Delta: Retribution (10 page)

With a tray full of bottles, the waitress walked by, smiling. “Screen on the Green opened on campus this weekend.”

He turned to her. “Screen on the what?”

“Didn’t think you boys were from around here. Screen on the Green. They set up a big silver screen, and you watch a movie while sitting on the grass.”

All of them stood there, stupid.

The waitress smiled. “It’s great, I swear.”

“Like a picnic, sweetheart?” Ryder didn’t look convinced, but at least he’d come up with something to say.

“Something like that.” She shifted the tray. “Crazy fun, I promise.”

“Right. Thanks.” Okay, Screen on the Green. He might never live down the ribbing after doing something like that. But maybe it was worth thinking about.

Javier sidled up to Trace, calling over his shoulder, “Back in a minute, guys. Need to talk to my boy.”

“What?”

Javier paused then let out a slow breath. “Is this about your brother?”

The question hit like a throat punch. “No.”

“Look, we all know your birthday’s coming up.” Javier followed Trace to the front of the bar. “You’ve been a little all over the place since you joined Delta. Being that we’re stuck stateside, I think we’re all just worried about you.”

He knocked the door open, and sunlight burned his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Spending time with the chick—”

“Marlena.”

Javier nodded. “With Marlena. That’s nice and all, but—”

“But what?” he growled.

“It’s not you.”

Trace stopped. “Don’t you think I know that?”

“And a date? I mean, if you’re going to crack up, give a dude a little warning. Okay?”

His temples pounded; his throat squeezed tight. “What if…”

What the fuck was he even saying?

Javier’s face pinched. “What if what?”

He shrugged, temples still pounding. “I like her.”

“I get it. She seems like a cool girl. You two obviously have some history together, small world and all that.”

“I have a good vibe with her.” His heart started to race, his thoughts jumping in for good measure. “She’s funny, a little broken. So am I. Completely fucked in the head and…”

“And?” Javier crossed his arms.

Trace sucked in a long breath, dropping his head back to stare into the sun. “I’m never going to find those dog tags.”

Javier’s eyes hardened. Seconds ticked by. “We know.”

Deep in his chest, anger turned into a growl. Trace ran his hands through his hair. He’d seen the pictures from the improvised explosion that took out Michael’s armored vehicle. He’d seen how the wreckage had been torn apart by fucking nomads. The tags were gone, along with everything else.
Fuck
. He wanted them back. It was his only goal in life. His sole focus, getting him thrown off SEALs, getting him… “Fuck!”

“Trace, buddy, take a breath.”

He bent over, ducking his head between his knees. “I like the girl.”

“I don’t know if it’s a good thing or not. I’m worried you might hop from one obsession to the next. I’m worried that, until you deal with Michael’s death, like really handle your shit, you’ll always chase what you can’t really have.”

“The tags.”

“And the girl.” Javier gave him a sad smile. “We get the green light, and we’re gone. No more happy college-girl fuck buddies.”

Trace paced the sidewalk, his stomach knotted, his mind dry heaving incoherent thoughts.

“Hit up your Screen on the Green. Hang with her. Have a good time.” Javier sighed. “And give yourself a break, Trace. Your brother’s with the good guys—tags or not.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Trace had no idea why one beer and losing a game of pool would make him reevaluate the direction of his life or give him an insight that everyone else, apparently, already had. He nodded a good-bye to Javier and headed toward his car. Michael. Dog tags. Marlena. Fucking Screen on the Green. So much shit rambled through his brain.

He clicked the Charger unlocked and closed himself off from the world in the front seat. With a turn of the key, Trace revved the engine and hung on to the steering wheel, trying to take his mind off it all. He couldn’t. His mind wandered, leading him to pick up his phone and search “Screen on the Green,” confused about why he had focused on a stupid gathering. Maybe Marlena had something to do with all of it.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

There were picnic blankets everywhere on the rolling hill. Marlena hadn’t done that event since she was a freshman. Not that she hadn’t wanted to go to the movies over the last two years, but she didn’t have time because the biological engineering program was an ass-kicker,
and
she didn’t have someone to snuggle up with on a blanket. Not many guys stood in line to play boyfriend to a girl who took harder classes than they did, which was funny, because she had such a self-esteem issue.

But there she was, on Trace’s arm, carrying a giant blanket from her closet. He’d shown up with a bag of food and drinks, looking slightly unsteady about what he was offering. The man was a tatted-up warrior. He’d seen death and destruction, he was avenging the death of his brother, but walking onto school grounds with a picnic looked like it might kill him.

It was also Marlena’s first major public outing since Delta had rescued her. She hadn’t returned any phone calls, and while she walked through the crowd with Trace, more than a couple of people said, “Hey”—both people she’d avoided calling, and others who were interested in the guy who held her close.

God, did he have to do that? And did she have to go with him?

Because with every footstep, she was falling harder.

He towered over her. Even when he wasn’t dressed as though he should be in an action movie, he still carried that air about him. No guns strapped to him—that she could see—but his attitude begged someone to screw with him. Marlena’s gaze skipped over the crowd, and—deep breath in—she’d never felt safer.

“Why ya grinning, Cinderella?”

“This is really fun.”

With a sideways glance, he snagged her around the waist and kept them moving. “We haven’t done anything yet.”

“But still having fun.”

His smile didn’t show up often, but when it did, it stole her breath. He gave a quick nod and maneuvered her to the corner of the farthest section.

“We won’t be able to see the movie very well.” Maybe that was the point, if he wanted to get a little wild where no one could see them.

He paused and scanned the crowded hills. “It’s the best strategic, defensive position.”

“Just lost a couple of romance points.”

Trace laughed. “Not very date-ish, huh?”

She smiled, shrugged, and leaned into him. “I don’t think we’re much of what anything should be like.”

“True enough, Cinderella.”

Music came on, and the screen lit up. “Here’s fine. Let’s hurry.” She had the blanket out and food on paper plates before the opening credits finished.

The crowd laughed as the movie rolled on. Marlena and Trace finished the sandwiches and sodas, and she lay against him. The casualness of it was oddly comforting. “I wanted to apologize. I’m not a twelve-year-old. I shouldn’t run off every time I freak out.”

His fingers traced her arm. “I’m sorry you think you have to run.”

“I want to ask you a question.”

He nodded. “All ears.”

“Why do you think you’re a lost cause?”

He sighed but didn’t stop sliding his hand on her skin. “I don’t know that answer anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I…” He rolled onto his back, tucking her next to him. “I’m a SEAL. Once a SEAL, always a SEAL. But I screwed up. I lost that, and it meant the world. Now I’m Titan. Delta. And I’ll always be my brother’s keeper. Both in arms and in blood.”

She didn’t say anything, but he hadn’t really answered her many questions.

“Those dog tags I told you about?” His low voice was hard to hear over the movie.

“Yes.”

Trace let out the longest, saddest sigh. “I’m not going to find them.”

She bit her lip, uncertain of what to say.

The sky was turning purple, and the movie’s laugh track played along with the laughter from the crowd.

“But.” He cleared his throat. “They brought me to you. I was in Germany because someone saw something, and I wanted to know if it was the missing link to what I needed. Those tags have dragged me all over the damn world. And they dropped me off in front of you.”

Her throat felt tight. “If you want to find them, then find them, Trace.”

“That’s mission impossible. Two pieces of metal in a million square miles of sand. But it was my only focus in between jobs. At least, until I was benched and met you.” His gaze fell over her shoulders; his eyes tightening. Very slowly he sat up as his fingers tightened around her forearm. His eyes continued to dart purposefully. “Before, when you mentioned that the loose ends on your project were tied up, what did that mean?”

“I meant I left. I was done. There was a clause that let me out of the contract, and I took advantage of it.”

“Fuck.”

“What?”

He untucked a gun she hadn’t noticed from the back of his belt, laying it between their paper plates, then let go of her to grab his cell. He dialed and held it against his ear. “Brock, I’ve got tangoes.”

His eyes searched.

She tried to turn around, but Trace caught her eye and barely shook his head. Her heart raced. They were coming for her again. Sweat tickled her temples, her neck. Her lungs stuttered, making her feel as if she couldn’t breathe.

“I’ve got a four count in direct view. No telling behind me.”

Another long pause, and she would’ve killed to hear what Brock was saying. Two large men approached Trace from behind.

“Behind you. Twenty feet away,” she whispered. They were outnumbered. She didn’t know how many bullets were in a gun, but a shootout at Screen on the Green would endanger lives.

He nodded to her, calm as the setting-sun sky. “Whatever you do, follow my directions.”

Her hands were shaking, teeth chattering. “Okay.”

“Take a breath, Mar. This will be a piece of cake.”

The two men were a few feet away, and Trace swiftly tucked the gun back under his shirt.

“If we get separated, do what they say.”

Mouth bone dry, she nodded again, her eyes unintentionally locking with a man standing directly above Trace.

“Let’s not make a scene.” The man beckoned to her in with a familiar exotic accent. “You’re surrounded.”

Trace stood between her and the man. “This won’t end well for you.”

“Come with her or not, I don’t care. But we leave now.”

“If you’re after intelligence, it can be bought.”

She knew that was a lie, that Trace wouldn’t sell anything against his country. So he was buying time?

“Why buy the milk when you can get the cow for free. Isn’t that the saying?” The man laughed.

“Hey!” she growled at him.

Trace shook his head. “That was uncalled for.” His fist connected with the man’s face before she had time to process what he was about to do. Seconds later, two other men were on him, punches flying, grunts echoing in the air, as nearby moviegoers screamed and scampered away.

A hand slapped over her mouth and yanked her up. As if Trace had an eye on her, he stopped, hands flying up. “Alright, alright, we go.”

He wiped blood off his lip. The man next to him chuckled, saying something quietly to Trace. Again, Trace’s fist flew. The guy went down.

“For real this time, I’m done.” He reached for her hand, eyeing the guy whose hand was clapped over her mouth.

Campus security officers had arrived on their bikes and were making their way through the crowded hill. Maybe they could help. But didn’t they just carry mace or something?
Oh
. Her stomach dropped. It was a disaster.

“Let’s go before these morons start a shootout and kill everyone here.”

The hand over her mouth released, and someone said, in a thick South American accent, “You’re making a smart decision.” Marlena, Trace, and the group of men stepped over the man Trace had punched—who was still facedown on the ground.

Marlena’s hand found Trace’s, and he gave it a squeeze. “Smile, Cinderella. Instead of a fairy godmother, we’ve got a team of whoop-ass coming our way.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Trace smiled through all the pushing and shoving that their captors dished out. Marlena’s stomach was in knots, and the only thing that kept her from sliding down a miserable, self-pitying slope was the fact that he seemed to enjoy the fighting much more than Screen on the Green.

She held her breath as Trace mopped the slowing trickle of blood on his face and baited the men. He was about a dozen yards away and unarmed, making light of their warehouse dungeon. As soon as their entourage had left campus, the abductors had given both of them a thorough pat down. So thorough that Trace threatened life and limb should their eager-beaver hands stray too far.