Danger Close (The Echo Platoon Series, Book 1) (26 page)

Sam thought fast. "Through our CIA contact, Ricardo Villabuena. I'm sure he's got connections."

But the CO simply shook his head. "Forget it. We don't leave men behind."

"Unless they're on leave," Kuzinsky finished.

Mad Max slanted him a funny look.

"I have a leave-chit in my briefcase," the master chief volunteered, picking up the hard-shell case at his feet and laying it on a nearby table. His poker face betrayed no emotion whatsoever as he thumbed the combination lock and popped open the tabs on either side. "Something told me you might need a few more days here," he added pulling out the sheet in question. "All it requires is a signature," he added, handing it to the CO.

Sam didn't know who was more amazed by Kuzinsky's forethought—him or Mad Max. His heart thudded painfully as the CO slowly took the sheet and read it over. Picturing Maddy in the clutches of her uncle was making his heart race.
Just sign it already
, he willed the CO.

"Says here that you're taking five days of leave." The CO's squinty eyes jumped up from the paper he was holding. "You'd better get your affairs in order in that time, Sasseville. You work for the United States Navy, not for Lyle Scott."

"Yes, sir," Sam replied.
Sign the fucking paper
. Beads of sweat were gathering on his forehead. Wouldn't it just suck if Maddy came to harm at the hands of a family member after surviving abduction by known terrorists? Nausea roiled up in him, making him swallow hard.

"Fine." Taking the pen Kuzinsky held out silently, the mustached commander scrawled his signature on the line, handing it back to the master chief who signed his own before passing it off to Sam to sign on the third line.

"Maybe in your free time you could look into that little matter you were wondering about last week," Kuzinsky suggested, as Sam handed him the form.

It took Sam a second to realize what matter he meant—the possibility that Scott Oil resided in SOCOM's back pocket and was manipulating the military to act on its behalf.

"Of course," he said.

"You need a copy?" Kuzinsky inquired, holding up the leave chit.

Sam scanned the document, noting the date and hour he was due to report back to Dam Neck Naval Annex, SEAL Team 12's headquarters. He didn't have time to wait for Kuzinsky to find a copier. "No, thanks, Master Chief." He sent him a silent nod of thanks, held a salute up to the CO, and waited with years melting off his life for Mad Max to set him free.

The commander finally acknowledged him with a tossed-off salute. "I want you back in one piece," he stated.

"Yes, sir!" Sam had already slung his duffel back over his shoulder.

Bronco followed him all the way to the exit. "You're going without us?" He sounded incredulous, like they were Siamese twins recently separated.

"Look, I don't have a choice. Just keep the guys in line for me, and I'll see you in six days." He backed out of the door, making eye contact with Bullfrog next, then sending a nod at Bamm-Bamm, who might have just saved Maddy's life. And then he took off running.

Chapter 14

"I'm telling you," Maddy insisted, carving into her steak with a dull steak knife, "the proof is out there, and I'm going to find it this week."

She had thought her uncle would object to her insistence that Scott Oil's waste barrels and containment walls weren't doing their job, that the flora and fauna of El Chaco were being negatively affected. To her surprise, he'd listened to her intently while forking up bites of his entrée, a rib-eye steak, deliciously prepared by an unseen cook, while two young servers scurried about filling their glasses and bringing in the next course.

"You should do whatever your heart dictates, Maddy," he declared when her objections came to a close. Sitting back in his chair, he stifled a burp, and reached for his wine. "Whether you succeed in proving your mother's objections to drilling or not, she would be proud of you."

Maddy basked in his unexpected compliment. "Well, thank you." She tolerated Uncle Paul for one simple reason only. It wasn't because she fell for his insincere smiles and zest for the good life. It was because he could talk about her mother without plunging into grief the way her father did.

"I miss her, your mother," he said with a ponderous sigh.

A lump formed in Maddy's throat, keeping her from taking another bite. "Me, too," she admitted.

A faraway look entered his eyes as he sadly shook his head. "Funny how we take people for granted until they're gone. Have you tried the wine?" he asked, switching topics abruptly and holding up his glass. The burgundy liquid caught and held the light of the gaudy chandelier.

Everything about the mansion her uncle admitted to purchasing was heavy and ornate, even the long table at which they sat, hewn from dense, gleaming
quebracho
wood. "This is Screaming Eagle Cabernet from Napa Valley," he informed her on a proud note. "One bottle cost me almost three grand."

Maddy stared in astonishment at her uncle's proud statement. "Three thousand dollars for a bottle of wine?"

"Nearly," he amended, putting his glass down.

Her opinion of his character sank to a new low. "You do realize that a well can be dug in Somalia for three thousand dollars—providing fresh water to mothers and children, keeping them from having to walk miles and miles in either direction, toting jugs on their heads?" she asked, fighting to keep her tone even.

Her observation had him throwing back his head in a spate of laughter. After a moment, he wiped a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye and said, "Now,
that's
why I enjoy having you around, Maddy. That's exactly something your mother would have said."

The compliment caught her off guard, mitigating her condemnation of his values. "Tell me one of your memories of her from when you were young," she requested. "What was it like growing up together?" She could never hear enough about her mother to satisfy her yearning.

Uncle Paul pursed his full lips as he thought back. "Okay, I'll tell you," he promised, "but first try the wine since I went to the trouble of opening it for you."

"Actually, your serving boy opened it," she pointed out with a jab of her fork.

He wagged a finger at her. "She would have said that, too." Then he gestured at her glass. "How is it?"

Lifting the long-stemmed glass to her lips, she took an obligatory sip. Yes, the wine was good, but no better in her estimation than her favorite seven-dollars-a-bottle Chilean malbec. "Lovely," she replied, putting down the glass and eyeing him expectantly.

Her uncle drummed his fingers on the table top. "A memory, huh?" He thought another minute. "Okay, when she was little, say six, and I was eight, she used to follow me everywhere—very annoying from a brother's perspective. I remember one day when I was hanging out with my buddies up in a tree—a huge oak tree in our front yard in Dallas, and she joined us. She didn't say anything, mind you, but I could tell my friends didn't like her there, so I gave her a nudge."

Maddy gasped in horror. "You pushed her out of the tree?"

He held up a hand to ward off her condemnation. "She wasn't that high up, and she survived the fall with just a sprained wrist. What impressed me, however, was that she never told on me. Most little sisters would have told, don't you think?"

"Definitely," Maddy agreed, picturing her blonde mother clutching her injured wrist and marching stoically away. "What about when you were older?"

"Hmm. Our relationship remained strained. You know what it's like in high school, how important it is to be one of the popular kids?"

Maddy acknowledged his statement, though in her case, coping with her mother's death had been her biggest preoccupation back in high school.

"I was a junior when your mother was a freshman," her uncle recalled. "There I was, trying my best to look cool and to maintain the status I'd earned as an upper classman. Your mother joined me at the high school and nearly ruined me."

"How so?"

He gave a self-disparaging laugh. "She didn't play the games everyone else played. Didn't give a fig for social mores. Instead, she collected misfits. Every new kid, every fat kid, every foreign kid or immigrant became her friend," he said on a droll note. "I had to pretend we weren't related."

Picturing her uncle's quandary, Maddy grinned. Her mother had had it right. People were just people. To Melinda Scott, there were no distinctions of race or appearance or judgments based on popularity. Admiration toward the teenaged Melinda for defying peer pressure made her yearn more than ever for her loving presence. How she wished her mother were alive still, so she could tell her just how much she admired her. And so she could introduce her to Sam.

"She watches over me, you know," Maddy heard herself admit.

Uncle Paul sent her a startled look. "What do you mean, darling?"

She explained how she could feel her mother's spirit sometimes, usually in dangerous situations or when she had a decision to make. "I think she's the reason I survived being kidnapped. Most people aren't that fortunate."

The sudden appearance of Uncle Paul's bodyguard kept her from elucidating. The taciturn giant who entered the room with a scowl on his face hadn't bothered to introduce himself when he'd knocked on her condo door two hours before and escorted her to her uncle's Mercedes. Throughout the twenty-minute ride to the mansion at the top of the hill, he'd kept silent, ignoring her questions and observations. It wasn't until her uncle greeted her in the foyer that she'd learned the bodyguard's name—Elliot.

He'd apparently been a former wrestling champion. And the reason he didn't speak, her uncle had explained, was because he'd bitten his tongue so badly in a wrestling match that he couldn't talk without a terrible lisp.

Maddy would like to feel sympathy for the man, but Elliot's oily regard had made her skin crawl. She'd found herself missing Sam, mere hours after their farewell. Sam would never have put up with the man's rudeness.

Uncle Paul looked annoyed at having their dinner interrupted. "What is it, Elliot?"

The gargantuan man marched up to his employer and handed him a scrap of paper. Her uncle scanned the words scribbled on it, and his expression grew shuttered.

"Well, let him in, then," he said with a forced smile. As Elliot exited the dining room, Uncle Paul looked down the table at Maddy. "It seems you have a fan," he said.

She blinked at him, not comprehending.

"Your colleague Ricardo has a message for you, apparently," he explained.

"Ricardo," she repeated, looking toward the door in concern. "Something must be wrong."

"I'm sure everything's fine," her uncle assured her. "Don't you like the wine?" he added, directing her attention back to her glass.

She was too distracted, however, by the sound of the heavy front door opening in the foyer to take another sip. Training her ears to the tread of footsteps, she kept her gaze glued to the doorway until Ricardo stepped into the room followed by Elliot.

Her colleague's intent, dark gaze had her gripping the arms of her chair, preparing to rise. But then she glimpsed the pistol Elliot aimed at Ricardo's back, and her mouth fell open. "Oh," she exclaimed.

"Elliot, put that away," her uncle ordered on a long-suffering note. "I'm so sorry, sir," he added, rising belatedly to greet the newcomer. "My bodyguard is overzealous in his duties. Please, join us." He beckoned Ricardo closer to the table. "Have a seat. I'll have a servant bring you a plate."

"Thank you, but that won't be necessary," Ricardo replied. He approached Maddy's seat, and the light of the chandelier fell on his taut features. Maddy didn't know if it was pain bracketing the edges of his mouth—after all he was barely out of the hospital—or whether he conveyed bad news. "Maddy, GEF is trying to get a message to you," he relayed, explaining the reason for his presence though her phone should have rung if they'd been trying to call her.

"Your father has suffered a stroke," he added gently.

"No." She shook her head in denial.

"I volunteered to get word to you and to fly you to Asunción immediately, so you can get back to him as soon as possible."

Through her shock Maddy heard her uncle protest, "But that's impossible. I just spoke with Lyle less than two hours ago. He sounded perfectly fine."