Zachary stepped back to let him in. “I must admit, you’re the first male I’ve opened a connecting door for.”
The man’s laugh was sandpaper-rough. “When I play bodyguard, having connecting rooms helps.” He held out his hand. “DeVries. Simon said to tell you be careful and let him know if there’s anything else he can do.”
Zachary shook the callused hand. “Knowing Simon, that’s not all he said.”
“Fuck no.” DeVries followed him into the living room part of the suite and dropped into a chair. “The rest of the team will fly in tomorrow morning, but if they’re not enough, I’m to call for whatever backup we need. Demakis International Security isn’t about to lose a client.”
“Ah, well, we’ll try not to damage DIS’s reputation, then.” Zachary leaned against the wall.
DeVries’s eyes glinted. “And Simon isn’t about to lose a friend.”
“I’d prefer that outcome myself. Do we have any news about Weiss?”
“Nothing good. He didn’t board any plane in Tampa and has no reservations for tomorrow.”
A chill struck Z. Had Weiss not followed him to Alaska?
“Or,” deVries continued, “he has false ID or didn’t fly out of Tampa. Simon’s widening the search, but it takes time.”
“Understood.”
“Once the other three on my team arrive tomorrow, we’ll set up a trap. See what happens. Because we’re going to assume the bastard is here.”
Z nodded. He’d made sure that everyone from work and his various associations knew he’d be in Anchorage for a funeral. Anyone calling for him would also receive the information.
“You go nowhere without me, and don’t set foot outside of this room without me at your side. Agreed?”
“Of course.” Zachary motioned to the array of alcoholic beverages along the wet bar and received a negative response. After pouring himself a scotch, he handed deVries a bottled water before sitting. “You don’t think Weiss might have stayed in Tampa. For my family?” His worst fear.
“He’ll be here. I get the impression he’s got tunnel vision when it comes to what he considers an enemy.”
Zachary frowned. “I think you have more information than I received.”
“Probably. I pulled some strings and talked to his teammates.” DeVries’s mouth tightened. “They have a strong belief he eliminates people who piss him off. In Iraq, a sergeant kept him from beating up a civilian. The sergeant got killed; a long-range shot came from some half-destroyed buildings. Another teammate he disliked caught a bullet from the rear while in a firefight.”
Zachary’s gut tightened. “Weiss has crossed the mental boundary from killing for his country to killing for his own ends.”
“Looks like, yeah. He’s got a short fuse and is obsessed with payback.” DeVries fixed Zachary with a hard stare. “You realize there are no guarantees here, Doc. Not if you insist on attending funerals and receptions and shit.”
“I’m aware.” Zachary gave him a level look. “I also realize that just standing next to me is dangerous. However, I do not want any heroics, like you throwing yourself in front of a bullet for me. Am I clear?”
“Crystal.” The even tone said the retired SEAL would do as he wanted.
Chapter Six
Seated in the spacious hotel lobby on Saturday morning, Zachary frowned at his phone. Jessica wasn’t answering his calls. Although she’d been frustrated with him when he ordered her to stay in Tampa with Sophia, ignoring his calls wasn’t like her.
His frown grew. Perhaps he should have told her about Weiss before leaving.
No. She couldn’t help, and if she knew he was in danger, her nightmares would return. And she was carrying their child. His hand tightened on the phone with his frustration. Because he wanted to tell her what was going on. They didn’t keep secrets from each other. Not until now.
Guilt was an ugly mass in his gut.
Off to the side, deVries sat at a table, reading a newspaper. Only someone trained to read body language would recognize his readiness for action. The way his hand never moved far from the handgun inside his jacket. The grim set of his mouth indicated either bad headlines…or that he was still furious that the additional agents hadn’t arrived in Anchorage. San Francisco was socked in with fog, and their flight had been canceled.
DeVries had excellent skills, but he was only one man.
Zachary glanced around at the people in the lobby. Two were checking out. Several young men and women were arguing about a research project as they headed toward the convention rooms. An elderly couple was getting coffee at the stand. Several people waited for elevators.
No one set off alarms for him.
New movement drew his attention. Through the revolving glass doors, two men entered the lobby. One was almost as big as the mountains on the horizon, the other dark and lean. Mako’s sons.
Smiling, Zachary rose and went to meet them in the center of the room. “Bull, Cazador, it’s good to see you.”
Bull Peleki was a good six four with a heavily muscled body. His golden coloring hinted at his Pacific Islander heritage. His scalp was shaved. A trimmed black goatee was beginning to show some gray.
Now, Zachary really did feel old. Bull had been ten when they first met.
“Grayson. It’s been a while.” As they shook hands, Bull smiled. “I don’t know if I ever thanked you for helping persuade Mako to move to Rescue.”
After the grown boys had left home, the cabin’s isolation had exacerbated Mako’s PTSD and paranoia. Zachary had lent a voice in getting him to move. “I was glad to be of help.”
Zachary held out his hand to the other man. “Cazador, how are you?”
Shorter than Zachary by about an inch, Cazador Ramirez had finely sculpted musculature. His Hispanic heritage was obvious from the dark eyes, straight black hair, and brown skin. The most empathetic of the four sons, he’d been a Special Forces medic before obtaining a nurse practitioner license.
“This is a sad way to meet old friends,” Cazador said softly. Over the years, he’d never lost the soft Spanish accent. Hadn’t tried, in fact.
“It is.” Zachary glanced around. “Are Gabriel and Hawk here?”
“Hawk is undercover overseas for that crappy mercenary outfit he works for. He won’t be here.” Bull’s bass voice held a growl.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Zachary sighed. He’d hoped the two had quit the mercs. Hawk had left the military at the same time Gabriel, for an unknown reason, had resigned his job as an LA police lieutenant. They’d both been with a private military company for the last couple of years.
“Gabe is here in Anchorage…in the hospital.” Cazador’s face was grim.
Zachary could feel the frustrated anger coming from both men. “What happened?”
“Some South American assignment turned into a clusterfuck, and Gabe was shot to pieces. At least they were nice enough to transport him back here to recover after his surgery.” Cazador shook his head. “It was a long damn flight, and he was still disoriented when we had to tell him about Mako.”
Gabriel wouldn’t have taken the news well. Of them all, he was the most like Mako.
Bull managed a half-smile. “He’s a mess, but you know Gabe. He says he’ll be at the funeral, no matter what, even if he has to crawl.”
Gabriel was about as obstinate as they came. Zachary shook his head. “He shouldn’t—”
“Relax.” Cazador grinned. “We’re picking him up and will make sure he doesn’t overdo.”
“That’s reassuring. It might help him to be at the funeral.” As if anything could assuage grief. “I’m sorry for your loss. Sorry the world has lost a man like Mako.”
“Thank you.” Cazador’s eyes gleamed with tears for a moment. “The sarge’s lawyer said Mako’d asked you to handle the after-funeral reception. Did you need help?”
“My only request is that you come for a while tonight.” Zachary motioned to a room opening off the lobby. “As it happen
s, the hotel has a private lounge.”
“An entire lounge? Might be only us there,” Bull warned.
There would be far more than that. Zachary still had friends in the Special Ops community, many of whom were alive because of the tough old sergeant.
They would come to honor a Vietnam legend.
And Mako’s boys would have some new stories about their father.
Cazador tilted his head, studying Zachary’s face. “I don’t want to be rude, but you look…can I say…stressed?”
“I picked up a stalker in Tampa, one who might have followed me here.”
“Yeah? I know it sucks for you, but I’m in need of something active to do.” Bull smiled slowly. “How can we help?”
Zachary hesitated. Mako’s sons. Survivalist training, ex-military, deadly. Yet to put them in danger…
“Jesus, spit it out, Grayson,” Bull rumbled.
“I do have a bodyguard”—Zachary nodded toward deVries—“but I could use extra eyes watching for someone trying to blow my head off.”
“Sure. Do you know what he looks like?” Cazador made a gimme gesture.
Zachary pulled his phone out and showed them a photo of Weiss.
“A diversion. Perfect.” Bull slapped his brother’s shoulder, making him stagger. “I’ll swing by my house and pick up my S&W.”
“I have my knives.” Cazador smiled. “I’ll be here with Zachary. Maybe I get the man before you this time, eh, ’mano?”
“In your dreams, bro.”
Zachary realized he was smiling. “I am never out of the fight,” was one of Mako’s favorite sayings. There might be no resemblance in looks, but the first sergeant’s attitude had passed one hundred percent to the next generation.
* * * * *
The waiting room of the Anchorage salon was decorated in stark black, gray, and white. Waiting for her Saturday afternoon appointment, Jessica sipped what was supposed to be a calming lemon balm tea.
Come on, calming stuff. Kick in. But whenever she imagined Z’s reaction to her arrival at his hotel, any hope of tranquility disappeared.
Maybe she wasn’t doing the right thing, but the operative word was doing. She wasn’t going to leave Z to handle his grief alone. He seemed so controlled all the time people didn’t realize how deeply he loved, how much he cared.
Right now, he was hurting and worried, and although he hadn’t shared everything as he should have—and she felt like smacking him for that—he needed her. He was her husband…her lover…her friend…her Dom. So many things to her.
He’d always been there for her. This time, she could be the supportive one.
Although that plan had been a dismal failure so far. She took a sip of tea, tasting the subtle lemon, waiting for calmness.
Nope.
What a crappy, horrible trip. Was this karmic justice for disobeying him? He didn’t give orders lightly, not Master Z, but when he did, only someone given to insanity ignored them.
She had—and everything had gone wrong.
Honestly, what was wrong with birds these days? She still couldn’t believe that some suicidal seagull had flown right into the airplane engine.
The plane had barely taken off. After landing, it’d taken hours to repair. After she missed her connecting flight in Chicago, the airline put her up in a hotel and rebooked her on an early morning flight. She’d arrived in Anchorage too late to make it to the funeral. Which was going on now.
So much for being supportive. I’m sorry, Z.
On the way to the hotel, she’d seen herself in the taxi mirror. Talk about death warmed over.
She’d hoped Z would share with her what was wrong. But if he saw her like this, he’d ship her home without a doubt.
Time to armor up with one of a woman’s best weapons—her appearance. Which was why she was sitting in this Anchorage salon.
“Jessica?” A strikingly beautiful woman walked out from behind the reception desk, clipboard in hand.
“That’s me.” Jessica set down her cup and picked up her jacket. A jacket totally inadequate for Alaska. Sheesh, it was cold here.
As Jessica walked up to the reception desk, she wanted to crawl into a hole. The woman was tall, slim, and impeccably dressed. Makeup and hair perfect.
“What are we doing for you this morning?”
“Everything, because…” Jessica blinked back unexpected, unwelcome tears. “Because, well, there are two reasons. First, because of a missed flight, I just spent two days getting to Anchorage.”
“Oh, ugh, I hate when that happens. And second?”
“My daughter is eighteen months old now. I’ve been concentrating on being a mommy for almost two years.” Jessica blew out a breath. “I adore my little girl, but I need to feel beautiful and strong right now.”
“Oh. My. God.” The blonde stopped dead. “It took me five years to realize that I’d gotten so caught up in mommydom that I’d lost the rest of who I was. Good for you. Good for you.”
Even as Jessica’s mouth dropped open, the blonde looked her up and down, eyes narrowed. “Leave it to me, sweetie. We are so going to fix you up.”
* * * * *
Fort Richardson National Cemetery was a peaceful place, Zachary decided as he stood amidst the throng that spilled out from under a canvas canopy. Row upon row of white gravestones filled the snow-dusted lawn all the way to the evergreens around the edges. Along the horizon, the stunning Chugach Mountains lifted into the sky.
Mako would feel at home here, surrounded by his fellow soldiers.
Eyes stinging with tears, Zachary pulled his formal overcoat closer and watched over the proceedings. The number of military in attendance, both retired and active duty, had done Mako proud. The first sergeant had given his country his best; they would do no less for him.
The flag-draped casket had a six-man honor guard lining the sides. At the head, the chaplain was finishing the committal service.
As those seated rose to their feet, the rifle party, a distance away, fired a three-volley salute.
A cold chill ran up Zachary’s spine as the rifle fire reminded him of his narrow escape. He glanced at deVries who stood alone, leaving himself a clear field of fire. Catching Zachary’s look, the security guard nodded and continued watching for snipers, although it was highly unlikely Weiss could get himself, let alone a weapon, through base security.
Nonetheless, before they’d left the hotel, Zachary had requested a weapon, knowing deVries was the type to have packed extras. The Glock 26 was now in an ankle holster, and the weight of the heavy, but small semi-automatic was oddly reassuring.
The rifle volley complete, the lone bugler straightened. As the mournful sound of “Taps” drifted over the cemetery, Zachary had to swallow hard.
The folded flag that had covered the casket was solemnly presented to Gabriel, Mako’s oldest son, who was seated in a chair with a cane leaning against his leg.
After shaking hands with the white-gloved honor guard, all three sons moved to the casket to say farewell to the man who’d been, to all intents and purposes, their father. Mako had pulled them out of an ugly situation in a foster care home and raised them in a cabin with no power and no running water.
After leaving home, they’d all served in the military, and so had the straight posture, situational awareness, and dangerous grace of trained human weapons. Despite their hard faces, grief poured off all three.
As the sons moved away from the casket, they were wiping their eyes. Anyone looking at them could see how deadly they were—but somehow, that harsh old sergeant had also taught them to love.
Mako had been a master of war, but he’d known love was the strongest force in the universe.
* * * * *
Blinking hard, Gabriel MacNair moved away from Mako’s casket. He couldn’t imagine the forceful, uncompromising first sergeant inside a…a damned box. It was just wrong.
Gabe’s heart hurt, the ache rivaling the throbbing pain in his hip, the harsh burn in his shoul
der. His doctors hadn’t wanted him to leave the hospital…as if they had any say in the matter. No fucking pain would keep him from saying goodbye to the man who’d raised him.
Saved him.
“Sit before you fall, viejo.” Cazador’s accent was thick today, as if grief had sent him back to the days when he spoke only Spanish.
Gabe glanced down. Seriously? “Where the hell did you get a wheelchair?”
“I asked the hospital for one and put it in the trunk before I got you.” Despite the signs of tears, Caz’s eyes held laughter. He always enjoyed putting one over on Gabe.
“Sneaky bastard.” Gabe’s chuckle turned raw…because Mako’s greatest gift to them was how he’d turned four orphans into family. Into brothers.
“Sí. Now sit.”
Gabe did because, Jesus, he hurt. And he wasn’t ready to leave. Couldn’t bear to leave. Stupid to think the sarge would be lonely or feel abandoned without them here, but…he couldn’t leave. Not yet. He cleared the thickness from his throat and looked up at his brother. “There are a lot of people here. Are we doing anything afterward for them?”
He’d lost enough teammates over the years to know that usually a reception or something followed, but drugged up on pain meds and in the hospital, he hadn’t helped with the funeral arrangements. A pang ripped through his heart again. Funeral and the sarge—the two words didn’t go together.
“Tonight, sí. When Mako knew…when he started getting weaker, he called Zachary Grayson with orders on what he wanted done.”
Grayson? Gabe forced himself to think. Yeah, right. The man had been one of the few who knew the location of Mako’s isolated cabin. Of those, only a handful ever braved the crappy dirt road to get there, but Grayson had visited several times.
“He’s there, talking to the chaplain.” Caz nodded to the right.
Gabe looked over.
Six feet, fit and lean, military posture, dark tan. Aside from the silvering black hair, the man hadn’t changed much over the years.
Noticing Gabe, Grayson excused himself to the chaplain and walked over.