Page 11 of Defended By the SEAL (HERO Force #10)

“You have way too much stuff up there, Grams,” called Charlotte. “Do you even know what’s in half these boxes?” She walked into the kitchen, completely hidden by the large box in her arms.

“Of course I do, honey. Memories.” Grams helped her put down the box.

Charlotte’s eyes met Cowboy’s, images from the night before flashing in their depths before her expression went flat. “Hi,” she said, swaying before bracing herself on the counter.

“Hey. You need some help to bring stuff down?”

“Just a little lightheaded. I guess I could use some help.”

“Can you take Tom’s things up to the attic while you’re at it?” asked Grams. “There are a bunch of boxes in the room across from yours.”

“Sure thing,” said Cowboy. He followed Charlotte upstairs, and they stopped in the guest room to grab a few boxes. The attic was unfinished, with angled walls and dormers, and windows with dozens of individual panes. “Wow, it’s amazing up here.”

She pointed to the far wall, then crouched down next to the box she’d just put down. “We’re looking in these boxes.”

“Absolutely.” He squatted beside her, opening a box full of books. He sifted through them, eyeing their titles and checking for anything tucked inside. Charlotte’s box was full of clothes.

“Leo… about last night. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Goddamn it, he didn’t want to talk about this if this was the way it would go, didn’t want to hear her rationalizations or all the reasons they could never fuck again. He heard himself ask, “Why not?”

“You know why not. It confuses things that need to be clear. We want different things.”

“No, we want the same things, but I went and screwed it all up. I love you, Charlotte.” She looked away, and he grabbed her hand.

“Stay with me. Stay with me, and I’ll never ask you to marry me again.

But don’t apologize for making love to me.

Don’t tell me it was a mistake. The only mistake was me asking you to do what I wanted.

I wasn’t listening to you, and I’m sorry. ”

She pulled her hand away. “Don’t you get it? I want you to have the family of your dreams, a wife and kids. I don’t want you to give up your dreams for me.”

“We don’t have to be married to have those things.”

Her head dropped to her chest, then came up again. “I don’t even know if I want kids.”

He furrowed his brow. “Of course you do. We’ve talked about this.”

“No, you’ve talked about it. I’ve never been sure.” She closed the box back up and moved to a smaller one.

He needed to regain his footing after that statement. It was one thing to date forever without saying I do. It was another thing entirely to forgo having a family. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

She shrugged, not looking at him. “I don’t know. I didn’t know what I wanted. I was confused.”

“Confused.” He opened another book, staring unfocused at its pages. The whole time they’d been together, he was sure she was as happy as he was. He never doubted it. Now he doubted it all.

He put the book back and picked up another, a paper falling out of its pages.

He forced himself to focus on it. It was a receipt from a gun shop, with a handwritten note in an unfamiliar language that didn’t use the English alphabet.

He pulled out his cell phone and took a picture, sending it to Moto and asking for a translation.

They said nothing else as they worked, carrying Grams’s boxes downstairs and more of Tom’s boxes upstairs, quietly going through their contents. Books and sweaters. A box of ammunition, but no gun.

She doesn’t want to be with me anymore.

The sentence repeated itself in his mind. He didn’t know if he believed it, didn’t want to know what would happen if he could.

His phone vibrated and he pulled it out, reading the text from Moto. “Holy shit,” he whispered, his eyes going wide.

“What is it?”

“The note in the book says, ‘TBV, thank you for all you have done. With your help and the influx of weapons, PFP will punish those responsible for the genocide.’”

“TBV… Vanderhoffen? But what’s PFP?”

“The People’s Freedom Party.” He filled her in on what he’d learned from Moto about Tom’s past.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” she demanded. “Jesus, Leo. This is my fucking family.”

“I just told you.”

“Yeah, because of that.” She gestured to the receipt, the color in her cheeks flaming.

“My grandmother is letting a terrorist run Signet Firearms—one of the largest government weapons contractors in the country—and planning to give a bunch of sparkly new guns to his terrorist buddies, and you almost didn’t fucking tell me! ”

“I was going to tell you. But right now, we need backup.” He took out his phone and dialed Moto, praying the call would go through. He raised an eyebrow at Charlotte. “That gun store receipt was dated six months ago.”

CALL FAILED.

“Shit.” He tried again. “We don’t know how deep Vanderhoffen’s involvement in the organization goes or how he’s planning to get weapons to them. I don’t even know who the fuck ‘them’ is, or where to find them.”

CALL FAILED.

He squinted to see the screen clearly. “Come on, I still have two bars. What’s the fucking prob—” As he was speaking, the bars disappeared.

For a moment there was nothing, then tiny letters appeared reading EMERGENCY ONLY.

“No. No, goddamn it. Not now.” He fought the urge to fling the device across the attic, then held it up, moving it from place to place while staring at the screen.

“What the hell are you doing?” asked Charlotte.

“Looking for a signal. What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Searching for paranormal activity with the other Ghostbusters.” She got to her feet.

“I just had a signal, just now.”

“So send him a text. It will keep trying to go through. If the signal’s spotty, you’re never going to get a call to go through, but a text might make it.”

He brought the phone down and pecked at the screen with his thumbs, typing out a message to Moto. “I knew I should have called for backup,” he grumbled.

“Leo?”

He didn’t look up, but continued to type. “Yeah?”

“How is anyone going to get to the island? This storm isn’t over yet, and I highly doubt the bridges are crossable.”

Suddenly, a loud boom sounded from deep in the bowels of the house, a thundering vibration seeming to shake the entire structure. Charlotte’s eyes went wide. “Now what the hell was that?”

Cowboy was already on his feet. “That ain’t no fucking pickles,” he said, raced down the steep attic steps behind her. When they got to the second floor, an icy breeze blew up the staircase and rushed past his face as he ran. A woman screamed in the distance.

Charlotte gasped in horror. “Jesus, that’s Grams!”