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* * *
“Don’t you think you were kind of hard on him?” Kat asked, walking up to Joker, who had his hand braced against one of the windows as he stared out. She was feeling a bit tired and leaden, and all she wanted to do was crawl into a corner and die. The nausea was back, and the dull heaviness in her abdomen made her feel even more sluggish. But she forged ahead.
“Buck needs to get onboard. If we find out that someone on this plantation was responsible for anything to do with Nacho, they're going to pay the price.”
“What happened in that mission was hard on all of us.”
He remained rigid and silent, then he took a deep jagged breath and said, “I made a bad call, Kat. I should have waited for intel, backup…something.”
The thought of losing them all filled her with a cold, killing rage, but there was nothing but compassion for Joker. “It wasn’t a bad call, Elias. You made the call that needed to be made. We had him. We were so close.”
He didn’t respond. She saw he was seething, but she wasn’t sure if that anger wasn’t more directed inward than toward Buck, who was just voicing his reluctance. His honor and integrity demanded it. Kat knew that Buck couldn’t have reacted any other way. It was who he was.
“I understand your anger.”
It was as if those few words uncorked his temper, and anger flared in his eyes, the muscles in his neck suddenly taut. “Do you?” He slammed the flat of his hand against the wall, the sound loud, making her pulse jump. “I almost lost my team. All of them. As it was, we lost three people in that debacle.”
“What is this really about?” Kat stared at him, her heart suddenly tight, the realization dawning on her with a tidal force. She knew by the tightness in his voice and the rigidity of his body that this wasn’t just about the safety of his guys, but this was much closer to the heart.
Joker remained motionless at the window, not saying anything for a long time. Finally, he said, his voice strained, “When I woke up…Pippa…her face.” The anger banked, anguish filled his eyes, and he rubbed at them. “The reality of marrying a SEAL right there for me to see. Her pain, her gut-wrenching fear. I know I can’t think about her when outside the wire, but it’s damned difficult.”
She shivered against a sudden chill, understanding Pippa’s anguish. “You don’t have to tell me,” she whispered, using her voice to pull him back. “I’ve lived it. Every moment of it, wondering, praying, hoping that Wicked always comes back to me. He is everything.” She took a hard breath. “So, maybe Buck is experiencing the beginnings of what we each have.” Kat paused, her voice soft with compassion as she added quietly, “Maybe you can think about that before you take your fear, anger, and guilt out on him.”
He went still, then inhaled sharply and shook his head. “I’m going to blame Wicked for bringing you into this life where you are close enough to figure us out, lady.”
“He’s taught me a lot of things, but I already knew all about your alpha ways, Lieutenant. He doesn’t get the credit.” She took an uneven breath. “But our road to love was pretty bumpy.”
For the first time since she had come into the room, he met her gaze, and her throat got tight when she caught a tiny glimmer of humor in his eyes.
Joker’s voice was so strained, so raw with the pain of putting Pippa through hell, and the torment of his team’s close call, it was an agony to hear. “Pippa and I…we had our differences, but in the end, it was all about love.” Kat was shocked to find herself fighting tears. What the hell was wrong with her? She interrogated hardened terrorists, and the scum of the earth without batting an eye. She never got emotional on a mission.
She nodded hearing how raw and stripped he felt, finally understanding the source of his rage. It was his beautiful wife having to endure the possibility of his death. “Yes, that’s all we fight for. Buck will find his center, and he will keep his oath and his commitment to us. We both know it. He’s just fighting himself as relentlessly as you are.”
Joker swallowed hard. “There you go again, making me think.”
“Sometimes that’s hard to get a SEAL to do. I liken it to either a stubborn fool or an ornery jackass.”
He barked out a laugh, then shook his head again, struggling to get some degree of calm, but he failed. His mouth tightened, his eyes narrowed, visibly trying to check his renewed fury. It wasn’t finished, but they would find the resources, the composure, to see this through to the end.
“We’re not leaving here until we’re done, Kat.” He didn’t say anything for a moment, then he looked at her, his expression cold and controlled, his eyes even colder. “Ignacio ‘Nacho’ Siachoque is going out either in a body bag or in our custody, and we’re going to dismantle his entire fucking organization.”
Her eyes as cold as his, she said, “He’s never going to see us coming.”
* * *
His clothes drenched in sweat, Buck stacked bags of coffee beans with the speed and precision of a robot, the ache in his shoulders turning hot and sharp. He wasn’t going to think. He’d come out here determined not to, using hard physical labor as a vent for the undercurrent of bitterness that kept trying to pull him under. He changed his clothes and stormed out of the warehouse into the hot sunlight, and in another lifetime, before the Navy had tempered him into steel, he would have gotten roaring drunk and picked a fight.
Instead, the desire not to betray his team and his country, or disrespect and dupe a woman he was caring for more than he’d ever thought he could, was burning holes in his gut.
Sweat blinded him, and he stopped and yanked off his T-shirt, using it to mop his unshaven face. After the last bag had been stacked and the foreman had thanked him profusely, he hooked his hands on his hips, trying to ease the burning tension in his shoulders. God, he hurt. From the inside out.
Exhaling heavily, he straightened, his face rigid as he downed several bottles of water. Ignoring the pain in his shoulders, he went and took a hot shower, his muscles taut and on fire.
It had taken him a lot of years to learn how to shut down and disconnect. But he had learned the lesson well at the hands of his grandfather. Disconnection was a little like riding a bronc. A good rider had to empty his mind of everything except sticking on, of holding on against every clever trick that old horse might throw. Now, he had to focus. Focus. The SEALs had taught him that as well, and combat had taught him all about letting go and trusting his training. This wasn’t much different. He had to empty his mind. He had to stay the course.
The sun was going down, and he couldn’t put this meeting with Mari off any longer. The chatter of birds echoed in the clear still air, and off in the distance, he heard a door slam.
The back of the house was just as beautifully manicured as the front. He knew the layout like the back of his hand. He had memorized it. He walked up to the French doors and turned the knob. There was a peculiar stillness in him, and he stopped, massaged his eyes, a nasty feeling settling in his gut. Exhaling sharply, he clenched his jaw and swore, then stepped inside, his commitment made.
