the proverbial light-bulb turning on. “That’s how you know Ryker. I knew he was in some sort of security business.”
“Yes, Ryker and I have known each other most of our lives,” Royce confirmed. “Like I said, I didn’t realize the house was occupied. I’m sorry I barged in on you.”
“I fell in love with this place the first time I drove by it. My Uncle Kurt knew Ryker’s dad, so he hooked me up. Ryker said he only used this place as a beach-vacation house, and that since he was going to be gone for a while, it would help him out if I just stayed here.”
“I’ll bet he did,” Royce responded drearily.
Becki laughed, understanding what he failed to put into words. Ryker was quite a ladies’ man. Sexy as hell, and he knew it.
“Becki!” Kurt yelled as he ran around the corner of her house.
She jumped out of her chair and rushed toward him. His face was red, he was breathing hard, and he was ringing wet. He looked ready to collapse. Oh my God, was he having a heart attack?
“Royce!” Becki screamed. “Call 911. Something is wrong!”
Seeing that she was about to panic, Kurt shook his head and held one finger in the air signaling her to give him a minute. He was bent over at the waist resting his hands on his thighs, while attempting to draw gulps of precious air into his oxygen starved lungs. Ok, so he wasn’t in as great of shape as he had thought he was. That five mile sprint had been a bitch. Kurt had run three miles before flagging down a passing motorist. The sweet elderly woman had just dropped him off about two miles north of Becki’s house.
Glancing toward the deck in search of the crate, he noticed that Becki was not alone. Kurt stared intently at the man now standing with a comforting arm around his niece. He moved quickly toward the couple.
Becki, sensing that something was still not right, walked toward Kurt. “Are you--”
Before Becki could finish, Kurt grabbed her and shoved her roughly behind him. Shielding her with his body, he addressed the stranger, “Who are you?” Kurt’s mind raced. Was he one of them?
Royce stood rigidly assessing this intruder who dared to touch Becki in such a familiar way. Royce tried to determine whether the intruder was friend or foe, as rage poured through his system. He clinched his fists and fought the urge to knock the other man’s teeth out.
Becki squeezed between them shouting, “What in the world is wrong with you Kurt? This is my friend Royce.”
Kurt frowned. He had not heard of a friend Royce, and that T-shirt looked familiar. Didn’t he have one just like it?
“He knows Ryker!” Becki explained quickly, as if that would make Kurt feel better. “He didn’t know the beach house was occupied, so he-uh, stopped by this morning to check on things.”
Kurt relaxed his stance somewhat, and took a couple steps back.
“Royce,” Becki continued, “This is my uncle, Kurt Rodgers.”
Royce stepped around Becki and offered a hand-shake, “Royce St. John, pleased to meet you, Sir.”
Accepting the hand offered in greeting, Kurt responded in kind, “Nice to meet you as well.”
Royce immediately recognized the tattoo on Kurt’s forearm; it was identical to the one Ryker’s dad carried. Each person in Ryker’s old unit wore the same tat, commemorating a team member who had been lost. Hidden in the intricate design was a crest known only to those who worked with the Secret Council. He wore an identical crest, hidden in the shell of a sea turtle inked on his chest, just above his heart.
Picking up his cup of cold coffee, Royce asked, “Would you like a cup of coffee, sir?”
“No-, uh, no thanks, I came to pick something up,” Kurt said, looking around. “Has Landon been here already? I called him on my way over.”
Royce became suddenly interested in coffee grounds at the bottom of his cup. And then as luck would have it, his watch began to flash. Oh shit! Sean’s timing was spot-on as usual.
Royce quickly covered the flashing time-piece. While Becki had not noticed anything out of the ordinary, Kurt’s sharp eyes did not miss a thing. Becki watched both men curiously.
“Hey Kurt, what happened to your truck?” Landon asked, as he strolled out to join the party from inside the kitchen, coffee cup in hand.
“Landon, you have to stop picking my locks!” Becki complained.
“What? I knocked on my way in,” Landon said, adopting