Brawler's Baby: An MMA Mob Romance (Mob City Book 1) (36 page)

"I guess that's a yes…"

"
Y
ou don't need a lead
, do you, buddy?" I ask the glossy furred, majestic looking dog walking to my right hand side. Jake cocks his head slightly and looks up at me, and if I was slightly more inclined to speculation, I'd think that he understands every word I say – perfectly.

But he's just a dog, isn't he?

Jake barks once, "
woof
", and again I look at him critically – surely he didn't mean that? No… I think I'm overthinking things. Then again, he
is
a Delta Force trained dog, and if they only accept the best and the brightest
of the best and the brightest
into Delta in the first place, maybe the same holds true for the dogs. I'm pretty sure, come to think about it, that when they showed the video of Seal Team Six assaulting Osama Bin Laden's compound, the Navy Seals actually had dogs rappel down from helicopters.

So if they can get to grips with military quick lining, then is it so crazy to think that Jake might be bright enough to understand every single word I'm saying? Probably… But that doesn't stop me from thinking it anyway.

"Okay, then," I say, leaning over him and unclipping the lead from his collar, "have it your way." I half expect him to run off, haring after one of the wild birds in the area, or chase after a passing Humvee, but he doesn't do any of that – just stays completely still, standing next to me and looking up.

"Good boy," I say, suitably impressed. I haven't really thought what the plan is going to be, now that I've got Jake in my – for lack of a better word – custody. What I'm doing is probably considered to be stealing military property, so I think to myself that it's best that we don't get seen out in public. After all, by the sounds of things – I'm no longer an anonymous nurse: apparently in my absence I've become famous.

Uh oh.

"Come on, let's go back to mine – I'm sure we can get you some food sorted out. How's pizza?"

Jake's eyes narrowed, and he pins his ears back when I say the word pizza, and I am completely, one hundred percent certain that he knows what I'm talking about. He's brighter than half my family! I lean down and give him a scratch under his chin.

"Miss?" I jump out of my skin, and realize right then and there that it's going to take me a long time before I completely come to terms with what I've gone through over the past few days. I might be physically okay, but mentally… That's a whole other picture.

"Accept my apologies, the last thing I wanted to do was startle you," the man says as I turn to look at him, but he's standing in front of the bright, midday sun, and all that comes into view is a broad, muscular outline.

"Who… who are you?" I ask, quickly adding, "this isn't about Jake, is it?"

"Jake?" the man – an officer, judging by his bearing – replies, looking confused. The realization that he has no idea what I'm talking about comforts me, because the last thing I want is for someone to take Jake off my hands before I can get him squirrelled away somewhere safe. Unfortunately, whoever's standing in front of me is pretty quick on the uptake, because before I've even finished my train of thought, he says, "ah – that looks like a collar from the stores at Fort Bragg to me…"

He kneels down and scratches Jake behind the ear, and Jake lets out an almost feline purr of satisfaction, which is – again – comforting, because if this dog is anything, he's probably a damn good judge of character. Now the officer's kneeling down, I can get a better bead on what he looks like, and to be honest – it doesn't help much. Other than his distinctively broad and muscular frame, he's a pretty ordinary looking guy, and I'm just turning my head away when I see something startlingly unusual jump out at me.

"Your eyes…" I stupidly, looking down at the most violently emerald green set of eyeballs that I've ever seen. In the midday sun, they're speckled green and gold, and they look like vivid, expensive jeweler.

"I get that a lot," he says drily, "but thank you all the same."

I realize that I need to try and reassert control over this conversation – I have no idea what direction it's going in, and that's not good, not good at all, especially as he appears to have realized that I'm trying to abscond with military property…

"Can I have your name, officer?" I ask, trying to keep my voice as level as possible.

"Unfortunately, and I really wish this wasn't the case, it's – uh, classified," he says, hurrying to finish the rest of the sentence as he looks at the mild incomprehension on my face, "but believe me – I'm here to help you."

"Classified?" I mouth under my breath, "I didn't even know you could classify a name…"

"You can't, not really," he grins – and I notice that the action lights up his otherwise ordinary face spectacularly –, "but it's not really the
name
that's classified…"

That’s the piece of information that allows my brain to click into gear, and to put – if not a name – then at least an organization to his face. The guy was definitely Delta Force – from what I've pieced together from Mike, he's got it written all over him – the hugely muscular frame, the limited amount of personal information he's giving away, and – above all – the unbridled self-confidence he has.

"Right…" I say, imbuing the short sentence with a tone of understanding.

"So you get it, then," he says, and I think to myself –
either I do understand all this cloak and dagger stuff, or I'm just talking to a crazy person. And if I am, then what does that make me!

"So, Officer Classified – if you can't tell me who you are, can you tell me why you're here?" I ask, now thoroughly confused.

"I presume Mike's told you something about the organization he works for?" Officer Classified says.
That's a bit of a mouthful of a name…

I shrug. "Honestly? Not really – we haven't had much time to talk…" I trail off, blushing as I realize what he must think I mean by that, and hasten to change his mind, "I mean," I stumble, "with the kidnapping, and all…"

"Good," he smiles – seemingly taking the high road, "as secretive as we strive to remain, sometimes people can't help but to open their mouths when they see a pretty face…"

"Thanks, I guess."

"Anyway," Officer Classified continues, straightening up and seeming to bring himself to his point, "the reason I'm here is because the organization I work for has a motto – actually, a way of doing business – and we don't like to leave a man behind."

I stay quiet, not knowing where this is going, but getting more and more curious the further I plunge into this cloak and dagger routine.

"And we think that what's happening to Mike is," he pauses, "objectionable."

"Objectionable?" I laugh cynically, "you can say that again!"

"Precisely," he says firmly, and the tone of voice shuts me up immediately. I can tell that this man is used to being in command, and I'm not surprised, because he has a demeanor that positively demands respect. "As I said, objectionable. Now, officially, we can't be seen to interfere with things…"

"But unofficially?" I ask, curious.

He smiles. "You've hit the nail on head. Officially, I was never here, but unofficially, I think you can be the solution to our problem…"

"Me?"

"Yes, you. You do want to help Mike, don't you? The way things are looking, he could be behind bars for a few years."

I cut him off, outraged. "That's disgusting!" I shout, "he didn't do anything wrong, he saved my life, for God's sake!”

"I couldn't agree with you more," the officer agrees in a conciliatory fashion, "and believe me, Mike's saved a whole heck of a lot more lives than just yours! The thing you've got to understand is an that even though you and I, hell everyone on this base, knows that Mike's an American hero, national politics is going to get in the way now…"

"Politics?" I ask, confused. A few days ago, I was just a humble nurse, doing a tough job to the best of my ability, and apparently now I'm being thrust into the national spotlight. My head's spinning – I'm not sure I ever signed up for anything like this!

"Oh, you better believe it," Officer Classified grimaces, "your kidnapping, and Mike's subsequent rescue attempt is going to open up a whole kettle of fish in Washington, and between you and I, the easiest option would just be for them to torpedo Mike's career. They've done before, and they'll do it again…"

"You can't let that happen!"

"It's too late now," Classified shrugs, "some bastard in Washington has already leaked his name to the national media. We'll find out who did it, but it's too late for Mike – he can't ever go back into to the field with Delta again…"

I hide a smile, noticing that this super secret organization suddenly has a name…

"But there must be something we can do, otherwise why are you here?"

"We need your help."

I can't imagine why he's just said that, I have no idea what help someone as insignificant as me can possibly give a military outfit as powerful as Delta Force, but I keep my mouth shut and wait for him to tell me. Whatever it is, I'll do it.

"You have something of…a national profile now," he says and I grimace at the reminder, "and we have a limited window of opportunity for you to take advantage of that."

"How?"

"If you threaten to go public about what happened to you, talk about how disgraceful security on base was, and how no one except a wounded hero bothered to come after you – regardless of how true that is – people are going to listen. Especially if we leak the fact that Sgt Carson is in the running for a Silver Star…"

So it is true!

"Listen, if you do exactly what I tell you, you and Mike will get out of this and live happily ever after…"

"And Jake?"

Officer Classified glances down at Jake, who by now has completely tired of the conversation and is lying down licking his paws. "Jake too…"

"
A
medical discharge
?" I repeat the words like I'd never heard them before – and in a way, I haven't. When you're in Delta, you kind of have this cocky arrogance about you – you know you're one of the fittest men your country can send into a war zone, with the best equipment, and you think that nothing will ever happen to you.

Certainly not a medical discharge when, as far as I know, my leg's going to completely recover.

"I'm so sorry, Mike – Officer Classified kind of spelt it out to me, he said either we do this, or your career is going to get railroaded by some politician in Washington…"

"Woah, hold up a second," I say, literally holding a finger up into the air, "who the hell's Officer Classified?"

A little hint of a smile crosses Katie's face, and right in that moment all I can think of is that I don't care, all I want to do is kiss it, and never stop; to go find some field somewhere and raise our kid in peace.

"Sorry – it's a silly little nickname I came up with because he was an officer, and he said…" she tails off.

"Let me guess, that his name is classified?" I ask, allowing smiled across my face as well. "That's got Delta written all over it… Can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

"This Officer Classified, did he have ridiculously green eyes? Like – so green you've never seen anything like them before?"

"How the hell did you know that?" Katie says, visibly starting in front of me like she thinks I can read her mind or something.

"He came to see me a while back. I think we can trust him – I wasn't sure at the time, it was when I found out that Tommy was definitely dead," my voice breaks, and I realize I'm still not completely recovered from that particular tragedy, "but he's definitely Delta. And we look after our own. Shit."

"Shit?" Katie asks, "why? What's on your mind?"

“If Delta are telling me to do this, then there really is no other option. I know them, there isn't anyone better out there at what we do. They'll have it all figured out."

"I'm sorry," Katie says softly, as though she's ashamed of herself, and the sound breaks me up inside. I resolve right then and there never to make her feel like that again – if she'll have me.

"Come here," I say, reaching out and taking her hand. I've been stuck in this drab little hospital room for over a day now, with nothing to do, and – other than Katie right now – no visitors allowed. She would look gorgeous to me no matter what time of day, month or year it was, but right now she looks incredible – a million dollars. She feels warm, and soft, and I thank my lucky stars that nothing happened to her before I could rescue her. I don't know how, but she's touched me like no other woman has ever managed. It's like –
damn, it feels soppy even thinking about it
– she's my fucking soul mate, or something.

She comes over towards me, and as she nears me, I notice the skin under her eyes is ever so slightly puffy, and red from crying. Again, my heart twists inside my chest at the realization that, however unknowingly, I've hurt her. "Listen, none of this is your fault. Did you ask those bastards to kidnap you?"

She giggles, and the sound tinkles through the room cutting the tension, "no – of course not!"

"Then stop thinking that any of this is your fault. Trust me, it's not. Seriously – I've never met anyone quite like you," I say, struggling to find the words in my emotional vocabulary that match the depth and range of what I'm feeling right now. I want her to understand how deeply I care about her, how even though losing my career is going to hurt, because it's all I've ever known, I'd drop it in a heartbeat if it meant staying with her, raising a child with her.
Hell, that actually sounds quite good…

"All I've ever wanted to do is be a soldier, you know that?"

I notice a pained look in her eye, as though she thinks I'm blaming her, and I realize I'm seriously close to screwing up what I'm trying to say, so I hurry on. "But I've been there, done it. And you know what, maybe I do need to take sometime to come to terms with Tommy's death. In all the missions I've been on, he's the only friend I've lost – the only close friend, anyway.

"But it's not just that – and serious when I say I've never met anyone like you, I've never met anyone who makes me feel, I dunno – I'm no good with words," I say, casting around for the right phrase, "– light inside."

The hospital room is completely silent around us after I finish speaking other than the odd beep from the heart rate monitor, and a humming sound from the air conditioning unit; and for a second, a horribly long second, I begin to think I've said the wrong thing, and a heavy weight of sadness starts settling on my shoulders.

"No good with words!" Katie finally exclaims, breaking the silence with a smile creasing her face. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Um – no?" I say, lamely.

"Mike, that was beautiful. Seriously, no one's ever said anything like that about me before," she says, with such a look of honesty on her face that I know without a shadow of a doubt that she's telling the truth.

"So, uh," I stammer, suddenly palm-sweatingly nervous, and I can't help but think how stupid it is that I'm way more scared of this than I am of Taliban gunmen, "will you stick around with me – you know, when we get back home?"

"Seriously, Mike – how many times do I have to say this – are you fucking kidding me? Of course I will!" She leans forward, her lips gently brushing against mine.

"You know something Mike? I think I might be falling for you…"