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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Preacher couldn’t stop touching Maggie. He kept staring at her, unable to believe she was actually with him. When he’d seen her unmoving body fall out of that crate, he’d almost had a heart attack. He’d acted without thinking, something Tex and his team would chew his ass out for later. But there was no way he was letting that helicopter fly away with him on it while leaving Maggie lying in the dirt.

For a split second, he’d thought she was dead. That Robertson had gotten the ultimate revenge on his ex. But then she’d moved, and a whole new fear had nearly overwhelmed him. If Robertson had the power to do this —to kidnap Maggie, ship her across the world, and get her new boyfriend to unwittingly dispose of her body—what else could he do?

But that was a question for another time. Right now, they needed to get out of this FUBAR’d situation. Then he and the others would tackle the Rear Admiral Robertson problem.

The duct tape that had been used to silence her was still hanging from either side of her head, stuck fast in her hair. The sight of it was offensive, making Preacher feel sick to his stomach. But he did his best to ignore that for now. She was alive, that was all that mattered.

How? He had no idea. She’d been strangled—he saw the clear finger-shaped bruises on her throat—restrained, thrown into a crate, gagged, had earplugs put in her ears so she couldn’t hear anything going on around her, and then pushed out of a fucking helicopter. She should’ve died. But she didn’t. She was way tougher than Robertson ever dreamed. Not only for surviving two years behind bars for a crime she didn’t commit, but for inexplicitly making it through his sick plan to dump her in the middle of a goddamn war zone.

Roman Robertson was going to suffer. Preacher made a mental vow to do whatever it took to make it happen. Even if it meant ruining his own reputation and getting kicked off the SEAL teams and out of the Navy. Robertson would pay for what he’d been doing—ruining people’s lives simply because he could.

“You feel okay?” MacGyver asked Maggie gently.

They’d given her some protein bars, and she’d had more water. There was color in her cheeks now, and even though she had to be exhausted, she was still too quiet for Preacher’s liking .

“Yeah. I’m okay,” she said.

Preacher wanted to snort. He had a feeling she’d say that if one of her arms was hanging on by a tendon. She and him…they were a lot alike.

“What happened, Maggie?” MacGyver asked, leaning forward a little, keeping his voice low just in case there were people around who might hear them. At this point, they had no idea if anyone still in the area was friend or foe. It was best to lay low and not draw attention to themselves.

Preacher felt her take a deep breath—she was plastered against his side, and every movement she made transferred to him—then she spoke.

“I was sitting on my couch, feeling sorry for myself. Kicking my own ass for being such a baby about the disagreement I’d had with Shawn, when there was a knock on the door. I thought it was you,” she said, looking up at him. “I ran to the door and opened it without looking. Which was stupid.”

“You had no reason to think it was anyone but me.”

“I guess. The guy grabbed me around the throat, and I passed out. It was that simple, really.”

She sounded disgusted with herself.

“I don’t understand how Roman knew that I’d talked to you about him. I mean, it had only been a few hours. And while he said some stuff in that call I recorded that made me think he had people watching me, following me, could he have somehow bugged my place too? ”

“Maybe,” Preacher said, feeling sick. “But I think it’s probably my fault.”

“You?” she asked.

“Yeah. I made a bunch of calls after I left. I think he could’ve found out because of that.”

“You think Dude or Tex somehow notified Robertson?” MacGyver asked.

“No. They’d never do that. But even if Dude was discrete in any inquiries he made, word gets out,” Preacher said.

Maggie sighed again. “I guess it doesn’t really matter. Eventually, he was going to find out regardless.”

Preacher didn’t agree. Robertson would’ve found himself in a world of hurt when the Navy started investigating him, but if Preacher had been a little smarter about Maggie’s safety, the man never would’ve gotten his hands on her so quickly.

“Anyway, I woke up in that box. I couldn’t yell out for anyone to help me because of the tape, or hear if anyone was around because of the earplugs. I had no idea where I was or what was happening.”

“Until that box broke,” MacGyver said. “Thank God it did. Otherwise, we would’ve left.”

Preacher shuddered in revulsion. “That’s exactly what he wanted. No one ever would’ve discovered what he’d done either. Maggie would’ve been just another missing woman. And Robertson would get some sick, twisted enjoyment out of knowing I’d done his dirty work for him. ”

He felt Maggie’s hand squeeze his arm, but Preacher wasn’t ready to be comforted. “So, what now?” she asked.

Both men looked at her.

“I mean, his plan failed. I’m alive, and you guys figured it out. You realize he’s an extreme asshole and totally evil. So…what now?”

“We wait for our team to pick us up, then we get the hell back to the States and get his ass fired,” MacGyver said heatedly.

To Preacher’s surprise, Maggie chuckled. “Right. You make it sound so easy.”

“It won’t be,” MacGyver told her in a somber tone. “It’s going to suck. I’m guessing there might even be some Witness Protection involved for you.”

Preacher expected Maggie to freak out at hearing that. He himself wasn’t feeling all that level-headed about it at the moment.

But to his surprise, she just said, “I’m guessing that won’t be approved by my probation officer.”

It took a moment, but MacGyver burst into laughter. Quiet chuckles, but he was definitely amused.

Maggie smiled at him, then turned her head to look at Preacher. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make him pay for what he’s done. Not for getting me locked up. I did my time, and I can’t go back and undo it, so the damage is done. But for what he’s doing to the Navy. How many other SEAL teams has he sent to places they shouldn’t have been in? Or without the support they needed? His power trips know no bounds. I was child’s play for him, but manipulating people who signed up to serve their country? To give their lives if necessary? That’s not right. He’s not playing Risk, for God’s sake. He’s messing with real people, real lives. He needs to be stopped.”

She wasn’t wrong. But Preacher wanted Robertson to pay for the time Maggie had done behind bars. She hadn’t knowingly transported those drugs, and she certainly hadn’t planned on selling them. She’d lost her career, her friends, her apartment, her car, and two years of her life—for what? For Robertson’s amusement? That wasn’t acceptable. No fucking way in hell.

“I agree,” Preacher told her a little belatedly.

“Me too,” MacGyver said.

Maggie yawned then, sagging heavily against him.

“Why don’t you sleep?” he suggested.

“Are we safe?” she asked, looking around the room with tired eyes.

“As safe as we can be at the moment,” MacGyver told her.

“I’m not sure that’s very reassuring, but I’m too tired to care,” she said dryly. It didn’t take her long to go completely boneless against him.

Preacher looked up at MacGyver and said quietly, “Tell me you have your radio on you.”

“Nope. We had no plans to put boots on the ground. No need for it.”

“Damn,” he swore.

“Doesn’t matter. They’ll find us,” MacGyver said. “If I have to, I’ll find the parts to make a fucking radio. ”

That made Preacher smile. He didn’t doubt his friend could do just that.

“Besides, I have a tracker. Tex’ll lead ’em right to us.”

Relief swam through Preacher’s veins. He’d forgotten about the trackers. “I don’t have mine because we didn’t get to go home and pack.” After what happened to Blink, he’d concealed one of his trackers in the waistband of a pair of briefs. Not that bad guys couldn’t strip him completely bare, but Blink was a perfect example of how that usually didn’t happen. Of course, that underwear was sitting at home in a drawer, useless.

“I’ve started wearing one of mine every goddamn day,” MacGyver said with a shrug. “Paranoid? Yes. But I’m damn glad now.”

“Me too,” Preacher agreed.

Several minutes of silence stretched between them, before MacGyver broke it by saying, “He’s insane.”

Preacher didn’t have to ask who he was talking about.

“Putting her in that box and arranging for us to drop it? For you to drop it? He’s fucking sick.”

“He’s going down,” Preacher growled between clenched teeth.

“I know some guys. They live in Indiana. They run a completely legitimate business but do contract work on the side. If needed, I’ll get a hold of them. They’ll take care of Robertson once and for all.”

The thought of an assassin taking out the trash was appealing, but Preacher wasn’t a man who worked outside the law. None of them were. There were rules for what they did. And hiring someone to put a bullet in Robertson’s head was way outside what he was comfortable with.

Preacher looked down at a sleeping Maggie, and once more saw the duct tape hanging from her hair. It would most likely have to be cut out.

His conviction wavered.

Taking a deep breath, he said, “I think this stunt will be his undoing. He thought he was so smart, getting rid of Maggie in a way he didn’t think anyone would ever find out about. But he was too cocky. Sending us on this asinine mission will be the nail in his coffin. He thought Maggie would die, and he probably hoped the Russians would take care of us as well. But she didn’t. And he’ll get his, MacGyver.”

“Okay. But if anything starts going sideways, and it looks like he’s going to get off with some bullshit punishment, I’m calling Silverstone.”

“Deal,” Preacher said without hesitation. Personal moral code or not, deep down he knew the very idea of a man like Roman Robertson wandering around, free to fuck with other people’s lives, was abhorrent. Not to mention it would put Maggie’s life in extreme danger. The fact that she’d survived what he’d planned for her was reason enough for him to do everything he could to take her out. Until the man was stopped, he’d always be a threat.

Silence fell between the two men once more. Preacher didn’t feel the least bit sleepy. The creaks and groans of the dilapidated building over their heads didn’t exactly make him feel all that safe. But all they needed to do was wait things out. Kevlar and the others would hopefully be there soon.

All of a sudden, there was a scraping sound from the direction of where they’d entered the small room.

Preacher sat up straighter, and MacGyver did the same.

Moving Maggie so she was lying down instead of using him as a pillow, he took note of how she didn’t even flinch. Getting pissed all over again at how exhausted she had to be, Preacher pulled his KA-BAR knife out of the sheath at his side. MacGyver had done the same thing as they prepared to face whoever was about to enter the room. They moved silently to either side of the entrance, ready to subdue whatever threat might appear.

To their surprise, three children crawled through the makeshift door.

Preacher grabbed the biggest, putting an arm around the kid’s chest and lifting him off his feet. MacGyver did the same to the next largest intruder, and they hauled them into the middle of the small room.

Chaos immediately broke out. The kids struggled, the third one—the child who hadn’t been grabbed, and who couldn’t have been older than around five—didn’t hesitate to run up to Preacher, kicking and hitting him.

The extremely odd thing about the entire situation was how it was all done silently. These kids obviously knew not to announce their location to anyone else who might be nearby.

“Calm down,” Preacher ordered firmly but quietly—and amazingly, they did. Moving slowly, he put down the boy he’d grabbed, and MacGyver did the same. The little girl who’d so violently attempted to protect the boys ran to them, and they immediately hugged her, then shoved her behind them as they glared at the two men.

Preacher re-sheathed his knife at the same time as MacGyver, then crouched down on the balls of his feet. “Hello,” he said, wondering how much English the kids understood.

“Why you here?” the largest boy asked. His English was accented, and a little stilted, but Preacher was impressed that he was speaking it all the same.

“We came to rest and to hide from the bad guys.”

“This is our place,” the other boy said.

“I’m sorry, we didn’t realize. Can we share?” Preacher asked.

The older boy looked from him to MacGyver, then back to him. His eyes filled with tears, but the boy angrily wiped them away with his arm. “No. We go.”

“Wait!” Preacher exclaimed. Now that he’d gotten a better look at the trio, he couldn’t in good conscience let them simply leave. All three were filthy, covered in dirt and grime. Their clothes were ripped and torn, and the shoes on their feet were nothing but basically slippers. They all had the hollow eyes of hardened soldiers who’d seen too much hate and death. It tugged at his heartstrings.

“Stay,” MacGyver said. “I promise we won’t hurt you.”

The younger boy looked over at Maggie. “You hurt girl. ”

“What? No. She isn’t hurt. She’s sleeping,” MacGyver protested.

Preacher hated that these kids thought they’d hurt Maggie, but he wasn’t that surprised. War had devastated the city, and these kids had seen things they never should’ve had to see. He stepped over to Maggie and gently shook her shoulder. “Maggie? Wake up, sweetheart.”

Her eyes popped open in an instant, as if she was used to coming awake at a moment’s notice, and he supposed she probably was. Letting down your guard behind bars was probably a dangerous thing to do. Even while sleeping.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. We have guests,” Preacher told her.

Her eyes focused on the three children. “Oh!” she whispered.

“See? She’s okay. Not hurt,” MacGyver said. He’d moved so he was sitting on his butt on the ground, and he was holding up his hands as if to show he was unarmed. “We don’t have any food, but we have some water. It’s clean. Do you want some?”

The boys looked skeptical, but the little girl tugged on the older kid’s shirt and said something in Ukrainian. He nodded once.

MacGyver smiled and leaned forward, placing his canteen on the floor in front of the children, then sat back.

The smaller boy took one step and snatched the water up so fast, if Preacher hadn’t been watching, he would’ve missed it. Instead of drinking the water himself, he handed it to the girl. She smiled at him as if he was her whole world and brought the canteen to her lips.

“What are your names?” MacGyver asked softly.

“Where did they come from?” Maggie whispered to Preacher.

“Don’t know. They just appeared.”

“My name is MacGyver. Well, my real name is Ricardo. Some people call me Ricky.”

“Three names?” the smaller boy asked.

MacGyver smiled. “Yeah, I guess. But you can choose which one you like best.”

“Ricky,” the little girl said.

He beamed. “Ricky it is. And what’s your name?” he asked her.

“Yana.”

The oldest boy said something in harsh tones to the girl, and she immediately frowned and ducked her head.

“It’s okay,” MacGyver said. “I’m not going to hurt you. Any of you. Yana is a beautiful name.”

Preacher remained silent as MacGyver did his best to win the trust of the three very skittish kids.

“How old are you, Yana?”

She held up four fingers, then looked at the boys as if wanting reassurance that she’d either gotten her age right, or it was okay to still be interacting with MacGyver.

“She four. I am eight. My brother is seven.”

“And what should I call you?” MacGyver asked him.

For a moment, the boy frowned. Then he said, “I am Artem. My brother is Borysko. ”

“It’s nice to meet you both. As I said, I’m Ricky, and my friends over there are Maggie and Preacher…um…Shawn.”

Three sets of eyes swung toward Preacher and Maggie.

“Oh my God, they’re adorable,” she whispered.

“Your English is very good,” MacGyver praised. “Where did you learn it?”

“School,” Artem said, not hiding his derision at what he obviously thought was a stupid question.

“Right,” MacGyver said with a small chuckle.

“This is our place,” Borysko told MacGyver again.

“I’m very sorry to have come here without asking if it’s okay. But we were afraid of the guns. And Maggie needed a place to rest. She was hurt. We’ll leave if you want us to…but can we share for a while?”

Preacher had never seen this side of his teammate. He was speaking soft and low and all his attention remained on the children.

Artem’s gaze went from MacGyver, to where Preacher and Maggie were sitting, then back to MacGyver. “Did Russians hurt her?”

“No. It’s complicated.”

Both boys’ brows furrowed in confusion.

“Sorry, um…it’s hard to explain,” MacGyver said, trying to use words that the children might understand.

Yana tugged at Borysko’s shirt and said something in Ukrainian.

Her brother translated. “Her English is not good. She had not started school when the bombs came. We are trying to learn her.”

“That’s good,” MacGyver praised. “Where are your parents? Mom and Dad?”

Both boys frowned again.

“Dead,” Artem said woodenly. “Bomb came and made the house flat.”

“Oh no,” Maggie whispered.

Preacher had been watching the entire exchange, and something about the matter-of-fact way Artem had said the word “dead” made his heart break. War was hell, he knew that better than most people. But he was an adult. He’d signed up for what he did. But these kids, and the other innocent civilians caught in the crossfire of wars around the world during whatever power struggle was happening, they were innocent. These three siblings were the epitome of the consequences of man’s greed and need for control and power.

“I’m so sorry. My mom and dad are still alive. They live about an hour from where I live now. I have two brothers and two sisters,” MacGyver told the kids. “I’m in the middle, but I did my best to protect my sisters when I was around your age.”

He kept talking, telling stories about when he was young, saying anything he could to keep the children calm. It seemed to work. Preacher could see their muscles beginning to relax. Their shoulders were no longer hunched up around their heads, and they seemed to be leaning toward MacGyver rather than away .

“This is breaking my heart,” Maggie said quietly. “What will happen to them when we’re gone?”

Preacher swallowed hard. “Hopefully there are people around here who will take them in.”

“But wouldn’t they have done that already if they were going to?” she asked.

“I don’t know. War does strange things to people. It makes them more…selfish. That’s not really the best word, but when food gets scarce, when shelter is iffy, it’s human nature to hoard what you have and not let others in.”

“But they’re kids,” Maggie whispered fiercely. “That little girl is only four! How could someone not help them?”

“I’m not condoning anyone’s behavior, just trying to explain it,” Preacher said calmly.

Maggie nodded and snuggled up against him. “I know,” she muttered into his chest. “I just hate this for them.”

“Me too,” Preacher told her. And he wasn’t lying. There was something about these kids that hit him hard. The older boys had obviously taken their job of protecting their little sister seriously. And the way they’d fought silently, so they didn’t bring any attention to themselves, it was…wrong. On all levels.

“Can we take them with us?” Maggie asked.

Preacher’s stomach clenched. He wanted to, but he knew that wasn’t something they could do. There were many times when he and his team had wanted to save the children they came across on their missions. They’d done what they could, left food and water, but taking them back to the US was definitely against military policy. And something that could result in severe punishment.

“I’m sure they’ll be all right,” Preacher said. The words sounded lame to his own ears, but he had no good answer to make Maggie feel better.

He heard a strange sound, and he looked over at MacGyver and the kids. Somehow his friend had gotten all three children to sit around him, and they were now playing tic-tac-toe in the dirt. There were three games going at the same time, and MacGyver was doing his best to keep up with all three.

The sound Preacher heard was little Yana giggling.

These kids had suffered, were still suffering, and yet they’d managed to lower their guard enough to play a simple game with a foreigner in the dirt, in a bombed-out building, in the city they’d probably grown up in that was now nothing but rubble. Their parents were dead, and who knew how many other adults they’d known had been killed as well.

This was why feuds never really ended. This war would end, as they all did, but the things these kids had seen and done would stay with them. Hatred would fester, and in a decade or more, tensions would rise again, and it was likely Artem and Borysko, and possibly even Yana, would be some of the first ones to sign up to fight.

It sucked.

“Want to play tic-tac-toe?” Preacher asked Maggie, desperately needing to help shine some light in the kids’ world, even if it was just playing the simple game for a while.

“Yes,” she said, looking up at him sadly. Preacher wasn’t surprised she was on the same wavelength. She’d just been through hell, and yet, all her concern and attention was on these kids, not her own situation. She impressed him, and he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her by his side.

They shuffled over to where the kids and MacGyver were playing and asked if they could join. The boys looked wary, but eventually relaxed enough to let them play.

After half an hour or so of playing the game over and over again, Preacher took a break, glancing over at Maggie. At some point, Yana had crawled into her lap and fallen asleep. Maggie was leaning against a slab of concrete, also out cold. Yana’s head was against her breast, her body curled into a tight little ball.

A thought flashed through his brain right then. Of Maggie holding their own little girl the exact same way. The vision was so real, it took his breath away. He wanted that. So damn bad.

The sound of Borysko’s stomach growling had both MacGyver and Preacher looking at the little boy. The kid didn’t acknowledge his hunger in any way, obviously used to it.

Which was just another thing that upset Preacher.

MacGyver obviously felt the same way. He asked, “What do you eat here?”

Artem looked at him. The boy had lived a thousand years since his parents had died, it was obvious. He’d assumed the role of protector over his siblings, and it was taking a toll on him. How could it not?

“What we can find,” he said simply.

“Show me?” MacGyver asked.

Preacher opened his mouth to protest. To tell his friend it wasn’t smart to be wandering around the ruined city right now, especially since the sound of gunfire hadn’t really abated since they’d taken refuge in the rubble of the building.

Artem studied MacGyver, then nodded. He turned to his brother and said something in Ukrainian. Borysko shook his head, and they had a small argument. But Artem obviously won, because he stood up and told MacGyver, “You after me.”

“I’ll follow you,” he agreed.

The two slipped out of the room, and Preacher hoped they hadn’t just made a huge mistake. Artem could be a spy for the Russian army. Or he could be leading MacGyver into a trap. But he shook his head. The kid was eight. And he wouldn’t do anything that might put his brother and sister in danger. He knew that as well as he knew his name. MacGyver would be all right. He’d find something for all of them to eat, and by then, hopefully Tex would have done his thing and sent their SEAL team to pick them up.

Looking over at Maggie and Yana sleeping soundly made his heart clench again. For the first time in his career, Preacher wasn’t sure he wanted to be rescued. Going back to California meant dealing with Robertson, which was going to be a special kind of hell. As much as he now believed everything Maggie said about the man, prosecuting him wouldn’t be easy. And while they waited for the hands of justice to spin, Robertson would be a danger to all of them. He’d managed to kidnap Maggie and ship her across the fucking world; there was no telling what he’d do when he found out his plans had been thwarted.

Then there were these kids. They’d obviously done all right on their own, but the thought of leaving them in this destroyed part of the country with no adults to look after them…it hit Preacher hard.

Scooting over, he sidled up next to Maggie and put his arm around her, pulling her against him, so she was using him rather than the hard concrete as a pillow.

Borysko eyed the three of them for a moment, before lying down in the dirt next to them, one hand under his head, the other draped over his sister’s foot. Obviously wanting to keep a connection with her even in sleep.

Even after closing his eyes to get some rest himself, Preacher still couldn’t stop seeing Borysko’s dirty little hand reaching for his sister.

Somehow, someway, he’d do something for this little family.