Page 35 of Defended By the SEAL
The man exchanged a wary glance with the woman before speaking. “We were told to wait here until it was safe.”
“By who?” Cowboy demanded, his voice sharpening. The baby grinned at him in the dim light, then twisted back toward its mother and again found her nipple. He felt like the aggressor—the threat to their innocence, the violence to their calm—and he reminded himself this man had just hit him hard enough to knock him out, giving him a concussion. He kept the hard edge to his stare.
The woman broke in, her English heavily accented but clear. “The boat was late. The storm made it too dangerous to go.”
Cowboy scowled. “Who told you to stay here?”
“Please.” The woman’s expression darkened with something close to desperation. “Bad men are looking for us.”
“I can’t help if you don’t answer me. Who told you to stay here?” Cowboy’s jaw tightened. He had sympathy for the couple, who clearly had nothing more than the clothes on their backs, but for Charlotte’s sake, he had to get to the bottom of what was going on here. These people had something to do with Tom and whatever his intentions were toward Grams.
They simply had to.
He had to change tacts. “Who are you running from?” Cowboy asked, his voice softening slightly. He went with his gut on the next part. “Is it Tom Vanderhoffen?” Something about Grams’s main squeeze seriously rubbed him the wrong way.
The couple looked to each other in confusion before the man responded. “No. He helped us.” The man hesitated, his eyes again darting to the woman. Finally, he spoke in a halting voice. “A man named Sarkisyan. He is dangerous. Tom said we cannot go back.”
“Do you know this Sarkisyan?” The man looked down, making Cowboy think he was ashamed.
“I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was fighting for people who couldn’t fight for themselves. But Sarkisyan doesn’t protest peacefully. He creates spectacles to get the attention of the media, and if an innocent person has to die for him to get what he wants, then he has no problem with that.”
Cowboy furrowed his brow. He was no fool. Every terrorist was someone else’s freedom fighter, or warrior for a noble cause. But some fighters and warriors used ethical methods in their wars, while others did not.
The child whimpered, drawing his attention. Its mother was gently running her fingers over its head, but the baby was clearly agitated, its tiny hand fisting her breast as it moved its head from side to side, then released her nipple again and let out a plaintive wail.
“Please,” said the mother. “We need water. Tom said his wife would bring us food, water, and blankets, but no one has come.”
Grams hadn’t been hallucinating or delirious when she’d talked about bringing food to the hungry. She’d beentalking about these two. She’d known they were here, and she’d wanted to care for them.
“We don’t need food,” said the man over his child’s cries. “Just water so my wife can make milk for our son.”
Cowboy’s throat tightened. Whoever these people were, they weren’t terrorists. They were scared, vulnerable, and clearly desperate for help. He nodded, letting his gun drop to his side for the first time since he’d encountered the trio. “Come with me to the house. There is food and drink, and fire to keep warm.”
Their eyes widened. “No,” they both said at once. “Sarkisyan,” said the man. “He can’t know we’re here.”
Cowboy cocked his head, understanding crystalizing. “Sarkisyan is here on the island?”
The man nodded.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. We saw him shortly after we arrived.”
Charlotte.He felt her name in his bones, felt the urgency and fear. He’d left her alone with a terrorist leader on the loose, with an obvious association to the family. “Stay here,” he said firmly. “I’ll be back soon with water and everything you need.”
The man grabbed his arm, his grip surprisingly strong for someone so thin. “Please,” he said urgently. “Do not tell anyone. If Sarkisyan finds out?—”
“I’m not planning on it,” Cowboy assured him, shaking the man’s hand off. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
The man nodded reluctantly, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and obvious fear.
Cowboy turned and descended the spiral staircase as quickly as the dark would allow, his thoughts churning and his pulse pounding in his concussed brain. The stormcontinued to batter the lighthouse, the wind rattling the entire structure with every gust.
This was bigger than he’d expected. Sarkisyan, refugees, Tom’s secret operation—it all pointed to a tangled web of danger and deception that would take more than a single night to unravel. But one thing was clear: Tom wasn’t the villain Cowboy had assumed. If anything, he was risking everything to help these people, and that made him a target for Sarkisyan.
He tightened his grip on the Glock and ran for the house, his jaw set with determination. He needed to get back to Charlotte and Grams, fast. The storm was only a tiny part of the danger they faced. What and whoever was waiting for them on this island, he’d have to make damn sure they were ready to take them on.
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