The Mercenary's Daughter Read online

  As I parked, I started to second-guess myself. There was a reason I’d left Vince, and let’s just say looks weren’t the problem. If I chose to go in, chances were I’d be stepping back into a part of my life better left in the past. But...I didn’t really have any other leads in terms of jobs, and I was really hoping he’d turned his life around.

  I ducked under a cracked rolled-up steel door and into a large open space. Inside, enormous tanks full of tropical fish were stacked floor to ceiling. So far so good. The business looked real.

  The squeak of my boots against concrete caught the attention of a Cuban man with a snowman’s build and a shaved head.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  I gave him a half nod. “I’m looking for Vince. Is he around?”

  “Who are you?” The Cuban took a giant sniff and hocked up some phlegm.

  “Tell him it’s Tara.” I watched the man’s Adam’s apple bob as he downed his own mucus, but I was used to men being gross. “Really? Just gonna swallow it like that?”

  The Cuban shrugged, motioned for me to stay put and sauntered off. I knocked on the side of a tank and examined the giant filters. It’d been over a year since I last saw Vince. Back then, he was a low-level contraband specialist. Cars mostly. Steal them here, send them somewhere else. Sometimes vice versa. I’d been boosting cars for Vince since before I had my license. They weren’t my best years, but they did teach me how to drive like The Stig.

  Back then we were both young and stupid, looking for a way to stick it to the world. It didn’t take long for me to get addicted to the rush. And also to Vince. And to the rush of Vince. He was three years older, the good-looking bad boy, and I was the girl who didn’t try to fix him. It was all so cliché.

  But deep down, he was the real reason I was here. Some fluttery-butterfly part of me hoped we could be together. If he’d sincerely turned his life around, I could help him with his new business. It would give my life focus, purpose. We’d loved each other once. Maybe something was still there.

  I turned at the sound of footsteps and saw Vince emerge from the shadows. He had long blond hair and dark brown eyes, a strutting, tan hunk who looked like he’d leapt off the cover of a romance novel. I used to tell him he was prettier than I was. As he approached, I realized I was biting my lower lip and stopped.

  “Well, well, well. Look who it is. Back from the dead,” Vince said as he pulled me into a hug. He leaned in for a kiss, but I turned my cheek, not wanting to rush into things.

  “How you doing, Vinnie?” I asked.

  “Can’t complain,” he said, shaking his head. “You look good. Real good.”

  My face flushed as old feelings came rushing back. “Thanks.”

  “What brings you ’round?”

  I tucked my hands in my back pockets. “Heard you were doing well. Guess I was hoping for a job.”

  “A job?” His voice rumbled, low and sexy, like the engine of one of his stolen cars. I tried not to let it shake me.

  “Yeah, you know, work in exchange for pay.”

  Vince paused, his eyes lingering on my lips, and then finally responded. “Sure. Come on.”

  We walked past more tanks and headed to the back of the warehouse. Several barking pit bulls were tied to thick chains. The nearest, a white sack of muscle with a missing eye, lunged for me, and I braced for it, but the chain snapped him back.

  “Nice pets,” I said, taking a reflexive step sideways.

  “Most of these fish are rare.” He trailed his hand along one of the tanks. “Worth a lotta cash. Can’t be too careful.”

  I looked around, surprised at how big the place was. “Your dad lets you run this whole operation?”

  “Please, my dad hasn’t stepped foot inside this place in over a year. Been in Europe. Besides, this business is a tax write-off for him. I could run it into the ground, wouldn’t make a difference.”

  “Must be nice.”

  “Can’t pick your parents, but it sure is dope when they turn out to be rich.”

  “Yeah...”

  So maybe he hadn’t changed. At least he was cute. I snuck another peek at him. His tight black T-shirt clung to his broad shoulders and chest. Even his jeans seemed to hug his body in all the right places.

  “Come on, start talking,” Vince said. “Haven’t seen you in forever, catch me up. I heard you got busted and then...nothing. You don’t call, write. So what’s up?”

  I crossed my arms and shrugged, choosing to omit the details of my military time. “You know, same old, same old.”

  “That’s it? You vanish like smoke, then show up at my front door with no explanation?”

  “I’m just not in the mood for a big reunion,” I said, partly lying. “But look...if this is too weird, I can go. I just need a job, a real job, that’s all.” My stomach tensed as I waited for his answer.

  Vince squinted, then motioned to a door. “Naw, it’s not weird, come on. I’m always down to help an old friend. Lemme show you my office. I’ll get you a W-2.”

  I nodded, relieved, and followed him inside, holding back the urge to smile. It wasn’t until I made it through the door that I felt hands on me. A lot of hands. Several of Vince’s men closed in and shoved me back against the wall with a hard thud.

  Instantly my head started swimming with memories of my last attack, and my fear built into a wild frenzy. I wouldn’t let it happen again.

  “Vince!” I screamed, ripping one of my arms free.

  But he squeezed between his men and jammed a handgun to my forehead. With a sharp intake of breath, I went still. Terror always gripped my beating heart in those first few seconds of threat assessment, but after years of front-line combat, I’d learned to think and push past it.

  “You wearing a wire?” Vince screamed as his men gripped me by the arms.

  I didn’t answer. Instead, I ran through the motions, calculating how many guys there were, who had guns, their positions and body language. Two big guys holding my arms, handgun in pants. Skinny guy in the corner, unarmed, arms crossed...

  “I said—you wired?!” Vince shouted.

  “Are you mental?” I seethed through gritted teeth.

  Vince reached for my shirt, trying to pull it up, and I saw my chance. I ducked my head away from the aim of his gun and kneed him in the crotch. He instantly heaved and doubled over in pain. Using his men as leverage, I swung my legs up, kicking Vince in the chest with both feet. He crashed into a bookshelf, his handgun skittering across the floor and into the corner. I instinctively lunged for it, but his men yanked me back and slammed me even harder against the wall, knocking the wind out of me.

  I went with it, pretending to pass out, and letting my body go slack. Situations like these weren’t always about overpowering an opponent. Outsmarting them worked, too. As I sunk to the floor, the big guy on my right loosened his grip on my arm. I ripped it free and snatched the handgun from his pants, twisting away and pointing it at the others.

  They pushed forward, and I shot two bullets into the wall next to one of their heads. “Don’t test me.”

  I stared at Vince as he staggered to his feet, more crushed and betrayed than scared of him and his men now that I was free. Whatever residual feelings I’d had for him evaporated instantly. I was an idiot to think he’d changed. Screw him. Once I was out of here, I’d never look back.

  “I knew you were a cop,” Vince hissed, his eyes ablaze.

  “Oh my God.” I rolled my eyes and lowered the gun. “Fine. You know what? Here.” I charged at Vince and pulled my shirt up from the bottom, keeping my bra covered, but showing enough skin to prove my point. I wasn’t wearing a wire. “Happy?” I asked, jaw clenched.

  Vince stood back, waving his guys off. “I’m sorry,” he said, offering an open-handed shrug. “I’ve had a couple close calls recently, you know?”

  “Okay, and what does that have to do with me?” I glared at him as I fixed my shirt and tucked my hair behind my ears.

  Vince threw his
hands up. “You show up out of nowhere and don’t tell me where you’ve been when I ask what you’ve been up to. What was I supposed to think?”

  I shook my head, regretting the decision to come here. “Look, I told you, all I wanted was a job.”

  Vince looked away embarrassed. “Sorry, all right?”

  “I guess news of your reform’s been greatly exaggerated,” I said, the disappointment a heavy weight in my chest. “So what’s the deal here? Fish are cover. What’s the real cargo?”

  Vince hesitated, still clearly suspicious.

  I widened my eyes. “Seriously? I’m not a cop.”

  “Pharmaceuticals mostly,” he said, finally giving in. “Whole car gig had too much downside. This is way easier.” He moved to sit on the edge of his desk. “Look, I really can hook you up with a job. My shit’s global now.”

  “You know, I really hoped you’d gotten your act together. We could have...” I pressed my lips together and swallowed down the tightness in my throat. “If you get caught, your dad could go down with you.”

  I couldn’t help but think of the conversation I’d just had with my own father. He was the one who’d tried to stay in touch. He was the one who cared about me. I couldn’t go down this path with Vince and disappoint him again.

  Vince shrugged, not giving it a second thought. “Yeah, whatever. I won’t get caught.”

  “You really don’t give a crap about anyone but yourself, do you?”

  “Tara,” Vince said as I turned away. “Don’t be like that. I said I was sorry.”

  “Sorry?” I stopped, flooded with emotion all over again. “Vince, you held a gun to my head.”

  “Don’t be so sensitive. I wouldn’t have done anything.”

  “Whatever,” I said, sliding between two of his men. “Bye, Vince.”

  As I walked away I realized I was still gripping the gun, my knuckles white, as angry tears threatened to blur my vision. I released the clip and slid it into a random corner before picking up my pace and leaving the warehouse. There was no way Vince was going to see me cry.

  CHAPTER THREE

  AS I PULLED UP TO MY childhood home, with its dated brown siding straight out of the 1970s, my stomach twisted with equal parts dread and nostalgia. Mitch was shooting hoops in the driveway and turned as I parked, but he didn’t wave or smile. Dad was right, he had gotten taller. My little brother was long and lanky, and just starting to grow out of those awkward teenage years, but the angst was still there, apparently.

  “What? Four years and no wave?” I joked as I approached.

  He dragged a hand through his untidy blond hair and ignored me, shooting a free-throw. The ball bounced against the garage door and rolled back to him.

  Just as I was about to guilt him with another jab, a BMW M3 convertible pulled into the driveway across the street. In the passenger seat sat Nora, the seventeen-year-old blonde Mitch had been in love with since he was five.

  “Oooo. There’s your girl,” I said following his gaze.

  “Shut up,” Mitch responded.

  His eyes seemed to narrow at the barrel-chested muscular guy behind the wheel, who sported a puka shell necklace, bad tribal tattoos, and a backwards baseball cap—the full douche-bag tuxedo.

  “Who’s the hunk?” I joked.

  “Jake,” Mitch answered. “Her boyfriend.”

  Nora got out of the car, her tan legs lifted by strappy wedges and topped by a white miniskirt. She ran around to the other side of the convertible and gave Jake a kiss. He pulled her halfway through the window, smacking her on the butt.

  “He seems like a real catch.”

  “What does she see in that tool?” Mitch asked.

  “What does it matter? If it wasn’t him it’d be somebody else. You haven’t had the balls to ask her out since you were in first grade. What do you expect?”

  Mitch dribbled a few times, but still wouldn’t look at me. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?”

  “Seriously? Are you really giving me the girl talk right now?”

  Suddenly, Jake jammed his car into gear, reversed out of the driveway and pulled back into the street. He took one look at Mitch, hocked up a big loogie, and spit it in our direction, then floored the BMW, zooming around the corner out of view.

  My upper lip curled in disgust. “Charming.”

  As Mitch watched Nora enter her house, I took that as my cue to leave. I could feel him stewing over it all, and if I stayed, I knew his irritation would boil over into a fight with me.

  “See you inside,” I said, heading for the door.

  THE HOUSE HADN’T CHANGED much. It still had the same smell. Like warm dusty carpet and clean laundry. I peered around the living room. The old, worn leather couch still sat against the center wall. The floor remained covered by the hideous brown shag I’d begged my dad to rip up for years. But somehow it was all immediately comforting. Between deployment and special ops training, it’d been nearly four years since I’d been back.

  As I walked through, I paused at the mantel and let my eyes drift across the line of pictures. I recognized some of them. The one with Mom and Dad on their wedding day. Another of me at ten years old playfully wrestling Mitch to the ground. Mom’s head was tossed back in laughter, her blonde hair spilling down her back. It didn’t make sense to me that Dad kept pictures of her up in the house. She was gone. She didn’t deserve a place on the mantel.

  The next was of me, Mitch and Dad. Mom conspicuously absent, as if someone had simply Photoshopped her out. But the last one was recent, Mitch and Dad celebrating a track and field win. Mitch held up a trophy of a tiny golden man jumping midair. This time, I was the one missing. A twinge of guilt knotted in my gut. I couldn’t help but compare myself to Mom.

  But my absence was different. I didn’t abandon my family. I left to join the military and begin my life as an adult.

  Despite my excuses, I knew Dad was right. I should have called. I should have come home when I was on leave, but the real world became a foreign place to me when I was overseas. I saw it as a web of temptation enticing me to go AWOL. Best to cut it off cold turkey.

  As I headed to my room, I noticed the hallway shelves lined with Mitch’s achievements. Track medals and long jump trophies were displayed in tiered levels. I’d missed so much.

  At least I was back now. I’d make up for it.

  “Hey, you made it,” Dad said, coming into the room wearing an apron with the words Real men wear aprons across it.

  “Do they? Really?” I nodded at the phrase.

  He smiled. “Come on, I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”

  I hesitated, not expecting to have to share my homecoming with anyone, especially someone new. Without much of a choice, I followed Dad into the kitchen. Behind the center island an attractive, dark-skinned woman in her late forties stood fixing a salad. Her black hair was wrapped in a bun and deep dimples sank into her cheeks as she smiled, her face lighting up at the sight of me.

  Dad motioned. “Tara, this is Sasha, my girlfriend.”

  Sasha wiped her hands on a towel. “Well, hello there,” she said, coming around the island for an awkward hug. I pulled away, stiff and uncomfortable. Dad never mentioned a girlfriend. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. “So,” I glanced at Dad, “am I meeting my new mom, or is this like a...”

  Sasha laughed and waved a hand. “I’m not anyone’s mom.”

  “Sasha works with me at the office,” Dad said, picking up a knife to cut tomatoes.

  “Cool.” I bobbed my head, trying to think of something else to say. “Look at you, Pop. Still got it.”

  “He’s got something, not sure what it is, though,” Sasha said, grabbing a bottle of wine from the counter. “Would you like a glass?”

  “I’ll have one,” Mitch said, appearing in the doorway, sweat dripping from his forehead.

  Dad laughed. “Not on my watch.”

  Despite Mitch’s earlier irritation
with me, I smiled at him. “So, how’ve you been?”

  He avoided eye contact. “Oh, so now that you’re home, you suddenly care?”

  “Ouch...” An endless stream of snarky comebacks spilled into my head, but I held my tongue. I wasn’t here to fight with him. The next couple of seconds passed with embarrassing slowness, until I finally turned to Sasha. “So, can I help you guys with anything?”

  She pointed to a cutting board and a giant mound of potatoes. “You can chop these up. We’re going to sauté them.”

  Dad grabbed Mitch. “I gotta throw the steaks on, and you’ve gotta get in the shower. Let the girls talk.”

  As they left, I picked up a long knife, absent-mindedly flipping it in the air and catching it by the handle.

  Sasha cocked an eyebrow. “Know how to handle a knife. They teach you that in the Marines?”

  I laughed. “No. Rotations in the mess hall. It’s been a while, but I’ve sliced more potatoes than I wanna think about.”

  “I find the military so fascinating. Forgive me if this is rude, but...did you see any, you know, action?”

  Action. My eyebrows shot up. People always made it sound like I’d been off shooting the next Marvel movie or something.

  As the seconds passed, I lost myself to memories of Iraq. The ear-splitting crack and ping of bullets. The vacant stare of my closest friend, Dobbs, as he lay there motionless and bloody in the dirt. Just gone. I could still feel the shaky heartbeats, the panic, the urge to run. Still remember the way my body rebelled against the decision to stay and fight.

  “Um.” I stared at the counter, miles away. “Yeah. A little.”

  Sasha threw the salad contents into a bowl. What a luxury, I thought, fresh salad.

  “I’m sorry.” She cleared her throat. “Do you mind if I ask what happened? Why you left?”

  “You mean, why I was dishonorably discharged?” I turned to look at her, gauging her reaction, and could tell by her sad expression that she already knew. “I’m assuming Dad told you.”