Jameson (In the Company of Snipers #22) - Irish Winters Page 0,79

at the safehouse were good. That, at least, was something.

Best news was Harley’s earlier call to say he’d officially quit his veterinarian job as of last night, and he was staying with The TEAM. The possibility of him leaving for greener pastures had worried Alex for months, had also contributed to his daily migraines. Losing Harley would’ve hurt like a son of a bitch. The TEAM was great in that it had created a family out of some of America’s best, sometimes most-wounded, warriors. But losing any member of that tightly knit family sucked. Harley wasn’t just an employee, he was a friend. And Alex needed every last one of the friends he had left.

“Let me out up ahead, shithead,” Mel grumbled, pointing somewhere off to his right. “By that there store over there. The one with red and green stripes.”

“Why? Are you hungry?”

“None of your business. I don’t butt into yours. Stay outta mine.”

There was no sense arguing with a man whose mind was slowly being eaten away. “Kelsey’s waiting for you,” Alex reminded his father, striving to be gentle.

“She is? You think Sissy’s there by now, too?”

Not that again. “Maybe,” Alex breathed as he maneuvered his vehicle through the entrance leading to the gated community where he’d built his version of a stone castle for his queen.

“Well, giddy-up, then. What’s taking you so long. Move it, you damn dummy!”

Alex bowed his head, once again back in time, being treated like shit by a man who’d never taken a breath without poisoning it with put-downs and name-calling. “No cursing in front of my wife and kids, Dad. You’re the one who needs help, not us.”

Mel had gotten hold of an extra fast food napkin from the console. He was doing one of those middle-stage tells, shredding the napkin without knowing what he was doing. And Doc Denton had said this stage could last years? God, help me.

Alex felt as if he’d been sucked into an oozing tar pit from which there was no escape.

“Yeah, well, I don’t need nuthin’ from you, not from anyone,” Mel groused. “Let me out. By that there store over there. See it? The one with red and green stripes.”

The only thing within range that resembled anything close to a fast food store was the guard shack straight ahead.

“Kelsey’s waiting for you,” Alex reminded his father again.

“She is? You think Sissy’s there by now, too?”

“Maybe,” Alex answered, certain he’d just entered the seventh level of Dante’s Hell.

“Well, giddy-up, then. What’s taking you so long? Move it, you damn dummy!”

God, help me to not kill him before we get home. Or after. Or ever. God, just please help me, damn it.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Jameson heard the stealthy footfall outside the safe house a split second before Eric’s cell rang. Jameson was in the corner of the couch under the window opposite the intruder. Until that cell interrupted, he’d been discussing what happened the previous night with Eric and Harley, as well as what supplies came with the safe house. Sounded like Alex had thought of everything. Except how to make Maddie believe in herself.

She’d excused herself from the conversation, said she was tired, and had gone back to bed. He didn’t blame her. Yesterday had been a son of a gun. As brave and ferocious as she’d been last night, she’d reverted to her timid, self-effacing alter ego today.

“Guys,” he breathed, pointing to direct their attention. “Someone’s out there. North side. Six feet to the left of that window—”

“Already got eyes on him. Single male. Can’t be more than twenty-years-old. Checking the meter,” Harley murmured from the same location. “There’s another kid across the street. They’re going from house to house. No problem.”

“You’ve got eyes on him?”

“I do. Windows are lined with UV blocking solar tint. I can see out; he can’t see in. His company’s mini-truck’s parked on the curb.”

“Relax,” Eric assured. “All windows are bulletproof, and the walls are lined with reinforced steel. Besides, no one knows where we are.”

Jameson’s sixth sense flared. That prickly feeling he was missing something persisted. “Something’s still not right,” he growled as he pushed off the couch, moving quickly to Maddie’s room. He didn’t need his cane to get around in close areas like this house, but skimmed his fingertips along the hallway wall as he went.

Eric was instantly on his feet. “Fan out,” he ordered as he headed the other way. In the kitchen, he called, “Only vehicle on the street is the meter reader’s truck. There’s another parked