Page 29 of Shielding his Legacy (Shattered SEALs #7)

Waiting was the eighth level of hell.

Gavin paced the length of Jacoby’s office, keeping an eye on the television screen.

If he didn’t know better, he would think he was watching Eva with Abby.

Marina was doing a fabulous job as a decoy, but he wanted to be down there with Eva instead of waiting in the administrative wing while the uniformed officers took care of his family.

He didn’t trust anyone to protect them except himself. If he’d been allowed to bring his private firearm past the metal detectors and onto police property, Gavin would already be down there.

Jacoby’s phone rang and he answered it.

Gavin knocked Sloan’s feet off the coffee table.

Jacoby turned his back to them and was talking in a low voice. Sloan turned back to Gavin, but pointed a sucker toward Jacoby. “I don’t trust that guy.”

Champion leaned forward. “How many fucking lollipops have you had?”

Sloan ignored him, continuing to talk to Gavin. “Any man who claims to own a cactus of that caliber yet doesn’t know its age clearly can’t be trusted.”

Gavin shook his head slowly and continued to pace.

Trace cocked his head. “I don’t know if horticultural lies make you a bad person.”

“Would you tell lies about a plant you owned?” asked Sloan.

“Well, no…”

Gavin ran his hand through his hair. “Oh my God, would you two please shut the fuck up?”

Jacoby put down his office phone and looked at Gavin with a concerned expression. “The organized crime task force disassembled close to thirty minutes ago. They’re no longer watching the video feed.”

Adrenaline shot into Gavin’s bloodstream. “Thirty minutes? They disassembled the group without telling us?”

“There was an incident involving an organized crime ring. The lieutenant got called away and didn’t realize the group had disbanded until just now. He apologized profusely.”

“Well shit, if he apologized,” said Champion, already on his feet. “That makes it all better.”

“I’m sorry, gentlemen,” said Jacoby. “But as you can see, Miss Livingston is perfectly fine. She’s right there with her daughter, safe as can be.”

But the men didn’t seem to hear. They were all headed for the door. “Take us to her,” snapped Gavin.

Jacoby’s head jerked back. “I’ll be happy to call for an escort to take you to Miss Liv—”

Gavin pointed to the screen, feeling as if every blood vessel in his head was on the verge of exploding. “How many of those task force detectives have keys to that interrogation room?” he demanded. When Jacoby looked contrite but failed to respond, Gavin barked, “How many?”

“All of them,” the other man said. He nodded and headed toward the door. “I’ll take you.” But he didn’t get halfway to the door before four shots rang out from the television’s speakers.

Turning just in time to see the chair flip backwards from the force of the shots, Gavin saw blood… blood on the baby’s blanket, blood on the Marina’s chest. Someone was screaming.

Then they were running down corridors and stairs, running, running, an image of red hair and a bloody baby blanket paralyzing all thought and emotion. There was only running, blood, and red hair, while somewhere far away a baby’s cries echoed down a hallway.

A man who might have been Jacoby yelled, “We need an ambulance!”

The door to the interrogation room was locked, and Gavin rammed it with his shoulder twice before Jacoby got the key in the lock and opened it. Gavin pushed past him, the scent of blood reaching his nostrils first, the stillness of the scene before him taking longer to register.

Nothing moved.

He rushed to Marina’s side and felt for a pulse. She had to be okay. They’d planned for his, done everything in their power to ensure her safety, but there was an obvious measure of risk that couldn’t be avoided.

Her hair was the same length and color as Eva’s, but her features weren’t as fine. Still, from a distance, and with a plastic doll wrapped up in a baby blanket, their similarities were great enough to pull off the ruse.

“She has a pulse,” he said, relieved, and began searching for injuries.

He ripped her shirt, revealing the Kevlar vest with damage from two slugs.

On her left upper arm, a wound spurted arterial blood.

“I need a tourniquet.” Even as he said it, he worked his belt out of its loops and yanked it tightly between the wound and her shoulder.

“Ugh…” she moaned, wincing and moving her head a fraction of an inch.

“I know that hurts. I know it does,” he chanted. “You’re going to be all right. You’re going to be just fine.”

“My head,” said Marina. “I hit my head when the chair fell backwards.” She tried to sit up.

“You stay right there,” he commanded. “Ambulance is on its way.”

Reaching up, she pressed her palm against her forehead. “This is why I became a military psychologist, not a soldier.”

“Hey, a lieutenant’s a lieutenant, am I right?” he joked, desperate to keep things light. She seemed okay, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t worried. It was his fault she was wounded, and until she was safe and sound, he was going to be concerned.

Marina glared at him through eyes that were mere slits against the overhead lighting, and blew out air. “You owe me one for this.”

“Just name your price.” Emotion rose up in the back of his throat. It could have been Eva and Abby who’d taken fire in this room. Instead, this woman had been hurt while Gavin’s daughter and the woman he loved were hiding in a janitor’s closet with some rookie officer.

The woman he loved.

The thought jumped out at him, an exclamation in an otherwise quiet contemplation of gratitude. But he didn’t correct it, didn’t mentally swap it out for some other word that was far less true. He loved her. He truly did. Maybe he had since that first moment when he’d stopped to change her tire.

“I want to see you in my office, DeGrey. That’s my price. And not just once, either.”

He nodded. Her requests to see him in therapy used to be an irritation, something to scoff at.

Now they were a chance to get the life he wanted, instead of the life he’d been living on repeat since long before he’d met Eva.

“I’ll be there with bells on, Doc. Got a few things I could use some help with. ”

The EMTs arrived with a stretcher and promptly cleared the room, landing Gavin in the hallway where Jacoby waited to talk with him. “Did you get him?” Gavin asked.

The other man nodded. “Clear as day on the camera we set up outside the room. Your trap worked, Mr. DeGrey.”

“Who was it?”

“Ron Carver, a detective. He’s been with the NYPD seventeen years, and on the task force for four.”

Relief was a balm to Gavin’s frayed nerves. “He’s going to get to see what life looks like on the other side of the bars from now on.”

Jacoby shook his head solemnly. “Carver shot himself in the head before he could be apprehended. Officers were in pursuit. He knew it was over.”

Gavin wasn’t sure what to say, so he said nothing, simply stood beside the other man as they wheeled Marina out on a stretcher. She held out the plastic doll in Gavin’s direction. “Take your kid, would ya?”

He took it, noting Marina’s blood on her outfit and the dark line where the doll’s face had been grazed by a bullet. He just stared at it, horror and gratitude mixing in an awkward stew.

Jacoby held out his hand. “I wish you well, Mr. DeGrey.”

“Thank you, sir.” Gavin looked forward and back. It was time to find Eva and Abby, and wrap them up so tightly he might never let them go. “I’m all turned around. Which way’s the supply closet?”