OUTLIER: Blood, Brotherhood, And Beauty (Beauty 0f Lifee Book 4) Page 3

  His eyes narrowed to slits and darkness crowded in as he was dragged back to ‘there.’ Malevolent sounds of laughter echoed in his ears increasing in volume. As his eyes remained riveted on the needle, the rest of the world rapidly faded away—thoughts of ‘there’ filled his mind.

  William instantly understood Daniel’s reaction. He needed to act fast—needles scared the hell out of his son. At level six or seven, Daniel needed pain relief. William needed to distract his son so Heather could give him the shot. He glimpsed Heather swab Daniel’s arm with alcohol. His son shook yet his muscles forcefully constricted and appeared he would bolt, throw up, or both.

  His gut wrenched and heart ached as he understood what he had to do. William didn’t want to do this—it was counter to all Bram suggested. Dismayed, but knowing he must cut through Daniel’s panic attack, he used an authoritative tone. One he used to gain a soldier’s attention, yet not the harsh bark of a set down. William ordered, “Danny, look at me!” He hoped the use of Danny would help lessen the blow of being ordered.

  The tone and volume cut through the malevolent laughter. Deep-rooted training kicked in, and Dan obeyed, turning his head to the general.

  When Daniel turned to him, William continued in a softer and friendlier tone, “You need something to wear for the funeral, son.” Success! Caught off guard, Daniel focused on him—he smiled at Daniel and locked on his son’s confused eyes.

  Perceptive, Heather comprehended Dan’s severe aversion to needles. Using the distraction the general provided, she promptly swabbed and injected Dan with the medication. Heather grabbed her coffee and went to sit in a chair on the far side of the suite near Bram and Loki after disposing of the syringe in the sharps container.

  Dan jumped at the poke of the injection, but he was still processing the general calling him Danny followed by the left field statement about clothing in a soft conversational tone. Who the hell is this man? “Sir?” he finally questioned after a solid minute of staring.

  Glad Heather took the opportunity he provided then skedaddled, William continued in a normal voice like nothing unusual had occurred. “Did you plan on wearing a suit or your TRF uniform to the funeral? We need someone to retrieve whichever one you plan to wear.” He took a drink of coffee and waited for Daniel to answer.

  “Sir, I’m not sure. Depends on the security plan, I guess,” Dan replied. He consciously moved his right hand to his coffee cup and lifted it guardedly. He took a sip, savoring the bold flavor of the iced coffee. “I’ll need to check with Boss and Jon before a decision is made.”

  “Alright, we’ll ask at breakfast. Want the sports section?” William casually responded.

  Dan gave a curt nod as he reeled inside. We don’t do conversation. We do orders and arguments. Who is this man? After reading Donner’s suicide note, he now recognized things he thought about his father were mixed up in a child’s mind, and the constant deployment rested on Plouffe’s head. Yet this still confused him. Who is my father, truthfully? Will I like the real man? Does my dad like me? Can we build a relationship? Do I want to build a relationship?

  He would let time tell, let this go at its own pace, be open to whatever might be. The general handed him the sports section of the paper. They sat silently, enjoying the coffee, and reading the newspaper together for the first time in their lives. To Dan, it felt odd but also strangely nice, almost familiar.

  About ten minutes later, William chuckled as he finished reading the comics section—they were funny today. He went to take a drink of his coffee and realized he was out. He stood and handed Daniel the section—his son could use a laugh. He asked, “Can I get you more coffee?”

  Dan took the paper, and his eyes landed on Calvin and Hobbes. He used to love that cartoon. He once had a tiger like Hobbes. His eyes riveted on the cartoon as he answered, “Yes, sir.”

  Flashes, quick, bright, flashes crossed Dan’s mind. His jaw dropped open, and his heart beat faster as he stared up at his father.

  Concerned by the expression on Daniel’s face, William came close. “Daniel, are you alright? Do you need Patch?”

  Dan closed his mouth, and his heart rate slowed. He glanced the cartoons, at the coffee mug, then settled on his father. His voice unsure, he said, “I sat in your lap on Sunday mornings. We read the comics together. You drank coffee, and I had hot chocolate.”

  William smiled warmly. The light gleamed in his eyes. “Yes, we did. I remember those days fondly. I still remember the day your mom chewed me out for giving you some of my coffee. You were only six. She said you were too young and it would stunt your growth.”

  Dan hesitantly half-smiled. “I remember. It didn’t. You snuck me a sip every Sunday if I promised not to tell Mom.”

  Broadly grinning, William chuckled. “She knew, oh, she knew. But she let us think we put one over on her.” His mind went back to that time. Yvonne would peek in, smile, and leave him and Daniel alone while they read and laughed together. ‘You need quality father-son time,’ she would tell him.

  Blowing out a long breath, Dan said. “Sir, things are so jumbled up. I don’t know what’s real, what’s imagined, and what’s just flat-out screwed up. When I look at you … I’m confused. It’s like I’m having coffee with an alien.”

  William chortled. “Coffee with an alien. Well, that is descriptive. How about we take this slow? No need to rush. We have time to sort this out.” He stood, picked up the cups, and refilled them—both black, one hot and one iced.

  When his father returned to the table, Dan took a mouthful of his iced coffee savoring the flavor before he swallowed. He gave his father a small grin. “At least I don’t need to sneak coffee now.”

  William’s heart soared with renewed optimism. Yvonne had been right—she maintained hope. Might take time to build a relationship, but Daniel appeared willing. He couldn’t wait to call Yvonne and share this with her. Today started on a promising note—better than he ever imagined.

  He tentatively asked, “Daniel, you’ll have several weeks off to recuperate. Would you consider spending some time with your mother? Before you answer … I can’t be with her and Becca. They’re still in the safe house because Pletcher is on the loose. It would be only the three of you and Galloway’s unit. Your mother would love to see you. She has missed you terribly.”

  Dan considered the request—glad the general clarified because an extended visit with his father seemed overwhelming. His emotions were too raw at the moment. Though with only his mom and Becca … he might be able to manage. He took another sip of coffee and came to a decision. “If you can arrange a few days or a week …” Dan trailed off unsure if he could handle more than a week.

  “A week or more if you want. We can work out the details in the next few days. Though you need to be fit to travel so maybe we wait a couple of weeks. Once your ribs heal a bit,” William said.

  “And the bruising clears.”

  “Yeah, and the bruising clears,” William repeated, thinking Dan had an excellent idea. Yvonne wanted to see Daniel, but it would be better if the first time she saw her son in seven years, he didn’t look like he was beaten to a pulp.

  Dan took another sip of coffee and scrutinized his father. Yep, I’m most definitely having coffee with an alien.

  Bram beamed.

  Loki grinned.

  Heather covertly glanced at the father and son—happy for both. She overheard enough of what happened to know those two had years of lost time. This looked like a positive beginning.

  Extreme Measures and Empathy

  4

  July 19

  Grand Citadel Hotel – Main Suite – 7:00 a.m.

  William refilled his and Daniel’s coffee again when a knock sounded on the door. He dropped the coffee off to Daniel first and went to answer the door. “Zero seven hundred, breakfast is right on time.”

  The smell of the food made Dan’s stomach roar loudly.

  At the sound, William chuckled and swept his arm across the spread of food. “Wha
t would you like?” Daniel told him, and he loaded up a plate for his son and brought it to the table. “Need anything else?”

  Dan shook his head, surprised to learn the general ordered one of his favorite breakfast items—hot oatmeal with cinnamon and raisins. His father explained he excluded the walnuts because they might be too difficult for Dan to chew. That his father ordered oatmeal for him and had the forethought not to include walnuts astounded him. Loki’s aliens surely replaced the general with a pod-person.

  Mulling over the thought, he scooped up a spoonful of the warm cereal and chewed carefully relishing something tasty and soft yet filling. His jaw still ached, but the painkillers had kicked in, and he ate without too much difficulty. He sighed at finally being able to eat.

  Dan enjoyed breakfast with the general, Bram, Loki, and Heather. His stomach was sated when the rest of Alpha Team and the unit guys wandered in about seven thirty. Shortly after the others arrived, Bram and Loki left to shower and change.

  Lexa filled her plate and sat down next to Dan. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Alright.” Dan slowly lifted his cup again to take another sip of coffee.

  Paramedic Jim Shea scrutinized Blondie. “How many cups?”

  “Not nearly enough, Patch.” Dan took a drink as Patch’s eyes narrowed.

  “I know you … more than you should. Juice or water for now.” Patch took the mug from Blondie swapping the coffee for a glass of apple juice.

  Dan groaned. “I need the caffeine.” Not feeling sharp-witted at the moment—an effect of the pain, disrupted sleep, the meds, and all the emotional crap, he needed the caffeine to start his brain working.

  “You need your rest,” Patch countered.

  “I’ll sleep even with the coffee. Got several NRB interviews to do. One more cup?” Dan pleaded his case.

  Patch looked at Heather. “How many cups did he guzzle?”

  “Besides the one in his lap?” Heather giggled at Dan’s affronted mien.

  “What?” Patch surveyed Blondie as concern flared. He detected the slight reddening of embarrassment, difficult for others to discern with all the bruising, but he always noticed—well acquainted with the smallest physical change.

  Heather related what happened when she went to retrieve the medication.

  Patch brows furrowed his tone firm as he said, “Heather, a word with you please.” He strode to the bedroom as he tried to quell his anger.

  Heather glanced around the table, confused at Patch’s antagonism. The hard looks on Blaze’s and Winds’ faces baffled her, too. She got the sense they were angry with her—though for what? Heather excused herself and followed Patch into the bedroom.

  Lexa caught Dan’s soft sigh. “Why did Patch behave that way?”

  “She used a needle.” Dan turned his eyes to Blaze and Winds with somberness. “Heather didn’t know. Not her fault.” He changed the topic because he didn’t want to explain further. “Boss, what’s the security plan for today? The general asked what I am wearing to the service. Suit or uniform?”

  Jon responded, “We’ll be wearing our dress uniforms to honor Aaron. Dano, you’ll need to wear a vest under yours. The church is too open, and you are too exposed, even with all the officers present. For your safety, you have to wear one. While you do the interviews, Bram’s going to get your things and grab a vest from HQ.”

  General Broderick said, “I apologize, but my men and I will be in fatigues rather than dress uniforms as we didn’t bring them. No disrespect is intended.”

  Captain Donald Blain shook his head. Blaze explained “Sir, last night I arranged with Major White to deliver our dress uniforms to the TRF HQ. I didn’t want to give out this address for security reasons. They’ll arrive by ten.” Turning to Bram, he asked, “Can you pick them up for us?”

  “Sure, I’ll inform Tia they’ll be arriving, so there’s no mix-up.” Bram reached for another bagel.

  Blaze directed his gaze to General Broderick. “Patch prefers to wear his suit.” Left unsaid was Patch had been forced back into Special Forces temporarily to deal with this threat but refused to wear his uniform ever again.

  “Acceptable given the circumstances,” William said.

  Corporal Nathan Simons handed Blondie his iced coffee with a grin—what Patch didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Blondie required extra caffeine for those damned NRB things. His grin faded as he said, “Gonna be painful to wear the vest given your injuries, Blondie. Patch can dose you a little extra.”

  “Perhaps,” Dan said, accepting the coffee from Winds. Due to his cracked ribs, the vest would be uncomfortable, but he understood their reasoning. As Blaze rose, Dan took a long drink of his coffee before Blaze took it away again.

  Blaze stood and walked around the table to Blondie as he gave Winds a searing glare which communicated, ‘Patch will skin you alive if he knew.’ To the group, he said, “Patch, Winds, and I will be inside and carrying sidearms. The rest of my men will be on the perimeter with assault rifles.”

  An exasperated fatherly expression showed on Blaze’s face as he took Blondie’s coffee away again. “Behave!” His eyes softened, but his voice remained firm. “You are not allowed to leave a five-foot radius from me for any reason. Understood, kid?”

  Dan gave him a quirky smile at being scolded for the coffee and called kid but nodded. Extreme measures. Though right about now it felt amazing to be cared for—he would put up with the mother-hens. He wouldn’t fuss because he needed a bit of coddling. His emotions swirled around still too chaotic, and he couldn’t defend himself if Plouffe came after him.

  Blaze continued to focus on Blondie and read his eyes—the kid wouldn’t fight him on this. “Your team will stay close as well. The rest of the TRF members received a briefing last night with an edited and vague version of the threat and shown pictures of Major Plouffe and Pletcher. Plouffe won’t be allowed to come near you.” Placing his hand lightly on the back of Blondie’s neck, he gently squeezed to communicate he had the kid’s back. He shifted his gaze to Jon. “Will your team be armed?”

  “Yes, given the nature of the situation. Alpha Team will be considered on-duty protection detail and will carry sidearms. The rest of TRF will only be observing and unarmed as they are off-duty. Dan, sorry, but you’ll be unarmed. Doubt you can hold a weapon given your sprained wrist anyway. Now, if you weren’t a lefty …” Jon ended playfully.

  Dan reached for the apple juice. He trusted his brothers to ensure his safety until he could do it himself—though it annoyed him to be dependent on them. With his left hand out of commission, he might use his right. Though accurate with his right hand, firing a gun would be unbearable—especially when the mere act of raising a small glass to his lips caused a throbbing ache.

  Lexa observed Dan’s movements—he hurt. She stood and went to a drawer in the kitchen. She found what she wanted. Returning to the table, she gave Dan a bright smile and popped something into his glass.

  A grin grew on Dan’s face as he regarded his glass. “Thanks, Lexa.”

  “No problem.”

  Now Dan only lifted the glass of apple juice part way and stopped before his right arm complained. He closed his lips around the straw Lexa put in his cup. Sexy Lexie had a quiet way about her—she helped him without making a big deal. He liked her method, it was easier to accept her help.

  Grand Citadel Hotel – Dan’s Room – 7:40 a.m.

  Patch closed the door firmly once Heather entered. He turned to her, and his face showed the anger he couldn’t contain. Critically he bit out, “I specifically told you to contact me if Blondie needed pain meds! Why didn’t you call?”

  Heather studied Patch’s body language. His words and ire were uncalled for. She did nothing wrong. “I know how to give shots. I’m a nurse.”

  Patch stepped forward, his brows drew together, eyes squinted, and the muscle in his cheek twitched as he clenched his fists. “That isn’t the issue. I told you to call me. I know how to handle Blondie. He has special needs.�
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  Something clicked in Heather’s mind. “You mean his fear of needles. Lots of people fear needles. It is a common fear—”

  Interrupting her, Patch shook with pent up stress and ground out, “It’s not a common fear! Not for Blondie. It is complicated and extremely harmful to him. If you can’t follow my directions to a T, I’ll ask you to leave. I kept Blondie alive for six years. I don’t need others making it more difficult.”

  Heather wanted to rage back at Jim for treating her like she is inept. Though something in his tone and body language caused her to behave the exact opposite. She stepped forward and laid a hand on Patch’s arm. “Jim, I’m sorry. I should’ve called you. I didn’t realize it is such an issue. Can you explain to me why he’s so afraid? Perhaps I can help. I have worked with others and helped them conquer their fears.”

  Patch sucked in a breath. Damn, he didn’t mean to yell at her. She did this out of the kindness of her heart. He apologized, “I’m sorry I yelled. I didn’t mean to. It’s just … Blondie. Too many people hurt him. I go on high alert and sometimes … I act like an ass. Forgive me for yelling at you. I didn’t tell you why I wanted you to call me. I should’ve explained.”

  “Apology accepted. Now, why is Dantastic afraid of needles?”

  Patch’s face fell, he didn’t want to explain, but he owed it to Heather. His voice soft and slow, he said, “He was not always afraid of them. He was held captive for three months. They tortured Blondie with needles. I won’t describe how … it would sicken you to hear. Suffice to say, the torture was horrific. Needles now, well … they scare the hell out of him and …”

  Heather’s hand moved up and down Patch’s bicep. In the back of her mind she registered the strength in his muscles, but in the forefront, she listened intently. Heather filled in the blanks when Patch faltered. “Dan panics and every muscle contracts. Does his mind go back to the torture?”