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“Above my paygrade.” He tossed his head. “The answers you’re looking for are in your office with that feisty old lady.” He grinned, holding the door for Dean as he walked inside. He couldn’t help grinning back. Granny Steele was hard-core steel to the max. He could hear her raised voice in the closed door across the showroom.
Then he saw the 9mm Glock tucked into a leather shoulder holster. The pistol’s grips showed wear marks, an indication of the amount of use it got—plenty, probably at one of the government’s qualification ranges.
Dean’s hands clenched again. It had been a while since he’d been to the range. It was too difficult to shoot, and he’d avoided it because it reminded him he was off the Teams, no longer a gunslinger. Curious what was going on and why this government muscle was here, he started toward his office.
When he opened the door, he was greeted by the sight of Granny Steele all up in a man’s face. The man was dressed in a green uniform, and it didn’t take Dean long to realize he was a three-star general. Or that he was General Michael Harkness. He was tall, lean, and had been described by the media as dashing. He supposed that meant the man was handsome. Dean wasn’t a regular Pentagon visitor, but he knew Mike Harkness, an advocate for all servicemen, especially special operations, a vocal part of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
What. The. Hell?
“You would know that if your manners weren’t so lacking,” Granny said.
The other person in the room was hard to miss. She was a knockout, dressed in an impeccable purple suit, and her two-inch leopard print heels put her roughly at six feet. She was blonde, her features classic and Slavic. Her big blue eyes flashed his way, and she placed her hand on the general’s shoulder. When he looked at her, she nodded toward the door and him.
Granny looked flushed but relieved to see him. That was a new one. He’d never seen that woman flushed.
General Harkness said, “Looks like we can now start this party.”
“For a party, you need to be having fun,” Granny said under her breath and headed for the door. “I’ll be backwithcoffee.” She gave General Harkness a scowl and the door slammed behind her.
“Strong woman,” General Harkness murmured. “Well, then, you must be Master Chief Teller.”
“I have held that title. But I’m now retired,” he snapped, already on guard. Burned twice by the government, he had no intention of letting down his guard here. “What is this about?”
“What it’s always about, son. National security.”
Every SEAL and patriotic bone in Dean’s body snapped to alert, just as the general expected it would. He might have been forced out, but there was no turning off his desire to protect his country. He’d taken an oath, and that oath stood until he wasn’t breathing—then he wasn’t sure if he wouldn’t come back from the dead to fulfill it.
Dean smirked and leaned back against the doorjamb. “I’m no longer in service, General. The brass made sure of that. As I said, I’m retired.”
The general laughed and set his hands on the still plastic-wrapped conference table.
“There is only one kind of SEAL, Master Chief, and that’s the serving kind. Retired my ass.”
“Don’t patronize me, General. You know how I feel about this country, but I’m not so enamored with the government.”
“Yeah, we’re a bunch of dicks. I’m aware. But this is a call to duty.”
Dean smirked and shifted, his mouth tightening. “Go ahead and throw around those words like duty and patriotism to get me even more adamant about throwing your ass and your muscle out of my establishment.” Anger licked at him. He wouldn’t be duped again into believing government lies about needed him, then kicking his ass to the curb.
The general’s eyes flashed, and it was clear he wasn’t used to having his plans thrown back in his face. The general’s jaw hardened. “Technically, it’s not the country, per se, it’s LA. LA is in danger, but I’m here for a two-pronged proposition. If you accept one, then two will be a given.”
“In other words, they’re looking for a twofer, Master Chief,” the woman said, pulling a chair out from the table and settling into it. Her voice was cool, collected, intelligence dripping off each syllable. East Coast accent, possibly Boston. She had the MIT air about her. She crossed her legs and there wasn’t a man on the planet who could have resisted watching her. Those were some legs.
“You have me at a disadvantage, ma’am,” he said.
She smiled, the sharp curve of her mouth telling him she knew how to play hard ball, and she was good at it.”
“I doubt that, Master Chief.
The door opened and Granny came in with a drink holder in her hands. Four cups of coffee nestled in the available holes of the reinforced cardboard. She walked over to the table and set it down. “I’m sure you’re a black coffee guy with no frills, but all the caffeine.” She shoved a cup into General Harkness’s hand. Dean noted the look he gave Granny, one that was both speculative and admiring.Careful, General, Dean thought.Granny is as elusive as the wind and twice as daunting as a rattlesnake.
“You look like an Austrian goat milk double-half-caf-half-decaf-soy milk cappuccino—extra hot—with a dash of Madagascar cinnamon-and half tablespoon of caramel-latte-frappa-mocha…iced. From what I can tell. You don’t need much caffeine. Naturally motivated.” She plopped the drink down in front of the woman and the general chuckled.
Granny then walked over to him and offered him his usual. Coffee with a touch of half and half. He took the cup and nodded to her. She went to the table and sat down.
The general eyed her for a second, then leaned forward, removing the top of the cup and taking a swallow of coffee. A warped grin appeared and there was a touch of wry humor in his voice. “This is a classified discussion, sweetheart. Don’t you have some managing to do around here?” Dean’s lips twitched. He suspected the general was baiting Granny for the sheer hell of it. The reason he was here had to be important. Most three-stars didn’t hop a plane to LA from DC. They were more like the type to order Dean to DC for a conference.
Her chin took on a tenacious set, and a hint of irritation flashed in her eyes. “I’m not your sweetheart, General Hardass—”
