Chapter 20

CHAPTER TWENTY

As they finished up their excellent meal, Welker sat back, satisfied, and not simply because his stomach was comfortably full.

Nope, he was happy for Moira.

He’d known that his mother was going to love the woman he’d fallen for. He only hoped Moira forgave him for throwing her into the lioness’s den, but truthfully, that was the only way to deal with his mother. If Bette had glimpsed the slightest bit of timidity or duplicitousness in Moira, if she’d thought that Welker was protecting his new girl from her, she would have pounced on those weaknesses. But clearly Moira had passed her tests with flying colors, and the way the two now had their heads together—thick as thieves over something—they were a coherent pair for life.

Welker’s heart soared.

It had taken thirty-four years, and now Moira was finally going to get the mother she deserved, but never had.

“Well, time for me to go.” Bette eventually stated. She gave Moira a hug and slid from her stool, her feet hitting the floor with a thud. “And don’t worry, honey,” she told Welker with an absent pat on his arm. “Greg will take good care of me.”

Welker didn’t doubt that. Bette could goad most people into dancing to her tune, and the newest man in her life didn’t stand a chance.

Bette turned to Moira. “I’m so pleased you’re part of the family now, Moira. And as soon as you’re not on lockdown anymore, we’ll have to hit that boutique I told you about.”

Moira, instead of rolling her eyes, actually looked delighted at the prospect, which made Welker want to laugh, but he refrained. It was never smart to interject oneself into a conversation like that, if a man valued his jewels.

After some prolonged goodbyes at the door, Bette drove away and Welker reset all the alarms. He then turned to put his arms around Moira, kissing her soundly.

She pried his arms away and backed up, giving him an amused, stink-eye. “I was going to hand you your ass for leaving me alone with your mother,” she told him with a smirk. “But she’s…really something, and I’ve chosen to forgive you. Not that you should do something like that again, but it’s all cool now, and I adore her.”

She slid back into Welker’s arms and blew on his ear.

Welker shivered. “I’d take you upstairs right now and show you how much I appreciate that, but we have a kitchen full of dirty dishes.” He sighed.

“Mmm. Kitchen. I think we can make that work,” Moira winked.

Taking his hand, she tugged him in that direction.

Forty minutes later, the kitchen was clean…along with a counter that may or may not have been scrubbed twice, the final wash-down coming after they’d made use of it for an activity that was fast becoming Welker’s favorite new pastime; having Moira come apart under his ministrations.

“Well, I don’t know about you,” Moira yawned broadly, “but I’m ready for bed.”

Welker waggled his brows and for his cheekiness, he received a playful smack on the chest.

“ Bed , bed,” Moira clarified. “Not sex. You, my love, are well endowed, and my lady-parts need a little break. We brought them from zero to sixty in a matter of one evening, when before that, they’d been up on blocks for several years.”

Welker instantly felt terrible. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked, ready to berate himself for his cluelessness.

“No,” Moira assured him, going on tiptoes to kiss his furrowed brow. “But it might be good to give things a little time to recover before I attack you again, okay?”

Welker chuckled.

That was just like Moira. Making it sound like the whole thing—wearing out her hoo-ha—was completely on her.

He’d give her dibs. This time. “I can live with that. Just do what you have to do, and my body will be here and available whenever you’re ready.”

Moira actually reached forward and patted him on his dick which had been slumbering contentedly in his jeans. “Mmm,” she purred. “Maybe in the morning.”

And… yup . The randy bastard twitched to life.

“Down, boy. Down,” Welker looked at his zipper and growled out the order, which had Moira laughing.

“I can talk to it for you, if you want,” she said slyly. “I don’t mind using my mouth .”

Welker placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward the stairs.

“Stop. You’ve done quite enough for one evening,” he told her gruffly. “Now let’s go sleep .” He emphasized the last word while giving her a gentle push.

“Copy that, LT.” Moira saluted him, sashaying her fine ass out of the room and up the stairs.

Welker followed at a short distance, because, yeah, even though he wasn’t going to touch her again tonight, he was a guy, and still had to look.

It seemed like they’d just shut their eyes when both their phone alerts went off.

“What the…?” Welker scrambled for his device, and with bleary eyes, attempted to focus on the screen.

“Call out,” Moira clipped, already half way off the bed.

“Great timing,” Welker grumbled, but he wasn’t far behind.

Moira put on his shirt and started to leave the room.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his brain still in semi-snooze-mode.

“My turn-outs and vest are in my truck.”

Damn. They’d brought in and secured her service weapons, but hadn’t done the same with her go-bag.

“Wait.” Welker strode to his closet and pulled out his SWAT apparel, pulling his pants and shirt on quickly before tossing his bag on the bed. He beat-feet into the bathroom, splashed water on his face, then ran a quick toothbrush around inside his mouth.

Spitting, he called out. “Meet me downstairs. I’ll go to your truck and get your things.”

Moira entered the bathroom, sidled up beside him, and began doing the same ablutions as Welk, not shy at all about sharing a sink. “Keys are on the table in your entryway,” she told him as he wiped his mouth on a towel.

“Got it.”

Welk hustled down the stairs, turned off his alarms, grabbed the keys and jogged outside. The night was clear and calm.

He wondered what was up. The alert hadn’t given any details other than that they were meeting at a state park, fifteen minutes to Welker’s north.

He unlocked Moira’s truck and found her gear in a compartment behind the back seat. Grabbing it up, he relocked, then ran back to the house where Moira stood in serviceable, yet still sexy as hell, underwear. She carried both their Glock 9mm’s, handing his to him as soon as he gave her the bag.

She didn’t hesitate to don her uniform and protective vest right the hell in front of him, and it was…hot. Under any other circumstances, he would have bent her over the stair-railing. Watching her bad-assing herself up was smoking, but now was not the time. They had to get on the road.

“Ready?” Moira asked him, checking her ammunition.

Depending on the circumstances of the call-out, when they arrived they might be outfitted with AR-15’s which were kept under lock and key in the command bus.

“Yup. Let’s roll,” Welker agreed.

Fourteen minutes later, with minimal talk on the trip there, each being in their own heads, Welker pulled in behind several teammates’ vehicles. They spotted Mason immediately where he stood next to a crying woman and a small tent, surrounded by other squads, decked out in their BDU’s and vests.

“Let’s go see what’s up,” Welker stated, turning off his truck and unfastening his seatbelt to get out. Moira was one step ahead of him, and met him at the front of his vehicle.

They approached the group, together.

“Glad you could make it so fast,” Mason nodded to them both.

“What’s the situation?” Welker asked, seeing about sixty percent of the team already assembled. The vehicles pulling in behind them would have their numbers complete within the next few minutes.

They didn’t have to wait long.

“Okay everyone,” Mason eventually called out, as soon as everyone was on site. “This is no drill.” He pointed to the distraught woman who was slouched over at a nearby picnic table, her head in her hands, being comforted by Opal. “Sarah Biner’s son was taken half an hour ago, at gunpoint, from their tent. She says our target is a homeless man, scraggly gray beard, ratty clothes. He’d been lingering nearby their campsite for most of the evening, poking around in various trash-cans. Sarah was wary, but didn’t think he was a threat. Two hours after they turned in, the man unzipped their tent, held a gun on her, and demanded the boy.”

The woman who’d been crying quietly, wailed at Mason’s words and looked up, her face twisted in pain, imploring them. “Please. You have to find him. Jimmy is only seven years old. That man…he’ll hurt him.”

Welker’s jaw tightened. Was the perpetrator planning to hold the boy for ransom, or was he a sexual predator? Either way, the guy was going down. They needed to get moving.

“I’ve sent maps to all your phones,” Mason continued, “along with each unit’s search coordinates. Everlee, with Nolan and Opal, will stay back at the bus and coordinate, as well as keep an eye on Ms. Biner.” His expression soured. “Harvé and Muddy are currently in Canada for retraining, so we don’t have them as trackers, but I have every faith that all of you will get the job done. I don’t have to tell you; this is a sensitive rescue mission. Use your weapons only if

absolutely necessary. We want to resolve this situation without anyone getting hurt tonight.”

Welker’s H-squad of five—six including himself—gathered around him for instruction. He quickly perused the pie-shaped area Mason had designated as his unit’s. It was large, which sucked. Normally, he liked his people paired up to do a search like this, but considering the extent of the ground that needed covering, everyone would be on their own.

Without additional hesitation, Welk gave out assignments, to which they all nodded.

“I want your comms activated at all times,” he ordered. “And if you see anything suspicious, do not approach by yourself. Give coordinates and wait for back up. Am I understood?”

His squad gave chin lifts, and Welker knew without a doubt they’d follow instructions to the T. They’d been training and working together like a well-oiled machine for the better part of a year and a half, and not one of them would think to deviate.

Welker gave one last look to Moira, who he knew was champing at the bit to get moving, like him. Their eyes met, and they gave each other a nod. It was a silent affirmation that they’d find this asshole and make sure to bring the boy back, safely.

The going wasn’t easy. Welker had given a few of his unit actual hiking paths to follow; Moira being one of them, but he was actually bushwhacking. He cursed while following a trail of broken branches and rucked-up leaves…at least those disturbances he could see in the dark with his NVG’s. The heat of the day had long since dissipated from the treed area, so Welk had to go more on the light from his IR. Bending down to check some of the scrub, he found the breakage, fresh.

Each unit had two channels. One for their own squad plus Mason who monitored all communication, and another for the entire team. Welker spoke to his own people only, first. “H Squad. Anything?”

If they hadn’t found evidence of any foot traffic, Welk was going to call all his squad-members to him to follow the disturbances he’d found.

“I have a possible path,” Sin came back. “Broken branches. Footprints. Although with the leafy ground-cover, I can’t be sure how many and what size.”

“I’ve got something, too,” Vic, another one of his unit came back. “Same MO. Fresh broken branches and footprints.”

Something wasn’t adding up.

“I have the same,” he huffed to his teammates. “Everybody switch channels,” He gave them a second to adjust. “Chief?” Welk asked, once he’d accessed the rest of the larger team.

“Go ahead, Welk,” Mason replied.

“You probably heard. We have multiple, confirmed pathways. Three, at least.”

Mike, Talia, and Amos, the leaders of A, E, and G, clicked in immediately. “Same with us,” they each confirmed.

Mason didn’t hesitate. “All squads report back to command. Now. That’s an order. Things aren’t adding up.”

Yeah. Circumstances were smelling as fishy as a day-old catch.

Welker had just turned around to head back when a single gunshot rang out.

Fuck. It sounded close. In his unit’s area.

“Shot fired,” he cried out for all ears. “Shot fired. H Squad. Report in,” he barked, stopping in his tracks.

“Ryker, clear.”

“Brent, clear.”

“Sin, clear.”

“Vic, clear.”

Welker heard similar check-ins from the other squads, but where the hell was Moira?

His throat threatened to close up.

“Moira? You copy?” he managed to strangle out.

Nothing. Dead silence

Before he could get his paralyzed larynx to actuate, Mason was already on it.

“All units to Welker’s search area. Possible woman down. Be vigilant. By the multiple paths, there’s more than one bogie.”

Welker had already turned off his IR so he wouldn’t be seen, and started in the direction of the shot when Everlee’s voice shouted across all channels. “Mace! It’s a set-up. I repeat. It’s a set-up.” She explained as succinctly as possible. “Sarah Biner asked to use the park bathroom. Opal followed, guarding the door. When the shot rang out, Opal entered to make sure she was safe, and found that the woman had gone out through a back window.”

“227 MC,” Welker snarled, his entire demeanor turning to ice.

“We’ll go on that assumption,” Mason snapped back. “All units, consider multiple perps, presume they are all armed and dangerous.”

Welker went into battle mode, his worry for Moira tamped down as far as it would go, so that his emotions wouldn’t knee-cap him.

He slipped into SEAL mode and began stalking quietly through the forest.

As far as he was concerned, the situation had quickly changed from a rescue mission, to an all-out war.