Second Chance Reunion Page 3

  Like she’d done years ago.

  She poured herself another glass of wine and sat at her computer, wrote her report, and emailed it to her Administrator. Before she closed her laptop, she sent Damon an email.

  ‘Can’t wait to see you tomorrow and wish I could stay longer. Looking forward to a nice walk on your beach, discovering all the way its magic heals everything just like my beach does here in Florida. Packing now, drinking wine, and missing you terribly.’

  While she was loading up her suitcase, she heard the ping of her cell phone with Damon’s response.

  ‘I can’t wait. But I’m warning you, I might not ever let you go.’

  ‘Music to my ears, my love.’

  ‘Then let’s do it. Let’s run away.’

  Damon’s answer brought hot tears that spilled over her cheeks. Her delicious longing for him was causing her pain and at the same time filled her with joy.

  ‘We will, Damon. But first we’ll have the vows in June, the party with all your drunk SEAL friends and you looking handsome in your dress whites. I want the spectacle of it all—at my beach, at sunset.’

  ‘Your wish is my command. Hurry.’

  It was a glorious time to be alive, to be jumping out of that airplane and going for the freefall ride of her life. An adventure unlike any other she’d ever had.

  After this weekend, she knew her life would never be the same.

  Chapter 3

  Martel’s flight was due in at noon, but this morning Damon was commanded to the Team 3 building on base for an informational meeting on their next deployment, coming up sometime within the next month.

  “Surprise, surprise. We got a sex trafficking ring still operating in Baja California, guys. I know that comes as a shock to you all, but that’s what we’ve got. So, dust off your Caribbean, tropical, pink flamingo shirts and your rubber zoris, and start practicing being a tourist,” Kyle Lansdowne said to the group.

  Their State Department rep took over the floor next. He was already wearing a green and yellow pineapple shirt, sipping water from a glass with a purple paper umbrella sticking out of the top. He spoke to the group behind a pair of sunglasses.

  “Carter Ridgeway here. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. I don’t want any of you to get the wrong idea here. These rings that deal in drugs and girls, children, really, are all over the world. You throw a dart at the continent of Africa, or South America, Mexico, even the United States, parts of Europe, Middle East, and beyond, and you’ll probably hit the location of one of these rings. As soon as we get one put to bed, another takes its place.”

  It wasn’t anything that surprised Damon this morning.

  “We have a different wrinkle in that we have issues at the border during the past three, four years, but now it’s escalated to enormous proportions. We have a lack of manpower, change in policy regarding undocumented workers, and in the mix, we have drug dealers and coyotes who are making a fortune while we’re all trying to sort out the most humanitarian way to deal with the problem. Which is what we stand for, gents. We want it to be safe and humane, but effective. And meanwhile the other side doesn’t play by the same rules. So, we’re stuck.”

  Several comments were whispered around the room. Damon saw Kelly Fielding and Sven Tolar standing at the back of the building, sharing a coffee. They toasted him and he nodded in return, which caused others to turn their heads and notice.

  Ridgeway continued. “As a bit of background, I’ve been wearing my Special Agent badge now for ten years, and for the last five of those, I’m been taking stealth teams to various embassies all over the world, evacuating U.S. citizens undercover, in some hostile places where Americans shouldn’t be, in my humble opinion. So, it might surprise you to know that there are perhaps nearly ten thousand US citizens still trapped in some of these places. Some were NGOs, some were doing humanitarian missions, some sent by news agencies and churches. And some, believe it or not, are tourists.”

  The whole room erupted in whispers and light conversation.

  “Now lately, we’ve seen an uptick in the desire for younger American girls and boys for the sex trafficking business. Those kids get sold all over the world, and when they are, they are really hard to find. We’re talking less than thirty percent, maybe even lower. In fact, we’ve been prioritizing groups to rescue based on the number of children these family units have traveling or living with them, because they’ve become a very valuable target for these cretins who deal in the flesh trade.”

  All of their last SEAL Team 3 missions had involved the sex trafficking pirates in Africa and the Canary Islands. But the Team had also been to Mexico on previous deployments before Damon joined up.

  “You’re gonna ask me how come all these people take their kids to these places and get caught. Some work in rural areas, villages where there isn’t internet, barely cell phone service. Sometimes things can change so quickly that they actually travel by accident into the middle of a militia turf war. Or they think living with their friendlies will keep them safe, until someone’s army comes through and decides to make an example of them. Two years ago, I rescued a whole family, these were ecotourists, who lived in the jungles in the Amazon for months before we could get them. These are good people, and they deserve to come home.”

  Kyle stepped forward and began adding to the presentation. “So, Special Agent Ridgeway here uncovered a group in Honduras, an American soccer team down there for exhibition matches with local kids, kidnapped at gunpoint, a whole bus full of them, along with some local kids and international coaches, and successfully returned them home. At the end of that mission, he discovered parts of the ring escaped, infiltrating a huge migrant caravan, where there would be less scrutiny, and they were cherry picking girls from that group, getting them separated from their parents, and removing them quietly under everyone’s noses.”

  “Ridgeway tracked them to Baja, where they’ve set up a complex of abandoned hotels and basic prisons to house their booty. He then requested help from our community. So, our mission is to draw out as many of the leaders as possible, bring them to a black ops site State maintains near San Felipe at an abandoned Mexican air base perfect for extraction. From there, we’ll be going down the finger toward Cabo to disrupt as much of their operation we can get our hands on. But it’s only a matter of time before we’ll run into Mexican Government resistance, or from a faction in the government that is making money off the enterprise. We have some good partners we’re working with in Mexico. It’s much better in some ways, and much worse because of the sheer numbers. But it only takes a few bad actors, and the missions get real complicated real quick.”

  Ridgeway continued. “You fellas have posed as fishing enthusiasts before and that worked well. We asked for your Team because of your experience, and your familiarity with how these groups work. You successfully shut down the Cortez brothers’ network. And this one and several others have replaced it, capitalizing from the vacuum created when you took the brothers out.”

  Damon saw lots of heads nodding. He could feel the Team getting pumped up. That old force for good pride he often felt himself.

  “So, here’s one thing we have to be careful of. Their tactics have changed. If the cartel gets close to being captured, they murder everyone and just disappear into the countryside, waiting to come back and strike once again with new prey later on, rather than stay and fight over the girls. The danger level has amped up significantly. We’re losing a lot more Border Patrol agents, but now more than ever, children are being used, and often discarded later, sort of like a disposable entry into the US ticket. Younger kids are used because they’re easy to steal, easy to transport because they’re small, generally more compliant than older children and they’re very easy to kill, unfortunately.”

  The room erupted in groans and curses.

  Kyle completed the short meeting after some logistics were discussed. He introduced Sven Tolar and Kelly Fielding to the group of newbies. The legendary FSB warrior from
Norway and the State Department liaison held hands and waved to the crowd.

  “Damon, you be careful. I think these two want to come to your wedding, and they might piggyback on all Martel’s hard planning. Watch ‘em. If you’re not careful, it will be a foursome.”

  It was nice to feel the room laugh.

  It was going to be a warm day as he made it out to his Hummer. He’d worn a white long-sleeved shirt and his jeans. He took Coop’s direction and had gotten a quick haircut last night and took extra care to give himself a close shave this morning. He was headed to the airport.

  He heard whistling behind him.

  Fredo, T.J. and Tucker were clustered together, catcalling him.

  “Lookin’ very snappy there, son!” barked Tucker.

  “Very tight and spiffy, tadpole,” added T.J.

  “Oh, you gonna get laid tonight for sure,” Fredo finished.

  This wasn’t helping his case of nerves one bit. He turned without commenting, but they wouldn’t stop. Finally, T.J. caught up to him.

  “Bring her to the beach tonight. We’ve got a little pre-Valentine bonfire going on, in case you didn’t hear.”

  “I’m sure I’ll have other plans,” Damon tossed back at the three. “You guys just want to look at her. I know you too well.”

  “We live for you single guys. Come on, give us a break,” said Tucker.

  “I’ll ask her. You know she’s only staying tonight. Tomorrow she’s leaving.”

  “Oh, I get it, she doesn’t think you can last longer than one long night? Or is that all she can stand?” teased T.J.

  The other two howled at the comment.

  “You guys are assholes. She’s gotta go up to the Bay Area to visit friends tomorrow. And she has to be back at work on Monday. She’ll be back.” Damon hadn’t told many about his past and about Ainsley. He definitely wasn’t going to bring it up now.

  “Or you might ditch the mission.” Fredo winked, adding a nod for good measure.

  “What did you get her? I wanna see,” T.J. whispered.

  Damon stood tall, pressed his chest out and grinned. “You’re lookin’ at it.”

  “Oh Wow. Damon, my man, you gotta very long painful evening coming up,” said Fredo. “That’s just not smart. You gotta work harder than that.”

  “I can work very hard,” he smiled, raising his eyebrows.

  “Not sure she’ll see it that way,” T.J. scowled.

  He was now starting to get pissed off, so he stopped, put his hands on his hips and lectured all three of them. He needed to put an end to their teasing.

  “Look, it goes like this. Flowers? She’s traveling tomorrow, first to San Francisco and then back on the plane to Tampa on the red eye. I don’t think she wants to toss a sixty-dollar bouquet of roses in the trash, right?”

  They nodded.

  “Fancy lingerie? I don’t think we have time to properly enjoy that. I’ll wait until we have a whole week to ourselves to introduce some of that. Suggestions welcomed. And I’m taking up an offering, in case you are so inclined.”

  All three of his buds had their arms crossed, now avidly listening, or pretending to.

  “And what’s the point of getting a fancy hotel room? The Hotel Del is booked, so is the dining room, and I’m hoping we’ll be focusing on other things, not the quality of the drapes or the view. She wants to walk the beach and feel the sunset. I plan to give her both those things, and more.” He finished it off with a smile, then added, “So, fuck off!”

  He was more anxious than he wanted to be, sort of like the first time he deployed, which was silly because they’d spent lots of time together both before and since their reunion. He couldn’t shake loose the jitters, regardless. It was so important that everything be perfect. That’s why he didn’t want to plan anything. He was going to let her make all the decisions, since her big day was coming up tomorrow, when she got to meet Ainsley for the first time. God, how he wished he could be there with her.

  So maybe Martel would be nervous, a little extra sensitive. That was to be expected, he thought. No biggie. Maybe she’d cry a little more when she talked about things or might take stuff in a strange way. Women were complicated, especially thoughtful women, like Martel. Women who cared about people and weren’t out there to just party. He just didn’t want to disappoint her. A nice, quiet evening with a good bottle of her favorite wine was all that was necessary. There would be time enough later on to get acquainted with the other guys, some of whom might come across rude or insensitive…

  Oh fuck. I’m doomed!

  No amount of self-talk was working today. He was going to sweat through this shirt, would be hugging her at the airport with huge basketball-sized sweat circles beneath his armpits. He could smell his aftershave burning off already, and the scent to follow wouldn’t be nearly as pleasant. And he didn’t bring a fresh shirt. He should have thought about another tee shirt too. And now his pants felt like a size too small. Had he gained weight? Would she think he looked flabby? He hadn’t had time to get a proper tan, but the haircut she’d probably appreciate, until he remembered she’d told him one time she liked his hair on the longer side.

  Which way was it, he wondered as he entered the airport short term parking garage? He was a bit early, so perhaps he’d have a beer and that might help, or a shot of Jack maybe, but then he’d smell of alcohol and she wouldn’t like that either. Breathing into his palm, he wondered if his breath was bad and couldn’t tell because his hand still smelled of after shave.

  He tweeted his Hummer locked, jogged across the concrete into the airport building itself. It was crowded, and loud. He bumped into a young girl who dropped her teddy bear, which was quickly run over by a rolling suit carrier gripped by the hand of a man wearing a long green camo rain slicker. He nearly tripped over his own feet as the suitcase stopped while his legs continued. He flipped his left arm out to the side to balance himself and slapped a paper coffee cup right out of a young woman’s hand, which spilled down the front of her blouse and onto the gentleman in a suit walking beside her.

  The woman became startled and dropped her cell phone on the travertine floor and watched it scoot nearly ten feet, hit the side of the lobby wall like a hockey puck and took a ricochet shot right into the path of a ten-passenger electric transport vehicle barreling down the hallway to make a late gate assignment. The driver in a red vest tried to swerve to avoid running over the cell phone, but clipped a handcart burdened with three precariously perched and overstuffed plastic garbage cans and tipped one off, spilling contents onto the pathway of a group of women Lacrosse players.

  As papers and food wrappers spread out over the floor, someone’s emotional support dog got loose and ran with its leash trailing to intercept a dirty diaper opened wide and fully exposed, resembling a melted chocolate croissant. The dog’s owner pulled at the little mutt as he attempted to get away, dodging around and between oncoming pedestrian traffic. A toddler stepped right across the paper mess, including making a four-inch shoe-sized impression in the brown diaper detritus and then attempted to walk further with it stuck to the bottom of his foot for several steps until he tripped and sat right in the smelly substance.

  The toddler earned a nasty look from his mother, who changed course with the little one in tow, the deflection causing her to bump into a luggage cart which toppled a dozen suitcases piled precariously high by an inexperienced young valet. One of the suitcases burst open and several people nearly tripped over it, but one heavyset man carrying a guitar case stepped accidentally on a corner, which caused the case to flip into the air and then land a few feet away.

  By this time, Damon had caught up to the case, having negotiated through the string of messes behind him which made the wide approach to the arrival lobby look more like there was some kind of protest going on. He didn’t stop to right the case, but quickly made his way up to the arrival lounge where there was a bar. He definitely was going to have that drink now, after he’d nearly talked himself out of it
earlier.

  Damon slipped in between two people with their backs turned to each other, one a woman and one a man, ordered a neat shot and, as he brought the glass to his lips, heard a familiar, “Oh. My God. It’s Damon!” from the woman on his right, which caused just enough of a jerk to his arm that he spilled some of the drink on the front of his white and very unforgiving shirt.

  Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.

  He slurped the rest of it quickly and smacked the glass back on the bar and chanced a look.

  It was as bad as he thought it was. Charlene, his ex, extended her rather large boobs in his direction and he tried hard not to look, but it was no use. She was poured into her black very tight and very shiny skinny pants, wore ginormous four-inch heels and one of those fuzzy low-cut white sweaters that used to make him sneeze. He’d developed an allergy for sure to the Angora or arctic squirrel or whatever it was that those things were made out of.

  Get. A. Grip.

  “Well, if it isn’t the old flame that still burns. And it’s Valentine’s Day. How perfect,” she purred, batting her enhanced eyelashes with the red accents applied. You know, I woke up this morning and I was dreaming about you and that body of yours, Damon. We made a pretty good pair, don’t you think?”

  “Charlene. What a surprise.” His stomach was flopping around like a near-dead fish.

  “I’m off to Vegas. Wanna come?” she cooed. Her lips came dangerously close to his.

  He backed up and stepped on the gentleman’s shoe behind him. He had to get out of there.

  “Those days are gone, I’m afraid. I’m here to pick up my—my fiancé!”

  “Oh, how wonderful. I’d like to meet her.”

  “Not going to happen.” He placed a five-dollar bill on the counter, checked the time and noted it was still early, but he probably had enough time to wash the little light brown stain off the front of the shirt and, if he was lucky, could dry it with the electric hand dryer. “I gotta run, but it was nice seeing you.”