Chapter Six

Shane couldn't believe how much better walking back to Everlee's desk felt. He'd expected Stewart to be hard-assed. Had thought he'd mentally prepared for it, especially given the bombshell Shane dropped on him. Marines fought dirty, and Stewart wasn't above hitting below the belt. Neither was he above admitting he'd been wrong, and that, right there, made one helluva difference between him and the commanding officers Shane had worked for in the Corps. They'd only been interested in two things, getting another star or stripe, and making themselves look good to their superiors. Stewart's sincere apology still amazed the shit out of Shane. No one had ever treated him so good, and that welcome home? And the sweet hug from Stewart's wife?

He brushed a hand over his eyes before he choked. For the first time in years, Shane felt like he might just enjoy this job. But man, Stewart's wife looked younger than him. A lot younger. She was stunningly beautiful, with her chocolate-brown hair tied up in a messy bun, while Alex was gray at his temples. He might dress like he belonged on Capitol Hill, but his nose had been broken a time or two. What the hell was a classy woman like her doing with a street-fighting bastard like him?

Guess opposites did attract.

Shane shook the puzzle off. He had a plan for the evening. The dinner invite was going to be short and sweet, over and done before the sun went down. This game he knew how to play. Show up on time. Be respectful. Schmooze a little. Keep his opinions to himself. Eat small portions of what was offered. Then leave.

But wow, he couldn't shake the lovely image of Stewart's wife out of his mind. For a moment there, when Kelsey'd grabbed him into a hug, she'd rocked Shane's world. Not in a sexual way, but in a way that was so damned motherly. He'd missed the tender touch of a good woman, and she'd hugged him exactly like his mom used to. He could've bawled like a baby.

Because life had been damned miserable after his shitty father deserted his mom and him when he was thirteen. With her working two jobs while Shane finished junior high, they'd been sinking fast. But once old man Swanson hired him to stock shelves at the neighborhood grocery store, well, Shane worked his ass off to impress the guy. Eventually, the after-school job included Saturdays. Never Sundays. Swanson closed up shop on Sundays, said smart people didn't shop nor work on the Lord's day. He must've known something. Because within a year, thanks to Shane's weekly paycheck, his mom was able to quit her second job. From then on, Shane made attending the Catholic church on the corner of his street an every Sunday morning habit. And after Mass, he fixed dinner for his mom.

God, he missed her. She was why he'd never hooked up with loose women for one-night stands. His old man had cheated on her with one woman after another until it broke her heart and damned near broke her spirit. Shane wasn't made that way, had never wanted to be anything like the bastard who'd fathered him. Still didn't. Yeah, he'd had a few close encounters with women, but none lately. He'd never felt he was good enough for the nice ones, considering his profession. What lady wanted to hook up with a professional killer?

"Girls," he called out as he rounded the corner. "Time to go. Come," he said, slapping his thigh to get their attention. Molly and Dolly charged him, two furry bundles of energy. They were just like little kids. No matter what he did, they loved him, and their smiles proved it.

"Well? Are you leaving or are you staying?" Everlee asked.

"Staying," he replied. Man, it was good to be able to say that. He had the job he'd wanted.

"Congratulations!" Excitement glittered in her eyes. "You actually look like you're going to live now."

"Yeah, being employed helps, thanks." He ran a hand over his head. "But I've got to go with Mark for a while, and these girls get to come with me." How great is that?

"May I come, too?"

"I guess. Sure. Alex said something about the barn and Harley and Maverick, though. Sounds like it might be a lot of walking. Are you sure you're up for it?"

"I meant to dinner at the Stewarts. May I ride with you? We all just got a blanket email invitation, and" —she waggled her boot at him— "I can't drive. Give me a ride over?"

Blanket invitation? "Everyone will be there?" Stewart hadn't said anything about inviting a crowd. But he had recently closed his Seattle office. It made sense. "How many are you talking about?"

"Everyone. Definitely four dozen or so, give or take a couple missing wives or husbands. But kids. Lots of kids. Did you know Mark and his wife have five children?" Everlee's eyes widened and her brows lifted nearly to her hairline. "'Course the twins are adopted, but five. Can you even begin to imagine having all those kids? The Houstons are a party all by themselves."

Shane zoned out somewhere between blanket invite and party . He hated crowds and now Everlee wanted a ride. Which meant he'd be driving her home. Maybe walking her to her door and dealing with the awkwardness that went with it. "I, ah, I've got dogs. My truck's full of dog hair and—"

"So? In case you haven't noticed, this place is the most dog-friendly place you'll ever find, and there's plenty of dog hair here. Get over it, Mr. Hayes. Shane. What'll it be? Do I have to call a cab, or will you let me tag along with you this one time? It's not like I'm asking for a date. Just a ride."

"Ride," he answered gruffly. "Sure, yeah, no problem."

Big problem.

"I'll call when I finish with Mark, and we'll go from there. Sound good?"

No, sounds bad, really bad. She's pretty and I don't see a ring. She'll expect something, only I don't have anything to offer.

"Great!" Everlee handed over a business card. "Here's my contact information. Call when you're ready to leave. I'll meet you out front."

He tucked the card into his shirt pocket. "Yeah, sure. I'll call as soon as I'm able."

Damn it.

"See that you do. Be there or be square!"

Her excitement was annoying as hell and hard to miss. He nodded, then walked back to Mark's office with Molly and Dolly tagging behind, not at all sure about Stewart's invite. If anyone had a reason to duck and run for cover, it was Shane. He hated crowds, but mostly, he was a lot like Stewart had been. He hated people. Too many hidden land mines in a large gathering at an unfamiliar home, and what if he lost control? What if he panicked and did something stupid? Like curse or scare the kids or… that.

What if he fell off the thin line between forgetting and remembering? Some of the shit he'd done for the Corps had a sneaky way of coming back at him. Nothing was stable in a world where every corner and shadow could hold a hidden terrorist, a suicide bomber, or an IED that would shred a man's boots, feet, and legs to bloody mulch. Never mind what it could do to the rest of him.

He inhaled a deep breath to get the terrors of all he'd lived with, seen, and done off his back. Scout snipers might do their best work from a safe distance, but the carnage they created through their scopes was always up-close and too damned personal to forget. There was a time Shane had been new at his hunter/killer job. From that day forward, he'd zeroed down on every sort of mass murderer the Taliban or ISIL had thrown his way. His scope had focused mostly on men ready to kill themselves for their causes, but there was the occasional woman who'd been willing to kill herself or her children. Plus, there were still Sara and Abby and Mom and…

WHOOSH. Damn. Fuck!

Nightmares flooded back on him en masse, each fighting to be seen and remembered, all of them elbowing forward, the stench of rotted flesh suffocating the shit out of him. They poured into his mind like swarming wasps. Too close and too fast. Too painful…

No longer able to see past or through them, he closed his eyes and slapped a palm to his breastbone to keep his heart from pounding its way out of his chest. The buzzing anguish of all those yesterdays crescendoed into louder screams and bloodier mayhem. So many tears and so much—

"Shane!" Some fiend screamed at him through the black cloud sucking the life out of him.

How'd these shadows know his name? "No!" he barked, needing them to stand down and back off. "Hell, no! Keep away from me!" His gawddamned heartbeat matched the agonizing volume of all those buzzing, terror-filled memories. There was no escape. No way to fight all of them.

"Shane! Son of a bitch, you're not alone!" The same asshat grabbed his biceps and shook him like a limp, wet rug until the back of his head knocked against something as hard as granite. He was on a floor?

"Come back to me right gawddamned now!"

He turned his face toward the slathering beast at his side, wishing he'd brought one of his pistols and—

What the fuck? He was on his back. He was on the floor inside TEAM HQ. In the lobby. Looking up. Sweating buckets. Watching for terrorists hiding up in that stupid, retro-industrial ceiling of painted-black pipes and tiles and— Shit! Whose bright idea was that black-splattered ceiling? It camouflaged anyone up there perfectly. Damned if his eyeballs weren't frantically rolling from side to side, forever searching for the terrorist assholes and hidden IEDs and—

"Snap out of it, damn it. You're at TEAM HQ, Shane," the asshat growled like Beowulf. "Nothing to worry about here. You're among friends."

"I know, I know," he huffed, gradually letting the suffocating nightmare go. Gathering his senses and moving out of the dark shadows. Sliding into the present, forward into the here and now. Instead of backward into—the horrible then. Shane swallowed, at least he gave it his best shot. But there wasn't enough spit in his mouth to make that bodily function work. Funny how he always tasted dust and blood after these panic attacks.

But then everything got so much worse. He blinked the nightmare off and found himself staring up at—Alex. His boss . No, no, no!

Shane jolted upright, damned near banging his head into the man's chin. Sticking both palms to the floor behind him to steady himself, he licked his lips and forced the panic back to its rightful corner in his mixed-up head. He'd no more than sucked in a deep breath of ‘I am so fucked, ' when two cold noses and wet tongues lashed up his neck and his chin and over his face.

Molly and Dolly to the rescue. He pulled his girls in hard to his chest, wrapped his arms around his lifesavers while they crowded in. He let them slobbery kiss him, needing them. Not needing Alex or anyone else huddled on the floor with him.

Shit! He'd drawn a crowd. They'd all seen. Even Kelsey. Now everyone knew.

After-tremors came fast and hard and…

Gawddamn his screwed-up brain to hell! Why couldn't it let go of all the crap his eyes had seen? Why throw it back in his face now, when he'd finally had something to look forward to? A decent job! Jesus Christ, always one baby step forward, and right on that measly success, ten fuckin' giant, panicked steps backward.

Shane wiped his hand over his mouth in case he'd bitten his lips and that was his blood he was tasting. Thank God, it wasn't. Just drool. Not like that was any better. But how was a guy supposed to deal with persistent, stupid, walking, talking nightmares? He had no idea. Of all days, today was the moment he'd needed to project himself as the hard-assed warrior he was. But now, sitting there on the floor, his heartbeat felt like one gigantic throbbing kettledrum stuck inside his chest. Because he was shaking like a beast, he kept his face buried in Molly's thick mane, hiding, taking time to regain some measure of normalcy and composure and—

Oh, what the fuck? Everyone knew. Everyone who mattered. This was Shane's normal, and he couldn't fix the problems in his head. Even his girls could only help so much. This—this broken sweaty mess of a man was who he really was. Not the tough, confident killer he wanted everyone to see. But this quivering piece of chicken shit. He growled like a beast at the fucked-up quicksand he was stuck in.

And suddenly, it was Everlee bulldozing Alex aside. She was in Shane's face, ordering him to, "Breathe, buddy. Nice and easy, just focus on breathing right now and hang onto those girls of yours as long as you want. Damn, they know just how to help you, don't they? And they're so gentle about it, too. Not like my pittie. Blade thinks he has to French kiss me whenever I'm having a bad dream, and trust me, the slobber from that guy is enough to drown a girl."

Yeah, okay. Okay. I can do that. I can breathe.

Instead of wishing she'd back off, Shane focused on Everlee's bright brown eyes and the sparkling black pupils at the centers. Man, she really was pretty. Her short, coppery hair bounced into her eyes, but he knew what she was doing. Distracting him. Helping him through the latest motherfucking panic attack to unman him, here of all places, gawddamnit. At TEAM HQ. In front of everyone he'd thought he'd just impressed. Alex. Kelsey. Mark. Kick that bullshit illusion to the curb.

God, just kill me now.

Alex didn't need men like him, and wasn't that the shits? Especially since it was men like Shane who'd done the dirtiest work for Uncle Sam, the bastard.

"Hey, there you are." That sweet voice had to be Kelsey. Of course. "You're not alone, Shane. I still have panic attacks, too." She was kneeling between Alex and Everlee. Her palms were on her thighs, but she'd tipped forward as if she'd hug him again if he'd let her.

Shane closed his eyes to shut her out. He had his girls. They were all he needed. Another womanly hug would only hurt.

"So do I," Everlee declared loudly, almost as if she was proud of it.

He had to open his eyes to see if she'd really meant that.

"No one comes home unscathed, buddy." That was Mark's rumbling baritone. His hand landed on Shane's shoulder, his thumb digging into Shane's collarbone. "My wife and I deal with ours by holding onto each other when things get bad. Looks like Molly and Dolly understand you need that. They're hugging the hell out of you. Did you train them to do that or did it come naturally?"

"Yeah, naturally," Shane huffed, wondering what sort of traumas Kelsey or Mark and his wife had to deal with. "They… help." He slammed his eyes shut again, so damned embarrassed. He loosened one hand from Molly's or Dolly's fur and—

Hell, he didn't even know which of his girls was sitting on his legs and which was kissing the hell out of his neck and chin and whining. But their possessive positions helped disguise the quick as lightning brush over his zipper his fingers made—just to be sure. Just to be safe. He actually inhaled a real, no kidding speck of relief then. He hadn't completely lost control and unmanned himself—that way. But a guy stuck in the throes of hellish nightmares often lost control of everything. Even his bodily functions.

Still too weak to get to his feet, Shane heard quick, light footsteps, as well as the heavier stomp of boots, coming at him across the tiled floor. Of course. Join the party!

He nearly ducked for cover until a pretty blonde wearing a white jacket, like she worked in some kind of a lab or something, materialized on her knees beside him and Everlee. Right off the bat, she put her cool fingers on his forehead and said, "Hi, Shane. I'm Doc Fitz. I work for Alex, and this is my husband, Beau. What's going on, honey?"

He stared at her like a fool without a brain. Honey? Me? Man, have you got the wrong person.

The dark, messy-haired, behemoth glowering at her side stuck a callused hand in Shane's face. It was his words that broke the hold of his embarrassment. "Been there, buddy. Done that. Time to get off the cross. Somebody else needs the wood." With a manly hand up, Beau jerked Shane to his feet, then locked one arm onto his shoulder and made sure he didn't face plant. "Staying down thinking about shit makes it worse. Always get back on your feet and in the saddle as fast as you can. Just like riding a horse."

"S-sorry," Shane stuttered at the floor.

Alex smacked the living shit out of his back. "Don't be. Happens to the best of us. Hell, you just watched me make an ass out of myself."

Shane had the nerve to lift his head and face Everlee then. Not Alex. Someone gentler. She was still at his side, standing close up, smack inside his personal space like she belonged there. Within touching distance but not touching. Her lips were pursed into an O, as if she thought she needed to show him how to breathe in and out. Which she kinda did.

He nodded as he licked his lips and followed her example, letting her know he appreciated the support. Funny, but her support seemed different from everyone else's, and he didn't understand why. Maybe because she'd already spit all over him? Yeah, somehow that indiscretion helped more than everyone else's kindness.

Not a hint of disdain glimmered on her face, not even a tone of superiority in her voice when she told him, "You should've seen me the first day I hired on. I—"

"She keeled over and damned near knocked herself out on the stairs," Alex deadpanned. "Little did I know I'd hired an—"

"Accident waiting to happen," Beau finished with a gravelly chuckle.

"Shut up, you two jerks," Everlee shot playfully over her shoulder, her focus still entirely on Shane. "You know damned well you were thrilled I accepted your offer to move here, Alex. What would you do without me?"

"I don't know," Shane murmured, even as Alex tossed back, "Pay out less workman's comp."

Shane shook his head, shocked he'd said that out loud. But he had. He liked Everlee Yeager. For whatever reason, she felt safe. Despite her being the only one who'd spit on him. The sight of her pretty face when she'd realized what she'd done was fast becoming one of his better memories. He damned near smiled.

Would have, but Doc Fitz and her hubby were still standing too close for comfort. Everyone was. Beau had let go of his shoulder, but Everlee was the only one who'd gotten inside his force field. She was treating him like a normal grunt, just one of the guys. And that was a problem. As perky and bossy as she was, she was dangerous. She needed to back off.

Kelsey leaned in, her fingers circling his wrist. "Have you eaten today?" She might be timid and quiet, but she'd gotten to the root of the problem.

"No, ma'am, but I've got sandwiches in my truck and—"

"My treat!" Everlee exclaimed. "Breakfast in the cafeteria everyone. Now, big guy! Let's go."

By then, Shane knew he was standing in a circle of, well, people who might become friends. No name-calling, except for Everlee calling Alex and Beau jerks, and him big guy, which was weird. There was no judgment on any of these people's faces. No pity in their eyes, either. Only relief that he was okay, and that was, well, different.

Doc Fitz was standing behind him, shrugging Beau's hand away and growling at him to, "Back off, honey. I'm working," as she ran her gloved fingertips up the back of Shane's neck. "He's got a knot the size of a golf ball back here, and its bleeding. Might have a concussion." She torqued her body around Shane's shoulder to peer up at him. "Did you hit your head when you fell? Did you black out?"

She had to know he hadn't just fallen. More like checked out and collapsed like a damned sissy. But the second he answered with a definite, "No, ma'am," Everlee piped up with, "Yes, he did, McKenna. His head bounced. I saw it and I heard it. He hit the floor so hard I thought he cracked it. And he definitely blacked out."

"Did not." And now he sounded childish. But Jesus, she was getting up in his grill. The woman needed to cease and desist.

"Did, too," Alex growled.

Well, damn. There was no winning with these people.

"That does it," Doc Fitz declared, her hand firmly cuffing his wrist. "You're coming with me, Shane. Beau, please make sure he doesn't fall again."

Oh, for shit's sake. "No, really. I'm not going to fall, everyone. I'm okay. Just need to catch my breath," Shane insisted, needing his girls to stop clinging to his legs like they did after his meltdowns. That would make his lie more credible. He didn't like being the center of attention. He was a loner. Didn't these people understand that about former snipers? He eased away from Doc Fitz and Beau and shook his dogs off his leg with a firm, "Sit."

"But you need to eat, big guy," Everlee reminded him. "If you're not going with Doc Fitz, I'm taking you to the cafeteria. My treat. Buckle up and prepare to pig out."

"No, thanks, ma'am. I'm good," he told her in no uncertain terms. Hell, he'd come in here a badass and was walking out a pansy ass. How'd that happen?

She cocked her head back like she was prepared to argue, but Doc Fitz beat her to it. "Are you sure you're okay?" The stethoscope from her neck was now stuck in her ears and she was sliding the business end of it between the buttons of his shirt like she had a right to examine him in public. Cocking her head while she gave a listen, she told everyone to, "Shush people. Give me a few seconds of silence, will you?"

Shane obeyed and kept quiet along with everyone else. No sense in arguing with the doc.

"I'm not hearing any irregularities," she told him after a long, quiet minute, her eyes incredibly intense. "But rules are rules. Come to my office for a thorough check-up, as soon as you're done with whatever Alex wants you to do, today. He thinks he's the boss, and we let him think that, but we all know better, don't we?"

Shane had no idea how to answer that loaded question, so he kept inhaling and exhaling as steadily as he could, wishing everyone would go back to work and leave him alone. But then he thought better. He'd been living the solitary life since his last missions with Staff Sergeant Carl Schnitzler. At the time and considering the country, he'd been okay with his solitary life. But these people were his new TEAM. Which meant they were one step away from becoming his one and only family. Yeah, they weren't blood relatives, but neither was Carl. Yet he'd been the closest thing to a friend Shane ever had.

Begrudgingly, he admitted his biggest hang-up. "I'm still back there, some days. Back in Kabul. At the airport. Triggers are…" He cast his gaze at the ceiling where a terrorist dressed in black might still be hiding behind all those sprayed black pipes and shit. "God, they're everywhere. Even… up there."

And around corners.

Beneath freeway overpasses.

In shadows.

Hell, even in sunlight.

When everyone's gaze lifted upward, Beau chuckled darkly, his eyes half-closed as if he too saw the same potential threat. "Fuck, that ain't nothing. Try watching your brother drop through what looked like a solid concrete floor and then land on a bed of rusty fuckin' spikes." He dropped his chin and his fierce gaze stabbed Shane. "Thought Maverick was a goner that day. He had filthy-as-shit rebar sticking through his gut, for Christ's sake, and his leg, and… and shit!"

Shane nodded, having seen worse atrocities, but so damned thankful for the angst pouring off Doc Fitz's husband. Even his f-bombs spelled camaraderie in harsh, bold caps. It offered a link between the newbie Shane was and the war-hardened TEAM warriors these men and women were. They were him. They understood.

Beau shook his head as if that helped get his brain back on track. "Seeing him down there bleeding to death still comes back on me sometimes, and I can be a mean, stupid son of a bitch when it does. Next time I lose my shit, you have my back, okay? Remind me that Maverick's okay. That he's alive today, and that bitch Catalina Montego is fuckin' dead. Understood?"

Wow, the vehemence. That Shane understood. "Yeah, yeah, sure, I will." Once I know who Maverick and Catalina Montego are.

"And…" Doc Fitz breathed. "Understand you're not alone, Shane. Every single one of us has been through one or two levels of Hell in our lives. We don't judge because we know exactly what you just went through. Traumatic events leave imprints on human psyches. On everyone's, not just yours. Yes, setbacks are hard, and sometimes we think we'll never forget what we've seen or forgive what we've done. But brains do heal, and in time, yours will, too."

"And we're all here for you," Kelsey added timidly. "We've got your back."

"Anytime," Alex growled.

"Any day," Beau declared.

"Any-damned-where," Mark added gruffly. "That's the best part of working here, Shane. Alex might've started off with a rag-tag bunch of misfits, but he—"

"I ended with a damned good family," Alex interrupted evenly. "Do what Beau said. Climb off that cross you've been dragging and don't think you're the only one who's got demons. I'd be surprised if you didn't. Now get the hell to work, people. I'm not paying you to stand" —his blue eyes zeroed in on Shane— "or lay around. You are coming to dinner, right?"

"Right. Me and my girls," he answered without hesitation this time.

"And me!" Everlee piped up.

That earned her a spiked brow from Alex. "Please don't hurt Shane. We just hired him. We need him."

Her pretty face split into a grin. "Copy that, Boss. Might as well get the good stuff out for us tonight, cuz we'll be there."

"Always do," Alex said as he latched onto Kelsey's hand and headed back down the hall with her. "Later, people," he called out as he lifted a hand over his shoulder and gave them a thumbs up.

"If you can't come see me tomorrow, at least make an appointment," Doc Fitz told him.

"I will, thank you," he replied.

Shit, this might be hard, being part of a civilian team instead of the military. Shane hadn't belonged anywhere for years, not since he'd let the lease on his mom's—on their—apartment go. For a change, he was looking forward to dinner. Kind of.