Page 2 of D-Day

She didn’t have time for any kind of banter with her cousin—petty officer and corpsman for the team, Mateo “Zorro” Martinez. His parents had taken in her and her brother Pete when their parents had been killed in a car accident. They were more like siblings than cousins. She loved him to pieces, and she knew that whatever one member was going through, it affected the whole team. “Primo, the sheriff just brought in your buddy, D-Day. He’s being arrested for assault.”

“What the fuck!” he said, now fully awake. “What happened?”

She imagined him sitting up in bed, that mop of dark hair all messed up, his dark brown eyes concerned. It brought back memories from all the times he’d soothed her nightmares and comforted her with a story. He and his parents almost made it bearable to lose her parents.

“I don’t have a clue. The sheriff is not in the mood to share information with me. There’s a crowd outside, and they’re all pissed. He stirred up quite a dust storm.”

“Geezus! I’m on my way.”

“Hurry. I don’t know what happened, but I have no doubt that if he beat a guy and put him in the hospital, he deserved it.”

Thirty-five minutes later,Zorro pulled up to the Avery Sheriff’s Department, a small town east of San Diego and nestled in the mountains. It had been a hot spot during thegold rush, but now it was more famous for its apple pie. Its rivers and streams were used for recreation and fly fishing instead of panning for nuggets, the town a small get-away, with cozy eateries, scaled-down galleries, and boutique shopping. His cousin had accepted a job in law enforcement, a way for her to emulate her older cousin.

She wasn’t kidding. There was a sizable crowd outside and they were milling around, occasionally shouting. How and why D-Day had ended up here, arrested for assault wasn’t much of a surprise, and as a medical professional, he hadn’t missed the signs of some heavy-duty drinking.

In the last six months.

What the hell had happened back then to cause D-Day to go from that quiet, duty-bound man to the guy who used his fists to settle his problems? If anything, he was more buttoned up than ever before. In Zorro’s experience, that made for explosive outbursts. He never recommended keeping any volatile emotions inside. Maybe it was his Latin heritage, but Latinos weren’t exactly known for their timidness or keeping their mouths closed.

D-Day was in trouble, layers of trouble, but if that were the case, the team would never turn their backs on him, especially when it was clear he was hurting.

Zorro got out of his car and scanned the crowd. He could detect a leader from a mile away, and when an older man shouted something Zorro couldn’t make out, he focused in on the man. Tall, salt and pepper hair, solid. People rallied around him. Zorro’s cowboy boots crunched through the white gravel before hitting the concrete walkway leading up to the front door. He loved these boots and had several different kinds—fish scales, made from thearapaima gigasor pirarucu, a giant freshwater species native to the basin of the Brazilian Amazon River. It was a gorgeous leather, produced in a sustainable way,contributing to the preservation of the species and generating income for the Indigenous community, adding to their quality of life.

“Excuse me,” Zorro said. “What’s this all about?”

“We’re protesting an injustice, that’s what. Who are you?”

“Just a nosy bystander,amigo. What kind of injustice?” The guy started talking, and Zorro nodded and smiled. “Well, it looks like he got what he deserved then.”

“Damn straight.”

Grinning from ear to ear, Zorro left the man and his friends. Leave it to D-Day to get himself a cheering section. Pulling open the door, Jessica waved him to her at the front desk. A woman with a black eye, stitches in her cheek, a fat lip, and bruises around her neck and arm sat quietly in one of the visitor’s chairs. A large, protective male sat next to her, his arm around her shoulders and her cuddled to his chest.

“I got the lowdown,” she said, her voice soft.

“Yeah, yeah, I know what happened, and fuck D-Day.”

She chuckled. “Well, that wasn’t what I thought you’d say. He’s a hero.”

“I know. Not at all surprised.”

“Apparently, Sara Kincaid’s boyfriend, a drinker, gambler, and no-count hustler, was beating her outside the bar D-Day was drinking in. Your teammate kicked his ass but good.” She glanced over at the young woman and older man and nodded, clearing her throat. “Sir, let me introduce you to my cousin, Mateo Martinez. He’s Andrew Nolan’s friend.”

The man rose, gratitude on his face, and Zorro met him halfway, nodding to Sara. “Ma’am,” he said, as he clasped Kincaid’s large hand in his and shook.

Jessica nudged him and said, “This is Sara Kincaid and her father…JudgeRandy Kincaid.”

Zorro grinned. “Judge…it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said enthusiastically, and with a great deal of relief.

“No, the pleasure is mine,” Sara’s father said before letting go and resuming his seat next to his daughter. “We’re here to protest Mr. Nolan’s arrest. He saved my daughter’s life and defended her. We aim to get his charges dropped on account of self-defense.”

“That would be excellent since Drew’s in the Navy, sir, active duty, and this would really mess up his career.”

“That isn’t going to happen if I have anything to say about it,” he said, staring at Zorro for a moment, irritation flashing in his eyes.

Once the judge got to the sheriff, he laid down the law, literally. He ordered the sheriff to drop all charges against D-Day, expunge his record as if it had never happened, release him immediately, and arrest Sara’s brutal boyfriend, Joseph Hickey, for assault and attempted murder. After numerous accounts of the incident, Sara’s teary appeal to let him go, and the judge’s unrelenting stance to comply, the sheriff complied.

Zorro waited until D-Day appeared in the lobby. When he emerged from lockup and saw Zorro, he froze and swore softly, looking suddenly cornered. “She’s your cousin,” D-Day said. There was no mistaking the undercurrent of irritation in D’s voice. His narrow gaze traveled from Jessica to Zorro, then back to him again in a heated and furious stare. “Of all the towns I had to choose?—”

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