Chapter 3

3

CYPRESS SUGAR CREEK, HILL COUNTRY, TEXAS

"This makes me feel like i'm twenty!" Delaney's dad called over to her from the driver's side of the Jeep Wrangler 4x4 as they approached Cypress Sugar Creek. It was the perfect spot to go four-wheeling, with its creek beds and rivers and the rare large cypress trees.

"No wonder you're obsessed with off-roading." She laughed. She was glad she'd agreed to this birthday Jeep trip for Dad. She had more to say than happy birthday, though. About the mission. But she'd think about that later when the moment was right. "It's been too long since we've been."

"Definitely." Dad stopped the 4x4 and switched to four-wheel low. From inside his helmet, his longish gray hair peeking out the back, he gave her a one-sided grin. "Ready?"

"Ready!"

They lurched hard as he drove slowly down into the creek. Feathery needles of the bald cypress trees brushed against the Jeep windows.

Delaney snagged the grab handle. Her grin turned into laughter, water spitting high on their windows. Dad flipped on the windshield wipers and steered around the huge rock in the middle of the creek.

The other bank he steered toward was even steeper.

"You got this, Dad!"

"If you could do this when you were seventeen, I certainly can too." He wrinkled his nose at her and pressed hard on the accelerator.

She wrinkled her nose back at him. "Age doesn't have anything to do with this. But be careful—you're driving like an old man!"

"Old, huh? I'll show you old." He sent them crawling up the other bank, taking the most challenging paths possible. At the top, their tires started to spin, and the Jeep slid backward . . . right into a mudhole.

They rocked back and forth between first gear and reverse as Dad tried to get the vehicle out of the mud.

Still stuck.

Dad looked down at the tennis shoe on the bottom of his prosthetic leg. "I've got boots in the back."

"I already have boots on, so I've got this." She twisted in her seat, reached in the back to get Dad's boots, and handed them to him. She hopped out into the mud and walked to the back of the Jeep, then pulled out the vehicle recovery boards.

Delaney slopped down in the mud and slid the recovery boards under the tires, stood and waved at her dad in the mirror, then stepped aside.

He accelerated forward, spraying mud all over her.

Clearing her face, she noticed the vehicle hadn't moved. "Jeep's not going anywhere," Delaney shouted.

He quit hitting the gas.

Scraping the last of the mud from her face, she grabbed the tree strap from the back, then trudged up to the driver's side window and knocked.

He lowered it. "You're a mess, girl!" Then he flashed an unrepentant grin. "Not sure I got enough mud on you."

"Ha. Traction boards clearly didn't help, so I'm going to use the winch." She slogged over to a nearby pine—the cypress trees had shallow roots, so that wouldn't work—and wrapped the strap around it. Back at the Jeep, she engaged the controller and plugged it in. Then she caught the winch anchor and struggled back over to the pine tree and hooked it up. At the Jeep, she grabbed the controller and started winching until it was taut.

Surge hopped out and had a good mud bath, making sure every inch of his sleek black fur was covered.

She groaned. "Oh, you goofball! You're going to need a bath." She'd have to do that before Heath saw the mess. Still couldn't believe he'd allowed her to let Surge have a romp pre-mission. That very word— mission —sent a jolt of nervous excitement through her. How was this her life?

Surge bounded out of the mud. On the bank, he shook his fur out, slinging mud everywhere.

Delaney waved at Dad. "It's ready," she shouted, holding the controller.

Dad waved back. "All right. Let's do it!"

She turned the winch back on. Very slowly.

He hit the accelerator, spewing mud again.

"Ease up on the gas, Dad!"

"Not sure any slower will get us out of here, but I'll try!"

The 4x4 started moving forward and slowly made it out of the mudhole. Which was now red with power steering fluid.

Dad hit the brake as she walked up to his window again. "What's up?" he asked.

"Power fluid in the mud. Enough it looks like blood."

"Well, that's that." Dad steered the Jeep up to the dryish part of the trail and pulled over. He got out and sat down on a large cypress stump. Took off his prosthetic leg.

"You're always adjusting that leg of yours . . ." This was her opening . . . but she just wasn't ready for that convo yet.

"I know, right?"

Delaney leaned into the Jeep for Surge's collapsible silicon water bowl and her five-gallon water bottle. She poured some for him, and he slurped the water bowl dry, so she poured him some more.

Dad buckled the prosthetic in place and tapped it hard. "It works, though, and that's what matters."

"Yeah, it works, but you'd do a lot better with a new titanium prosthesis."

"You keep bringing that up." He smiled gently at her, then sighed. "You're right. The titanium leg would be a significant improvement, but they're expensive, and this leg is fine for me."

But guilt harangued her, even after all these years. "If I'd stood up to that robber in our family store before he shot out your leg . . ." Her eyes burned at the memory. "If I'd run out to call 911, get a police officer. But did I?" She huffed. "No, I just hid in the next aisle."

And she was going on a mission? What had possessed her? Probably more than a little anger at the SEAL who basically insinuated she couldn't hack it because she was a woman.

"You know what I would say to that, Delaney."

"‘You were only eight back then.'" She quoted him.

"That's right. You've got to let this go. Losing my leg was not on you—it's on the guy who shot me."

Didn't matter. She could've stepped in. Should've. She hadn't been help back then, but she would be now. She dove back under the 4x4 and shone her phone flashlight around. "Found the leak! You got duct tape, don't you?"

"You know I do."

She got out from under the Jeep.

He handed it to her. "Anyway, this leg will last at least two more years before it qualifies for replacement with the insurance company. But not with the pricier model."

"Even if it'd be better, help reduce risk of infection and additional surgeries." Man, it just ate her lunch. Watching Dad struggle with his prosthetic leg gave her a sinking feeling in her stomach. Every time. He'd had this one in particular for nearly five years. Three years was the max, usually.

She ducked back under the 4x4 and taped the hole in the reservoir. Must've caught on a branch or something in the mud. Though she could fix this with duct tape, she couldn't do anything for what her ineptitude had cost Dad. And he deserved the best. Which brought her right back around to that convo she needed to broach with him.

No time like the present. Delaney climbed out from under the Jeep and wiped the mud from her face. "Guess what? Surge and I are being sent on a mission to Singapore, and I'm buying you a new leg with the money. It's just extra pay." She pulled out a KONG and tossed it toward the trees. Surge sailed after it.

"A mission?" Dad balked. "You're a trainer, not a military handler."

"That's what I told Heath, but they need Surge, and he does best with me. Heath said he wouldn't send us if he didn't think we were ready. And that bonus is going to fix you right up with a new leg."

He blinked. Then hesitated. "Are you sure?"

About helping him with the leg? "Absolutely." About going off halfway around the world with a grumpy Bear? Not so much.

"Well," he said, "I trust you, Delaney, so if you think you can do this, then I'm proud of you. And I know where Heath lives if anything happens." He grinned. "Seriously—congratulations to you and Surge." Dad looked up at her. "So, I guess this means you got him past his nonreaction."

"I did." Mostly. She didn't want to talk about the whole middle school faux pas. She and Heath had dealt with that, anyway.

Dad pulled out a handkerchief and pretended it was good enough to wipe her mud off himself.

"Let's eat!" Delaney jogged to the back of the 4x4 and pulled out the bag of sub sandwiches and chips.

And dog food.

"I just saw that sticker on your Jeep," she said as she handed Dad the food.

"Oh, the Prosthetic Rated sticker?" He reached into the Wrangler for the cooler of soda they'd brought.

"Yeah." She poured Surge's kibble out in the high grass near the table, and he gladly went on a hide-and-seek game for it. Delaney slid onto the picnic bench across from Dad.

"How'd you afford to get it prosthetic rated when the insurance wouldn't pay for a new prosthetic?"

"It wasn't much money. Off-Road Sports and Repair only charged me the price of a fancy cup of coffee." He tapped his fingers on the table, then stood and got out the ball launcher from the Jeep.

He walked away and played with Surge. She sat at the table, looking at her sandwich. Drank her Dr. Pepper.

A couple minutes later, Surge sought the perfect spot to do his business, and Dad walked back over and sat back down with a huge sigh. "Why are you doing this mission for me, when I'm content?"

"I love you."

"Me, you too. But that doesn't answer why."

She pinched her lips. "I want to go on this mission to do this for you."

He shook his head hard. "The money is yours." He reached across the table for her hand. "The mission is yours too. Given to you by Heath. If you want it."

Her head dropped. No. She wasn't a droopy kinda gal. She lifted her head and looked into Dad's eyes.

He tilted his head. "Okay." He sipped his water. "How was the scent demonstration?"

Dad read her well.

She sighed. Surge quit chewing the KONG and sat up to reach her face and cover it with dog kisses. She massaged her buddy's muscular shoulders. "I froze."

Dad snorted. "What do you mean?"

"Surge refused to seek. We had to leave."

"You got stage fright? Or Surge did?"

She nearly spat out her sip of water around a laugh. "No. I froze, unable to pull him out of his nonresponse." Caused by the sneaky noise from sneaky Heath's phone.

He shook his head. "You don't freeze, Delaney."

"I did at the middle school." Just like when that creep had robbed the store.

"No. You don't freeze," he repeated. "Heath wouldn't have given you Singapore if you did."

"He does call me Maverick."

Dad squeezed her hand and let go. He patted his leg, and Surge put his front paws up on him and got a pet. "And this guy is the other reason Heath gave you the mission."

She pulled a KONG out of her muddy jacket pocket. "Ready, Surge?"

He jumped up to stand in front of her, eyes flicking between her and the KONG.

"If you could speak English, you'd be saying, ‘Please with a cherry on top.'" She smiled as he stood in front of her, edging away, anticipating her throwing it. She raised her eyebrows. "Ahem, sir."

He sat, leaning forward, anxious for action. She tossed it into the trees, and he charged after it, then returned and plopped under the table, teeth squeaking over the rubber toy.

Dad smiled at the Mal, then her. "And here's the final thing. Learning—from Heath?—"

Her face heated at the memory of doing community service at the ranch for her stupid graffiti back in high school. But it led to this passion, this career of her life.

Dad squeezed her hands again. "When he taught you about dog training, he trained you too. You are unafraid—a maverick, yes, but you're also wise enough to listen to those in authority over you. An independent thinker. Just like MWDs." He nodded. "You can handle this mission."

How'd she get this man for a father? Thank You, God.

Surge sat up and poked his snout into her hand, and she scratched behind his ears.

Dad pointed at her. "Singapore is your mission. If you want it. And I'm guessing you do. I don't think it has anything to do with the money or Surge or Heath. Maybe it does have all of those. But really, deep down inside, you want to be a hero." He looked at her. "The hero that you wanted to be back at our store."

Her eyes filled with tears. "Maybe."

He chuckled. "Just for the record, you're already a hero in my book." He put his helmet on and nodded to the Jeep. "Let's get home."

"Hey, my turn to drive."

Dad waggled his eyebrows. "If you want to drive without power steering."

She flexed her arms to show off her biceps.

He laughed and tossed the keys to her.

"Let's go," she called, and they all three climbed into the Jeep. She'd rather drive this thing without power steering across the country and back than go on this mission with the arrogant frogman. But she wanted that titanium leg for Dad.

And she wanted Heath to see his belief in her was deserved.

* * *

A brEED APART RANCH, HILL COUNTRY, TEXAS

Garrett studied Singapore and Southeast Asia on the wall map, tapping his foot under the conference table as he half listened to Caldwell and Zim chat. He'd been sort of listening to them for at least ten minutes since they arrived. Singapore was a ball of worry in his stomach. Caldwell was a tension headache. But his problem was Thompson. This briefing was her first chance to prove to him that she had what it took, and she was already late.

He looked at the boring schoolroom clock on the boring white wall. 1905 hours. So much for things being done his way and her showing up at nineteen hundred.

Maverick.

Rogues didn't belong on teams. They got people killed. "Caldwell." He waited for the guy to turn to him. "You said this dog was the only one with training, right?"

The spook's gaze narrowed. "Yes." His definitive answer warned not to go there.

The door swung open, and Daniels entered with Thompson, who had a wet braid hanging down her back. Surge trotted into the room and ran a perimeter check, his intensity raw and on full display. Daniels stood at the table, and Surge sat next to him, leaning in for a pet.

Garrett stood.

But Daniels sat down and nodded his head at Zim. "Delaney, you've already met Petty Officer Zimmerman, I understand."

Zim stood. "Hey, Thompson. Been a while," he said with a wink.

"Oh." Her smile wavered, then recognition seemed to hit her. "Yes—nice to see you again."

Why did he take so much pleasure in her not immediately recognizing Zim?

Daniels indicated to the spook. "That is Bryan Caldwell with the Central Intelligence Agency. His intel is driving the mission."

Delaney's eyes widened, but she smiled and shook his hand. "Mr. Caldwell."

"Just Caldwell," Spook said.

"Nice to meet you."

Garrett stiffened. The smug man with the graying hair and ski-slope nose was nice to meet? She'd regret those words by the end of the mission.

"And you met Walker." Daniels waved in Garrett's general direction.

Thompson gave him a nod. "Hello, Master Chief."

Huh. He'd been ready for a confrontation. "Thompson."

Daniels looked around at each of the group one by one, his gaze finally resting on Thompson. "Stay frosty." He strode out of the room.

Surge jumped on the empty seat and everyone laughed.

"Zim is a SEAL," Garrett said, "but he also has a couple of degrees in science—chemistry and biochemical."

"Right," Thompson said with a smile at the comms specialist. "You created the scent tin for the lipid to help train Tsunami and Surge."

"Exactly." His grin was unabashed. "Glad you remembered."

"Down boy," Garrett said. "We'll use his chemistry skills on the op. Caldwell will?—"

"I'm sorry—chemistry for what?" Thompson asked, as though he hadn't been in the middle of a sentence.

Garrett swung his arm toward Zim. "Go ahead." He didn't need to actually lead the briefing, right?

Zim grinned and wrote the chemical symbols on the whiteboard. "We are looking for sulfamic acid and potassium cyanide. The terrorists we're after are processing them into vials."

Delaney's face puckered. "The specialized lipids . . ."

"Yeah. Without that special formula, he'd just find sulfamic acid and potassium cyanide, not the Sachaai's cache in particular. And we really need to stop these guys from using that chemical and killing more people."

"Well, I'm glad he's so smart and ready to work," Thompson said.

She seemed like she was trying to convince somebody . . . Herself? Or him?

Garrett cleared his throat. "Caldwell's CIA skills mean he'll be our overwatch, monitoring from the safe house."

Caldwell locked his hands behind his head and nodded to his laptop on the table. "Technology and terrorist chatter. My two skills. And they're what is sending us to Singapore after Sachaai."

"Sa . . .?" Thompson asked.

Garrett fought the urge to stifle her constant interruptions, but she did need to catch up on the info, and the team did need to gel.

"They're a terrorist group who have been doing some serious damage around the world," Caldwell responded. "Intel chatter says they want to use these specialized chemicals to attack America and keep us from interfering with their jihadist goals in Pakistan."

Thompson nodded at Caldwell. "Thanks."

Garrett waited for more questions from her, but when the silence gaped, he went on. "Okay then. The plan is for me to go undercover and meet one of the small-fry Sachaai to procure a sample of the capsulized chemicals. From there, Surge can lead us to their stash in Singapore. We'll send that intel to the CIA and they'll interdict." He rapped the table. "We'll hit the ground running, so sleep up on the C-130. We leave for Singapore at zero-five-hundred tomorrow."

"Why are we in such a hurry?"

" They are in a hurry," he corrected. "Per intel, the chems fly out of Southeast Asia on Wednesday. We don't know exactly from where or to where, but we do know their attack is planned around the six-month anniversary of the death of Hakim's father in Djibouti."

"Who's Hakim?"

Man, she had a thousand questions, but it just made him aware how little she really knew. He prayed it wasn't a mistake bringing her. "Hakim Ansari is the leader of the Sachaai terrorists. Their poisoned food will hit US streets next week if we don't stop them. Hundreds of thousands of dead Americans are what they want."

Her voice croaked. "Hundreds of thousands . . ."

"So, am I coming with you on this undercover?" Zim asked.

This team was full of questions. "Negative. You'll cover Thompson and wait with her and the dog out of sight around the corner." He pulled out his phone, and on the ABA screen, he threw up a picture of the Singapore corner where he'd meet the seller in front of the legal building. Another spot marked with an X where Zim would wait with Surge and Thompson.

Zim leaned back in his chair. "But if Hakim, for whatever reason, shows up at the meet, you need some backup, Boss."

Right, and get ghosted by Heath? "You know how this works, Zim. This is the plan. We're not making changes if we don't have to." He nodded to the spook. "Caldwell, there's a security cam in the area, right? You'll have overwatch."

Caldwell's computer keys went crazy for a minute. "Yep."

"Okay, next." Garrett pulled up the picture of Hakim, the Pakistani man in a black T-shirt and black jeans, with black eyes under angled eyebrows, perfectly tidy black beard and long hair. Full lips nearly in a smile. "Hakim Ansari despises America for corrupting Pakistan. And he blames us for killing Fahmi—his father."

Thompson frowned. "We killed his father?"

Garrett locked eyes with hers. "Fahmi died when he killed Sam and Tsunami."

Her hand settled on Surge, who sat at her side. "Djibouti."

He nodded. "Hakim is hellbent on vengeance."

"We have a truck for the chem stash once Surge leads us to it?" Zim asked.

He looked over at Caldwell, who nodded.

"Already set."

"Other questions?"

No one said anything.

"Okay then. Get home, get some rest. The C-130 is a red-eye."

Zim snickered and Caldwell rolled his eyes as everyone gathered their things.

But Garrett stopped Thompson. "Just a minute, please." If he was going to be her leader, she couldn't be a maverick. Okay. Rogue. She couldn't be a rogue. Time for that stiff chat.

"Sure." She took a step toward the entry table and grabbed a bottle of water, popped it open, then sat back down.

"I need to know that you're okay for this mission."

She hesitated. "Oookaaaaay." One eyebrow rose.

He scrolled through his mind about what to say. How to say it. But there was only one answer. "Maverick."

"Heath's nickname for me?"

"I mean you're a maverick," he growled. "Surge's nose for these lipids or not . . . I need someone who can work as part of a team."

She shrugged. "I need someone who knows how to lead a team. Sam told me about you, your anger."

He locked his hands behind his head—but that was a smug Caldwell posture. He lowered his hands to the table. "That was last year when he ignored the order to avoid exercise or activity to let his ankle heal."

She nodded. "You are an angry bear. Sam was just trying to be diligent about his SEAL service."

He bit his tongue for a long moment. "I called it idiocy. He needed me to get in his face when I caught him in the gym. He ended up with his ankle in that orthopedic boot. For six weeks. Six weeks we needed him. He learned about listening to the doc. And me."

Her jaw clenched, and she started to say something but instead gave a heavy sigh. "Six weeks? He should've listened to the doc." Her lips twisted. "And you."

He jutted his chin in agreement.

"And I need to listen to you." Her croaky voice again. "I didn't think through what terrorists—Sachaai—would do with this chemical if we don't find it." She exhaled heavily. "You're acerbic and rude, but you want to stop them. That's what I want, so . . . yeah, I'll comply."

"So you and I have the same goal in Singapore."

"Save Americans."

"Yes." He extended his hand. "Since we have the same goal, let's start fresh."

"But you hate me for being a woman."

"I don't hate you for being a woman. I just don't work with women."

She stared at him for a long second.

He studied his feet, then looked back up. "Let me try that again. I've never worked with female special operators—there aren't any in the SEALs. Especially ones without military training or experience. We do need Surge. I'm . . . open to working with you."

She chuckled. "Sounds like that hurt." She smiled. "Okay then, I'll work with you."

He extended his hand again. Maybe now was time for a fresh start. "Hello. I'm Garrett."

"Wow. First name, even." She smiled. "And I'm Delaney. Committed to this mission."

They shook hands.

Her head tilted. "Garrett, I do need you to understand that while Heath sent me, I am not ready to carry a gun and fight. But I am totally ready to deploy Surge."

"Without you qualifying, I wouldn't put one in your hand." He reached for his water bottle, took a long guzzle. "I'll give you some SEAL self-defense training before we go."

"Right now?"

No reason why not. "We'll start simple. Krav Maga—Israeli street fighting—will help and is practical."

"Sounds intimidating." She popped her hands together and stood. "Let's do it."

He moved the tables to the side.

She gave Surge a chew treat under the corner table, and he was obviously one extraordinarily happy dog.

"Is that a jerky stick?" Garrett asked.

"Sort of. It's a bully stick. They're great. He can chew on them at least a half hour." She stood opposite him, squared her shoulders. "So, how do we do this?"

"What do you do when I do this?" Garrett grabbed her shoulder.

She wrenched away and fell on her rear. She pushed herself to a stand. "What happened there?"

He chuckled. "Remember, I'm the bad guy. When I grab your shoulder, put that hand down on the crook of my elbow. Force my arm close to you. No hesitation."

She nodded.

He caught her shoulder. She put her hand in his elbow, drew him close. Her sweet-smelling shampoo swept over him. He jumped back, straightened his shirt. "You've got it. But no gentleness. Be assertive."

Garrett took her shoulder again. Her hand hit his elbow like a karate chop.

A huge smile lit her face. "Assertive, right?"

"Perfect." They high-fived.

She tossed the braid behind her back. "Okay, what's the next move?"

"We haven't finished this move." He took her hand, rubbed his index finger in the L of her thumb.

Her deep-brown eyes widened.

He let go. "That part of your hand? It's your weapon."

She looked at her hand like she'd never seen it before. "A weapon."

He put the L of her hand at his throat. "Ninety-degree angle. Clothesline the jerk like this." He eased her hand against his throat and stepped backward, dropped her hand.

She bounced on her toes. "My hand in your elbow pulls you close enough I can reach your throat with my other hand."

"That's it. Let's try it slow motion."

He reached for her shoulder but stepped back. "When a bad guy approaches, hold your hands up like you're innocent."

"I see what you mean. The innocent-hands move puts your hand in the right position if he grabs you."

"And do not lose his eyes. Maintain eye contact."

"Got it."

He caught her shoulder, and Delaney put up her hands, pushing down into the crook of his elbow. He stepped closer, and she put the L of her hand on his throat, breaking his hold.

"Good. Again." After the fifth try, he shot her a high five. "Way to go. Now, let's try it at street speed."

Her jaw dropped. "I don't want to hurt you."

Hurting him was her concern? "You won't."

"Are you sure?"

He snatched at her shoulder, and she karate-chopped his arm, pressed her hand against his throat. Surge jumped out from under the table with a warning growl.

Garrett looked at the MWD.

Delaney's other hand pushed against his chest and sent him backward. He fell on the floor against the wall. Surge jumped on him, his snout against Garrett's nose as he unleashed a preternatural growl.

Garrett curled his head down as much as he could with the MWD's weight on his shoulders.

"Surge, out!" She caught his collar and pulled him off. "Sorry. Let me secure him." She tethered the dog to one of the table legs. "Should've done that before we started."

"Just glad he didn't go for the jugular." Garrett chuckled, sat back against the wall. Apparently, touching her was not the thing to do with Surge anywhere nearby.

Delaney joined him, reached for the waters and handed him his. "I told you I didn't want to hurt you."

"When I grabbed your shoulders, you didn't worry, you just acted, right?"

She gave a slow nod. "Good thing for me to learn."

"Okay, just a prelim lesson on the choke-hold defense." And for the next twenty minutes, he showed her how to defend herself if she got in a choke hold from behind. He wiped sweat from his brow and nodded at her. "We have to work on some muscle memory, but that's what training is all about."

"With Surge in a kennel."

He grinned. "Please and thank you."

"And thanks in advance for the self-defense. I obviously need it."

"Heath threatened my life if I let anything happen to you or Surge. Trying to prevent that." He took a sip of water. Maybe he'd misjudged this woman.

She laughed. "Don't want you to get Ghosted."

The pun wasn't lost on him, considering Heath Daniels's callsign, Ghost. "But if something does happen to you, will I be able to get that Mal home safely?"

She frowned. "Thanks to Sam, you know how to be around an MWD."

"Mals are intense, though." He took a last drink of water.

A long, slow nod. "I'm not a SEAL, and you're not a dog trainer." She twisted her lips into a smile. "You train me in self-defense, and I train you to work with Surge."

That surprised him. "Agreed." He took her empty bottle and tossed both in the trash. When he started to move the tables back, Delaney helped him.

It just took a minute, then they headed toward the door.

He snatched her shoulder and in just a second found the L of her hand at his neck. With a smirk, he released her. "Okay. You're on our team."

She had a wide smile.

"But don't screw up."