Chapter 10

10

JAKARTA, INDONESIA

Two sixty-by-thirty containers filled with chemicals! Garrett's head ached just thinking about the scope this mission had taken. He had to figure it out.

The team sat silent in the SUV on the way to the Jakarta safe house, everyone caught in their thoughts after the cargo plane fight.

He had fought off a Pakistani. With Surge.

Zim had faced three Pakistanis at once. With Surge, thanks to Delaney.

That woman had surprised him. She was a warrior.

His whole team had absolutely shown what they were made of.

And while he still wouldn't let himself trust Caldwell after Samwise's death, the man had done okay. Except why had it taken him so long to identify the manager as connected to the Sachaai? Would've been a nice heads-up to know information from the manager couldn't be trusted.

He ran his hands through his hair and decided to deal with that later. Except he did know tech was not instantaneous. And to be honest, it was that Sachaai man with his arms around Delaney's neck that his brain wouldn't let go of.

When Garrett had finally gotten Delaney free, he'd pulled her into his arms, relieved she was safe. And she'd tilted her head at him, leaning into the embrace. He couldn't let go of that either.

But he needed to in order to remain mission focused.

Zim reached from the passenger seat and clapped Garrett's shoulder. "Sometimes success is getting the heck out of there."

Zim was no Samwise. But he was solid.

"Adjust the plan," Garrett said, "and get back on mission."

"That's it, Boss. That's it."

He eyed Rogue in the rearview mirror. "Good job, Delaney."

Surge nudged his elbow, as if saying not to forget about him. He chuckled. "You too, you mutt."

Delaney chuckled. "You know better than to use that word about Surge."

"Excuse me, Surge L724."

She laughed.

He pulled onto the street of the safe house, a suburban neighborhood packed tight with houses, and full of weeping fig trees and kids riding bikes. Garrett thought through what he would need to do when they got to their ironwood-and-bamboo house. First, deal with Caldwell. Second, debrief the team. Third, adjust the plan.

"You sure this is the right place?" Zim joked. "We hardly saw it when we dropped off our stuff earlier this morning, left Caldwell and his tech."

Guiding the SUV along the bustling nightlife of Core, Garrett angled into the private underground parking garage of the safe house.

"At least we know how those Pakistanis got the drop on us since Caldwell saw the manager's Sachaai tattoo," Zim said.

Garrett sneered. "Would've been nice to know before." He clicked his tongue. "Not sure how he missed that." He swung the SUV into a spot and parked. After gathering his gear from the back, he stalked into the house. He'd lost it with Caldwell once. He wouldn't do it again, but . . . "Caldwell!" he shouted as he hit the living room painted in shades of gray.

Zim and Delaney froze in the entryway.

Caldwell came down the hall with his laptop. "Hey, Bear. What happened?—"

He stepped up to Caldwell, gestured into the kitchen. "We need to talk."

Caldwell didn't move, eyeing him, then the team.

Garrett bet the vein in his neck was visibly throbbing. Just like Dad's. He needed to deal with his anger at Dad and God. But Caldwell did deserve a dressing-down for bad intel again. The team had barely gotten out of there.

His eyes pinned Caldwell like a bug in a science project. "There were more than nine passengers."

Caldwell shrugged. "Intel said nine. Cargo company's manifest too."

Garrett took another step closer to Caldwell. "I don't believe you."

"That's how many people came off the plane."

"Yeah, but you didn't tell us about the six terrorists in the cargo hold or that the manager was Sachaai."

"What?" Caldwell frowned, his eyes whipping to Delaney and Zim, back to the boss. "Everyone okay?"

"We made it," Garrett bit out. "How'd you miss that tattoo?"

Caldwell faltered, frowning. "I was working a lot of intel streaming in. I barely had time to set up and hack into the top-grade building security before your meeting. Guy wore long sleeves, and it was impossible to see until this one shot on the feed." Pinching his mouth closed, Caldwell set his laptop on the smooth gray wood dining table. "Take a look."

Garrett joined him on the black benches at the table, Zim next to him.

Caldwell pulled up a video with the Quest Cargo Corp logo, hit play. On the screen, the five-foot manager walked in, stepped up to the computer, stretched out his arms, reached for the keyboard. Caldwell hit pause, poked his finger at the tattoo peeking out from under the manager's long sleeve. He thrust his finger at the time stamp.

Garrett expelled a long breath, rolled his shoulders. "Sorry."

"You love to pin everything on me, don't you, Bear?" Caldwell hissed.

"That's because you're so often to blame." He looked down and saw his fists tight with white knuckles. No. He was not going to turn into his father. He forced open his hands. "We need to go through the inventory from the containers."

"That's what I was working on." Caldwell grabbed his laptop, stomped over to the couch, and dove into the internet.

Garrett dropped next to him into the armchair with gray-and-black triangle fabric.

Zim came over and took the matching one, and Surge jumped up into the last chair like he was part of the meeting. Garrett chuckled. Couldn't help it.

Delaney walked in from the kitchen and stopped in front of Surge. She pointed to the floor. "Excuse me, young man."

Surge jumped off, and she sat down. "How's your wrist, Zim?"

He flexed his hand and rotated it. "Stiff, but the swelling's gone down."

"You could take ibuprofen or aspirin. Maybe an ice pack." She gave a sheepish shrug. "That's what they've done for some dogs at the ranch."

"You saying I'm a dog?" Zim teased.

"Well . . ." she teased back. "I'll see if there's something we can use as an ice pack in the freezer." When she stood, Delaney noticed Garrett eyeing them.

Smirking, he looked from Zim to her. "You two done?"

"You jealous she's paying attention to me now, Boss?"

Delaney nearly laughed, but the glower from Garrett silenced them both, and she headed into the kitchen.

"Okay," Caldwell said and cleared his throat. "Since I only had overwatch, brief me on what you saw so I can?—"

"We had some leftover sandwiches." Delaney put a tray of sandwiches—turkey, of course—in the middle of the coffee table with a bag of chips.

As they dug into the sandwiches—they hadn't had breakfast, after all—they gave Caldwell a rundown of the incident at the airport.

Caldwell tossed aside his sandwich and grunted. Looked at the SAT. "Somebody must have told Sachaai you were coming."

"Yeah," Garrett bit out. "The building manager."

Bouncing his head, Caldwell tightened his jaw. "Obviously. But who told him?" He stared at his laptop screen, squinting as he worked. "I'm looking for the manager's connection to Sachaai. I wonder . . ." He did a few more clicks and scrolls, then a smirk slid onto his face. "And here we go—his cousin is Tariq."

Zim scowled. "For real? The chemist?"

Garrett shook his head slowly, absorbing. "What about the LD3 containers?"

"No joy yet. My search program is looking in the container yard for the ID numbers you confirmed, but they've apparently done something to hide the LD3s on the official paperwork."

Delaney groaned. "That's going to take a while."

Garrett stuffed the last of his sandwich in his mouth. She was right, considering the stacks of hundreds and hundreds of multicolored containers he'd seen while on the plane into Jakarta. Reminded him of his nephew's Lego collection. "We'll head back to the yard tonight, unless intel comes in to change that plan. Regardless, we know that Hakim, Rashid, and Tariq are in Jakarta. We'll leave Delaney and Surge here."

Her hand hung in the air above the bag of chips. She dropped it to her lap, her face like ice. "I'm not a member of the team—again?"

"Of course you are. But you're untrained. Sachaai is like playing with fire." Why wouldn't she understand that?

Her eyes flashed. "I know I'm not an operative. Surge is. Why waste precious search time? You need his nose. After everything the past two days, I would think that you'd know you could trust me."

"Trust you? To what, run after a terrorist?"

"Yeah, without my ‘running away'"—she used her fingers to create air quotes—"we wouldn't know where he is. But now we do, and he's here?—"

"And his goons nearly got you killed today! And I need you!"

The room fell silent, and Garrett found himself on his feet, Delaney staring at him. He roughed his hand through his hair. He hadn't faced an attack since Djibouti. Didn't want to see his team hurt. His eyes snapped up to Delaney. He lowered his voice. "I mean the team needs you. Surge—they need Surge. Which means you."

Caldwell coughed on a handful of chips, and Zim suddenly studied the ceiling.

His eyes bored into those two men. "You two look into the parents of Tariq and his building-manager cousin. Might be something there that will clue us in to Sachaai's purpose for the chems, give us an idea where they are headed."

Zim chuckled and moved his chair closer to Caldwell, who began pecking at the laptop.

Garrett jerked his head toward Delaney's backpack. "Pick yourself a room." He looked at his watch. "For me, it's almost time for a call from Chapel."

* * *

Delaney grabbed her pack and headed down the hall with Surge. Their room choice wasn't a debate at all. She chose the room with a creamy, barefoot-worthy carpet and a window that overlooked a grassy area enclosed by a chain-link fence. She guessed you could call it a yard, even if it was barely bigger than a fake grass dog potty station.

She dumped her pack next to the bed, sat down, and Surge jumped up to gaze out the window. She ran her hands over him, looking for any damage from the fight. Twice.

She had to be sure. She started back at Surge's head.

Surge shifted and licked her face, his eyes saying, "Stop running your hands all over me."

He was right. He was fine and didn't need a fourth head-to-tail—to foot—check. "Sorry, Buddy." She chucked his chin, and he rested his head on her lap. She roughed his hair.

She could still feel that Sachaai's arms around her neck. Surge had saved her.

Her sudden deep breath surprised her. She hadn't realized how tightly she'd been holding her breath. He sat up and nuzzled her ear.

While she'd seen Surge in training, experiencing him in real action had jolted her.

He'd attacked the other Sachaai before the guy'd even gotten to Walker.

He stinking leapt onto the top of the stinking sixty-four-inch LD3 container to fight three stinking terrorists beside Zim.

This Malinois was not a comfort pet. But the shaking in her hands was dying down, buried in his thick neck fur.

He twisted and looked out the window, then woofed in her face.

She laughed. "You want to go out?"

Another woof.

She grabbed his KONG tug. "Let's go."

His toenails clicked behind her through the hallway. Then they stopped. Where'd Surge go? She went back down the hallway a bit.

There he was, in the living room under Caldwell's chair, sniffing intently at his ruck.

Caldwell was intent on his computer work and didn't even notice Surge.

She patted her leg so the Mal would come to her instead of unzipping and emptying the ruck.

His gleaming brown eyes were so focused on it that she had to pat her leg again. He scooted backward out from under the chair. Slowly. She gave a low whistle to get his eyes on her, and he finally came.

Neither of the men noticed.

"With me, Surge," she whispered, and they jogged down the hallway to the kitchen and out to the tiny backyard accessorized with a bamboo sofa.

Outside, the sun high in the sky gave the Jakarta buildings a gleam, God the creator showcasing himself to the people who lived in this suburban Jakarta neighborhood. The hum of traffic was a sound that felt like home. The grassy area—like the other yards in the neighborhood—was well manicured, perfectly cut.

And it was stinky. Her nose wrinkled—chemicals and trash and mold all together. She looked across the street. There was the source of the stench—the river. The houses on the other side of the street were built right up to the serpentine brown river. There was just enough space between the houses that she could catch a glimpse of a multicolored walking bridge.

Delaney gazed at the houses around them. Some kids were playing out in their tiny yard. A couple walked down the street, carrying groceries. A crew painted the house across the street.

She didn't have a choice about this stinky yard. Surge needed time outside. But this was only for a few days. She didn't live here like the neighbors did. What would that even be like?

Done with his business, Surge trotted over and dropped the rope KONG at her feet. She didn't want to accidentally send a black Mal streaking into the river or onto a neighbor's lawn, so tug it was today. But her mind was only half on the game.

"Hey, Surge," she said.

He stopped and looked up at her, his ears flicking, listening as he held the KONG end of the tug in his mouth.

"You heard Garrett. Those goons who almost killed me scared him. I'm just a team member cause he needs you?" Scared? Not what she knew of Garrett. She sucked in a deep breath. "Surge, was he being personal?"

Surge gave a huff, then jerked the KONG back and forth so hard it nearly wrenched her shoulder. She laughed and pulled back but let him have it after a minute. The river's heavy stink was starting her in on a headache. She rolled her shoulders. If she ignored it, it wouldn't come.

Garrett came up behind them. "That dog pull your arm out of its socket?"

Had he heard her talking to Surge? She chose to wave like he'd just arrived. "Fortunately, he never has."

He laughed. "Sure, sure. This is a Mal."

Taking advantage of her distraction, Surge pulled the end of the KONG tug out of her hand and dropped it at Garrett's feet. The traitor.

Garrett scooped it up and tugged harder with Surge than she ever could. Surge practically had a giant grin on his face.

Delaney realized it wasn't the game that had her attention—she was staring at the bulge of Garrett's arms. Her eyes shifted to his hands that had been on her shoulders after that attack on the combi plane. "You don't have to stay out here in this river stink. Surge needs to play, but we'll come in in a bit."

Garrett let go of the KONG, which led Surge to parading around the yard with it. She warmed under the intensity of Garrett's bright amber eyes. The full attention of this man rocked her to her core, just like it had after the fight in the plane.

"Delaney, I know we debriefed while we ate those sandwiches, but I wanted to check how you're doing after the incident at the airport."

"Just a bit of a headache, that's all."

He pointed at her as she massaged the back of her neck. "Tell me."

"This stinky river is giving me a headache."

He crossed his arms.

What was she, a wuss? "The river is encouraging a headache, that's all. Yeah, I wanted you to see my capability on this mission. It's been a nice chance to prove myself?—"

He pushed himself toward her, looked in her face. "I didn't want you in any fighting on this mission, but you were. You literally jumped out of hiding this morning! Delaney, you're not a maverick. You're a part of this team. Trustworthy. You did prove yourself."

She shifted from foot to foot. "I didn't think I?—"

"You did!" Then his voice softened. "You don't see that?"

Words wanted to come, but they wouldn't.

"Delaney, it's my job to know my team."

She didn't want to talk about her failings. Except it was Garrett who asked it of her. She'd learned to trust him. She took a steeling breath. "One day after school, I went into our family store. A man was holding a gun on Dad. The guy reeked of this horrible cologne. Worse than this river, even." She dropped her hands from the back of her neck. "Anyway, I hid in the next aisle, behind the dog food. The jerk shot Dad and ran out with a bunch of money. Dad lost his leg. And our business."

"That's why the new prosthetic."

"Yeah." She tapped her foot on the concrete. "I should've distracted that robber. Shoved the endcap on him. Run to call the police." Her voice faded to a whisper. "Anything other than freeze in a store aisle when Dad was in danger. I just hate that my dad might see me as incompetent."

His touch against her shoulder was warm, gentle. "How old were you?"

"Eight."

"You were a little girl!"

She bit her lip. "But I froze and my dad got hurt."

"Delaney, by hiding, you probably saved his life, your own life. That wasn't incompetence."

She stared at him like he was nuts.

Chuckling, he held up his hands. "Do you and your dad get along?"

She smiled. "We've always been close. He keeps me grounded."

"Does your dad think you're incapable or incompetent—or do you?"

That bookshelf full of dog training books Dad had bought for her when she took the ABA job . . . Had he been worried about her ability? Or had he been showing support? That thought took her breath, and she could barely whisper it. She slouched against the wall next to Garrett. "You're right. Dad doesn't think I'm incapable. I disappointed God."

"Huh. So Christ didn't put MWDs in your DNA? Make you ready for this mission? For such a time as this?"

She huffed a laugh, elbowed him. "I know, I know. But it's also true I go rogue."

"You go rogue to test whether He believes in you?"

Her eyes blinked fast. "My maverick stuff in high school did lead me to A Breed Apart. And yeah, I wouldn't be here if He didn't believe in me. Maybe? I'm going to have to think about that."

She tipped back her head, closed her eyes. Silence grew between them. Peace.

"I still want to get Dad a new prosthetic," she said after a couple minutes. "Not to prove myself, though. Because I love him."

Garrett nodded. "It's cool that you get along. I wish my dad was like yours. Mine is, let's say, full of rage."

She winced. "I'm sorry."

"When I was ten, I got detention because of a fight with the bullies hurting my brother. I got home late, so my chores weren't done when Dad got home."

"Rage."

He held up his left arm. "Broken arm that time. Told the doc I fell down the stairs." He pinched his lips together. "I won't be like him."

Her heart broke. But you didn't hug a SEAL, right? She gently laid her hand on his left arm—couldn't help it.

He flinched but didn't move away.

Beneath her hand, she felt his muscles relax. But her blood sped up.

Delaney let go and pushed her hair behind her ear. "You like to always be in control. Like your dad wasn't."

He turned his head, looking through the neighborhood. "Sort of. I learned to be in control to avoid making Dad angry." His voice dropped so low she could barely hear him. "But I can't always maintain it."

She swallowed hard. Garrett lumped his dad and God into the same category. No wonder he walked through life on eggshells. He was sure he'd be punished and unloved if he ever messed up. "God doesn't expect you to be perfect, Garrett."

His lips set in a hard line.

"Garrett, I saw you fight in the combi plane. I saw you undercover, procuring the chem vials. Thanks to you and Heath." She whooshed out a breath. "Thanks to God, I see your leadership of this team every day. Yeah, you're called Bear. But you are fiercely protective, not a bear on a rampage. Nothing like what you said about your dad."

He didn't respond, just shoved his hands into the pockets of his tactical pants.

This man was frustrating. She gazed out at the multicolor bridge across the stinky brown river, then looked back in his face. "You talked about Christ and my DNA. I-I thought you believed."

He shrugged. "I do."

A motorcycle throttled past the house, making some dog a couple houses down bark.

"Okay then," she said. "Just remember, you're not like your dad. And God is nothing like your dad either."

Garrett gave her a brief nod. A leisurely breeze rustled her hair, and clouds lazed across the sky. He suddenly pushed away from the wall, turned to her. "I'm not like Dad?"

Her throat thickened, and she couldn't answer. She nodded, their eyes locking as they had on the couch.

His voice was a husky whisper. "Thank you." He stepped toward her.

She bit her lip. He was going to kiss her. Like he was a magnet, she stepped closer to him.

"Bear!" Caldwell and Zim stormed out the door.

He and Delaney backpedaled fast as the men appeared in the doorway.

Garrett's Adam's apple bounced. He turned toward them, and they all returned to the living room. "What's up?"

Zim's eyes sparked. "New intel! The building manager's parents are joint owners of the Container Port of Indonesia. The containers are there—Warehouse 79B. Restricted access."

"It narrows the search down to about two hundred containers," Caldwell said.

Raking a hand through his hair, Garrett nodded. "Not bad." His gaze hit Delaney's. "Especially with an MWD."

That warmed Delaney again, her thoughts lingering heavily on the near-kiss the guys had interrupted. But she appreciated this more—being included.

"I'll mess with 79B security cameras so they can't see you," Caldwell said. "Also, the container port hires roaming security guards."

Garrett's lips flattened as he scrutinized Caldwell. He dipped his head. "All right. We roll out in ten minutes. All black."

Zim and Caldwell sped off to get gear packed and loop in Damocles.

But Garrett hung back . . . and Delaney did too, busying herself with Surge, who was at his water bowl. She finally braved Garrett's gaze and felt the intensity of his eyes down to her toes.

The lines around his eyes softened. "Promise not to get killed."

"Back at you."