Nightshade (Discarded Heroes) (14 page)

“And I keep my promises.” He leveled a firm gaze at the man. “I assure you, were this a problem, it would be eliminated already. If you overreact, mistakes will be made. Trust my men. Trust me.” Olin smiled at a woman as she walked her fluffy white dog past. Once she was out of earshot, he cleared his throat. “I’ll take them off the grid for a while, but that also means you’re out of luck with any black-ops necessities. Just understand, Chairman, that keeping them out of sight and mind is done in exchange for your promise to leave this alone and not leap without looking.”

Without a word, the chairman stood and walked down the path toward the Potomac.

Welcome to Paradise Gardens
. Max stared out at the diamond-encrusted water. Unbelievable. He’d been ready for another long stint in the jungle hunting bad guys, equalizing pressure … but this? A pristine beach on a private island for two weeks? He crossed his legs, bent over, and stretched. The only thing in the last four days since the helo deposited him on the hot sands that had saved his sanity was tearing up the beach until he felt like he would drop.

After a few more stretches, he started his run. The first day, he’d been so ticked he’d completed the first circuit in under an hour. Now he ran a fast clip, but since there wasn’t anything else to do on this godforsaken island other than crawl the walls, he made several circuits. At least it ate up the hours. The rigorous workout of running in the sand tamed his mind and strengthened him.

Someone had it in good with Lambert. How else could the general manage sending a team of six onto a private island for fourteen days with free rein? And not just an island, but a fully stocked and loaded home that rivaled the Taj Mahal with its ornate detail and luxury. It was too much. Far too much for a group of soldiers. Besides, what was the point? Were they supposed to unwind? Like that could ever happen.

As the sun rose higher and beat down on him, Max completed a lap and slowed. Laughter rumbled from the volleyball pit. Fix jumped and slammed the ball hard—it pinged off the compacted sand and burst up at Cowboy and Griffin. Even amid the triumphant shout of victory, Fix high-fived the Kid. They were laughing, acting like they didn’t have a care in the world. Lucky them.

Dripping sweat and disgust, Max climbed the steps to the house.

“Max!” The Kid jogged toward him, wearing those stupid Hawaiian shorts and a goofy grin. “We need another player for the match.”

He considered the sand pit but shook his head. “It’s even. You don’t need me.”

“Actually, we talked Legend into playing finally. And Midas is just coming in from a swim.”

Griffin lumbered onto the sand court with a taunting grin.

“This why they call you Legend?”

A laugh seeped through Griffin’s chest. “Let’s find out.”

Midas sloughed his way up the shore, wiping the salty water from his short crop, and jabbed his board into the sand. With a grin, he stepped onto the court—on Fix’s team.

Ah. A challenge.

Max almost grinned as he plodded toward his new teammates, Cowboy and Legend. They patted his back and took up positions. Crouching, Max peered under the net at Midas.

“Ready to eat sand, Frogman?”

“You first.”

Cowboy served, and the ball sailed over the net, straight toward Fix, who bumped the ball toward the Kid, who in turn set it up—

Midas leaped into the air and pummeled the ball.

It streaked straight toward the ground. Max dove hard. But a blur of white told him he’d been too late.

His opponents cheered his failure. Max pulled himself off the beach.

“That’s all right. That’s all right,” Legend said, clapping and swiping palms with Max. “We’ll stomp them. Bury them six feet under.” His laugh seemed to echo over the waters.

Rolling his shoulders, Max returned to his spot and readied himself for the serve, this time coming from Reyes. The man served effortlessly, and Max began to wonder if he’d been set up. Midas hooted when Cowboy intercepted and bounced it up. Max jumped and slammed the ball back over the net.

A plume of sand burst up—and only seconds before he made out Midas’s long frame sliding toward them. The ball was still in play! And back on their side.

Legend once again bumped it to Cowboy, who set it up. On his feet, Max again leaped and spiked the ball. This time the Kid missed—and it smacked the hot sand.

“Score!” Cowboy and Legend cheered, slapping Max on the back. An hour and two games later, with the points tied and both sides set to win, a truce was called for lunch. Max appreciated the way the guys played, the way even though they were on opposites sides and willing to drive a ball hard into each other’s chests, they were a team. It was good. Real good.

As they trudged into the house to shower and change for lunch, the Kid sidled up next to Max. “D’ya hear?”

“What?”

“Oberly is having a massive party tomorrow night. Guests are going to be flown in.”

With a check on the rest of the team, who’d slowly gathered, Max couldn’t help but be surprised. Guess this wouldn’t be quite as solitary as they’d thought. More people, more noise. That should be a good thing. So why did it bug him so much?

“Probably be women.” The Kid’s grin grew bigger, if that was possible. “Loads.”

That’s why. A party meant revelers, happy drunk idiots. He tucked aside the urge to knock the Kid upside his head. Marshall was young, inexperienced. Didn’t have a clue about life. Rich kid. Had daddy foot the bill for anything he wanted, like parties with loose women and booze. Not only would there be drunks, but there’d also be people who would question why a half dozen well-muscled grunts were holed up on a secluded island.

“A party?” he asked, looking to Cowboy.

The cowboy shrugged. “Seems so. They’re setting up tents and decorations by the pool, which is why we’re out here. Gettin’ outta the way.”

Max chewed the information.

“Rumor has it,” Legend said, “the team’s invited. One caterer even said it’s a group of models coming in for a photo shoot.”

“Yes!” the Kid shouted, then laughed. “See? A party unlike any other. Maybe they’ll want us to pose with the ladies.” The Kid turned sideways, flexing his biceps, then rolled his abs.

Midas shoved the Kid. “You haven’t got a prayer, Scrappy Doo.”

“Yeah, a party—with professional photographers who could slap your ugly mug all over the front of a magazine and blow our cover.” Max could tell by the seriousness in Cowboy and Legend’s faces that they had already thought about that. “Steer clear. Lambert told us to lie low, get some R&R. Avoid attention.” He headed to his room.

Cleaned and marginally refreshed an hour later, Max returned to the main floor, where marble and ornate statues ruled the cavernous room. Sparkling chandeliers spun light into the living area and the foyer. Max banked right and strode down the slick floors to the grand dining hall on the northeast corner, its wall of windows overlooking a small inlet. Two round tables skirted in burgundy and topped with mounds of mouth-watering food were almost concealed behind the bulk of the muscular men already scavenging. Max grabbed a plate and joined his teammates.

“Hey, you worn a track in the sand yet?” Cowboy popped a grape in his mouth as he shifted to the right one step and scooped some creamy stuff onto his plate.

Had anyone else asked that question, Max might’ve smacked them. But it was Cowboy. His new ally. The man who saved him from getting stupid …
stupider
. “I’ll have it ready by the time we leave.”

Cowboy grinned, chewing. “Thought you might.”

Quiet descended on the group as they chowed down, anticipation over the arrival of the models still clogging the air. Almost as if on cue, a man in a wait-staff uniform appeared in the doorway, standing with his arms stiff at his side and his chin parallel to the floor. He cleared his throat.

As one unit, the team turned toward him.

“Mr. Oberly has graciously extended an invitation to a quiet gathering, poolside this evening, to meet his guests.”

The Kid and Fix slapped a high-five.

Steer clear did not mean steer straight into the target.

Max clenched his fist, watching as the Kid danced with two women, whooping and hollering. Less than a half dozen feet away, Fix did the same. And surrounding the entire party, a throng of photogs.

“This is a bad idea,” he mumbled.

Cowboy lifted a bottled water from the buffet table. “Can’t do much about it, so let’s just blend.”

“Blend?” Max glared at the cowboy who, dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a button-down shirt, didn’t know the meaning of the phrase.

“What?” Cowboy grinned broadly. “Hey, it’s my style. I’m comfortable with who I am.”

Chuckling, Max slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks, silently cursing Olin Lambert for telling the team they’d be spending a few days doing recon in an upscale setting.
Be sure to pack appropriately
. Yeah, Olin had seen this coming.

He considered the drinks, wondering which ones had the wrong kind of punch.

A warm hand rested on his chest, snapping his attention to the blond leaning into him. “You look lonely,” she purred. Pretty platinum hair curled around a young face, framing her chocolate eyes. “Dance with me?”

Tensed at her touch and seductive manners, Max tried to keep his attention on her face. He was married—well, at least technically. But Syd had closed the door, hadn’t she? Besides, what could one dance hurt? He let her lead him onto the dance floor set up under the tent. She turned into his arms and set a hand on his shoulder. “So, what’s your name?”

“Max.” Why did this feel like junior high?

“I’m Tawny.”

He resisted the urge to groan, and just when he thought better of agreeing to this, she closed what space remained between them and curled into him, her cheek against his. Something inside him curdled. But it felt good to hold her, to feel her soft curves against him. Yet it made him miss Sydney—the shape of her body, her full curves, the way she fit perfectly into his arms and embrace, unlike the woman in his arms now.

You’re an idiot
.

“Go, Max!” the Kid called over the noisy din of the crowd.

His teammate’s cheer snapped Max out of his stupor. Clutching her shoulders, he held her at arm’s length. “Sorry, this … it’s not working.”

Her startled expression pushed him back through the sea of partygoers. He gulped the adrenaline. What was he thinking? How could he consider something like that? He knew exactly what he’d been thinking—that he could find something to soothe the pain of missing Sydney. But in truth, he wasn’t thinking. Because
nothing
could replace his wife.

Wife. In less than a year, he wouldn’t have a wife, according to the courts. Weaving through the crowd, he made his way to the beach. A cool breeze drifted off the water, swirling around him as he walked the sandy stretch and headed to the dock, where he sat on the edge, watching the sparkling waves ebb. He’d be a liar if he said a part of him didn’t want the girl. To have the soft feel of a woman in his arms …