Page 41 of Luck Be Mine (The Defenders #3)

? They are SEAL Team Three ?

Cait pulled into the driveway and parked next to Hunt’s truck.

Since Baxter’s funeral three weeks ago, she’d barely paused to clean her car or run it through a car wash.

Maybe there was someone whose name was “Bren” and “nan” who would take care of that.

“If he can scrub the driveway, he can do my car.” Cait gathered her bag.

During normal day shifts at the hospital, chaos was a given. Today, when she wanted immersed in the no-think-time drama, there hadn’t even been stolen sandwiches, dropped bedpans, or two-hundred-pound meatheads. To say she was moody wouldn’t come close to her mental state.

She paused before getting out of her seat and took stock of the curb. The entire team was here. Lovely. Cars lined the street like drop-off time at school. Was this good news or bad news? Regardless, it was time to send the boys home.

“They have to figure it out,” she muttered, slamming her door.

Instead of opening the garage, she went up the walk to the porch. Thanksgiving was close, and she wasn’t ready. Her to-do list needed out of her head and onto a piece of paper.

Her phone rang. “Perfect.” She struggled with the side pocket of her bag and juggled the device into her hand. Mackey.

“Yes, Bossman. I just got home from the hospital.”

“I found him.”

Cait’s bag dropped from her hands and thudded on the ground. “You what? Where?”

“East Village.”

“Is that where he is now?” With hands empty, she punched in the code on the new front door locks and bent to scoop up her purse.

“Yes, I don’t know how long I can hold him. Can you meet us?”

She took two steps into the house, let everything drop onto a side table, and followed voices to the living room. “I can’t go down there. Hunt will have a stroke. Further, I need the man to talk to me. It’s not like I can say trust me, and he’s going to go for this whole plan.”

Seven sets of eyes stared at her.

Her husband’s brows raised. He crooked a command finger for her to come to him.

“Hold please, Mackey.”

“Cait!”

“Hold.” Her moodiness brought out her firm voice in a room full of tough men. At this point, she didn’t have two cares to give.

She glanced around quickly, noting expressions, then was distracted by the clean house.

Hunt’s stare lacked patience. “What is your husband going to have a stroke about?”

She rolled her eyes. “They found Delaney.”

“Where?”

“East Village.”

“Oh, hell, no.” Hunt’s seriously unhappy face didn’t improve her mood.

Cait huffed. “I need to talk to the man before he disappears again. I’m changing clothes.” She handed Hunt her phone. “Talk to Mackey.”

His mean face had a counterpoint. It was his strict, do-it-my-way voice he could execute in one word. “Mac?”

She shut the bedroom door behind her, stripped off her scrubs, and put on her favorite old jeans, a navy UCSD School of Medicine T-shirt, and a comfortable pair of running shoes.

A quick brush of her hair, some lip balm, and she gripped the countertop in the bathroom.

“What in the hell am I going to say to him? Of everything we’ve figured out, and I let this sit. Crap.” She grabbed a light jacket.

“Cait!” At Hunt’s yell, she scooted to the living room.

“Where am I meeting them and when?”

Hunt passed her phone over. “11 th and G Street. Parking lot.”

Confused, her eyes widen with ire. “That’s in the East Village.”

Hunt patted her arm. “Yes, it is. I’m going with you. I want to meet this man.”

The team in unison watched them like a tennis match.

“What are we talking about?” Tommy tossed a file to Doogie, and she glanced over. There were a range of files across her coffee table.

New team member candidates. A dog?

The Belgian Malinois in the photo had amber eyes locked on the camera, lean muscles coiled under his coat, and a focus that made you believe he could track a ghost through smoke.

His handler, CPO Cade “Trek” Larrison’s grin was all trouble.

Like Tommy. Another folder lay to the side, Morgan, Wes.

A., LTJG. Annapolis. Cait’s eyes widened.

Hunt took her hand to snag her attention. She would question all this later.

“Cait has a homeless vet she needs to meet.”

Brennan eased off the seat at the kitchen counter. “Why?”

Hunt turned to her. “Do you want to explain or shall I?”

Cait swallowed an anxious clip of words and went with military succinct.

“A patient of mine. Former Army. Retired. Needs a surgery. It’s been denied by the VA because the original injury isn’t documented in his file from Khadahar, 2011.

I’m going to do it for him. If I can get there to talk to him.

” She bounced on her toes, encouraging Hunt to stand.

“Why, Doc?” Carter was slouched on the sofa, his face hard and neutral.

“Because I can, John.” She patted his shoulder and went to the table to rummage in her purse. With wallet in hand, she turned to Hunt. “Ready?”

“Yeah. Lock up when you leave, gentlemen. Be on base at 0500, workout first.”

Nods of agreement went around.

“My car or your truck?” Cait grabbed her keys.

Hunt’s serious face made her pause. “Mine. Your car looks like a doctor drives it.”

Cait snorted, dropping her keys back on the table. “I am a doctor.”

“My truck looks normal and won’t attract attention in the neighborhood.”

“I’m sorry. There is nothing normal about you.”

She was first off the porch and into the truck. The bickering with him felt good. Like the beginning times. Before the weight of death and arguments busted it.

She sank into her head, trying and discarding a bunch of different approaches to connect with Delaney while Hunt navigated the roads.

His hand closed over her restless fingers. “Be yourself, Cait. Your commitment rings true from your words and your actions. It’s the only way to convince him.”

She shifted in her seat, studying him, and finally agreed. “Good session with McIvers today?”

“Yes. I have another one next Monday.”

Cait stopped herself from uttering “Huh?” Covering, she switched. “It must have gone well?”

“He gave me some things to think over, some of it I want to talk with you about, but not now. It’s a deep dive conversation.”

“Okay. Sounds like it might be an ice cream night.”

Hunt changed lanes. “Yes, definitely.”

“Did you pass your psych eval?”

“Yeah, I did. Carter has his appointment in the morning, but the rest of us are cleared.”

“Operational?”

“We’ll have to find out in the morning. Up to command. We still have to pick a new member for Baxter’s slot, and one for Stemmons.”

“He’s out, then?”

“Yeah. Medical.”

Cait choked off the grief and fear stabbing at her heart. This is who he is. This is what the job requires. Let it be.

By the time they pulled into the correct parking lot and found Mackey, Cait switched back to what she wanted to say to Delaney. Honesty had worked with him at the hospital, and it was the only way to go.

Hunt put a hand on her arm. “Wait.”

She sighed, resigned to the need for security. He got out of the truck and called to Mackey who gave them a come-ahead motion. Hunt opened her door and took her hand as she stepped out. “Remember, be you.”

She wanted to run, but Hunt kept her at a steady pace, giving him time to assess the area. She found Delaney. He was perched sideways in the front passenger seat of Mackey’s SUV. A whole lot of attitude stared back at her.

She’d been right. His height matched Hunt’s. But old jeans and a checkered shirt masked the tattoos, and a Chargers hat covered the thinning gray hair. The posture was all Army. Mackey had bought him coffee.

She walked to the open car door where the man sat. “Can you two take a hike for a few minutes?” She made a shooing motion with her hand.

Hunt leaned in and whispered. “I want introduced.”

“Mr. Delaney, this is my husband, Travis Hunter. I’ve been a bit focused on finding you, and he’s curious.”

“He’s overprotective,” Hunt corrected. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He reached out a hand to shake.

Delaney took it reluctantly. “Spec Ops.”

“Correct.”

“Active?”

‘Yes. Be nice to her.”

The two men made their way three car lengths away. She didn’t ask why only three.

“Mr. Reynolds briefed me, Doctor. Why don’t you tell me why this matters to you?”

“I’ve been where you’re at. Suicide bombing. Bagram. Came home with a broken body and a shoulder needing two surgeries to fix. It’s mostly plastic and metal screws now. No feeling in my fingers.”

“You told me this.”

“I had good people on my side, and it pisses me off that, with your service record, nobody took care of you. Clear enough for you.”

“I told you I didn’t have the money. VA won’t pay.”

She nodded. “I checked with the VA. I have organized a complete plan, all paid for.”

Delaney’s eyes narrowed. “How?”

“I have friends.”

Mackey snorted, the noise carrying.

“Down in the front row, Mac,” she yelled, eyes never leaving Delaney.

“I can fix your arm. It won’t be an easy recovery, and whether you have feeling back is a crap shoot and may take a while.

But studying your record, I think hard doesn’t scare you.

I have every step worked out. Except how to convince you.

So I’ll say this: The question to ask yourself is how much more good could I do with my arm fixed? ”

The sergeant opened his mouth then closed it. His eyes shifted with his mood, from skeptical to considering. He tipped his head toward Mackey and Hunt. “Do those two ever tell you no?”

Cait grinned and gazed at the two men. One a brother by sheer coincidence and the other the spark, the love of her life. “No, Delaney. They do not. You won’t either. Because you know I’m right.”

“What’s first?”

“Imaging, and a consult with a friend of mine. He’s a fabulous orthopedist.”

“Can I hold making the decision on the surgery until after the consultation?”