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Recruiting your navy buddies?”

      He didn’t turn around, quickly replacing a photo he’d been looking at in its usual place. After a moment he said, “No.”

      She sighed. “But it’s crazy.”

      “Not crazy to protect people you care about.”

      Something in the words spoke of profound regret, drawing her closer. She saw the little black-and-white photo on his desk that he’d just replaced. The picture showed a proudly smiling young sailor, his arms around a willowy blonde woman who would later ruin her life and his with drugs. Gwen.

      “Marco, what happened to Gwen wasn’t because you didn’t protect her.”

      He stiffened, eyes still locked on the screen, and she knew she’d struck at a wound by mentioning Gwen’s name.

      “Yes, it is. I wasn’t there enough,” he said after a moment.

      The way he’d loved the broken Gwen, the way he still loved her memory even after the punishment she’d inflicted, made Candace’s heart break just a little. She moved closer and wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind. She could barely grasp him across the solid torso as she breathed in the scent of soap and pressed her cheek to his neck. “You couldn’t have saved her, not from that.”

      “Yes, I could.” It came out as a whisper.

      He still believed he’d failed his wife, the shame trapping him in a past from which he could not escape. Wishing she could somehow siphon the pain away, Candace savored the hard planes of his jaw. “You are a good man, Marco Quidel.”

      She thought she felt him relax a fraction, lean his head ever so slightly into the softness of her embrace. But he did not turn, and he didn’t answer, so she pressed a kiss to his hair and left.

      * * *

      Marco allowed himself a couple hours of research and phone calls before he decided to run with Bear in tow to JeanBeth’s home, which was only two miles from the office. The others had already departed. He hoped the exercise would clear his head. First off, he couldn’t seem to rid his stomach of the tilt Candace’s embrace had caused. It was an unwelcome feeling. Candace was like family, a woman to be protected, not...well...attracted to.

      Attraction? That was absolutely not what caused the stomach tilt, he told himself. Probably it was due to some residual tension set into motion by the parking lot attack. He was more comfortable with the subject of attacks than attraction. Whether Candace accepted it or not, she was in danger and so was Tracy. He would convince her of it if it was the last thing he did. His pace accelerated, and Bear kept up easily.

      The Coronado sky was a breathtaking blue and San Diego Bay dotted with pleasure craft. A freshening wind against his face made him yearn to take Candace and Tracy out on his boat, the Semper Fortis, and listen to their cheerful chatter as they fished for bass in the bay. The boat never seemed to be as filled with life as it was with the two of them aboard, but it would have to wait until they put away Rico and his goons. It angered him that Tracy would miss out on school and her friends because of Rico, maybe even her upcoming birthday party. Somehow Candace would explain it to Tracy so it made sense to an almost-eight-year-old.

      How did Candace do it? he wondered. Serve as both mother and father to Tracy. The kid was turning out great as far as he could see. How could she not with a mother who was so filled with grace, and determination and love? Candace was a rock for Tracy, and for some reason, she calmed a restlessness inside him, too, like nothing else did. Again the stomach tilt. He soothed himself by reciting parts of the creed embedded in his soul, even though he no longer wore the SEAL trident.

      I will never quit. I thrive on adversity.

      Honor on and off the battlefield.

      My word is my bond.

      His bond. His gut twinged. Long ago he’d promised Gwen he would love and protect her forever. He had not been able to shield her from the wicked hold of addiction. Would he be enough to protect Candace now?

      He slowed the last two blocks and Bear reduced his gait to a steady trot. Watch and observe, Quidel. Stick to the mission, keeping Candace and Tracy safe from the Pack. You’re going to win. You have to.

      “You’re gonna to listen to me this time, Candace,” he said as he eased his pace to a walk, knocked once and tried the door, surprised to find it locked. JeanBeth had an open-door policy, so Lon must have changed her ways. Atta boy, Lon. He used his own key to let himself in.

      Tracy looked up from the board game she was playing with Lon, and ran to give him the customary squeeze. “Hi, Unco.”

      Lon lifted an amused eyebrow, which Marco ignored.

      She’d called him that since she was two years old and he’d returned to Coronado on leave. Crossing paths with Bruce Gallagher meant an invitation to meet his family, and they had taken him under their wings. Those were happy times back then, before Rick had been killed and Marco had been christened Unco. No one else in the world would dare address him like that. It made him sound like a jolly grocer from a kid’s story, but from Tracy, he didn’t mind. For some reason he couldn’t manage to be very stern with the girl, who made him laugh like no one else on earth.

      “Who’s winning?” he inquired.

      “I am,” Tracy announced proudly, “But Mr. Lon is trying his best.”

      Marco chuckled. “You’re going down, Lon. Kid’s an ace at checkers.”

      Tracy beamed. “Only sometimes.” She turned to Lon. “Want to take a break and go throw the ball for Bear in the yard?”

      “Uh-huh,” Lon said, and Bear, sensing a game in the offing, was quick to follow them to the back sliding door and out into the Southern California sunshine.

      JeanBeth handed Marco a plate full of kale salad with cranberries and lemon vinaigrette. His favorite and she knew it. They settled in the living room.

      “Lon doesn’t talk very much. Is that some sort of Navy SEAL creed?” JeanBeth asked.

      Marco smiled. “No, I know a few guys who will talk your ear off if you bring up the right subject.”

      “What’s the right subject with Lon?”

      “Dunno. I’ve never figured that out.”

      “He doesn’t eat much, either,” she said with a disapproving frown. “Look how thin that man is. If he turns sideways you can’t even see him.”

      “When we were stationed in Virginia Beach his mom sent him fudge. He’s got a real sweet tooth.”

      Her face brightened. “I’ll make a note of that,” she said. Marco sensed that JeanBeth had just assigned herself a different kind of mission altogether. Brace yourself, Lon.

      Brent slung an arm around Donna and leaned back on the couch.

      “The Pack doesn’t leave much of a trail,” Brent said. “My guy at Homeland put me in touch with a Fed who figures Jay Rico runs a series of chop shops, but the locations change and they haven’t been able to get a bust.”

      Candace nodded. “That’s what Donna and I got, too. We did find out that Rico was born in Long Beach, and he had a brother who died in jail and a sister who seems to have dropped off the radar. Never married. No kids.”

      The phone rang, and JeanBeth picked it up and said hello.

      Marco eyed her, noting the tension in her jaw as she listened, the subtle stiffening in her posture. She put the phone down.

      “Who was it?” Angela asked.

      “I’m not sure. A man, deep voice. All he said was ‘Tell Candace. Five rings,’ before he hung up.”

      Marco felt a stirring of alarm, but he kept it from his face. “Let’s call Ridley at Coronado PD.”

      Donna gave Brent a pat on the knee. “He and Brent are

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