LAST WITNESS STANDING

Four weeks before she’s set to testify at a gang murder trial, someone is determined to make sure that Candace Gallagher Andrews never takes the stand. When nowhere is safe for the private investigator or her little girl, Candace turns to the only person she can trust—longtime friend and former navy SEAL Marco Quidel. For Marco, protecting Candace is not just another duty. As the trial date nears and the killer stalks ever closer, Marco knows fear for the first time—the fear of losing Candace and her daughter. But while Marco begins seeing Candace as more than just a friend, her late husband’s memory is never far from her mind. So he must keep Candace alive—and not get emotionally involved—long enough to put away a killer.

He’d never forget that look on her face as she ran to him, away from her attacker.

Beside him, his dog growled and strained, awaiting his command. Shielding Candace, he let the dog go, and Bear hurtled after the attacker. Before he ran, the thug shot them a look that promised revenge.

Marco turned to Candace. The sight of her trembling body cut deep down to his core. I told you I should have come along, he wanted to say. Why don’t you ever listen to me? Instead, he gathered her in his arms, taking her fear and willing it away.

“You’re all right,” he murmured.

“It’s the Pack. They want to kill me.”

He knew when the next logical thought struck her. Her fear turned to complete panic. “Marco, what about my daughter? What if they go after her?”

Every protective nerve in his body firing, he squeezed her closer.

“No one is going to hurt you or her,” he said through gritted teeth. “No one.”

Not as long as he was alive to prevent it.

Dear Reader,

I have had such a great time writing this series that takes place here on my beloved California coast. It was satisfying to explore the lives and loves of the four Gallagher sisters. Sisters are especially important to me, as I am one of four daughters. I am greatly blessed in that all my sisters live very close and I see them often. They are the people who share my joys and triumphs, and they are also the “3:00 a.m.” people, as I like to call them. They are the folks you can call on in the middle of the night when disaster strikes, and they will be there to help in any way they can. Is there any greater blessing than that? I once heard someone say that friends come and go, but sisterhood lasts from cradle to grave.

I hope you have women like this in your life, dear reader, whether they are friends or sisters. It is a great joy to share this life journey with faithful women who will hold your hand, share your laughter and shoulder your pain.

Thank you again for journeying along with me through this series. As always, I enjoy hearing from my readers. You can find me on various social media spots—Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Pinterest—but I also have a physical address on my website in case you would like to correspond by mail. Thank you for taking the time to read this book.

God bless you!

DANA MENTINK is an award-winning author of Christian fiction. Her novel Betrayal in the Badlands won a 2010 RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Award, and she was pleased to win the 2013 Carol Award for Lost Legacy. She has authored more than a dozen Love Inspired Suspense novels. Dana loves feedback from her readers. Contact her via her website at danamentink.com.

Dangerous Testimony

Dana Mentink

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For God hath not given us the spirit of fear;

but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.

—2 Timothy 1:7

For those who bravely tend to home and family while their loved ones serve in our military. God bless you all.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

Extract

Copyright

ONE

A loud pop.

The flash of the gun.

A man’s body crumpling to the unforgiving cement. Not a man, a boy, barely old enough to shave, by the looks of him. A boy, somebody’s son, gone in the split second it took to pull the trigger. He’d had brown eyes and full cheeks, maybe the kind that dimpled when he smiled, like her daughter Tracy’s. But he would never smile again.

Candace Gallagher Andrews blinked the memory away for the thousandth time. “It’s over,” she told herself fiercely. “He’s dead and they arrested the shooter four months ago, so let it go and do your job, you ninny.”

The incident had left her with a lingering echo of fear, a feeling she detested. After a few slow breaths, she stowed her iPad in her bag, locked the car and straightened her suit jacket. She’d found a parking place three blocks from the college. Though it was broad daylight in a very public place, she hurried anyway, eager to be enveloped by the safety of others. “Maybe you should have let Marco come,” she muttered under her breath. He had all but insisted in that pushy way of his.

Typical Marco. The former navy SEAL and longtime family friend sorted everything and everyone into precisely two camps: friendlies and enemies. She’d made enemies when she agreed to testify against Kevin Tooley, a member of the Wolf Pack, the murderer who’d gunned his rival down right in front of her. But she’d had no choice. If she let the shooter go unpunished, what kind of person was she? What kind of mother? Backing down would not show the honor and courage her husband, Rick, would have modeled for their daughter before his death.

“It’s a presentation at a community college,” she’d proclaimed with some bravado. “I’ll be perfectly safe, and besides, you scare people.”

Marco continued to be a rock in so many ways as things had gone from bad to worse for the Gallaghers. Their father’s death was just the beginning of the family trials as the Gallagher sisters encountered one frightening scenario after another, until the most recent, when Candace had witnessed the shooting outside a gas station. At least her seven-year-old daughter had not been with her. God had spared them that. Tracy’s life had been impacted enough by violence already. Half a world away, in Afghanistan, it had robbed Tracy of her father, and Candace of the only man she’d ever loved—goofy, patient, faithful Rick.

Candace walked the last two blocks, the Southern California sun flushing her cheeks, even in the month of October. Dumb idea to wear a suit jacket in Long Beach, but the tan color complemented her brown eyes and made her feel professional, in the same way mashing her curly hair into a chic twist had done. Teaching a session on investigation techniques to eager criminal justice majors was just the thing to promote the company and keep her mind off the upcoming trial preparations.

It was late morning, and she was surprised to see very few people ambling along. A car crept slowly by, and she froze for moment, clutching her bag, recoiling in spite of herself. Would the tinted glass roll down in a thunderous explosion of bullets? Her heart hammered against her ribs as the window slowly lowered.

“Do you know where the post office is?” the elderly driver asked.

Candace pushed the words through her dry mouth. “Another block down, make a left. You can’t miss it.”

The car drove away, and Candace stood there, breathing hard, feeling ridiculous beyond words. Was this fear ever going to go away? Probably not until the trial was over. She’d just have to do her best to keep it in check. Her sister Angela, who was dealing with PTSD from her service as a navy chaplain in Afghanistan, told her it would take time to heal.

Time Candace would rather spend taking care of Tracy and working as a private investigator.

Nearing the school boosted her confidence. She straightened her shoulders and held her head high. As she crossed the narrow alley, tires squealed and her attention was drawn to a car slamming to a halt, someone flinging the passenger door open. This time it was not her imagination. She vaguely recognized the face, the driver of the car who had stopped just long enough at the gas station to allow his passenger to kill a young boy. He had managed to elude the police.

It was him, all right, and his intent was clear.

Run, her mind screamed. Run or die.

* * *

Marco ground his teeth in frustration. Traffic resulted in such a delay that he’d not been able to insert himself into Candace’s outing to Long Beach.

He shot a glance at the big dog sprawled in the passenger seat, happily oblivious to traffic or anything else. Bear was happily oblivious to most everything, unless he was taking direction from Marco. Then it was another matter entirely for the black-and-tan Malinois. Marco had worked with a fellow SEAL one time who was just like that. Most relaxed guy you’d ever see...unless he was on a mission. Then he was a force to be reckoned with...and surrendered to.

Marco was hungry, and annoyed that Candace had not listened to him. What was it about women that made them constantly disregard his advice? He’d served in eight SEAL Platoons, was platoon chief in five, and awarded the Navy and Marine Corps Medal for Heroism, but could he get any woman anywhere to listen?

And the Gallagher sisters, Sarah, Angela, Donna and now Candace, were trouble magnets. After Sarah’s recent kidnapping and Angela’s life-and-death struggle in Cobalt Cove, he felt like snapping GPS trackers around the Gallagher sisters’ wrists whether they liked it or not. At least Donna had the Coastie keeping an eye on her when he wasn’t on duty, and Sarah had Dominic Jett, a kid with guts enough to be an explosive ordinance technician before he’d gotten injured. And Angela was planning to marry the doctor. Marco huffed. Dr. Dan was okay for a civilian, he had to admit, but still. Wasn’t like the guy had ever handled a grenade launcher or an assault rifle or anything.

Part of him had to smile at the way the Gallaghers bested him on a regular basis. Though he’d never admit it to any of them, he admired their spirit, even though they drove him to distraction.

Creeping along, he finally found street parking opposite the campus and dialed Candace’s cell phone. She didn’t answer.

He sent her a text, big fingers fumbling over the tiny buttons. Here.

No reply, so he reached for the door, hand freezing in place as he caught sight of Candace fleeing down the alley and a dude in baggy pants with a backward baseball cap running after her.

“Bear,” he said, as he leaped from the driver’s seat.

The dog sat up, ears swiveling.

“Time to go to work.”

* * *

Candace sprinted down the alley, which led to a small parking lot behind the school. There had to be a back door where she could get into the building, or a late arriving student whose attention she could attract. Breath coming in pants, she dodged behind a parked compact car and tried to calm her thudding heart so she could listen.

She tried desperately to focus. Had she heard the sound of running feet? She slid a hand in her bag to rummage for her phone, but the cell had slipped to the bottom and she couldn’t lay her fingers on it. Oh, why hadn’t she cleaned out her bag like she’d been meaning to? Should she run to the building or wait for help? Neither option was attractive.

Come on, come on, she pleaded silently. Somebody come along. It’s a public building. Where’s the public? The squeak of sneakers made her skin erupt in goose bumps. Peering under the car, she couldn’t see the location of her pursuer.

A smattering of litter had collected along the periphery of the lot, and a brown rat was padding its way through the mess. In the far corner of the parking lot she heard the familiar beep of a car lock being activated.

Hope rising, she peeked up over the hood to see a tall, lanky young man in a sweat jacket striding toward the building. She ached to call to him, but again the fear left her mute. Stay hidden or get help? Which one, Detective Candace? Seconds ticked by until she let her instincts take over. Darting from behind the car, she ran toward him. “Help,” she yelled. “Help me.”

He did not turn.

“Help!” she cried, throwing aside all attempt at caution, waving her arms and hollering. “Please.”

She realized too late that he had earbuds firmly in place and couldn’t hear her. Her only chance to get to the back door and help was to run toward him and hope her pursuer wouldn’t want to risk dragging others into the situation.

She took off in a sprint. Fueled by terror, she ran faster than she thought she could. Each foot she gained ratcheted her hope a little higher, until the man suddenly detached himself from the shadows, hooked a leg around her ankle and sent her sliding to the asphalt. Her palms hit the ground, the rough surface grinding into them as well as her bare knees. Through the pain, she kicked out, making contact with a shoulder or face—she couldn’t be sure which.

He grabbed her from behind, fingers wound in her disheveled hair, bringing her to her feet and slamming her over the hood of the car.

“You scream, you die,” the man hissed in her ear, his breath sour on her cheek.

He pulled something from his pocket and held it in front of her eyes. With a snick of sound, the switchblade opened. The razor-sharp edge gleamed, and fear cut into her as deeply as the blade soon would.

Stubborn determination bucked like a mule past her panic as she thought of Tracy, her little girl who’d already lost her father. There was no way Candace was going to lie here and get her throat cut without the biggest fight of her life. Rick would have said to resist with her last ounce of strength. She intended to.

Lord, help me, she prayed. Let me go home to my daughter.

Her assailant leaned back slightly. The movement opened a tiny window of opportunity. Before the fear took over completely and paralyzed her, she made one last desperate attempt to save her life.

* * *

Marco jogged down the alley, Bear trotting next to him. They stuck to the shadows, taking it all in. A kid at the far end of the lot had just entered the building, oblivious, sipping coffee from a plastic cup, earbuds no doubt crammed in his ears.

Where are you, Candace?

He didn’t hear the sound, but Bear did. The dog went rigid, tail erect, nose quivering.

Marco gave him the command to “go quiet” and the dog dashed through two rows of parked cars. Marco caught up in time to see Candace rear up off the hood of a parked compact, smashing the back of her head into the face of an attacker. The goon reeled back, hand reflexively going to his bloody nose. It gave her the time she needed to sprint away. The guy spun to catch her again, and Marco saw a switchblade in his hand.

“Here!” he called to Candace as he ran toward her. Wide-eyed with terror, she raced to him. He shoved her behind, his body shielding hers.

Bear was barking wildly now, as the bloody-nosed kid turned to Marco, but the dog had not attacked yet because Marco hadn’t told him to. Not bad for a new trainee. Marco regarded the guy calmly. “Put it down.”

“Uh-uh,” the kid said, hands out, the blade ready in one of them, his gaze darting between Marco and the dog.

Bear barked and lunged forward a step.

“I’ll cut your dog if he comes near me, ’fore I cut you.”

Marco picked up a slender board that was lying against the brick wall. “That would not be wise.” He smiled. “I don’t want my dog to get dirty biting you. I just bathed him.”

“This isn’t your business,” the kid hissed, jerking his head at Candace. “She’s messing with the Pack, and Rico wants her to stop.”

“Ah. So your boss sent you. I didn’t figure you were a decision maker.” Rico was the Pack leader, dangerous, unpredictable and wily. He’d apparently decided to scare Candace off testifying against Kevin Tooley. Marco kept his voice light. “Tell your boss that his boy Kevin is going to prison for that gas station shooting, so he’d better learn to accept it.”

The kid looked nervous now, his knife hand dropping a few inches. Marco waited until Bear barked again, momentarily drawing the kid’s attention. Then he swung the board as if he was Babe Ruth driving one out of the park.

The board impacted the guy’s wrist with a thwack, sending the switchblade pinwheeling through the air, as the thug grabbed his arm and howled in pain. The back door of the school slammed open and a security guard hastened out, shouting into his radio.

Still holding his wrist, Candace’s attacker shot Marco a look that promised revenge, and then took off toward the rear of the parking lot.

“Bear, chase,” Marco said.

The dog tore after the youth, who ran as fast as his baggy pants would allow.

He hurled himself up over the fence, Bear biting madly at his shoe. One sneaker came off, and Bear snatched it up, still barking in a volume that echoed through the whole space.

“Cops are on their way,” the security guard called out. “Need an ambulance?”

Marco turned to Candace. Her face was stricken, body trembling and a bruise developing on her cheekbone, which made him want to take another swing at Shoe Guy.

Her brown eyes were terrified, a sight that cut deep down to his core. I told you I should have come along, he wanted to say. Why don’t you ever listen to me? Instead, he bent and gathered her in his arms, taking her fear and willing it away, thanking God she was alive.

“Gonna be all right,” he murmured, holding her tight.

“Jay Rico wants me dead.” Panic shot through her words. “Marco, what about Tracy? What if he sends people after us both?”

He squeezed her closer, every protective nerve in his body firing on all cylinders. It was a struggle to keep his voice level, calm, when there was a flood of anger roaring through him like a storm-tossed surf.

“No one is going to hurt you or Tracy,” he said through gritted teeth. “No one.”

TWO

Candace sighed. Resistance was futile. Marco was not about to let her drive back to Coronado by herself.

“We’ll get your car home another way,” he’d proclaimed.

The best she could do was climb into the passenger seat of his truck and cram next to Bear. The dog was chewing a white shoelace as if it was a savory strand of fettuccini.

“Don’t the police want it for evidence?”

Marco shrugged. “They agreed the shoe was enough. No one wanted to persuade him to relinquish the lace.”

“You could command him to.”

“Yeah, but he did good work today and I pay him in kibble, so he deserves a prize. They’ve got the switchblade and the shoe, anyway.”

She gazed out the window as they drove over the Coronado Bridge, back to the gorgeous island that seemed extra welcoming now. The fall sunlight bathed the palm trees in rich hues and she rolled down the window to let in the cool ocean air. It all seemed so much more vibrant, so precious.

Nearly having your throat cut made you appreciate things more, she thought ruefully. Thank You, God, that I’m still here to savor this.

When they drove past the street that led to her bungalow, she shot Marco a look. “Why aren’t you taking me home?”

He had the decency to appear slightly chagrined. “Your mom’s orders. She doesn’t want you staying alone tonight. Tracy’s already camped out in her guest room. She’s right, you know.”

“I want to go home,” Candace said, trying not to sound like a petulant child. “To my house. I’m thirty-three years old and I don’t have to do what my mother says anymore.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’m thirty-six and I do, so here you are.”

She huffed out a breath. “Did you always do what your mother wanted?”

“Of course.” He was the picture of innocence.

“Uh-huh. I’m sure all moms want their sons to become navy SEALs. She probably wished you’d become an orthodontist.”

He chuckled. “Can you picture me as an orthodontist?”

Marco’s strapping shoulders and massive hands painted him as more of a linebacker type. “Not really. Are you coming in?”

He shook his head. “I’ve got something to take care of.”

His eyes were the color of toffee with shimmers of copper in them. They had always fascinated Candace, because she couldn’t understand what went on behind them. She knew he was keeping his plans from her, and further, she knew it would do no good to try and pry them out of him. He would or would not share at the proper time. Now he was also plotting ways to ensure her safety from Jay Rico and his Pack, no doubt.

She reached over Bear and touched Marco’s biceps, rock hard under the tight material of his T-shirt. So warm. Even on the coldest days. The electric buzz it awakened in her nerves confused her. She wanted to both prolong the touch and back away at the same time. She laced her fingers in her lap. “Marco, thank you.” She sucked in a breath. “You were right.”

His mouth quirked. “Hold on. Let me get my phone. Can you say that again so I can record it?”

“I mean it. I should have listened to you. The Pack really is determined to scare me away from testifying against Kevin Tooley next month.”

He waited a beat. “Have they succeeded?”

A long moment passed while she considered her scraped knees, the glitter of the switchblade in her attacker’s hand, the hot flush of panic, the moment when she’d thought she might not live to see her daughter again. What followed was an explosion of anger in her soul, a solidification of her resolve, like cement hardening. Rick had always said she was a pussycat with tiger stripes.

“No one is going to frighten me into backing down.”

Marco smiled, a wide boyish grin that turned the copper in his eyes into molten streaks.

“Spoken like a true Gallagher.”

“Who is still bossed around by her mother.”

He laughed. “Even a fleet admiral follows his mother’s orders. No one outranks her.”

Candace squeezed his wrist. “Really though. I probably wouldn’t be sitting here if you hadn’t been there.”

He nodded, staring out the front window, his face quickly shuttered.

“Will you be in the office tomorrow?”

“Meeting in the conference room at 0600 to nail down our strategy. Gonna do a little research tonight.”

“Research?” Her heart thudded. “Marco, you’re not going to go track down any gang members, are you?”

“Just some initial recon.”

She realized suddenly that her decision to testify had put them all in danger. Under her fingertips his pulse was sure and steady. He was not letting fear take hold and neither would she. “Please be careful.”

“I am always careful. You, however, are not. Don’t go anywhere by yourself. Brent will take you and JeanBeth to the office tomorrow. Bring Tracy.”

She gave him a sassy salute. “Yes, sir.”

“Sorry. I meant to put a ‘please’ in there somewhere.”

“I know, but that doesn’t come easy because you’re naturally bossy.”

He nodded. “Yeah, so you’ve told me.”

“Still...don’t put yourself in danger, okay?”

He answered with a silent nod, waiting until she went inside before he drove away. Watching from the window, she whispered a prayer for Marco and went to find her daughter.

* * *

The next morning at 6:00 a.m., Marco carried a sleeping Tracy from Brent’s truck and laid her gently on the couch in the reception area, where Candace tucked her in. It got to him, looking at Tracy’s delicate freckled profile, watching Candace stroke her fine blond hair. So small and innocent. The idea that someone, anyone, could possibly attempt to rob Tracy of her mother nearly sent him over the edge.

“Morning.” Baxter, the sixtysomething custodian with the graying fringe circling his bald pate, tiptoed out with a bag of trash. The bag was so full that Marco stepped up to help him with the load.

“I got it,” Baxter whispered, to avoid disturbing Tracy. “Have to earn my keep.”

“You do, Baxter, every day,” Candace said.

Marco agreed. Though he’d been there only a few months, Baxter was the best custodian the building had ever had. Score one for the mature guy, Marco thought. Plus he had been known to bring in detective books for Tracy that he’d read to his nephew a decade before, and that got him extra points in Marco’s estimation.

“Early meeting usually means trouble,” Baxter said, raising a grizzled eyebrow.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” Marco said.

Baxter gave him a cocky salute as he headed for the door. “I believe that.”

Marco and Candace crept out of the reception area and joined the others.

Marco looked at the group seated around the Pacific Coast Investigations conference table—dark-haired Brent, with his arm around Donna, Angela without the company of her fiancé, Dr. Dan, and the sisters’ mother, JeanBeth. The only sister missing was Sarah, who was currently honeymooning in Hawaii with her new husband, Jett. All of them had resisted filling the newly married couple in on the situation. They were entitled to some uninterrupted joy, having recently survived being abducted and held on an island for nearly a week. Sarah would throw a monster fit at being left out of the loop when she returned, but that wasn’t a problem for today.

Marco cleared his throat. “Met with a couple of guys. They told me where I might be able to find Jay Rico. He’s the big boss of the Pack. We have to get to him to stop the threats against Candace.”

Candace gasped. “Oh, no. That’s a bad idea, a very, very bad idea.”

“Gonna take me a while to confirm,” Marco went on. “In the meantime...”

“We do a complete investigation into anything and everything having to do with Jay Rico and his Pack,” Donna finished.

“Right,” Marco said. “Their members, their arrest records, their funding sources, everything.”

Brent nodded. “I have a buddy in Homeland Security. He owes me a favor.”

“Call it in,” Marco said.

“Yes, sir.” Brent pressed a kiss on Donna’s temple before he rose.

“Isn’t anyone hearing this?” Candace said. “Marco, you are not going to search out Jay Rico. Let us investigate and do our jobs. It won’t accomplish anything to go after him.”

“He’s the lead hostile. Need to go serve him notice.”

“No, you don’t,” she said, eyes flashing. “I’m not going to have you getting killed.”

The fire in her tone made his heart thud harder. She didn’t get it. He would risk anything, take on anyone, to keep her and Tracy from harm. These people—these women around his table and the child sleeping in the next room—gave him a purpose. They were his life and nothing mattered more to him than they did.

“Not going to get killed. Not by a two-bit gangster like Rico.”

All of a sudden, her expression changed, and he thought he saw her lips tremble. He wanted to pull her close. The urge was not in keeping with his resolve. It’s a mission, like any other. But Candace was not a woman like any other. Even though he loved all the Gallagher family, Candace occupied a different part of his soul, though he didn’t like to think about it. He drank a gulp of water to cover his confusion and stowed the feelings away in that deep-down place where he put all the other uncomfortable things in his life.

There was a soft knock at the door.

Marco opened it to a skinny man with long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, an affable smile on his face. He bobbed his chin by way of a greeting.

“This is Lon,” Marco said. “He’s going to keep watch on JeanBeth’s place.” Marco quickly introduced the group, ignoring the surprised looks.

JeanBeth, the consummate military wife, rose without batting an eye and offered Lon a seat, which he politely declined, and a glass of water, which he also refused.

Candace was not as serene. She wasn’t a fan of surprises, Marco had come to learn, and this one would be hard for her to swallow. “It’s nice to meet you, Lon, but Marco, would you mind explaining?”

“Lon and I served together.”

Marco felt it was an adequate explanation. Candace did not, from the crimp in her full lips. Her mahogany eyes flashed in that way that made his stomach muscles tighten.

“So now you’ve gone ahead and arranged for soldiers to guard my mom’s house?”

“Lon’s on medical leave for a torn ligament. He gets bored. Needs something to do besides play video games.”

Lon smiled.

“You’ve brought in help.” Candace’s eyes narrowed. “Without bothering to consult us? Is there anything else we should know? Did you enlist any more of your buddies to guard my house, too?”

Marco tidied the already neat stack of papers in front of him. “Possibly.”

Candace groaned. “This is ridiculous, way out of proportion. I’m going to be careful and keep a close eye on Tracy. We’ll be extra cautious until the trial is over. We don’t need a platoon of people.”

“A platoon is sixteen. We’re closer to a squad,” he said, to clarify.

She groaned. “You’re not listening to me.”

“Yes, I am, but this is serious.”

“Overkill.”

“Your father would have done the same.”

She flinched and he wished he hadn’t said it. Bruce Gallagher’s death was still a raw and painful wound for all of them. But I can’t let anything happen to you, don’t you see?

She closed her mouth. “Fine. Do whatever you want. You will, anyway. I’m going to check on Tracy.”

It bothered him to upset her, and he didn’t want to bark orders as if he was her commanding officer, but he couldn’t give voice to that softer, disconcerting thought. Seeing you hurt would be unbearable.

He couldn’t take it, not after Gwen. She’d never in the four years they’d been married come close to staying clean, even after he’d wiped out his savings on rehab programs. Married when they were both just eighteen, she’d endured his navy boot camp days and the moving around, fighting battles he’d not fully comprehended until the addiction took hold. Then they’d fought together, but no amount of muscle, determination or grit could free her from the enemy of heroin. Or maybe he could have fought harder on his home turf instead of giving himself to the navy. He’d served his country, choosing to believe that he’d changed things, helped her, saved her. He’d been dead wrong.

There had been moments of pure joy, when he’d been sure they would make it, and deep down, part of him believed it right up until the moment she’d sent him a letter two months into his deployment, telling him she’d pawned her wedding ring and filed for divorce.

The thing that scared Marco the most was that he would have still tried to save their marriage, because despite the torture, he loved her and he always would. Even after the papers were signed, after her belongings were stripped out of the base housing they shared, even as a twenty-three-year-old divorcee whose ex-wife had cleaned out their bank account—even then, the love inside him was greater than the hurt. The divorce was a defeat, the worst he’d ever experienced, a public exposure of his failure. But still, he’d had the navy to bury himself in, and what had Gwen had? When he’d learned of her recent death from an overdose, he’d been anguished to his core, a feeling that still stabbed him in the gut when he let it.

He blinked, realizing he’d missed the last few comments.

Pay attention, Marco. What’s the matter with you?

With the briefing over, JeanBeth returned to the house with Lon, reminding them she would expect the entire group for lunch. They scattered to their respective corners, fingers tapping on keyboards and dialing phones. Determined to keep his mind on the critical business at hand, Marco marched off toward his own cubicle, itching to shut down Jay Rico before he could cause any more grief.

THREE

Candace watched Marco settle himself in the office chair behind his cubby walls and poke the computer to life, staring at the screen. He detested computers, and it was only after painful hours of her tutelage that he had become proficient on the new office email and messaging system. Still, he faced the screen as if it was a wily adversary bent on destroying him. As she considered his strong profile, muscled body dwarfing the small cubicle, she wanted to stay angry at him, to resent his cavalier treatment of her life, his tendency to order instead of ask. She wanted to keep her ire burning, but she found as she looked at him that she couldn’t.

“Marco,” she said, after a deep breath. “I know you want to protect me and Tracy, and I appreciate that, but don’t you think you’re taking this to an extreme? Recruiting your navy buddies?”

He didn’t turn around, quickly replacing a photo he’d been looking at in its usual place. After a moment he said, “No.”

She sighed. “But it’s crazy.”

“Not crazy to protect people you care about.”

Something in the words spoke of profound regret, drawing her closer. She saw the little black-and-white photo on his desk that he’d just replaced. The picture showed a proudly smiling young sailor, his arms around a willowy blonde woman who would later ruin her life and his with drugs. Gwen.

“Marco, what happened to Gwen wasn’t because you didn’t protect her.”

He stiffened, eyes still locked on the screen, and she knew she’d struck at a wound by mentioning Gwen’s name.

“Yes, it is. I wasn’t there enough,” he said after a moment.

The way he’d loved the broken Gwen, the way he still loved her memory even after the punishment she’d inflicted, made Candace’s heart break just a little. She moved closer and wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind. She could barely grasp him across the solid torso as she breathed in the scent of soap and pressed her cheek to his neck. “You couldn’t have saved her, not from that.”

“Yes, I could.” It came out as a whisper.

He still believed he’d failed his wife, the shame trapping him in a past from which he could not escape. Wishing she could somehow siphon the pain away, Candace savored the hard planes of his jaw. “You are a good man, Marco Quidel.”

She thought she felt him relax a fraction, lean his head ever so slightly into the softness of her embrace. But he did not turn, and he didn’t answer, so she pressed a kiss to his hair and left.

* * *

Marco allowed himself a couple hours of research and phone calls before he decided to run with Bear in tow to JeanBeth’s home, which was only two miles from the office. The others had already departed. He hoped the exercise would clear his head. First off, he couldn’t seem to rid his stomach of the tilt Candace’s embrace had caused. It was an unwelcome feeling. Candace was like family, a woman to be protected, not...well...attracted to.

Attraction? That was absolutely not what caused the stomach tilt, he told himself. Probably it was due to some residual tension set into motion by the parking lot attack. He was more comfortable with the subject of attacks than attraction. Whether Candace accepted it or not, she was in danger and so was Tracy. He would convince her of it if it was the last thing he did. His pace accelerated, and Bear kept up easily.

The Coronado sky was a breathtaking blue and San Diego Bay dotted with pleasure craft. A freshening wind against his face made him yearn to take Candace and Tracy out on his boat, the Semper Fortis, and listen to their cheerful chatter as they fished for bass in the bay. The boat never seemed to be as filled with life as it was with the two of them aboard, but it would have to wait until they put away Rico and his goons. It angered him that Tracy would miss out on school and her friends because of Rico, maybe even her upcoming birthday party. Somehow Candace would explain it to Tracy so it made sense to an almost-eight-year-old.

How did Candace do it? he wondered. Serve as both mother and father to Tracy. The kid was turning out great as far as he could see. How could she not with a mother who was so filled with grace, and determination and love? Candace was a rock for Tracy, and for some reason, she calmed a restlessness inside him, too, like nothing else did. Again the stomach tilt. He soothed himself by reciting parts of the creed embedded in his soul, even though he no longer wore the SEAL trident.

I will never quit. I thrive on adversity.

Honor on and off the battlefield.

My word is my bond.

His bond. His gut twinged. Long ago he’d promised Gwen he would love and protect her forever. He had not been able to shield her from the wicked hold of addiction. Would he be enough to protect Candace now?

He slowed the last two blocks and Bear reduced his gait to a steady trot. Watch and observe, Quidel. Stick to the mission, keeping Candace and Tracy safe from the Pack. You’re going to win. You have to.

“You’re gonna to listen to me this time, Candace,” he said as he eased his pace to a walk, knocked once and tried the door, surprised to find it locked. JeanBeth had an open-door policy, so Lon must have changed her ways. Atta boy, Lon. He used his own key to let himself in.

Tracy looked up from the board game she was playing with Lon, and ran to give him the customary squeeze. “Hi, Unco.”

Lon lifted an amused eyebrow, which Marco ignored.

She’d called him that since she was two years old and he’d returned to Coronado on leave. Crossing paths with Bruce Gallagher meant an invitation to meet his family, and they had taken him under their wings. Those were happy times back then, before Rick had been killed and Marco had been christened Unco. No one else in the world would dare address him like that. It made him sound like a jolly grocer from a kid’s story, but from Tracy, he didn’t mind. For some reason he couldn’t manage to be very stern with the girl, who made him laugh like no one else on earth.

“Who’s winning?” he inquired.

“I am,” Tracy announced proudly, “But Mr. Lon is trying his best.”

Marco chuckled. “You’re going down, Lon. Kid’s an ace at checkers.”

Tracy beamed. “Only sometimes.” She turned to Lon. “Want to take a break and go throw the ball for Bear in the yard?”

“Uh-huh,” Lon said, and Bear, sensing a game in the offing, was quick to follow them to the back sliding door and out into the Southern California sunshine.

JeanBeth handed Marco a plate full of kale salad with cranberries and lemon vinaigrette. His favorite and she knew it. They settled in the living room.

“Lon doesn’t talk very much. Is that some sort of Navy SEAL creed?” JeanBeth asked.

Marco smiled. “No, I know a few guys who will talk your ear off if you bring up the right subject.”

“What’s the right subject with Lon?”

“Dunno. I’ve never figured that out.”

“He doesn’t eat much, either,” she said with a disapproving frown. “Look how thin that man is. If he turns sideways you can’t even see him.”

“When we were stationed in Virginia Beach his mom sent him fudge. He’s got a real sweet tooth.”

Her face brightened. “I’ll make a note of that,” she said. Marco sensed that JeanBeth had just assigned herself a different kind of mission altogether. Brace yourself, Lon.

Brent slung an arm around Donna and leaned back on the couch.

“The Pack doesn’t leave much of a trail,” Brent said. “My guy at Homeland put me in touch with a Fed who figures Jay Rico runs a series of chop shops, but the locations change and they haven’t been able to get a bust.”

Candace nodded. “That’s what Donna and I got, too. We did find out that Rico was born in Long Beach, and he had a brother who died in jail and a sister who seems to have dropped off the radar. Never married. No kids.”

The phone rang, and JeanBeth picked it up and said hello.

Marco eyed her, noting the tension in her jaw as she listened, the subtle stiffening in her posture. She put the phone down.

“Who was it?” Angela asked.

“I’m not sure. A man, deep voice. All he said was ‘Tell Candace. Five rings,’ before he hung up.”

Marco felt a stirring of alarm, but he kept it from his face. “Let’s call Ridley at Coronado PD.”

Donna gave Brent a pat on the knee. “He and Brent are not the best of friends, but he did help get Sarah and Jett off that island. I’ll call. What should I tell him?”

“Did you say five rings?” Angela said, returning from the kitchen, her face grave.

JeanBeth eyed her. “Yes, what does it mean?”

“It’s a gang thing. I’ve counseled some young sailors who came from difficult backgrounds.” She toyed with the zipper on her jacket. “The rings is the number of phone calls you get before...” She looked at her mother and then at Candace. “It probably isn’t the time to talk about it.”

“Five rings before what?” JeanBeth repeated.

Angela grimaced. “Really, Mom. I shouldn’t have brought it up just now.”

“Angela,” JeanBeth said. “You have to tell us.”

All eyes were riveted on Angela. She pulled the patio door closed so Tracy would not hear from out in the yard.

“Five rings before what?” Marco asked.

“Five rings...” she cleared her throat, “before you’re dead.”

FOUR

It seemed to Candace that time sped up as soon as Angela dropped her bombshell. In a matter of three hours, an officer from the San Diego Police Department named Jennifer Barnes, and Ridley from the Coronado Police were meeting with the adults in the family room, while Lon and Tracy were occupied building a spaceship with Tracy’s Lego set in the kitchen. Candace suspected Lon was silently taking in every word of the briefing, but fortunately, Tracy seemed oblivious.

Candace tried hard to focus, but her mind was still fogged in disbelief. The Pack had somehow tracked down her mother’s phone number and called to inform Candace that she would be terrorized and killed for daring to testify against their gang brother Kevin Tooley. She wondered if the same message had been left on her own home phone. A shiver went through her. Though her mother and Angela flanked her on either side and Marco and Brent stood sentry nearby, Candace felt the roots of fear taking hold. Suddenly Marco’s preparations did not seem so over-the-top.

“The district attorney has three witnesses that saw Kevin Tooley pull the trigger at the gas station,” Barnes said. “So far you’re the only one who has been threatened. I’ve been assigned along with Officer Ridley and another couple of San Diego officers to do drive-by checks of your house during the day and post a cop here at night until the trial.”

Candace blinked. “But what about when I’m not at home? Are you supposed to follow me for the next four weeks until our court date?”

Barnes shook her head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We just don’t have enough manpower for that. We’d like to suggest that you stay at home as much as possible.”

“But I’ve got a daughter.”

She nodded. “Any other kids?”

“Tracy is an only child.” Only child, though Tracy desperately wanted a sibling. The words always hit Candace hard when she had to say them.

For a brief, shining period of time, she had carried that little sibling for Tracy. But then there was a knock on the door, the men in uniform respectfully reducing her life to ruins, and then there was the miscarriage when she’d lost the last part of Rick, and then there was a bottomless well of depression where she could see no hope, not even from the God she beseeched for mercy.

And then...

Angela’s hand on her shoulder pulled her out of her reverie. How did her sister always know when Candace was teetering on the edge of that abyss? She covered her sister’s fingers and squeezed back, telegraphing the thank-you she couldn’t voice in front of the officers. How grateful she was to God for giving her sisters, who were truly the hands and feet of Jesus in her life. It felt doubly painful that she had not been able to give any siblings to Tracy. The only thing with which she could supply her daughter were the memories of her heroic father. Candace meant to preserve each one to keep Rick alive in Tracy’s heart. What’s more, she would not let her daughter see her fear. Her chin went up.

“Am I supposed to lock Tracy away for a month?”

Ridley tapped a pencil against his knee. “That’s not Jay Rico’s pattern. He usually orders the Pack to take out the direct threat to his organization and avoid collaterals.”

“What does that mean?” Angela asked.

“They target the person who has crossed them,” Marco said.

JeanBeth jerked. “But we’re going to stop that, right?”

“Affirmative,” Marco said. “There are enough of us to supplement the police watch. If the Pack is going to make a move, they’ll have to get through us first.”

“If?” Donna said. “So this could be intimidation only?”

Ridley nodded. “That’s most likely. The Pack is not active here in Coronado, though we’ve been keeping our eye on some auto thefts, but it would be risky for them to take action. They are probably just trying to scare you.”

They’re doing a great job of that, Candace thought.

“The guy Rico sent to the college was more than intimidation,” Marco said.

“Maybe.” Ridley shrugged. “Could be he exceeded his orders from Rico.”

“I’m not willing to put Candace’s safety on the line for a maybe.” Marco looked around at the family members. “From now on, she and Tracy stay inside unless it’s urgent, and we get her whatever she needs, agreed?”

Everyone nodded.

“What about Tracy’s school?” Candace said. Her daughter adored third grade and her teacher.

Marco shrugged. “You can get one of those home study packets, and she gets a vacation.”

Candace felt like screaming. “So we’re going to be prisoners until the trial is over?”

“Think of it as protective custody,” Marco said.

“I feel like I’m being punished.”

“Not punished, protected.” Marco got up. “Let’s talk about a schedule, and we need to know everything you have on Jay Rico.”

They clustered together with phones and notepads, as if Candace was no longer even in the room.

Bullied. That’s how she felt about this five rings business. Like she was back in junior high, being bullied by the boys who refused to let her take a seat on the bus. She remembered sitting on the sticky floor in the rear, trying to ignore the jeers from her classmates, wishing one person might make a space for her.

All she’d needed was a single brave soul to be her ally, but no one wanted to stand up to those bullies.

No one.

And Candace had resolved, after she got off at her stop on that long-ago day, never to be the subject of bullying again. The next day on the bus, she had elbowed her way to the front of the line, sitting down on the very first seat and announcing to the boys that she wasn’t moving.

“And if you lay one finger on me,” she’d shouted, “I will show you how I earned my black belt in karate.” They’d believed her, even though she’d never set foot in a karate studio, and though they teased her relentlessly for the remainder of her school year, no one ever dared take her seat again.

Candace remembered how Rick had laughed in delight when she’d told him that story early in their marriage. “That’s my girl,” he’d said. “Don’t ever let anyone bully you.” He’d tossed an eighteen-month-old Tracy into the air until she’d giggled with delight. “And my baby girl is going to have her mama’s tiger stripes, aren’t you?”

And now here Candace was, a fully grown adult, being bullied by Jay Rico and his pack of thugs. Where were her tiger stripes now?

“I want to go home,” she said quietly.

There was no response from the cluster of adults.

“I want to go home,” she said louder.

Still no response. No one seemed to notice she’d said a word.

“It’s not enough,” Marco was saying. “I’m going to bring in some more guys if I can get them.”

“Civilian help is dangerous,” Ridley said.

“They aren’t civilians, they’re SEALs.”

“This isn’t their purview. They have no rights to act on domestic soil without orders.”

Marco glared. “Try telling them that.”

“I said,” Candace called in a near shout, “I am going home right now.”

They all turned to her. She realized at that moment that Tracy was standing in the doorway.

“Why are you yelling, Mommy?”

She plastered a smile on her face. “Because Mommy is tired, and it’s time for us to go back to our own house.”

Marco, her sisters and the two cops looked at her in surprise.

“If you could wait another hour or so...” Ridley suggested. “Until we get things in place...”

“Now,” Candace said, in what she hoped was a calm, confident voice. “I am going back home now. With all of you looking out for us, I’m sure we’ll be fine. Will someone give us a ride, or should I call a taxi?”

* * *

Candace sat in stony silence in the front seat of Marco’s truck while Tracy prattled on in the back next to Bear. Marco had no idea what book Tracy was describing, something about a time-traveling pony, but he listened attentively and put in a “wow” once in a while at what he hoped were the appropriate times.

“And I’m gonna have a speaking part in the pioneer play we’re doing just before Thanksgiving break. The practices are super fun. I know almost all my lines.” She reached over to scratch Bear’s tummy.

Anger edged up from Marco’s stomach toward his chest when he considered that Tracy was going to miss out on the next few weeks of school. It was possible she wouldn’t be in the show at all. No one had the right to strip away her childhood. When Jay Rico had sent his guy to interfere in Tracy’s life, he had made himself Marco’s enemy. Though he didn’t know it yet, he would, and soon.

Marco realized he had the steering wheel in a death grip. He forced his fingers to relax. Clearing his throat, he shot a glance at Candace. “Got a guy coming tomorrow to watch your place.”

She didn’t answer.

“His name’s Dev. You won’t even know he’s around.”

“What about tonight?”

“That’s me.”

“Don’t you think the cops are enough?”

“No.”

“Why not? Because they aren’t SEALs?”

He shrugged. No, because they’re not me, and no one cares about the two of you more than I do. Again the out-of-the-blue thoughts kept sparking in his mind like tracer fire. “Dev and Lon are the best. They have skills that cops don’t.”

“Like what?” She closed her eyes. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

The strain in her voice was pronounced. On impulse he took her hand. “I know your independence is important to you. This is just for a while.”

“But I...”

She looked in the rearview at Tracy, who was engrossed in singing a song.

“I feel like I’m being a coward, letting them win,” Candace whispered.

She clutched his hand, her skin satin soft against his callused fist. “Rick said I should never hide from anything.”

“You’re sheltering in place, not hiding.”

“But Rick...”

Marco squeezed her fingers. “Rick would want you safe. Period. Don’t doubt that.”

Tracy sat up. “Mommy, are you talking about Daddy?”

“Yes, honey. I was just saying that Daddy was a brave man.”

“Because he fought for our country?”

“Yes, that, and because he always, always tried to do the right thing, even when it was hard.”

The respect and adoration he heard in Candace’s voice awakened something sad inside Marco. Had Gwen ever thought anything like that about him? As their marriage disintegrated, she’d seen him as her enemy, a man who thwarted her plans and desires, put her second after the navy. What would it be like to have a partnership based on deep respect like Rick and Candace had had? If he had a woman like Candace in his life, he’d spend every day making sure she knew how much he loved her.

Unsettled, he eased his hand from hers and she returned to her silent perusal of the quiet Coronado streets as they drove to her cottage.

Had he done wrong speaking out about Rick? Probably. Marco bit back a sigh. Another situation that called for a penknife and he’d used a machete. Typical.

He waved to the cop parked in front of the house, and directed Bear to stay in the truck. Marco walked them to the door, took the keys from Candace and unlocked it. He asked them to stay on the tiled entry of the house and did a quick perimeter check.

“Looks good,” he said.

“What’s going on?” Tracy demanded. “Why are you acting all weird?”

Candace knelt down to look in her eyes. “There are some bad people who don’t want me to go to court. They are trying to scare me out of testifying.”

Tracy twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “Are you scared, Mommy?”

“A little bit.”

“Are you going to testify, anyway?”

“Yes.”

Tracy nodded. “Good. I’m glad you’re going to be brave...” She trotted toward the bedroom. “Like Unco.”

Like Marco? She was supposed to say like her dad, like Rick.

Marco saw the discomfort on Candace’s face and quickly looked away. What had he done to cause this? He didn’t know, he wasn’t sure, but now Candace was walking toward the kitchen.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” she said, voice strained.

“I...” I’m sorry? I will fix it, somehow? I’ll leave you two alone? None of those things seemed like the right thing to say, especially since he had no intention of taking his eyes off them until the Jay Rico threat was neutralized.

Though he ached to walk to Candace and run his hands along her bowed shoulders, he was pretty sure that would make matters worse.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he mumbled. “Gonna be in the truck, and I’ll set your alarm as I exit.”

He did not hear her reply. A shadow outside caught his eye, moving quickly. Pulling back the partially opened curtain, he saw a figure sprint across the lawn, arm raised in a posture he’d seen before. He had only a moment to react before the kitchen window shattered with a thunderous crack.

FIVE

The explosion was so loud it paralyzed Candace, imprisoning her in a fetal position on the floor. Glass rained down but didn’t touch her. Projectiles volleyed throughout the room. Bullets? She couldn’t tell. She realized Marco had hurled himself over her, a shield against the glass that landed in jagged pieces all over, and whatever it was that was thunking around her, striking the floor so hard the vibrations jarred the tile. Marco’s body jerked when the projectiles hit him, but he did not cry out or loosen his hold on her. There was a faint smell of smoke.

Tracy, was all she could think. Run to Tracy. Get her out.

But her body was still immobilized by fear and the echo of the deafening bang. Even if Marco wasn’t holding her there she doubted she could move at all.

When the rain of debris subsided, Marco scooped her up and ran from the room. He carried her easily, making it to Tracy’s door in moments. He shoved it open and brought her in, putting her on the bed next to Tracy, who sat bolt upright, eyes like round saucers.

“Mommy,” she screamed.

“She’s okay,” Marco told Tracy. “Quiet now, half pint.” He bent to look in Candace’s face, smoothing the hair from her brow. His eyes took inventory, searching hers, gentle fingers skimming over her cheeks and neck. “Hurt?”

She shook her head, heart thundering, ears ringing. “You?”

“No.” But she could see a welt forming on his forehead, and another on his biceps where it showed through his torn sleeve. Dribbles of blood oozed from cuts on his forearms. “What...what was it?”

“Grenade.” Marco looked at Tracy. “Take care of your mom. I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going? Stay here,” Tracy said, the plea in her voice cutting into Candace as she threw her arms around her daughter.

Marco knelt next to the bed, his deep baritone soft as he took Tracy’s hand, her small fist dwarfed in his. “Listen up, half pint.” He smiled at her. “That was a lot of noise and fuss, but everything’s okay and your mama isn’t hurt. I’ve got to go check on the cop and make sure he’s okay, too. Do you understand?”

Tracy clutched his fingers. “I don’t want you to go. Please stay here with us.”

“I will come back. I promise.”

“But what if you don’t?” Tracy said.

He looked at her gravely. “Do I keep my promises or not?”

“But...”

“No buts. Yes or no?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s right. I always keep my promises.”

“’Cuz you’re a SEAL?”

He grinned. “No, ’cuz that’s the way God wants me to be. Being a SEAL just makes me extra cool.”

It worked. Tracy offered a wobbly grin. He pressed a kiss to her head. “Lock the door behind me and sit tight.”

Candace squeezed Tracy close after she’d clicked the flimsy door lock.

“What happened, Mommy?”

She strove for calm, matter-of-fact truth telling. “Someone threw something through our kitchen window.”

“Why would they do that?”

“To scare me, I think.” It was very effective. Her heart was hammering away at the speed of light.

“Because of the trial?”

“Yes.”

“But you could have been hurt, or Unco,” Tracy said, lips quivering again. Candace saw the beginnings of hysteria building there.

“No. No one is hurt, just like Marco said.” She pulled her daughter into her lap. But Marco was right, she thought. She’d lambasted him for overreacting, for bringing in his SEAL friends, but he’d been absolutely correct. The Pack wasn’t done terrorizing her, not by a long shot. They’d learned where she lived, and more importantly, where her daughter lived.

Candace went ice-cold. She tried to still the shaking in her hands as they waited minute by painful minute. It was taking far longer than she would have thought. What if the people who’d thrown the grenade were still there? Waiting for Marco to emerge? What if they’d taken out the cop?

No more death, she pleaded to God. No more death to innocent people at the hands of these gangsters.

The terror began to spread from her stomach into her limbs, icing her veins, inch by excruciating inch. She strained to hear something, but the silence continued and the minutes dragged on. Finally, she detected the wail of approaching sirens.

The doorknob rattled and Tracy screamed. “They got in the house. Mommy, they’re coming to get us.” Candace pushed Tracy behind her.

“It’s Marco,” called the loud voice from the other side. “Open up.”

Candace’s legs were shaking so badly she was grateful that Tracy leaped from the bed to let Marco in. She grabbed him around the waist.

“They didn’t get you,” Tracy sobbed.

“’Course not,” he said, wiping her tears with the heel of his hand. “Came back, just like I promised.”

Tracy sniffled.

He looked at her with mock severity. “Don’t tell me you were worried?”

Tracy shrugged. “Just a little.”

“I guess a little is okay. Pack two bags with whatever you’ll need for a couple days,” he said over her head to Candace. “We’re leaving.”

It was almost a relief. This was her home, but she did not want to cower every time someone drove past, the thunder of the grenade blast ringing in her memory. “Where are we going?”

“To talk to the cops, and then out of town.”

Where? How? When will we be back? All the questions jammed up in her mind, stuck fast behind the fear. Pack. Get your daughter out of here.

The action of choosing several outfits, Tracy’s markers and a drawing pad, and some basic toiletries calmed her. In a few more moments she’d packed her own tote, and Marco led them to the front of the house.

The officer they’d waved to on the way in was talking on the phone, while two others took pictures of the house and questioned the neighbors. Officer Ridley guided Tracy and Candace into the back of an ambulance, where a paramedic checked them over.

She tried to answer Ridley’s questions, but knew ridiculously little about what had happened until Marco explained.

“It was a nonlethal grenade. They’re used for crowd control, mostly. It detonates and shoots out rubber pellets that hit the target with blunt force.”

Candace realized in that moment that thanks to Marco’s quick thinking, he’d become the target instead of her. She could see now the purpling bruises forming on his arms and temple.

He waved away the paramedic’s attention. “I’m fine.” He turned to Ridley. “Don’t like them being out in the open. If your questions are done, we’re ready to go.”

“Go where?” Ridley said.

Marco remained expressionless. “Somewhere safe.”

“You need to tell us where that is. We’re the police. We can protect them.

Marco shook his head. “You tried that. Rico’s Pack is organized. They knew Candace would be at the college, and they know where JeanBeth lives and now Candace. This time we’re doing it my way.”

“No, we aren’t,” Ridley snapped. “You’re a civilian. It’s our job to protect them, not yours.”

“You’re right. I’m not bound by cop rules, so I can do whatever it takes.”

“Sounds like you’re talking about going vigilante, breaking the law.”

Marco shook his head. “No, no law breaking unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“That doesn’t reassure me.”

“And this doesn’t reassure me,” Marco said, waving an arm toward the broken kitchen window. “This could have gone very bad if that was a fragmentation grenade.”

A fragmentation grenade? Candace didn’t even want to know what sort of damage that might have done. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. The two men were eyeing each other like angry bears.

“We’d like to go with Marco,” she said to Ridley. “For now, I think that would be best.”

Ridley was shaking his head, still staring Marco down. “We’ll step it up. You do your part by staying out of the way.”

He folded his arms across his muscled torso, his expression stone cold. “Sorry, but I’m not answering to you when it comes to the safety of my girls.”

My girls? Was that how Marco saw them? Her initial flush of pleasure at the thought surprised her and awakened guilt right alongside. She and Tracy were Rick’s girls. Always. She would not let any man take that away, not even Marco.

No time to worry about that now. There were more pressing matters at hand.

“We’d like to go now,” Marco was saying.

Ridley started to answer when they heard a phone ringing from inside the house. Through the broken window they heard the answering machine pick up.

“Four rings,” said the voice, before it cut off.

The breath was squeezed right out of her. Four more rings to go and she would be dead at Rico’s hands.

Marco snaked an arm around her shoulders and gripped her tight.

“Like I said, they’re on my watch now,” he said, firing the challenge at Ridley.

She allowed the feel of Marco’s strong palm to keep her from flying away into panic. She didn’t want to rely on him, especially since his presence sent her feelings into a confusing spiral, but right at that moment she didn’t see how she would make it without him.

My girls?

Later, she vowed. Later she would straighten out her relationship with Marco. Right now, she would do what was necessary to keep her daughter safe from Jay Rico and his gang of murderers.

SIX

Marco finally got Candace and Tracy into his truck and on the road. Tracy fell asleep almost immediately with her arm curled around Bear in the backseat. He rewound the tape in his memory.

My girls. He’d actually said that and noticed the startled flicker in Candace’s eyes.

It’s a mission, he reminded himself, like all the others. During the course of his career, he’d gone on too many missions to count, from counter narcotics operations in South America to dismantling enemy compounds in the Hamrin Mountains in Iraq. He’d stood side by side with brave men in sniper squadrons and assault teams, and his resolve to succeed and keep his military family safe had never wavered. The same determination flooded him now. That was it—resolve, nothing more.

He blinked back to the present at Candace’s question.

“Where are we headed?”

“To a beach house. Buddy of mine owns it.”

“A beach house where?”

“Angel Vista, a village up the coast. North of Long Beach. Angela’s coming, too, to help with Tracy. Brent and Donna are staying with your mom to run the office and keep an eye on her, since the first threat was delivered there.”

“And how many SEALs will be joining us?”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “How many would you guess?”

“I don’t know, twenty?”

“Doesn’t take twenty SEALs to get a job done.”

“Oh, right,” she said. “I forgot you are all invincible.”

“I prefer to think of it as well trained and outrageously skilled.”

She laughed and he was thrilled to hear it. It’s what they needed to do, keep the conversation casual, light, away from his earlier remark in front of Ridley.

“Lon will stay and protect my mom?”

“Yes, and he’s going to eat well, for sure.”

Candace nodded thoughtfully, peeking behind her to check on the sleeping Tracy. “Marco,” she said.

He knew what was coming and kept his gaze riveted out the front window. “Yes?”

“We love you, Tracy and I—you know that, don’t you? I mean,” she added quickly, “you’ve been amazing to us, through Dad’s death and with my mom and sisters. All of the Gallaghers love you.”

He nodded, breath held.

“But I need Tracy to remember Rick as her father and I need...” She twisted a finger in the hem of her shirt. “Well, that’s just the way it is. Do you understand? I don’t want her to be confused.”

He nodded. “I did not mean to overstep. I’m going to take care of you, that’s all I meant.”

She seemed to relax a fraction. “Thank you.”

Since he didn’t want to deal with the pang of embarrassment, he focused on the road. They aren’t your girls, Quidel. Don’t get it confused. Candace was a spirited, stubborn, intelligent woman who needed him only for protection and nothing more.

So why did his skin prickle when her arm brushed against his? And what was the reason he wanted to run his fingers through her curly hair and feel the weight of it?

He blinked. You had that once, remember? Marco believed marriage was a forever commitment, and he’d had his one chance with the love of his life. It ended in disaster because he had failed Gwen.

But he wasn’t going to fail Candace.

Checking the rearview for the dozenth time, he reassured himself that Rico’s men had not followed them. There had been a car some three miles back, but nothing further.

His Bluetooth signaled a call.

“Chief.”

“Retired, Dev. You can call me Marco.”

“Once a chief, always a chief.”

Marco smiled. “Got something for me?”

“Yes, sir. Waiting at the Party Palace to brief you.”

“See you in ten.”

“The Party Palace?” Candace said, when he disconnected. “Isn’t it more like a safe house?”

“Dev has a keen wit.”

“Keener than yours?”

“You always say I have no sense of humor whatsoever.”

“Could be I’m wrong about you.”

“Could be.” He was pleased that she could still smile, even after the grenade incident. Candace Gallagher was an incredible woman.

They rolled up the steep drive and he noted the beach house was all but hidden from the road by a grove of enormous trees that had been left to grow without the benefit of trimming. It was a two-story structure, with a basement, and a covered garage so full of his buddy Pete’s boats and Jet Skis that there was no way to get Marco’s truck inside. He didn’t see any sign of Dev’s vehicle, but that did not surprise him. Dev rode a fast motorcycle and it was undoubtedly concealed somewhere nearby.

Tracy had awakened and she and Bear catapulted from the car.

“Where’s the beach? Can we go find shells?”

He laughed. “Let’s get you settled in right now, okay? We’ll talk about the beach tomorrow when it’s daylight.”

Tracy raced Bear to the front door and Dev let them in. Marco introduced them. Tracy went wide-eyed at the sight of Dev, a tall African American with a monstrous beard and a set of shoulders almost as wide as Marco’s.

He greeted them with hearty handshakes. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Gallagher and other Ms. Gallagher.”

Tracy giggled.

Candace smiled. “You can call me Candace.”

“Sure thing, Ms. Gallagher,” he said, still grinning.

“I haven’t had any luck, either,” Angela said. “I’ve talked him down from Captain. Now he calls me Captain Ma’am.”

Dev nodded, eyes shifting to Marco. “Chief, message from Ms. Donna Gallagher at the detective office.”

“What is it?”

“DA needs to go over Ms. Gallagher’s testimony Monday at ten. He’ll be at the county courthouse in Long Beach.”

“All right,” Marco said. “Thoughts?”

“You lead, I’ll follow and check for tails.”

“Recon?”

“Conference room is on the ground floor, six exits. Metal detectors and security checkpoint in the lobby.”

“Got all that already?”

He shrugged. “I’m good. What can I say?”

“Don’t let it go to your head. Tracy?”

“Will stay put with Captain Ma’am. Coastie’s arriving soon. Can he handle himself?”

Marco recalled how Brent had survived a beating and a hostile surf that would have killed most men, long enough to save his sister’s life and probably Donna’s. “Yeah, he can handle himself.”

“I’ll put him on a radio.”

“And Angela can take care of herself, too. She’s navy, after all,” Marco said.

Angela sighed. “A chaplain, but I had the obligatory combat training. I’m probably best at calling for help.”

“Don’t let her fool you, Dev. All the Gallagher sisters are made of tough stuff.”

“I don’t doubt it, Chief. They put up with you, after all.”

“Funny,” Marco said, as Candace and Angela laughed.

“What’s the code name for Ms. Gallagher?” Dev said.

“It should be Gumdrop,” Angela said promptly. “That was her nickname as a kid.”

Candace groaned. “You know how many years it took to get everyone to forget that nickname?”

“Gumdrop,” Dev said. “Got it.”

Candace glared at her sister.

“It’s better than mine,” Angela said. “Behind my back, they called me Giraffe when I was deployed. Something about my height.”

“Gonna tell them your nickname, Chief?” Dev said, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Negative, and if you’d like to keep breathing, you won’t, either.”

Dev laughed. “You’re the boss.”

To preempt the question from coming out of Candace’s mouth, Marco said, “How about I cook up some spaghetti for dinner? I have some supplies in the truck.”

“Men who can cook, not bad,” Candace said. “We’ll go set the table.” She shot him a sly look. “But don’t think I’m going to forget about that nickname. I’ll get it out of Dev yet.”

“You’ll get no such intel from me.” Dev zipped his lips, turned an imaginary key and mimed throwing it away before he departed to the kitchen.

Marco watched them go. As he headed for his truck, he tried to breathe away the tension. Candace was safe for the moment, secured in a place where no one could get the jump on them. JeanBeth was under watch and he’d trust Dev and Lon to meet any kind of threat that Rico could toss at them.

So why did he have the tingling feeling, deep down in his gut, that something was about to go very wrong?

* * *

Candace helped Dev with the dishes while Marco did a check of the exterior of the old beach house. When the last dish was dried and put away in the worn wooden cupboards, Dev gave her a sweeping bow and disappeared somewhere. He and Marco would be bunking on sofas in the small downstairs room connected to a dark-paneled den that smelled of old cigars.

Candace, Angela and Tracy would be installed in the bedrooms upstairs, complete with a tiny bathroom and shower where Angela had just taken Tracy for her bedtime preparations.

Candace sighed. She would have to break the news to Tracy very soon that she would not be returning to school for a while. She didn’t look forward to the upset that would ensue. Thank you, Jay Rico, the man responsible for turning our lives upside down.

Fuming, she paced around the living room, perusing dusty bookshelves that held information on every kind of boat imaginable, plus a stack of tattered sailing magazines, while she formulated a plan of her own. She wasn’t about to sit around waiting for her sisters and Marco to figure out how to bring down Jay Rico. As long as she had her laptop, she was fully capable of doing some of her own sleuthing. Pulling a plaid-cushioned chair up to the sturdy table, she began firing up her computer just as Marco came in.

“Working?” he asked.

“Just starting.”

“Goal?”

“I want to know more about Kevin Tooley.”

“Our jailed gas station shooter?” He raised an eyebrow. “Thought our focus was Rico.”

“Rico’s interest in keeping Tooley out of prison seems unusual to me.”

Marco sat next to her, arms folded across the tabletop. “Not to me—he’s a ruthless thug protecting his interests. But I trust your instincts.”

She felt her cheeks warm at the compliment. “Thank you.”

“So tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Rico’s people have been jailed before. One has been in prison for six years. There’s no evidence that I can see that Rico started a campaign of terror to keep any of his other gang family out of prison, yet he’s heavily invested in Kevin Tooley. Don’t you find that strange?”

Marco lifted a shoulder. “Maybe, but I don’t think he’s the most rational guy. He uses intimidation and coercion when he feels the need.”

“Sure, in more important situations. But why in this case? Kevin Tooley is a kid, only eighteen, so he’s obviously not in a position of power in the Pack. Why go to all the trouble to prevent me from testifying against a young kid?

Marco was silent, staring at her, considering. He was weighing her reasons with calm deliberation and the respect gave her confidence to continue. “I want to understand more about Tooley, something to explain why Rico’s interested in this case.”

He nodded. “Okay. I’ll leave the ‘why’ to you. I’m more concerned with how he intends to go about stopping your testimony.”

“It’s not just mine. There are two other witnesses, remember?”

Dev knocked on the door frame with a knuckle. His face was grave and Angela stood next to him.

“Just got some bad news,” she said.

Marco straightened. “Let’s hear it.”

Candace steeled herself for whatever was going to come next.

“Donna heard from Barnes that one of the other witnesses has disappeared,” she said. “They’ve got people out looking, but they think he might have gotten a message from Rico and decided to get out of Dodge.”

Dev rubbed a hand over his thick beard. “Seems like it’s down to one other witness and Gumdrop.”

And then there were two...

Candace fought down the shiver of fear. She would not let him win.

“All right,” she said, forcing her chin high and trying to show her tiger stripes. “So be it.”

SEVEN

Tracy weathered the disappointment of missing church on Sunday with only a minor upset, but when Candace finally had the courage to tell her on Monday morning she would have to skip school for the foreseeable future, the child dissolved into a puddle of tears that wrenched Marco’s heart.

“Why can’t you just find the bad guys, Unco?” she wailed. “I’m gonna miss the play practice today, and tomorrow is library.”

“I am going to find them, kiddo,” he said. “I promise.”

She was only mildly placated by an early morning walk to the beach with Marco, Bear and Candace, where they searched for shells along the quiet stretch of sand. In her enthusiasm, Candace wandered close to the foamy edge of the water, her back to the pristine Pacific, jeans rolled up to her calves. She looked no more than a young girl herself, her laughter carrying over the sound of the surf.

A big wave, powered by the fall breeze, rolled in behind Candace, poised to douse her. Without thinking, Marco took her by the waist and twirled her away from the reach of the salt water. She grabbed his shoulders to keep her balance and clung to him, bringing her so close he could smell the subtle fragrance she always wore, the heady scents of vanilla and cinnamon.

Her curls tickled his face and he reached out to smooth them down. She was close, so close, brown eyes wide and heavily lashed, lips parted and cheeks flushed. He was overwhelmed by a desire to kiss her. The ocean crashed around them and his emotions did the same inside. She lingered there, close, and he wondered if she felt any of the same longing that kept him immobilized in that spot of sand, his arms clasping her to him. She tipped her mouth upward, the tiniest fraction of an inch nearer, and he was drawn as if by a powerful tide to close the gap, until she took a breath and stepped away.

“Thanks,” she said, tucking some hair behind her ear. “I don’t have enough extra clothes to get these wet.”

“Uh, sure.”

He fisted his hands on his hips, trying to breathe some sense back into his brain. She gazed out at the rolling surf and he stood there like a big, dumb block of stone, unsure what to say.

Had he really been about to kiss her? His own lack of control disturbed him.

“Come on, Unco,” Tracy called against the wind. “There are some cool shells over here.”

Relieved, he joined Tracy and Bear, scouring the beach and trying to leave his inexplicable behavior behind him.

Candace joined them, seemingly unruffled.

He found a perfect sand dollar, gingerly extracting it from the sand and handing it to Tracy with all the solemnity of a king bestowing a royal favor.

She took it, wide-eyed. “It’s not even chipped or anything. I’m gonna put it in my jar with the shells Daddy found me.” She continued, kneeling now, to search out more treasures tossed up by the sea.

Candace pushed the hair from her face as she joined them. “Rick took her to the beach just before he deployed for the last time. She was only two, so she doesn’t remember, but he found some beautiful shells and put them in a jar for her.”

“That was real nice.”

She knelt next to Tracy. “Baby, I know you don’t remember, but Daddy said you were the best shell finder in all of California.”

Marco saw moisture sparkling against Candace’s lashes.

“When we get home, I will show you a picture of you two at that beach, okay?”

“Okay, Mommy.” Tracy put the shell in her pocket and raced with Bear down the sand.

Candace continued to stare after the two. “I keep reminding her, but they’re my memories, not hers.”

The words rang with sadness, making Marco feel even more of a heel for his earlier impulse to kiss her. “I’m sorry.”

“He was a great dad. He never was the kind to ‘take her to play,’ he always played right along. First in the ball pit, the water, the ‘tiny tot’ days at the park. He would sure have loved doing these things with her now.”

The things that Marco was doing, making memories with another man’s child. And suddenly he was infringing again, inserting himself where Candace clearly did not want him to be. How would he feel if his child had no memories of her father? If all that love and devotion had been erased from a kid’s life by a roadside IED? But it wasn’t all erased, not as long as Candace was around to keep Rick’s memory alive for his little girl.

Marco walked away a few paces and left them to their treasure hunt, Candace, Tracy and the missing spot where Rick should be.

On their way back to the house to prepare for their courthouse visit, Marco made sure to hang back a pace. The waves rolled in and out, their ceaseless rhythm scouring away any trace of a human presence.

Keep the distance, he reminded himself, and everything will be just fine.

* * *

Candace dressed in slacks and the nicest blouse she’d packed, and restored her beach-blown hair to order. The prickling in her nerves was not due to the courthouse visit—she felt completely secure with Marco and Dev’s security measures—but with what had happened on the beach. Her mind was under control; Marco was a friend, protecting and helping. But her feelings were another matter.

Something inside her had wanted to lean forward and receive what she imagined might have been a kiss from Marco. But that could not be, Candace told herself sternly. What was she doing, thinking about kissing another man, any man? Especially in light of the obvious problem that Tracy did not remember her father?

But I can fix that, Candace thought, throwing up a prayer to God. Please don’t let Rick vanish from Tracy’s life like he vanished from mine. And as for thoughts of kissing Marco, those would be banished from both her mind and her emotions.

Bolstered, she kissed Tracy and Angela. Brent arrived and met Dev, who offered a handshake. “Heard you were a puddle jumper.”

“Rescue swimmer,” Brent said, quirking a smile.

“You any good?” Dev inquired.

Brent laughed. “Next time you’re drowning in twenty-foot seas, I’ll rappel out of a helicopter and show you just how good I am.”

Dev gave him a respectful grin. “All right, then. Hold down the fort, Coastie.”

“I will, and you drive safely, okay? No falling off your motorcycle or anything.”

When the bantering was finished, Marco got into the truck and they drove away toward the county courthouse. Candace didn’t see where Dev had gone, but she knew he was there somewhere, watching.

Like Rico’s men?

Marco was silent for the whole trip, probably just as well. She’d make it clear that she didn’t want any deeper connection with him than she already had, and didn’t want Tracy to bond with him any more than she’d already done.

Candace thought of Tracy’s joy when she spent time with Marco, and her stomach pinched with guilt. She recalled the school plays he’d attended and even a classroom tea, cramming his giant body into a first-grade-sized chair. Every year for her birthday he carved her a tiny wooden bunny to add to her collection, a reminder of an orphaned rabbit they’d tried to save. Was it wrong to put distance between Tracy and a man she loved? But it was not right to allow Rick to be replaced in her heart or Tracy’s.

Candace clasped her hands together and prayed, once again, for God to help her be both mother and father to her daughter. Relaxed, she drifted off until the slowing of the truck roused her. “I didn’t know I was that tired.”

Marco got out to open the door for her, but she hopped out first. She meant to say thank you, but he was propelling her toward the courthouse, his hand on her back.

They passed through the metal detectors and Candace had her purse searched. The precautions were comforting. There was no way Jay Rico would try anything in a heavily secured government building, and besides, he had no way of knowing she was here.

After forty-five minutes of waiting in a small conference room, during which Marco sat still as a statue and Candace paced, checked her phone, drank some water and paced some more, a sturdy woman with a neat bun entered.

“I’m Mandy Livingston, assistant to the district attorney. I’m sorry, but he’s still in court, so I don’t think he can meet with you today. But we can go over the particulars, okay?” She shot a look at Marco. “Would you mind waiting outside, sir?”

He hesitated, and Candace thought he might resist, but she nodded at him.

“I’ll be right outside the door.”

Livingston started in and Candace was again lost in that horrible time four months before, reliving the shooting, the cold expression on Kevin Tooley’s face as he aimed his gun out the car window and murdered a young man at the gas station.

“Why did he do it?” she blurted.

Livingston looked surprised. “Tooley?” She paused. “From what we can gather from our snitches, the victim threatened to go to the police with information about a car Tooley stole.”

“What do you know about Tooley’s background?”

She cocked her head. “Why is this of interest?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Okay. Here are the bare-bones facts. He was born in Los Angeles to a single mom, Yolanda Tooley, who was a receptionist at a gym. She was struck by a car and killed when Kevin was three. It was a hit-and-run and the driver was never caught. Kevin was raised by various people, an uncle notably. Started seeking out the gang life at age twelve.”

Twelve. Only a little older than Tracy.

“Minor trouble with the law and then fast forward to age eighteen, when he killed Jack Matthews at the gas station.” Livingston closed her notebook. “I’ve got to get back to court. We’ll be in touch.”

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