* * *
Candace sat in stony silence in the front seat of Marco’s truck while Tracy prattled on in the back next to Bear. Marco had no idea what book Tracy was describing, something about a time-traveling pony, but he listened attentively and put in a “wow” once in a while at what he hoped were the appropriate times.
“And I’m gonna have a speaking part in the pioneer play we’re doing just before Thanksgiving break. The practices are super fun. I know almost all my lines.” She reached over to scratch Bear’s tummy.
Anger edged up from Marco’s stomach toward his chest when he considered that Tracy was going to miss out on the next few weeks of school. It was possible she wouldn’t be in the show at all. No one had the right to strip away her childhood. When Jay Rico had sent his guy to interfere in Tracy’s life, he had made himself Marco’s enemy. Though he didn’t know it yet, he would, and soon.
Marco realized he had the steering wheel in a death grip. He forced his fingers to relax. Clearing his throat, he shot a glance at Candace. “Got a guy coming tomorrow to watch your place.”
She didn’t answer.
“His name’s Dev. You won’t even know he’s around.”
“What about tonight?”
“That’s me.”
“Don’t you think the cops are enough?”
“No.”
“Why not? Because they aren’t SEALs?”
He shrugged. No, because they’re not me, and no one cares about the two of you more than I do. Again the out-of-the-blue thoughts kept sparking in his mind like tracer fire. “Dev and Lon are the best. They have skills that cops don’t.”
“Like what?” She closed her eyes. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”
The strain in her voice was pronounced. On impulse he took her hand. “I know your independence is important to you. This is just for a while.”
“But I...”
She looked in the rearview at Tracy, who was engrossed in singing a song.
“I feel like I’m being a coward, letting them win,” Candace whispered.
She clutched his hand, her skin satin soft against his callused fist. “Rick said I should never hide from anything.”
“You’re sheltering in place, not hiding.”
“But Rick...”
Marco squeezed her fingers. “Rick would want you safe. Period. Don’t doubt that.”
Tracy sat up. “Mommy, are you talking about Daddy?”
“Yes, honey. I was just saying that Daddy was a brave man.”
“Because he fought for our country?”
“Yes, that, and because he always, always tried to do the right thing, even when it was hard.”
The respect and adoration he heard in Candace’s voice awakened something sad inside Marco. Had Gwen ever thought anything like that about him? As their marriage disintegrated, she’d seen him as her enemy, a man who thwarted her plans and desires, put her second after the navy. What would it be like to have a partnership based on deep respect like Rick and Candace had had? If he had a woman like Candace in his life, he’d spend every day making sure she knew how much he loved her.
Unsettled, he eased his hand from hers and she returned to her silent perusal of the quiet Coronado streets as they drove to her cottage.
Had he done wrong speaking out about Rick? Probably. Marco bit back a sigh. Another situation that called for a penknife and he’d used a machete. Typical.
He waved to the cop parked in front of the house, and directed Bear to stay in the truck. Marco walked them to the door, took the keys from Candace and unlocked it. He asked them to stay on the tiled entry of the house and did a quick perimeter check.
“Looks good,” he said.
“What’s going on?” Tracy demanded. “Why are you acting all weird?”
Candace knelt down to look in her eyes. “There are some bad people who don’t want me to go to court. They are trying to scare me out of testifying.”
Tracy twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “Are you scared, Mommy?”
“A little bit.”
“Are you going to testify, anyway?”
“Yes.”
Tracy nodded. “Good. I’m glad you’re going to be brave...” She trotted toward the bedroom. “Like Unco.”
Like Marco? She was supposed to say like her dad, like Rick.
Marco saw the discomfort on Candace’s face and quickly looked away. What had he done to cause this? He didn’t know, he wasn’t sure, but now Candace was walking toward the kitchen.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” she said, voice strained.
“I...” I’m sorry? I will fix it, somehow? I’ll leave you two alone? None of those things seemed like the right thing to say, especially since he had no intention of taking his eyes off them until the Jay Rico threat was neutralized.
Though he ached to walk to Candace and run his hands along her bowed shoulders, he was pretty sure that would make matters worse.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he mumbled. “Gonna be in the truck, and I’ll set your alarm as I exit.”
He did not hear her reply. A shadow outside caught his eye, moving quickly. Pulling back the partially opened curtain, he saw a figure sprint across the lawn, arm raised in a posture he’d seen before. He had only a moment to react before the kitchen window shattered with a thunderous crack.
The explosion was so loud it paralyzed Candace, imprisoning her in a fetal position on the floor. Glass rained down but didn’t touch her. Projectiles volleyed throughout the room. Bullets? She couldn’t tell. She realized Marco had hurled himself over her, a shield against the glass that landed in jagged pieces all over, and whatever it was that was thunking around her, striking the floor so hard the vibrations jarred the tile. Marco’s body jerked when the projectiles hit him, but he did not cry out or loosen his hold on her. There was a faint smell of smoke.
Tracy, was all she could think. Run to Tracy. Get her out.
But her body was still immobilized by fear and the echo of the deafening bang. Even if Marco wasn’t holding her there she doubted she could move at all.
When the rain of debris subsided, Marco scooped her up and ran from the room. He carried her easily, making it to Tracy’s door in moments. He shoved it open and brought her in, putting her on the bed next to Tracy, who sat bolt upright, eyes like round saucers.
“Mommy,” she screamed.
“She’s okay,” Marco told Tracy. “Quiet now, half pint.” He bent to look in Candace’s face, smoothing the hair from her brow. His eyes took inventory, searching hers, gentle fingers skimming over her cheeks and neck. “Hurt?”
She shook her head, heart thundering, ears ringing. “You?”
“No.” But she could see a welt forming on his forehead, and another on his biceps where it showed through his torn sleeve. Dribbles of blood oozed from cuts on his forearms. “What...what was it?”
“Grenade.” Marco looked at Tracy. “Take care of your mom. I’ll be back.”
“Where