Nanny for the SEALs by Cassie Cole

52

Heather

I was in a daze as Rogan carried me away from the food truck. Away from danger. Away from certain death at the hands of two very insane fans of Amirah Pratt. But one thought repeated in my head over and over.

They came for me. My heroes came for me.

I wasn’t the damsel-in-distress type. That should be obvious by now. I’ve spent my life taking care of myself, without expecting others to come to my rescue. Even when I was living in squalor in a crummy Los Angeles apartment with Maurice, I refused to ask my parents for help. I was the kind of woman who needed to solve her own problems.

But sometimes, a girl needs a little rescuing. I realized that now. Being kidnapped by two crazy stalkers was the perfect time to let someone more qualified take over. And Rogan, Asher, and Brady were definitely more qualified at this sort of thing.

Their names jogged a memory as Rogan put me down by the SUV. “Asher. He was being attacked…”

“He’s okay,” Rogan said.

“You don’t know,” I insisted. I was still weak from the blow to my head, but I tried to sit up. “I saw him. Ernesto was attacking him with a knife.”

“Everything’s fine, Heather,” Rogan told me calmly. “We’re in control. You’re safe, now.”

Something in his voice soothed me, so I rested my head back against the car. We were parked in the middle of the interstate and people were honking, but Rogan paid them no mind.

“Heather,” he said, eyes boring into mine. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have let you put yourself in danger. I’ll never forgive myself for this.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “And I’m not sure Brady will ever forgive me, either.”

“I forgive you,” I whispered. “It was my idea, after all.”

“That doesn’t mean I had to agree to it. I should know better. It’s my job to make the right call.” Sirens blared in the distance, and Rogan grunted. “Oh, now they show up.”

The sirens grew louder as the police approached. Uniformed officers came jogging up moments later, shouting orders at the bystanders and other people I couldn’t see.

“I thought you needed more information before putting out an APB on a food truck,” Rogan said bitterly.

The cop that stopped next to us looked taken aback. “What do you mean? Someone called this in.”

“We called it in,” Rogan replied, “and we were told it wasn’t a priority until we had more evidence of a kidnapping.”

“Don’t know what to tell you, pal. Someone pulled a big string, because our captain sent an entire army here.”

A helicopter droned above, drifting across my vision as it circled. More sirens announced an additional flurry of police, in our lane and in the westbound lane.

Rogan looked confused by that. “Maybe Amirah used her celebrity status to light a fire under them…”

He trailed off as Brady and Asher approached. Brady had a huge grin on his face, while Asher was grimacing.

“You fucken see that shit?” Brady asked after hugging me. “I really hope a bystander got a video of me jumping across the interstate. I bet it looked sick.”

“You jumped across that?” I asked. The gap looked far too wide to jump.

He tucked his thumbs behind his belt and rocked back and forth on his heels. “Give me a shiny shield and a costume, because I’m pretty much Captain America.”

I turned to Asher and hugged him next. He let out a grunt of pain. “What’s wrong?”

He twisted and showed me his forearm. There was a long gash across the skin, and the shirt was red with blood. “Took a hit.”

“Asher!” I hugged him again, this time avoiding his arm. “That looks really bad…”

“I’ll live. It could have been worse. You are okay, which is the only thing that matters.” He kissed my forehead and squeezed me tighter with one arm.

When he let go, there were bright spots in my vision. I touched the side of my head, which was beginning to ache terribly.

“Heather?” Brady asked. “You all right?”

“She looks pale,” Rogan said.

My knees gave out against my will. Fortunately, six arms—five, I guess, since Asher was wounded—were there to catch me.

And then I turned to the side and vomited all over the interstate asphalt.

“Adrenaline crash,” Rogan said.

“You see this bruise on the side of her head?” Brady asked. “I fucken told you we shouldn’t have put her in this position…”

“She might be concussed,” Asher said. Then, louder: “Over here! We need the ambulance here!”

The world spun and I couldn’t seem to make my eyes focus. Everything was blurry and distant. It was like being very drunk. I can’t really explain it.

Rogan scooped me up and carried me to the ambulance, which was on the opposite shoulder of the road. The paramedics took my blood pressure and shined a flashlight in my eyes, then recommended they bring me in for more testing. Something about a subdural hematoma. I’m an actor, not a doctor, so I just nodded along and let them pull me up into the ambulance.

“The kidnappers,” I said. “They’re not Cardannon’s men. They’re real stalkers.”

“We know,” Rogan said soothingly. “You already told us. Just relax, now.”

“I’m riding with her,” Brady said. He climbed into the ambulance and squeezed my hand. “I’m not leaving her side for a week. Maybe two.”

A cop appeared by the door before the paramedics could close it. “One of you the owner of the vehicle parked in the westbound lane?”

“I’ll move it later,” Brady said.

The cop put his hands on his hips. “You’ll move it now, or we’ll tow it and give you a ticket.”

Brady turned to him. “Pal, you can push it into the ocean for all I care. I don’t give one single solitary fuck. I’m not leaving this woman’s side.”

I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep while they argued.

*

The hospital trip was a blur. So were the tests they performed on me. They drew blood, then gave me an MRI. At least, I think that’s what that big pounding machine is. Like I said: I’m an actor, not a doctor.

Eventually I was wheeled into a private hospital room. Cooper was waiting for me inside. His head was bandaged.

“Heather,” he said, giving me a pained smile. “Looks like we both took blows to the head today, huh?”

I touched the bandage on the side of my head. “Looks like it. Hell of a day, huh?”

“Yeah.” His smile faded. “It was my job to protect you. I failed at that job. For that, and for everything that happened after, I’m so sorry…”

I squeezed his hand. “It wasn’t your fault. You did the best you could, given the circumstances. The only way you could have done better is if you had the ability to see through dust clouds.”

My three men came walking into the room then. “You’re not allowed to feel guilty about this,” Rogan told Cooper. “We’re at fault. For everything. This entire plan was doomed from the start.”

“Yeah, it was,” Brady said pointedly. “I was against it the whole time. The record will reflect that.”

“There is no record,” Rogan pointed out.

“Then I’ll make one,” Brady insisted. “A record of every time I was right and you were wrong. And at the top, in big red letters, will be today’s date. Because pal, you really fucked up.”

“Can we discuss this later?” Asher insisted.

“We caught the bastards alive, by the way,” Rogan said. “Brady subdued the driver, and Asher managed to tie up the other guy with one bad arm.”

Asher’s fair skin turned red. “Once I had knocked the knife out of his hand, it was easy.”

“They’re quite the Amirah Pratt stalkers,” Rogan said, shaking his head. “They’ve been planning this kidnapping for a while. They have a compound halfway to Las Vegas, with an underground bunker buried in the desert. Explosive ordnance teams are sweeping it for mines now. They’ve already found six.”

“Oscar was a former Army Ranger,” Brady chimed in. “The other one, Ernest or whatever, was an Australian commando. Explains why they were so skilled.”

A knock came at the door. I expected it to be the doctor, but it was Amirah Pratt instead. She had a bouquet of flowers in her hand.

“Heather! You’re okay! Oh my gosh, I was so scared when you disappeared from the set. I’ve been praying for you. I’m so sorry, it was selfish of me to let someone else be put in danger…”

I groaned. “It feels like the apology olympics in here.”

Amirah looked puzzled. “Huh?”

“Nothing. Nevermind. It’s not your fault, and just in case you still think it is, I forgive you.” I pushed myself into a sitting position in bed. “I forgive all of you. So stop moping around like a basketball team that just lost the championship. We caught the stalkers! We should all be happy about that.”

I paused to let my words sink in, then turned back to Amirah. “I lost your hat and sunglasses. And your shoes. They’re probably evidence, now. I think the kidnapper broke the sunglasses, though.”

She smiled. “I’ll buy another pair. I’ll buy two, and give one to you. They looked way better on you than on me. You have better cheekbones.”

I knew she was just trying to be nice, but I felt my own cheeks turn red. It wasn’t every day that I got complimented by a famous celebrity.

“Is there room for one more?” came a British voice. Moments later, Jimmy Cardannon’s bald head poked through the door. “How is she doing?”

“She’s fine,” Brady said dryly. “You know, Jimmy, I honestly can’t believe you weren’t involved somehow.”

Jimmy looked insulted. “Me? Involved? Why on earth would you suspect me?”

“Why wouldn’t we?” Rogan replied. “First you showed up at our residence unannounced and claimed you were going to put us out of business. That night, Amirah’s house was attacked.”

“I was taking the piss out of you,” Cardannon replied. “Being cheeky. Getting in your head.”

“That ain’t all of it,” Brady said. “Today, in the film trailer, I said I knew what you were planning. And you said there was nothing we could do to stop it!”

Cardannon spread his hands. “I was referring to stealing The Weiman Agency away from you. I expected you to cock it up in front of everyone. I wasn’t talking about kidnapping a movie star. I’m not a bloody monster.”

Asher shook his head. “You were also at the hotel. During the second shooting.”

“I told you: I was eating dinner. They have the best sushi rolls in town.”

“That’s too much of a coincidence,” Rogan insisted. “What were you doing there?”

Cardannon rolled his eyes. “Fine. I was there to poach some of the other clients working on that project. I invited Pedro Ortega to join me so we could discuss a security contract. Unfortunately, he bailed on me. But after the shooting, he called me the next day and signed with Heimdall.” He looked around the room. “You truly thought I would do this? Me?”

“No offense, but you’re kind of a dick,” Brady said.

“I’m the one who pointed out that the food truck was missing!” he insisted. “And when the LAPD wouldn’t take your situation seriously, I made a phone call to a few friends.”

Rogan grunted like he had been punched. “You’re the one who did that? The cop I spoke to said that someone pulled a large string…”

“Really?” I asked. “You helped save me?”

Cardannon shrugged. “As I said. I am a shrewd businessman, but I am not a monster.”

“We would have noticed the food truck eventually,” Brady muttered.

I gave him a pointed stare.

“…But we might have lost valuable time,” Brady added. His face twisted like he was about to be sick. “Thank… Thank y…. I can’t do it. I can’t say it.”

“Thank you, Jimmy,” Rogan said, extending his hand. “For everything.”

The two of them shook hands.

“There are far too many visitors around my patient,” said a woman in a white lab coat. She grabbed my chart from the end of the bed. “I’m Doctor Calliope. How are we feeling, Miss Hart?”

“Okay,” I replied. “My headache hasn’t gone away, but it’s better than it was.”

The doctor flipped a page on my chart. “Yes, well, blunt force trauma will do that. Fortunately, your scans all look clear. No internal bleeding. Your bloodwork is also clear. All that’s left is to give you an ultrasound to check on the baby…”

“I’m sorry,” I sputtered. “The what?”

“The baby.” The doctor lowered the clipboard and frowned at me. “Miss Hart, are you not aware that you’re pregnant?”