Epilogue
Alexei Kamarov—for though he was Alex, or Camel, to his friends, he would always think of himself by the Russian name his immigrant parents had given him—slept the sleep of the dead. He’d just returned from a mission with his team and it hadn’t been a fun one. Twenty days in the desert, fighting through a thick tangle of terrorists in order to rescue a group of American students who’d been dumb enough to go on a backpacking trip through hostile territory.
But the SEALs had gotten them all and the students were home safe. Alexei had picked off the enemy one by one for a few days, weakening them until his SEAL team could move in and dispatch the remainder quickly and efficiently.
Now he slept, passed out on the king-sized bed in the house he’d rented in the suburbs, blissfully unaware of the world around him. Well, maybe not entirely unaware. A too-loud noise, a disturbance nearby, and he’d be on his feet in a second, holding the Glock he kept on the nightstand. Too many years in Special Forces had done that to him. He didn’t process sounds and movement like a normal human being anymore.
Still, nothing disturbed him for a long time, and he slept. Until, eventually, there was a pounding on the door. Alexei blinked awake, his heart rate barely kicking up. Pounding on the door was nothing. Kicking the door in? Well, that would be quite a different matter.
But nobody kicked the door in. They just kept pounding. He sat up and grabbed the Glock, stuffed it in the waistband of the camo pants he’d fallen asleep in—at the rear, in the small of his back—and shoved a hand through his hair.
“Just a goddamn minute,” he yelled. Lumbering to his feet, he shook his head to clear it, then shuffled into the bathroom and swished some mouthwash to kill the taste of three weeks of sand and deprivation.
After taking a piss, he washed his hands and started for the door. The pounding wasn’t pounding anymore. But it was an annoyingly pervasive tap-tap-tap. A female voice punctuated the tapping with a few well-timed curses.
“I know you’re in there, you rat bastard! Answer the goddamn door!”
Alexei jerked the door open in mid-tap and her fist arced through empty air. She stumbled forward, catching herself by pressing both hands to his chest. She caught herself quickly and flew backward as if he were an electric fence.
Alexei squinted at the brightness of the sunshine behind her. Damn, how long had he slept anyway? It had been around two in the morning when he’d gotten home.
Presently, he focused on the woman standing on his porch. She was about five-three, slender but not skinny, and she had pale purple hair. Seriously, purple hair. It fell in waves to her shoulders, skimming them as she turned to gaze at something off to her left.
He turned too, frowning when he saw the stroller. It was flat and covered, and he couldn’t tell if anything was in it. Hell, it looked like one of those dog strollers he’d seen in the neighborhood once. But he didn’t think there was a dog in this one. In fact, he kinda had a bad feeling about the whole thing.
The woman gazed at him, her expression hardening. “Are you Alex Kamarov?”
He hooked a hand over his head, on the doorframe, and let his gaze wander over her. She was cute. And sort of familiar, like maybe he’d seen her somewhere before. But he didn’t know where. It would come to him soon enough.
“Yeah. Why?”
She jerked her head toward the stroller, then glared daggers at him. “Because you need to step up and stop shirking your responsibilities, that’s why.”
“Lady, I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about.”
She reached for the handle on the stroller, turned it so he could see the tiny baby sound asleep on her back. He could tell it was a girl based on the pink onesie. Her little face was angelic, and she had a head of black hair that was shocking in its abundance.
“I’m talking about your baby, Alex. Your baby.”
Shock rooted him to the spot for a long minute. And then reality doused him with cold water. Think.
Yeah, he’d had his share of sexual encounters, but he was careful. Very, very careful. He never forgot the condom.
“You expect me to believe that’s my kid? I don’t even know you, lady. You could be anybody, making shit up for reasons of your own.”
She looked scandalized. “How dare you? I am not making this up. Anastasia is yours.”
Alexei glanced at the kid sleeping so peacefully. Then back at the woman who glared at him. She was angry and utterly determined. But why had she needed to ask who he was if she knew he was her kid’s father?
It occurred to him this could be a joke. That Cowboy or Money could have put this girl up to it in order to scare him. Jesus, those two clowns. Both married now. Both out of their frigging minds.
Alexei grinned at the hot honey with the purple hair. He hated to disappoint her, but skepticism was practically his middle name.
“Sorry, babe, but you’re going to have to prove it.”
Her eyes hardened. The kid suddenly went from sleeping to crying. Panic crossed the woman’s features as she pulled the baby from the stroller and cradled her. Blue eyes met his for a desperate moment. Then she bent her head and pressed a kiss to the baby’s forehead.
“Hush, little angel. Hush. Auntie Bailey’s got you. Shh.”
Auntie? That certainly explained why she didn’t recognize him even though she was insisting he was the father of her child. He was almost disappointed that he’d never spent the night with her.
The baby continued to cry and she continued to soothe, but she looked uncomfortable doing it. Like she wasn’t accustomed to babies.
Shit.
He couldn’t leave her standing on the porch. A beat-up old Volkswagen Beetle was parked by the curb. Did that thing even have seat belts?
He stepped back and held the door open. “Why don’t you come inside until she stops crying?”
The girl looked at him with wide eyes. Desperate eyes. “I… I don’t know…”
“Look, if I’m the father—and I’m not saying I am—you don’t expect I won’t ever want to see the kid, do you? Which means bringing her here to my house. So come inside and figure out what she wants.”
“What she wants?”
“Diaper. Food.” He cocked his head to the side. “You ever take care of a baby?”
She bit her lip. Then she shook her head. “I’m learning.”
Alexei held out his hands, cursing himself six ways to Sunday as he did. “Give her to me.”
“You? What do you know?”
“I’m the oldest of six. I know a thing or two. Now hand her over and come inside. Or stand out here and let her scream. Your choice, Bailey.”
She blinked at his use of her name. And then she handed him the baby.
THANK YOU!
Thanks for reading this HOT SEAL Team story! If you want to read Alex “Camel” Kamarov’s story and find out what happens, then click on the title:
HOT SEAL Team sniper Alex “Camel” Kamarov gets more than he bargained for when he meets Bailey Jones—and the baby she swears is his!
For news on upcoming stories in the HOT SEAL Team series, .
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