Shattered Valor (3 page)

“What are your friends’ full names?” Owen asked.

Eden told him.

“Do they have any gang or mobster affiliations that you know of?”

She sighed and gave Owen a frustrated look. “No.” She glanced at the hardened faces of the men, trying to convince herself that what happened was a terrible, but random, act of violence. It was so much preferable to the alternative these guys were selling.

“How about you? Are you connected to crime organizations?” Owen asked.

“No. My dad’s a mechanic. My mom’s a teacher. They’ve been remarried several times, but none of my stepparents were gangsters. Why?”

Owen shook his head. “Just trying to fit the pieces together.”

The sheriff came out of the girls’ room, ending their conversation. He shut the door behind him and gave the group a dark glare. “They refuse to press charges. Claim they can’t remember who did this to them. They’ve decided to get home as soon as the clinic discharges them. Nothing I say will dissuade them.”

He lifted his hat and swiped a hand over his graying hair. “I’ve had nothing but trouble since you came back.” He pointed at Kit and shook his head. “You’ve trashed a local business, blown up an equestrian center, brought terrorists to our town, and now two young ladies are suffering the terrible consequences of their association with you. When is it enough?”

Eden looked around at the group. Oh yeah, she’d read this one right. Ty and his crew were bad news. And terrorists? That was possibly the only ingredient that hadn’t yet been thrown into the pot that was stirring around them. She needed to steer clear of these crazies.

Ty glared at the sheriff, his posture tense, like a man close to snapping. Owen stood up and pinned the sheriff with those eyes of his. She felt sorry for the lawman.

“We’ll leave when we’ve completed our job. Right now, we’re all that stands between you and what’s coming.”

The sheriff bent his neck, cracking it to release some tension. “And what would that be?”

“More trouble than you know how to deal with.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

“You and your staff need to be vigilant. If you see anything that seems out of order, let me know immediately.” Owen handed the sheriff a business card.

The sheriff snatched it. “How long is it going to take for you to do your jobs, Mr Tremaine?”

“Could be months. A year. I don’t know.”

The sheriff stepped closer to Owen, something Eden would never voluntarily do. “I won’t have my citizens or the businesses of my town endangered. If you get wind of something going down, I want to know about it.”

Owen nodded once. “When possible, I’ll alert you. You’ll be posting a man outside the girls’ room while they’re here, correct?”

“No. I don’t have the staff to stand a man up for guard duty.”

“Then I’ll post someone on that duty.”

The sheriff shook his head and walked away. He shoved Owen’s card into his breast pocket, muttering to himself about Homeland Security and their special consultants.

“I think we should get out of here,” Kit told the group.

“I’ll take guard duty,” Val volunteered. The guys discussed that amongst themselves and concurred.

“Wait a minute,” Eden scoffed as she glared at the group. “That’s like putting a fox in charge of the chickens.” She looked at Ty. “You saw him with Sherri at Winchester’s.”

“No, it isn’t,” he said. “Val would give his life for your friends, or you, or anyone in this medical center. We all would. Tell me a fox you’ve met who’d do the same.”

Eden’s frown showed she wasn’t convinced. “Well, I’m staying, too. They need someone around them who’s familiar to them.”

Ty nodded. “Okay. But you don’t leave here alone. When you want to leave, you call me.” He patted his pants pockets. “Crap. I don’t have a phone. Call Kit.”

Kit and Eden swapped phone numbers, though she had no intention of contacting either of them. They wouldn’t always have a guard at the door. He’d have to take a potty break sometime. She’d sneak the girls out at the first opportunity—once they’d recovered enough.

Ty eased himself into the backseat of Kit’s SUV. His thigh felt like it was clamped in the teeth of a steel trap. The physical stress he’d put it through the last couple of days had been a setback in his healing. His cuts needed a good washing. He was starving. And he thought he could probably sleep for two days straight.

Worst of all, he was pissed at his goddamned father. His fucking dead father. The guys knew his dad had been a con artist, always dancing at the edge of the law. It had been part of his record since the beginning of his military career. Discovering his dad was in bed with their enemies made him edgy; it skated too close to a whole lot of things he’d rather the team never learned about him.

“Amir was in my house,” Ty growled. “
My
house. And now the WKB wants a ledger my father kept.” The bastard had only died four months earlier—Ty hadn’t yet taken time off to deal with his estate. “What the hell was my dad into before he died?” he asked of no one in particular.

“You’re going to find out, Blade. If the WKB wants that info, so do we,” Owen said. He called Max and asked him to find some intel on Eden and her two friends. “And Max, get Blade any info you can find on his father, Phillip Bladen.” Owen glanced back at Ty when he added that last request. Ty met his look, wondering how much of what had happened to him as a kid had been part of his official record.

A few minutes later, they pulled into Kit’s sister’s ranch, their base of operations. Ty got out and drew a deep breath of fresh air. He was home—or where home was for now.

Mandy Fielding’s ranch sat at the top of a steeply sloping ravine. Wide terraces had been cut into the hillside, maximizing the usable space. The top plateau held a couple of pastures, the original farm compound, and the current ranch home. The next level was where Mandy’s new riding center was being built with its pole barn, enclosed riding arena, stable, and small corral. In the lowest level, she had several large pastures fenced off.

When Amir kidnapped him, a day and a half ago, the construction on the riding center had almost been finished. Now, only the blackened bones of steel, twisted from heat, and the buckled concrete foundations remained. Ty stared in shock at the devastation.

A door closed up at the house. His friend, Rocco, hurried across the porch and down the stairs, carrying a young boy. Zavi? Rocco had found his son? Impossible. He’d only been gone a couple of days. Not even that long. How could so much have changed? Rocco stopped in front of him, a big grin on his face. The joy in his friend’s eyes had evaporated the shadows and demons that had been his constant companions for months now.

“Is that who I think it is?” Ty asked. He and Kit had been certain that Zavi had died in the explosion that destroyed the village in Afghanistan where Rocco was working undercover—the same explosion that had caused his PTSD. They had searched for Zavi for months, bribed village elders in nearby towns, and brought in female translators to question the Afghan women. They’d offered substantial rewards for anyone who found Rocco’s son or provided clues to his whereabouts. No one had come forward with any information during their search.

Rocco nodded. “Zavi, this is Uncle Ty. Can you say hello?”

Zavi held out his hand. “Hello, Uncle Ty,” he said in clear English, speaking like a child much older than his four years.

“Hello, Zavi.” Ty gripped the little hand, feeling as if he touched a miracle. “How?” he asked Rocco, unable to form the complete question.

“I’ll tell you later, over a beer.”

“I have a lot of uncles, don’t I, papa? More than any boy I know.” He looked at Ty. “Do you speak Pig English, Uncle Ty?”

“You mean Pig Latin? Yes, I can.”

“No. Pig
English
. It isn’t Latin, is it? I can speak Pig English and papa is teaching me Spanish and Pig Spanish.”

“Your father taught me those languages, too.” Ty laughed and looked at his friend, their resident linguistic savant. “He’s another you!”

Rocco, with his swarthy looks and uncanny ability to master regional dialects, had been able to infiltrate the upper echelon of Taliban leaders in northeastern Afghanistan with the precision of a laser-guided missile. He’d been one of the Army’s secret weapons there, until the explosion that had shattered his life.

Rocco didn’t return his smile. “You look like hell, Blade. Are you hurt—besides the obvious?”

“No. The leg made climbing difficult, that’s all.”

“Ty?” Mandy, the love of Rocco’s life, shouted from the porch before charging forward to greet him. He braced himself to catch her, worried she might topple them both over with his leg as weak as it was, but she came to a full stop in front of him.

She checked him over critically. “Oh, Ty, look at yourself,” She took hold of his face as her eyes filled with tears and words started spilling from her.

“We were so worried about you. We didn’t know where they’d taken you. The guys have been out looking for you. My riding center blew up, and Fee’s father died in the explosion, and Rocco remembered everything, and they kidnapped me, and Zavi came home.” She dragged a ragged breath. “And you missed it all.”

Ty gave an awkward chuckle and pulled her into his arms. “Hey now, little sister. No need for the waterworks. I’m fine.” Ty kissed her forehead and rubbed her back. They weren’t related, but ever since Kit had helped him break free from his father, Kit’s sister had become his sister. Over her head, he silently mouthed,
“What the fuck?”
to Rocco, who gave a slow shake of his head, his eyes shadowed with worry as he looked down at Mandy.

“Sorry about being gone through all of that,” Ty told her. “It would have been something to see, but I was a kinda tied-up with a situation of my own.”

Mandy nodded and stepped back. She snuffled and wiped her cheeks. “Are you hurt?” she asked again. “Did you get bitten?”

“No. I’m fine. Just the scrapes from climbing out of the pit. And now I don’t even need any antiseptic—that salt wash’ll do just fine.”

“Ty—” she warned as her face threatened another round of tears. Rocco wrapped an arm about her shoulders and pulled her to his side. Zavi reached over and took hold of a fistful of her copper hair, his smile an exact replica of his father’s worried one.

“We moved your stuff down to the bunkhouse and gave your room to Zavi,” Kit told Ty as he clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll help you get down there.”

“I don’t need help,” Ty grumbled as he took a hobbling step down the hill. Kit and Owen ignored him, draping his arms around their shoulders to take some weight off his leg. Val and Kelan followed them, giving Mandy and Rocco some privacy.

Rocco set Zavi down and pulled her into a hug. “You holding up all right?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I broke, Rocco.” She bowed her head against his chest. “I’ve been so worried about him and all of you.”

“Oh, that was hardly a break, honey. You weren’t raging and hallucinating. I’ve conditioned everyone for a bigger show than that,” he teased. His PTSD had been giving him some nasty tangles with reality lately. The guys were walking on eggshells around him, worried about what might set him off next. “I think what you need is some down time. And maybe a hot cup of tea.”

“I don’t need quiet time,” Mandy protested.

“Everyone needs quiet time now and then,” Rocco said. As they started toward the house, a little hand tugged at his jeans.

“Papa? Is Mandy in trouble?” Zavi asked in a quiet voice as he hurried beside them.

“No, son. She’s just worn out. We’ll let her have a rest.” On the porch, Rocco moved the pillows around so that Mandy could recline against the arm of the porch swing and put her feet up. He lifted her legs and shoved a pillow beneath them.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Rocco. I’m not a diva. I don’t need to be pampered.”

“How much pampering have you had lately?”

“Not much.”

“Then maybe you aren’t the best judge of when you need it.” He grinned. “Fifteen minutes. That’s all I ask. I’ll get you a tea. When it’s finished, you can rejoin the world.”

“Can I stay with Mandy, papa? I’ll be very quiet.” Rocco looked at Mandy. Catching her slight nod, he agreed.

Mandy sank into the cushions and shut her eyes. She was close to truly breaking, just crumpling into a ball and wailing. But how would that fix her situation?

Her therapeutic riding center was destroyed—crying wouldn’t bring that back. Her house and bunkhouse were overrun with former special operations warriors trying to hunt down a nest of terrorists that was actively targeting them. The only bright spot was that, since the explosion and everything that had followed, Rocco seemed less haunted. He had his son back, unharmed and happy. And now that Ty was back, the holes in his life were filling in.

Mandy looked at Zavi. He crouched against the wall by the door, his little legs folded in front of him. He watched her with his big, brown eyes and somber face. He’d lost his mother and most of his family in Afghanistan; had been separated from his father for several months. He was living in a new country with new people, new customs, and a different language. So much change for him, but he wasn’t carrying on like a baby, as she was.