“Army.” Ben dumped an appalling amount of sugar into his cup and took a sip. “Do you want company tonight…Anne?” He would have used Mistress if they’d been alone.
To her, that hesitation meant he wanted her to make the decision if he should attend the team exercise. Should he?
The man wasn’t a pushover. Although other fugitive recovery agents occasionally brought along friends or girlfriends, Anne hadn’t ever taken her slaves. The other team members were overly testosteroned males. Takedowns could get a bit violent, and ex-military or not, security guard or not, Ben was as easygoing a man as she’d ever met. He might not enjoy the scenarios.
Then again, he was an adult. And a fighter. Rather than a housecat, he was more like a Siberian tiger, big and heavy—and deadly.
She’d invite him and then he could decide whether he could cut the mustard.
She smiled at him. “Most of us recovery agents are used to working alone, but recently I set up a team. The exercises improve how we work together. People take turns playing the fugitive, and we practice doing takedowns. It sometimes gets rough.”
A smile spread over his craggy face. “Sounds like fun.”
Men. Always eager for a little gratuitous violence. Then again, she enjoyed the games too. She nodded at her brother. “Your spare eye gear should fit Ben. Bring it along, please.”
“Will do.” Travis gave Ben a pleased look before smirking at her. “Glad you finally have someone worthy of his nuts.”
Jerk. Rather than rewarding him with an insult, she mused, “I think I’ll top the lasagna off with mushrooms for a good flavor.”
“No,” Travis said hurriedly. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”
She gave Travis a look, and he almost whined. “Seriously, sis.” He turned. “Ben, you don’t want fungi on your lasagna, do you?”
Ben’s golden eyes gleamed with laughter. “Ma’am, although mushrooms are low on my favorite list, I’ll happily eat whatever you prepare.”
She tilted her head in acknowledgment of his well-played card—letting her know his preferences while reaffirming he’d not question her choice.
To frighten Travis, she picked up the mushrooms and heard her brother moan.
But, in recognition of Ben’s deference, she only added them to her portion of the lasagna.
His rough chuckle was her reward.
* * * *
The sun was setting as Ben waited in a small, ramshackle mobile home on a heavily wooded property near Curlew Creek. Another mobile home and a shed stood in a line next to the house. Outside, his “family members” were putting up plastic fencing.
Anne had explained that each exercise was designed to simulate typical takedown scenarios, usually with the fugitive holed up with family, possibly with more relatives or friends next door. The potted plants, yard equipment, and fencing were moved around to keep the crew from becoming complacent.
It brought back fond memories of Ranger combat scenarios.
In this case, Ben was roleplaying the enemy—the fugitive. Anne even snapped his picture with her phone to use to brief her agents. She’d told him to look mean since it was supposed to be his arrest photo.
He’d been laughing when she took it.
With his fake family, Ben sat down at the dining table as ordered. He wore no special costume, just jeans, a T-shirt, and eye-safety glasses.
Supposedly, he was a drug dealer, out on bail, staying with his brother, two children, and two women. Two more relatives waited in the building next door to start a fight if they got a chance. Ben’s only goal was to escape. His family would attempt to hinder the bail agents from capturing him.
Although the training was deadly serious, the team and the part-timers like Travis approached the exercise in an atmosphere of fun. Or most of them did.
Travis had mentioned there was some friction in the group. A couple of men resented having a woman in charge; one wanted her position. Ben had noticed Anne’s cousin Robert never lost an opportunity to make a derogatory comment.
A knock sounded on the door. A brawny, blond agent named Mitchell pushed his chair back and rose. “Who the hell is that?” Totally into his role as Ben’s brother, he walked to the door grumbling loudly, “Try to get a good meal, and some asshole shows up and—”
He opened the door. “What?”
With game weaponry loaded in his belt, Travis stood in the door. “I apologize for bothering you at this late hour, sir, but I’m with The Brothers Bail Bonds. I’m sorry to report that your brother didn’t show up in court today and…”
That was Ben’s cue to get the hell out. He’d already assessed his possible escape routes and the surroundings. With limited choices, he’d decided to exit through the back bedroom window. Hopefully, the portable fence and potted shrubberies would partially shield him from view.