A SEAL's Secret Baby. Laura Marie Altom

      “Nope. I was too hungry to ask.”

      Garrett nodded, glancing into the rearview mirror. “How about it? What was she even doing at our place?”

      “I’ll tell you,” Deacon said, “but then I’ll have to kill you.”

      “Fair enough.” Tristan angled to face him. “What’d you say that had her so upset and you drunker than I’ve seen you since finishing hell week?”

      “You know Pia?” Deacon asked. “Tom and Ellie’s baby girl?”

      “Well, yeah.” Stopped at a red light, Garrett glanced in the mirror. “She all right?”

      “Oh—” Deacon had to laugh “—she’s just hunky-dory. Especially since I’m supposed to be her dad, only not around Tom’s folks.”

      “What?” Garrett had just accelerated from zero to sixty, only to slam on the brakes, fishtailing into an empty grocery store lot. “Please tell me you didn’t just claim to be the father of your dead best friend’s kid.”

      * * *

      “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, he’s not here?” Ellie felt bad enough about her last conversation with Deacon that guilt had driven her to ask Helen to watch Pia so Ellie could find him on base. She’d failed to tell Helen the true nature of her urgent errand.

      The base security officer checked a computer screen. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hilliard, but Chief Petty Officer Murphy isn’t available.”

      “He should be. Do you know where his team is?”

      “Mrs. Hilliard, you know I’m not allowed to disclose that information.”

      It took every shred of Ellie’s patience to thank the man and make an unhurried U-turn in the space so thoughtfully provided.

      Damn the navy. Double damn all SEALs.

      How many times had she needed Tom, only to be told he was unavailable? And then he’d show up days later, unable to tell her where or why he’d been gone. As much as she’d loved him, that portion of their relationship had been unnerving. All the pretty Virginia Beach barflies dreamed of snagging a SEAL. Little did they know that even after closing the deal, their lives would never be perfection. As much as she’d loved Tom, she’d equally missed him.

      Where was Deacon?

      Was he as upset as she was about the way they’d left things? Of course she wanted him to be Pia’s father in every sense of the word; she just wasn’t ready for Helen and John to know. Not yet. Deacon had to understand.

      Why? a tiny voice prodded. Pia is his daughter. A flesh and blood part of him. Once Deacon got over the initial shock of learning he was a father, he would never back down. Not until the whole world knew Pia was his. Unfortunately for Ellie, he morally and legally had that right.

      * * *

      “I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE you just walked away.”

      “From what?” At 1930 hours, Deacon glanced across the belly of the C-130 transport hauling them south to the Congo, where a U.S. ambassador and his family were being held for ransom by representatives of the wannabe government du jour.

      From on top of an equipment crate, Garrett popped a sunflower seed in his mouth, snapping the shell open with his teeth. “Your daughter.”

      “Stay out of it,” Deacon warned, his head still throbbing from his earlier activities at the bar. He had to cut back. Last thing he felt like doing was shouting above engine noise.

      “No, seriously. You know what Tristan’s been through, missing his son. He tries hiding it with partying, but you don’t wanna end up hurting like him.” Garrett tucked the sunflower hull into his already bulging shirt pocket before grabbing another seed, then hopping down to join Deacon on one of the few rows of seats installed for their journey. “I never told you this, but I had a kid.”

      One eye open, Deacon snorted. “You’re full of crap.”

      “For real. Knocked up my high school sweetheart. Her dad shipped her off to some girls’ home, where she had my son, but he died.”

      Deacon straightened. “Sorry, man. That’s awful.”

      Shrugging, Garrett said, “It’s not anything I advertise.”

      “Still…” Funny, how all of SEAL Team 12 had been through hell and back together, but there were still things Deacon didn’t know about his friends. With the remainder of their team either sleeping or off playing cards, he had the privacy to ask, “How did you work through something like that? Even a year later, losing Tom is damn near killing me. I can’t imagine losing a kid.”

      “Compartmentalization, baby.” Tapping the side of his head, Garrett said, “Anything in me stings, I stick it in a box and shove it in the mental attic. Every so often—say, at Christmas—I take it out, toy with it a little—you know, wonder how different my life might be had our son lived. Would I have ended up with the girl? Ever joined the navy? Who knows?” He shrugged. “All I’m saying is that Pia is very much alive and cute as a bug. You should make getting to know her a priority.”

      “Okay, whoa.” Deacon shook his head. “It’s hardly that simple. Ellie was Tom’s woman, not mine. The fact that she had my kid and not his is a crazy twist of fate. If guilt hadn’t been eating her alive over the fact that Pia needs a father and still has one, I don’t think she’d ever have told me I’m that guy. I know for a fact, now she did, that she wishes she hadn’t. She told me to my face she doesn’t want anyone—especially Tom’s folks—learning the truth.”

      “Doesn’t matter.” Garrett popped another seed. “Way I see it, now that the cat’s out of the bag, you gotta feed it. Let’s say Tom was still alive when this came out. He knew you and Ellie had a fling.”

      “He did?” Deacon sat up so abruptly he nearly choked on his spit.

      “Everyone did. Thing is, he loved you like a brother, man. What happened with you and Ellie was in the past. He staked claim to her future. He never said anything, but given the short timing between their marriage and Pia’s birth, even he had to wonder. I know me and Tristan did.”

      Deacon winced.

      “Just think about it—becoming that little girl’s dad. She’s missing Tom, too. Maybe you could work through it together?”

      * * *

      AFTER TUMBLING FROM the plane’s belly in the dead of night, then floating silently to hostile ground, Deacon now stood, M-16 at the ready, just outside the U.S. ambassador’s home. The team stayed in the shadows—not easy, considering the obscene level of exterior lighting. They were used to trekking through desolate jungle or desert for miles to reach their targeted engagement arena, but this time had been different. Dropped on the outskirts of the capital city, they’d used lush tropical vegetation to their advantage.

      The place was your typical British colonial, two-story mansion, complete with a glowing turquoise pool. The lower level featured plenty of open living space, which no doubt had contributed to the ease with which the bad guys had helped themselves to the ambassador and his family.

      Aside from crickets, the only sound was tango music playing softly through hidden speakers. Above that rose an infant’s cries.

      Once the team had surrounded the home, eliminating the remaining guards in the process, their leader gestured Deacon, Garrett and two other team members inside for a sweep. One by one, they searched the elegant rooms—now trashed—until on the second floor, they found a preteen male zip-tied to a desk chair, his mouth covered with duct tape. Given his wild eyes and dirty tearstained cheeks, Deacon wasn’t sure his immediate release was a great idea.

      The spooked kid appeared capable of making a lot of noise.

      On the other hand, he could also let them in on the secret of why the place felt voodoo deserted.

      Deacon