Page 27 of Desperation

“That’s not my point, Hannah. I didn’t tell you because I wanted praise. I told you because I’m concerned for you. You’re exhausted.”

“I have a new baby. Of course I’m exhausted.”

“No, it goes beyond that. You need to insist that he helps you more. You’re walking around here like a zombie. It isn't good for you and not safe for Jameson.” My throat tightened, the sound of him saying my child’s name and his thoughtful concern over his well-being flooding me with a deluge of emotions. Guilt, worry, gratitude, doubt. Was I even doing this right? My baby didn't come with an instruction manual, and I sure as hell needed one.

He continued, oblivious to the fact I was drowning in my insecurities and self-doubt. “You need to take care of yourself, so you can take care of him.” His eyes softened, and I gulped past that thick ball clogging my throat.

“I will,” I promised, knowing I’d been neglecting my own needs. It took Devon calling me out on it to realize how badly I needed to change that. What I was doing wasn’t sustainable. I had to eat better and get more sleep, or I would crash and burn, becoming completely useless to everyone else.

Drake returned to us, sinking into the chair with a proud smile splitting his face. “Man, that kid is cute.” He beamed.

“He’s lucky considering he has your ugly genes,” Devon quipped. The two of them taunted each other like they were still teenagers.

“Good thing he takes after his mom,” Drake replied, his focus shifting to me as he gazed upon my face in appreciation. My cheeks heated, the blush growing as I felt Devon’s eyes land on me too. I ignored the burn, glancing away shyly. The two men spent the rest of the evening talking and watching TV. I tidied up and played with Jameson in the nursery when he awoke. After feeding him one last time for the evening, I put him to bed and turned on his monitor, slipping out of his room without making a sound. Drake and Devon were still in the living room, talking quietly as they watched some new survival show. I didn’t want to interrupt them, so I snuck down the hallway and climbed into bed. Heeding Devon’s advice, I took care of my most pressing need and fell asleep.

Chapter Twenty-One

Devon

It was time to start a new chapter in my life. I was no longer Prince, the call sign my brothers gave me because they refused to call me King. According to Mark, that name wasn’t in line with the company standard, and therefore he issued me a new call sign. To my coworkers at Cole Security I was now Princess. He roared with laughter the first time one of the guys addressed me that way. Fortunately, some of them still referred to me as Kingsley. No one called me Devon since they’d lost a friend and fellow SEAL by the same name, something Mark explained to me my first day on the job.

I was finally back to normal, or at least as normal as I would get. An occasional lingering burn flared up in my thigh where the hot sliver of metal had pierced my flesh. It only seemed to happen when I pushed myself too hard, but I had to do everything I could to get my strength back. I was used to running and working out nearly every day of the week and had lost a lot of my endurance while laid up with my injury. Now that I had the all clear from the doctors and Trevor, I was ready to get back into shape.

It also helped to keep my mind off Hannah. If I was too exhausted to think after a long run or brutal workout, I didn’t have to face how lonely I was. The gaping hole in my chest didn’t hurt so bad when the rest of my muscles were screaming in agony.

I hadn’t seen her since that day. When she disappeared after dinner, we never spoke again. I caught sight of her a few times as she moved about the house, but I never let my gaze linger. It was time to stop pining after my cousin’s girlfriend and keep my promise. After I left that night, I didn’t go back, not even when Drake invited me over. I always made an excuse, and finally he gave up.

It had been two long months since I last saw Hannah, and as hard as I tried to forget her, my thoughts returned to her frequently. I wondered how she was doing, how fast Jameson was growing. I occasionally granted myself permission to look at her social media just to catch a glimpse of them here and there. They looked happy and healthy. Gone were the dark smudges under her eyes. The little boy’s cheeks were full and pink, a sure sign of good health. I was relieved, even as the pain of longing ached in my chest.

My first assignment out of training was coming up, and it was time to focus. I’d been on orientation a few weeks now and had shadowed some of the more seasoned employees. Fresh out of the SEALs, Mark decided I wouldn’t need much training and felt I was ready to take on the task of transporting a foreign dignitary. He needed an escort for his trip to D.C. as he’d already received a threat from a group of fanatics online. It was probably an empty one, but nobody wanted to take any chances, especially so soon after a terrorist attack. Even though the threat had been neutralized, there was always the fear of another one springing up.

It was an uneventful three days. We transported him back and forth to meetings during the day and dinner in the evenings. We secured the suite he stayed in and swept it for bugs, explosives, and potential attackers every time he left and came back. On the fourth morning, we returned him to the airport, deposited him on a private jet, and sent him on his way. No one shot at me. No bombs exploded. It was a nice change from what I was used to, albeit a little boring.

Over the next month, we took on several more jobs like the previous one – protecting and transporting foreign diplomats, consulting with businesses regarding security measures to protect their assets and property – jobs that paid well but required little effort. Cole Security was a highly sought after firm, and Mark had to turn down jobs occasionally, only accepting what he had the manpower for. The work became a little tedious, but I tried not to complain. After all, in our occupation, boring was a good thing, and we were having plenty of it.

Until one day, it wasn’t boring anymore.

Six months ago, a local weapons manufacturer, C&C Firearms, hired Mark and his team after there was an attempted break-in at one of their warehouses. Their night shift security guard had been tased and incapacitated, and the locks had been blown to smithereens which set off the building's alarm. Police were in the area and arrived at the scene within minutes, preventing the thieves from making off with any inventory. Despite nothing being stolen, the CEO was on edge. The week before, there had been a string of burglaries at several gun shops in the region. Thousands of dollars of weapons and ammo went missing from the other shops. Police and ATF had investigated, but with their limited resources, they chose to focus on the businesses that suffered losses. The investigation at C&C was quickly closed since nothing was stolen. The owner wasn’t taking any chances, though, and decided to hire Cole Security.

Mark’s team provided surveillance for C&C for ninety days, and when the burglars failed to return for a second round, the company decided Cole Security’s services were no longer needed. Then last night, someone attempted another break-in at the warehouse, but were unsuccessful since extra measures had been put in place at the recommendation of Mark’s team. Police were called to the scene around three am and, seeing nothing amiss, assumed the alarm had been tripped on accident and left. This morning, an employee noticed the lock looked as though it had been tampered with and immediately reported it to his boss. The CEO called Mark, and we were now on our way to check things out.

The lock had definitely been tampered with, and when their attempts were unsuccessful, they’d taken a crowbar to it and the door. How the police missed this, I had no idea. Mark put in the call to have them come back and collect evidence since it was technically a crime scene, and I cringed when Drake’s father showed up with a deputy. I hadn’t realized we were in his jurisdiction. I wasn’t intimidated easily, but Hank Wilder had terrified me as a kid. He had an icy, penetrating stare that seemed to look into your soul. He was a mountain of a man, tall and broad, still fit in his early fifties. Even now that I could look him square in the eyes without even standing up straight, he still unsettled me. His cold, calculating gaze assessed me for a moment, and I was transported back in time. I was a sixteen-year-old boy again being shoved into the back of his cruiser after hitting a guardrail in my cousin’s car. I’d been hammered and couldn’t even walk straight. I had no idea how I’d even got behind the wheel that night.

“Kingsley,” he said simply, some of the frost thawing from his features. “Is that you, son?” I inwardly cringed. I wasn’t his son. His son was a bastard who liked to hit women, something Hank probably did too, considering how many of them had left him high and dry over the years. Even Drake’s mom, my dad’s younger sister, took off when Drake was just a boy and never looked back. Must’ve been a family trait. I shook those thoughts away, reminding myself that Drake was trying, that he hadn’t harmed Hannah anymore; at least, not as of a couple months ago when I last spoke to her.

“Yes, sir,” I replied, reaching for his outstretched hand. He shook it, never looking away. I fought the urge to drop my gaze. He had alpha male written all over him, but I wasn’t a teenager anymore. I wouldn’t cower to him.

“You’ve grown into a fine young man. I heard you were injured overseas. I’m glad to see you’ve recovered.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Let’s take a look at this door and figure out what my officers overlooked during the night.” He peered around me, and I stepped aside so he could get a better view. He cursed under his breath and ran a frustrated hand through his hair, now sparsely peppered with strands of grey through the dark locks.

“Grab the camera, and get over here,” he called to his companion. The young man, who couldn’t have been much older than twenty, scurried back to the SUV like the hounds of hell were on his heels. He was green and untested, doing everything the sheriff asked despite the likelihood of his efforts going unnoticed. The sheriff snapped several pictures before handing the camera back to his deputy. “We could dust for prints, but it probably won’t do us any good. It’s likely several people have touched this door, and whoever our perp is probably wore gloves.” He was right. Aside from the suspicion that this was the same person from before and they hadn’t left prints behind last time, the temperatures had dropped significantly last night. No one in their right mind would’ve been out with their hands bare.

“I agree,” Mark said, stepping up next to him.

“Mr. Dixon,” he greeted, shaking his hand.

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