Free Any Way You Want It by Maureen Smith

decorated war veteran he was. Before retiring from the navy two years ago, he’d had a reputation for being a formidable, ass-chewing leader who was both feared and revered by the men of SEAL Three. A fellow Chicagoan, he’d mentored Remy from the time he joined the Teams until he was discharged, earning Remy’s undying loyalty and respect.
    “Hope I’m not catching you at a bad time,” Keegan said.
    “Actually—”
    “Not at all,” Remy spoke over Mona. He gestured to the chair across from his desk. “Please have a seat.”
    As the commander strode toward the proffered chair, Mona pointed to her watch to remind Remy of his nine o’clock meeting. He nodded before closing the door in her face.
    As he rounded his desk and sat down, Keegan observed with wry humor, “She’s a pistol, isn’t she? Ex-military?”
    Remy laughed. “No, believe it or not.”
    “Too bad. She’d have made one hell of a drill sergeant.”
    “I know. Uncle Sam’s loss is my gain.”
    Keegan huffed a gravelly laugh.
    He’d grown out the military buzz cut, but his steel-gray hair was still meticulously groomed, and he wore a well-tailored charcoal suit with the same air of authority he’d once worn his navy blues.
    “It’s really good to see you, sir,” Remy said again. “How’s Mrs. Keegan?”
    “She’s doing great. Glad to be back home with her family and friends for good. And we just learned that our eldest is expecting her first child.”
    “That’s wonderful,” Remy said warmly. “Congratulations, Grandpa.”
    “Thank you.” Keegan smiled, beaming with pride. “And how’s your family?”
    “Everyone’s doing really well.”
    “Good. Glad to hear it. Give them my best, will you?”
    Remy smiled. “I sure will.”
    Keegan gestured around the office. “This is quite an outfit you got here. I’m impressed.”
    “Thank you, sir,” Remy murmured, leaning back in his chair. “It’s not the same as being in the Teams, but it’ll do for now.”
    Keegan snorted. “Who’re you fooling? Between you and your billionaire brother, Roderick—not to mention Royce and River—some folks are predicting that the Brand boys will be running the Windy City before too long.”
    Remy chuckled wryly. “I don’t know about all that. And speaking of running the city, how are things going at Mayor Norwood’s office?”
    “Good, good.” After retiring from the service, Keegan had returned home to Chicago and gone into politics, becoming a trusted senior advisor to the mayor. “We’re gearing up for his reelection campaign, so I’ve been scouting the field, assessing the strengths and weaknesses of the other candidates.”
    Remy nodded. Of course Keegan would approach politics as if he were preparing for a combat mission—gathering intel on the enemy, checking the maps and charts, doing the necessary reconnaissance before planning an attack strategy.
    “What can you tell me about Landis Kennedy?”
    Remy frowned, his gut tightening at the mention of a name he hadn’t heard in years. “Is he running for mayor?” he asked, answering Keegan’s question with a question.
    “He’s expected to throw his hat into the ring any day now,” Keegan replied. “And so far, he’s the one we’re most worried about. He has the financial resources and name recognition as an alderman, and he’s been gunning for the black vote by cozying up to church leaders on the South Side. Hell, he even has the support of some Teamsters who’re soured on the mayor after that whole city budget fiasco last year.”
    Remy’s frown deepened at the idea of Zandra’s estranged father becoming the next mayor. Though Remy generally regarded politicians as scum-sucking bottom feeders, Landis Kennedy was particularly abhorrent. He was a cold, sadistic motherfucker who’d tormented his wife and daughter for years, robbing Zandra of her childhood and warping her perception of men. Some of Remy’s most violent fantasies involved him cornering Kennedy in