GQ nodded. Once out of the building that opened to one of the main streets, they walked for a bit until they found a cafe. Inside, the smell of the local cuisine was mouth-watering. After ordering, Preacher said, “So, social media and bare asses, huh?”
“Not just any bare ass, but mine,” GQ said with disgust. “I swear some people don’t get boundaries, especially with me being in special forces. I don’t need any part of me out there.”
“It was just an overnight hookup, right?”
“Yeah, but you know, hoping for more. She was fun and witty.”
“Hard to find someone who understands us, GQ. We’re better off staying within our own community.”
He nodded. “Right, spooks, state department reps, yada, yada. Most of them are either already with people or career-oriented. The boss was lucky with Rose. I really like her. She’s a ballbuster, gets the job done, and doesn’t whine about anything.”
Preacher shook his head and GQ narrowed his eyes. “What?”
“It’s just difficult for me to take in that you’re having a hard time finding female companionship.”
“I don’t find it hard, just complicated,” GQ said. To prove his point, the waitress set down his meal, smiling broadly at him. GQ gave Preacher a quick see-I-told-you look before responding to the woman’s question about ketchup.
Preacher laughed softly at the slip of paper she tucked under his fork. “She’s not subtle,” Preacher said when she walked away.
“I don’t mind that. But I’ll decline since we’re supposed to keep a low profile.” He dug into his meal as Preacher did the same. He looked out the window, remembering the last time he was here. They had been holed up in a hotel not far from the cafe, also keeping a low profile. His shoulder twinged and he knew it was psychosomatic. The wound didn’t hurt anymore, but there was still a scar he had to deal with.
“Hey,” GQ said. “What’s up with you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You haven’t been yourself for a while. I’ve noticed and so have the guys. You seem…pensive. Is it the mission or Banja Luka?”
“You’re avoiding mentioning the elephant in the room…Striker.” Preacher stiffened, not sure if it was his eyes playing tricks on him or if his team leader had just moved past the large window on the busy street.
“He got a raw deal,” GQ said.
“No.” Preacher rose and threw down some money to cover the meals. “Striker. He just passed the window.”
GQ rose with him and together they headed for the door. Once outside, Preacher scanned the sidewalk and saw the back of what looked like Dean’s head and it seemed to him several men were following him. He started through the crowd. So much for keeping a low profile. If one of their own was in jeopardy, all bets were off.
Preacher hurried to catch up with Striker, who didn’t look exactly steady on his feet. In fact, the man looked haggard, unshaven, his hair long and shaggy, circles under his eyes. When he passed an alley, the three shadows jumped him and pulled him away from the street. “Striker’s been grabbed,” he growled to GQ, and they quickened their pace.
When they entered the alley, one man was down, the other two now wary of Striker, who was backed into a corner. But the look on his face was what kept those two guys at bay. His boss was dangerous when he went into SEAL mode and there was no doubt that’s where he’d retreated to. It was ingrained in them.
“Hey! I called the police.” Preacher shouted and the two men looked at each other, bent down and grabbed up their buddy, and beat it out of the alley.
Striker lowered his guard at the sound of Preacher’s voice. Ramrod straight, he turned to them. “Preach?” he said as if he was seeing a ghost. His gaze went to GQ and he blinked a couple of times, going paler.
Getting close to him, it was clear he’d been drinking. He was also sporting a split lip and the beginnings of a black eye. His knuckles were torn up.
“What are you guys doing here?”
“We’re on a mission, boss. It’s good to see you,” GQ answered, his voice subdued.
“Yeah, it’s been a minute,” he replied. “Thanks for stepping in, but I had it covered. I won’t hold you up.” He turned to go but stumbled.
Preacher caught him and after steadying him, Striker moved away. “How about we get you home?” he said.
His chin lifted, his expression giving nothing away, but Preacher knew Striker. He wouldn’t want them to see him like this. Well, that was too damn bad. He wasn’t going to leave his brother out here with thugs on his tail, and he had no doubt GQ would back him up. “I wouldn’t want to put you out.”
“You’re not.” Everything from that rescue came rushing back at Preacher. The low flight in, the climb to stay hidden and defy the PM, the entrance into the city, and the subsequent escape. His wounding flashed again in his mind—the assassin going for Alek, their attempts to stop him, resulting in Preacher’s stabbing.
He struggled all over again to accept the profound loss of their leader. They had survived because of Striker’s leadership, even with the odds stacked against them. Striker had sacrificed everything, not only for his brother, but for his brothers-in-arms, Preacher and Ice.
He didn’t begrudge Iceman taking over. It was his due and well deserved. The guy was a natural-born gunslinger, but he hated the way it happened, and he couldn’t shake the guilt and the pain of knowing that if he hadn’t been stabbed and almost died, Striker would have been able to get them all out without the brass being the wiser.
“Sure,” Striker said, gruffly, moving along with GQ and Preacher following. They walked for a bit until they made it to a small boarding house.
“Dean,” a lady said as she finished sweeping the stairs, the light of affection in her eyes. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, Mrs. Kovic. I’m fine. These are my friends.”
She beamed at them and reached out to shake their hands. “So nice to meet you. This is a fine boy and so helpful,” she added with undisguised pride.
Striker looked down at the old lady’s praise. “Thanks, Mrs. Kovic.”
GQ smiled at her when she turned her attention to him. “And aren’t you a handsome young man?”
Preacher, even with the turmoil churning in his gut, chuckled. “Come on, G, before she feeds you cookies and milk.”
They went up the stairs and an old man came out and waved. “Hello, Dean. That sink works like a dream now.”
Dean nodded and went up another flight of stairs. They were stopped by several others who thanked him for other types of handy work. Once inside the small apartment, Striker sat down in one of the chairs.
Preacher went over to the kitchen and peeked inside the fridge. It was just about empty except for a few bottles of beer and some cheese. Preacher had to wonder how much he was eating. “How about we stay for dinner?”
Striker stiffened and turned away. “No. You don’t have to do that. Thanks for getting me here.”
“What was all that about anyway?” GQ asked gently. “The alley, the mafia-looking guys.”
“Mrs. Kovic’s nephew got himself in trouble with a bookie. I mitigated the problem, and they didn’t particularly like my interference. But don’t worry. I can take care of myself.”