radar is in town.” Gunnar tapped out the text message with one finger. “I’m gonna send him over there for a looksee while we’re heading down there.”
“Thanks, Grizzly.”
Gunnar got to his feet and grabbed a set of keys. “Don’t jump to conclusions; this could just be because we contacted him about Glenna and Kelsey, and now he’s following up.”
Tyrone knew that, but damn, as he followed Gunnar to the trucks, every single internal warning signal he had was shooting off fireworks.
The Caffè del Mare clung to the edge of the harbor.
With its views over the Bay of Poets, it did a booming tourist trade, but wasn’t frequented by a lot of the locals.
Tyrone used the ‘oh shit’ bar on the truck to brace himself as Gunnar whipped into a parking spot that became available at short notice.
“Jeez, boss, we aren’t in Fallujah no more. Give a little warning before you try and slam my nose off the dash, will ya?”
“I have two words for you, Zorro. Situational awareness.” Gunnar switched off the engine and checked his phone. “Radar is waiting on our call. Do you want him to come in with us, or overwatch only?”
That was the problem, wasn’t it? He had no reason for being so uneasy about this meeting. It didn’t make sense to distrust a man who’d been his commanding officer for so long. One who’d covered his six more times than he could count. Yet, here he was, wary as fuck.
Rader is a decent judge of character.
“Bring him.”
“You got it.”
Tyrone waited for Gunnar to shoot a text to his brother, then they got out of the truck.
Five steps toward the bar and Colt slid into position just behind his left shoulder.
They paused just inside the door, and Tyrone made a beeline toward the corner table where Sullivan sat with his back to the wall.
He looked almost exactly as he remembered, with the addition of more silver threaded through his dark hair.
“Good to see you, Sir.” He turned a chair around and straddled it to avoid shaking the hand Sullivan raised. Gunnar slid into the chair next to Sullivan, and Colt took a seat next to Tyrone, opposite his brother.
“You look like hell, Rone.”
“I’m quite sure you didn’t travel all this way to tell me I need to get more beauty sleep, Sir.” It wasn’t like his former commander to bullshit anyone, even him. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?”
“What I have to tell you…” He took a sip of his coffee. “Let’s just say I didn’t want to do it over the phone or put it in writing if you catch my drift.”
“You bringing trouble to my front door, Sullivan?” Gunnar lounged back in the booth. “Or worse, are you bringing shit Zorro’s way? Because…” He pinned him with a steely gaze. “I wouldn’t take very kindly to shit like that happening to one of my men.”
“No.” Sullivan’s jaw tightened. “But I’m not leaving until we talk.”
The waiter arrived with their coffees, the tiny cups steaming in the sea air. Gunnar wrapped his hands around his, but didn’t drink. “Then talk.”
Sullivan leaned in, his voice dropping. “Dwight didn’t just hide his family.” His eyes locked onto Tyrone’s. “He was hiding a hell of a lot of gambling debt, and a deal made with a crowd called The White Shadow Collective.”
Not fucking possible.
His fingers clenched around the espresso cup, and he had to make a concerted effort to release it before he shattered it.
“Gambling? Dwight?” How was that possible?
Dwight had always been the steady one. If any Raider on their team was going to laugh off a trip to Vegas, it would have been Dwight.
Had his jokes that betting on a sure thing was like kissing your sister, a fucking whacked idea, been just comments to throw the rest of his team off what was happening below the surface?
Sullivan’s gaze didn’t waver. “He was in deep, way too deep. From what my intel and contacts can find, there wasn’t a hope in hell he was going to walk out of it clean. He owed them close to a quarter-mil when he died.”
Holy shit, that’s a lot of debt.
“You’re telling us the White Shadows came for Kelsey as Dwight died and couldn’t pay back the money he owed them?”
“Worse.” Sullivan’s voice dropped lower, forcing them all to lean in. “He made a deal. His kid for their silence.”
The fuck he did.
Tyrone exchanged a glance with Gunnar, who asked, “You have proof?”
Sullivan slid a manila envelope across the table.
“Don’t open that here. But all the intel I could find is in there.
” He got to his feet and scooted around Tyrone.
“Look after the woman and kid. I’m not too sure they are off the assholes’ radar yet.
No matter how much of a bastard Dwight was, those two are innocent and didn’t deserve the shitshow he handed them. ”
“Son of a bitch,” Colt whispered as they watched Sullivan leave.