Page 41 of Defended By the SEAL
“No,” Charlotte said sharply. “We have to think this through. Sarkisyan doesn’t just act—he plans. He’s expecting us to figure out his setup, which means he has contingencies.”
Champion nodded. “She’s right. If we’re walking into a trap, we need to be ready for it.”
Charlotte’s gaze flicked to Cowboy, still unconscious but breathing more evenly now. She touched his hand briefly before stepping away. “I’m going with you.”
Tom shook his head. “It’s too dangerous?—”
“Grams, I’ve already been in the thick of this mess, and I’m not backing out now. If Cowboy were conscious, he’d be helping. I couldn’t forgive myself if I sat on the sidelines.”
Tom studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Fine. But we stick together, and we’re in and out fast.”
Grams clutched Tom’s arm, her voice trembling. “Be careful.”
Champion, Austin, Tom, and Charlotte quickly geared up, gathering flashlights, weapons, and supplies, including food and water for the refugees. As much as they wanted to bring them into the warm house, they knew that to do so would be to put them in further danger.
The tension was thick as they prepared to hike back to the lighthouse in the storm and descend into the tunnels. Charlotte cast one last glance at Grams and Cowboy. “Take good care of my guy.”
“I will.”
“We’ll stop him, Grams. I promise.”
Grams nodded, but the worry in her eyes didn’t fade. “You come back safe. All of you.”
“We will.” Charlotte turned around, hoping she’d given Grams a look of confidence, and hoping even harder that they all would, in fact, come back safely.
22
The group pushed out into the storm, the wind and snow battering them immediately. Champion led the way, his flashlight cutting through the swirling chaos, while Austin covered their rear. Tom and Charlotte moved into the center of the group, their faces set with grim determination. Every step toward the lighthouse felt heavier, the weight of what they might find pressing on Charlotte’s chest.
Tom leaned closer to her as they trudged forward. “Charlotte, if this is a trap, you stay behind me. Promise me.”
She shot him a look, her cheeks stinging from the cold. “Not a chance. You’re more of a target than the rest of us, and I’m not sitting on the sidelines.”
His mouth tightened, but he nodded. “Stubbornness must run in the family.”
“Maybe.” Charlotte turned forward and let her face fall. The idea of things being handed down from one generation to another made her think of her possible pregnancy. A single stupid comment led to a giant can of worms, where her love for Grams wound around her struggles with herown mother, where her fear of being trapped by marriage was knotted tightly with a newborn’s grin.
A baby complicated things.
Not that there was one.
Just in case there was one.
When it was just her, alone, considering marriage to Cowboy, it was a clear black and white answer.Hell to the no.But if there was a baby on board, that resounding clarity became only one of the worms, fighting for position with hundreds of others. And the idea of a piece of Grams being passed down to her, and passing that on to another little girl? That was a very good worm indeed.
But marriage and kids weren’t just about being tied down. Maybe they were about roots, the kind that grounded you when the world spun out of control. Maybe it was about creating something that would outlast you, handing down something more meaningful than an empty house an a kick-ass job history.
She could feel her emotions going straight to her eye sockets, which terrified her in and of itself. Never a crier, the idea that she was becoming one pointed to a heavy hormonal influence she wasn’t sure what to do with. It was as if this baby—if there was one—was a street-smart little highjacker who’d tapped into her endocrine system like a pirate splitting his neighbor’s cable TV line.
Something about that image made her smile.
Her little hijacker.
Jack.
Jesus, Charlotte. Don’t go naming it already.
But her hand instinctively moved to her stomach, brushing against the fabric of her coat, the image of a little Cowboy coming to mind, complete with a mischievous grin. Time would tell. Still, maybe family wasn’t something to runfrom. Maybe it was something to run toward, like docking in a safe harbor.
