Forged in Fire (28 page)

He reached for Beth with his mind.
How close to the entry?

She responded instantly.
Ten feet?

Which gave him seconds to set up an ambush.

Forgoing caution in favor of speed, he thrust open the heavy door and bolted onto the landing. Eight steep steps led down to the parking lot, but there were no cars close enough to provide cover.

The ambulance bay was to his right. Wide enough to accommodate four rigs, it had a shallow ledge that wasn’t deep enough to hide him. The double doors Russ was dragging Beth toward were set back ten feet, right next to the morgue’s employee entrance.

Again, no cover.

To his left, however, was a five-foot drop. He’d have to use the employee landing as his ambush point and hope like hell Russ used the steps immediately in front of them, rather than the ones to the far left of the ambulance bay.

Zane vaulted the railing to his left, and landed on the balls of his feet, in a crouch just as the steel doors to his right screeched open. Too bad he hadn’t had time to set up a distraction, something to draw Russ’s attention from this corner of the bay.

He’s not holding me very tight. Do you want me to pull loose? I could try to knock the gun from his hand. Would that be enough of a distraction?

Sheer horror sent his heart into overdrive.
No!

But I can help. I can distract him for you
.

The horror congealed in his chest and his heart stopped beating.
Stand down. Do nothing. Do you copy me? Nothing!

A disgusted
hrummmph
rolled through his mind.

Scowling, Zane crab-walked along the side of the retaining wall. Footsteps started across the ambulance landing, and down the shallow flight of stairs.

So far, so good. They were headed right for him, but on the other side of the landing.

He concentrated on the sound of Beth’s footsteps. Russ’s feet were completely silent on the concrete. Which pointed to a military background. Who the hell was this asshole?

As Beth’s footsteps grew louder, Zane crouched lower and waited for them to pass. Beth’s adrenaline crested, flooded the link between them with nervous energy, but her stride never faltered.

“Where’s your car?” she asked, and Zane tensed.

“Don’t you worry about that,” Russ said. “We’ll be there soon enough.”

Their voices were in front now. Zane carefully rose. Luck remained with him. Russ hadn’t changed positions. He still gripped Beth’s left arm, which meant he was walking on the right, the back of his head in plain view.

He’d have preferred a chest tap. Head shots were a bitch. Too much chance the bullet would glance off the skull. But he had no choice. The landing shielded Russ from the neck down Barely breathing, Zane raised the Glock, steadied it against the edge of the landing and lined up his shot.

Head tap or not, this bastard was going down.

Slowly, delicately his finger tightened on the trigger.

“Behind you! He’s got a gun!” The scream came from across the parking lot.

Son of a bitch
.

He squeezed off the round, but Branson was already moving. Ducking, the asshole clamped his arm around Beth’s waist and swung the two of them in Zane’s direction. The bullet whizzed past his head, missing Beth by inches.

Russ fired back, simultaneously dragging Beth in front of him.

The round plowed into the landing next to Zane’s cheek, peppering him with concrete fragments. Zane ducked.

“You’re fucked,” Russ shouted. “You go after me, you kill her. So how about we handle this all civilized? You’ll get her back after you’ve given me what I want.”

“How about you hand her over now and I let you go to prison instead of the morgue,” Zane yelled back, reaching out to Beth with his mind.

She was calm, waiting for him to tell her what to do.

The way Russ had Beth pinned against him didn’t leave much of a target. The chances of dropping him had just plummeted to nil. However, while that arm around Beth’s chest might hold her in place, it wouldn’t stop her from slumping forward, over his arm. She could expose enough of Russ’s head to do some serious damage.

The timing would have to be perfect, though. Russ was obviously well trained, with killer instincts. He’d compensate as soon as he felt Beth fold. They’d have maybe a second before he adjusted position. Zane would have to take the shot at the exact moment Beth moved. It was the only way they’d catch Russ off guard.

On my word slump forward, bend over his arm.
He sent a visual image along with the order.

He expected nervous trepidation. Fuck, if their timing was off by even a fraction of a second, that bullet would kill her as well. But calmness brushed his mind. Absolute trust.

He was the one to hesitate. Christ, if she didn’t move fast enough. If he fired too soon—

I trust you. Trust me.

Her faith steadied him.

In the distance, a siren started screaming.

He wanted to close his eyes and take a moment to pray, even though he hadn’t prayed in… well… ever… but he didn’t dare. Instead, he took a deep breath. Then eased up, sighting on Beth’s head.

“I’m warning you,” Russ started dragging her backwards, “you try anything and I will kill her.”

Now!

He squeezed off the shot.

Beth executed the movement perfectly, slumping and folding over Russ’s arm. Zane was expecting the move. His target was not. As Beth’s shoulders and neck dipped, Russ’s head was exposed. The first bullet took him in the forehead. The second plowed into his throat.

In slow motion, Russ’s arm dropped from Beth’s waist and he fell backwards.

The sirens screamed closer.

Zane vaulted the stairway, caught Beth around the waist and swung her behind him, away from Russ’s splayed body.

“Is he dead?” Beth asked as he bent to snatch the weapon from the bastard’s limp hand.

He checked for a pulse, surprised to find a weak beat against his fingertips, even more surprised to find Branson’s brown eyes locked on his face, some kind of entreaty in their glazing depths. A wavering hand reached for him. “Find Jil—” The rest of the garbled sentence drowned beneath a gurgle of blood. The brown eyes went fixed and vacant.

“What did he say?” Beth asked.

“Hell, I don’t know. I couldn’t make it out.” Straightening, he surveyed the parking lot. The woman who’d screamed the warning was half-hidden by a car, cell phone pressed to her ear. Otherwise, the parking lot was empty.

If Russ had back up, they would have moved by now.

Turning, he took hold of Beth shoulders and pushed her back so he could get a good visual.

I’m fine

He wasn’t sure if the words were spoken out loud, or whispered through his mind.

There was blood glistening in her hair, and splattered across her face. Gritty shards of Russ’s skull spattered the side of her neck and ground into his palms. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Please
. She snorted with disbelief.

This time he heard it with his ears, and inside his head. Felt it with his heart. Suddenly, his hands were trembling. He tried to drag her into his arms.

Ducking, she wrenched herself loose. “Zane! For God’s sake, I’ve seen what I look like.”

She meant through his eyes. “Then you know you’re beautiful.”

She rolled her eyes and backed out of reach. “I’m filthy. I’m covered in blood.” Her voice started to shake. “And other… things.”

He stepped forward, ignoring her attempts to evade him, and dragged her into his arms, next to his heart. “They’ll let us use the shower in the emergency room. The blood will come off.”

He’d make sure of it. He’d wash every inch of her and then pin her against the wall and make sure she didn’t associate their first shower together with death and gore.

A shimmer of arousal rippled through their link.
I’m not going to shower with you in a public place!

Did she realize she hadn’t voiced the protest, but had sent it through their connection?

I do now
. A certain dryness laced the words.

She was adapting to the bond more quickly than Zane had expected.

A sudden wave of trembling shook him. His arms tightened. He wished he could drag her inside his skin, where he could keep her safe… forever.

“Jesus,” he whispered his voice raw. “I thought I lost you.”

He wasn’t just talking about her abduction.

She sighed and wrapped her arms around his waist. “It’s kind of hard to deny this bond, considering it saved my life.”

Instead of easing, another wave of shakes coursed through him. He felt her mind brush his and knew she read his fear, the terror he’d kept caged—the realization of how easily Russ could have taken her from him.

Taken her life. Which equaled taking his, since she was his life.

But he didn’t, I’m still here
. She was the one to soothe.

Twin sighs shook them. Slowly, his trembling eased as he rested against her, their minds mingled, their bodies touching, their breathing in sync.

The only way they could be any closer would be if they were naked, and he was inside her.

I’m still not taking that shower with you
.

And then images exploded through the link.

Steam. Soapy hands sliding down his chest, cupping his balls, stroking his cock. Her lips following the teasing path of her fingers and taking him into her mouth
.

He went rock hard and throbbing in an instant.

Jesus, he was liable to be a walking, talking erection for the rest of his life if she kept that up.

Amused feminine laugher rang out in his mind.

Lips against her forehead, he smiled. It was a damn good thing SEALs were trained for stamina, because it looked like that training was going to come in handy.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Mac frowned, straightening in his hospital bed as Beth Brown followed his LC into the private room. “Rawls will be here any minute.” Mac alternated his glare between Zane and the damn woman who’d trapped him. “I’m sure Miss Brown would like to spend some time with her friend.”

“We just came from Ginny’s room.” Ignoring the less than subtle hint, she shot him a serene smile and let Zane steer her toward the foot of the bed.

Mac’s jaw tightened. “We’ve got things to discuss that don’t concern you.”

Rather than retreating from his glare, she lifted her eyebrows and leaned back against Zane’s chest. “Considering I was kidnapped, and a friend of mine was killed—” A shadow slipped through her eyes. “I’d say this
does
concern me.”

With a snarl, Mac transferred his scowl to Zane, but from the shit-eating expression on his LC’s face, the damn fool wasn’t ready to see reason… yet.

Before he had a chance to blast the pair with exactly why this wasn’t any of her fucking business, the door swung open again. This time Rawls stepped through, followed by Trammell, Hollister and Russo—Delta and Echo Platoon’s leadership.

Three pairs of hard eyes zeroed in on Beth.

Mac’s scowl collapsed into a smirk. He settled back to enjoy the show.

He had to give the woman credit, though. She matched the suspicious stares without flinching, cool as you please. Zane looked on with amused calm.

Russo was the first to break the confrontation. After a hard look at Zane, he checked Beth out again—slowly, thoroughly. Finally he stepped forward, hand outstretched.

“Devlin Russo,” Zane’s counterpart from Echo Platoon told Beth as she accepted his hand.

Mac’s smirk vanished. Motherfucker. Did the damn woman have them all fooled? Apparently so; Hollister and Trammell offered hands and names as well.

“When the hell did you boys arrive?” he asked, knowing they hadn’t made the trip up from Coronado to check on him. Cosky’s absence in the room was an open, festering wound.

“Last night, while you were getting your beauty sleep,” Russo said. Dark eyes sharp with intelligence swept Mac’s face and dropped to his bandaged shoulder. “It didn’t help. You look like shit. Any news on Cos?”

Mac swiped a hand down his face and locked the grief behind a mask of control. “He’s still breathing.”

Hollister shook his head, propping his whip-lean body against the far wall. “He always was a stubborn cuss.”

A throbbing, aching silence fell.

And then six throats cleared.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Exasperation coated Beth’s voice. “He’s your friend. It’s okay to express concern. You’re not going to turn all girly if you show a little emotion.”

Mac ignored her. “They found John Chastain’s body in a supply closet a couple of doors down from where he interviewed us.”

Zane frowned, straightening sharply. “How was he taken out?”

“A knife.” Since his shoulder was screaming like a motherfucker, Mac settled back against the pillows. “Which means whoever grabbed him is flat-ass crazy, or a fucking genius.”

“Or both,” Russo said thoughtfully. He rocked back on his heels, his black hair shining like obsidian beneath the fluorescent lights.

“Whoever killed him has some serious brass balls,” Zane explained after Beth glanced up at him, a small frown pleating her forehead. “They grabbed him in a high-traffic zone, killed him with a knife, which can be messy and loud, and escaped without catching anyone’s attention.”

“Which means not only does he know what he’s doing, he’s damn good at it,” Mac added grimly. “With both Branson and Chastain gone, it’s unlikely we’ll find out who the bastard is, or what the hell was going on.” He transferred his ire to Zane. “You just had to take the kill shot, didn’t you? You couldn’t clip him, leave him for questioning?”

Zane offered an unapologetic shrug. “The bastard had a gun to Beth’s head.”

“You have the two who were watching Ginny and Kyle,” Beth interjected, settling back against Zane’s chest again.

“Hired muscle. They won’t know a damn thing.” Mac turned his scowl on Beth.

Their lack of leads was her fault, anyway. If Zane hadn’t been so concerned about saving the damn woman’s life, he would have left his target alive enough to talk. “We don’t even know who Branson was, or what the fuck he was up to.”

He was still glaring when the door opened.

“Russ Branson was an alias, which makes him unidentifiable since his prints aren’t on file.”

Mac stiffened at Amy Chastain’s cool, feminine voice. In more than one place. Thank God for the blankets, and the fact everyone’s attention was turned toward the door. It gave him time to kick up his knee, which tented the bedding and hid the storm taking place under the sheets. Why the fuck did this woman rattle his libido like this? He’d convinced himself his earlier reaction had been adrenaline-based. Yet here he was, all revved up and raring to go—because of her voice.

Luckily, he had a secret weapon at his disposal when it came to dealing with this particular female. A plane ticket. A couple thousand miles between them ought to do the trick.

“I’m sorry about your husband,” he told her in a gruff voice, meeting hazel eyes so flat and controlled they looked more like glass than flesh and blood.

A slash of grief brightened the hazel, before they turned diamond-hard and shiny. She closed the door, and turned to stand in front of it—arms crossed, feet slightly spread, as though she were barricading everyone inside.

“I want to know why,” she said without preamble, her attention locked on Mac’s face. “Why
that
plane?
Those
passengers. What did he want John to do? I want to know why he did this. I want to know who he was.”

Mac frowned, her words sounded uncomfortably close to a demand for help, which would play hell with his intentions of a full-scale retreat. “The FBI and DHS will be launching an investigation.”

He’d been fielding calls from both agencies all morning.

“Their findings can’t be trusted,” she countered flatly. “John said his department was compromised. He had the same fears for DHS. That’s why he approached
you
.”

All true. But it didn’t change a damn thing. Perfectly still, Mac watched her, aware their little showdown held every eye in the room. “Look, I don’t know what the hell you’re asking, but the answer is no.”

She leaned back against the door and raised a russet eyebrow. “It benefits you, as much as me, to uncover what this operation was about.”

“How the hell do you figure that?” Mac raised his right hand to run it over his hair, remembered it was bandaged and put it down with a grimace.

“Because the only person who can collaborate your version of events is dead.” Her voice didn’t waver. “Whoever is behind this is already painting you and your team as out-of-control vigilantes who acted without authorization.”

Mac smiled grimly. No way in
hell
was she dragging him back into this mess. “We got the green light from Admiral McKay. He’ll testify the request came from your husband.”

Hollister’s lean body jackknifed up from its slouch against the wall. Shock flooded his face, and then narrowed his eyes. “Jesus. When was this?”

Frowning, Mac watched stunned glances pass between his Delta and Echo leadership.
What the hell…?
“Before we left for the fairgrounds.”

“Son of a bitch.” Russo ran a hand over his head. He turned, exchanged grim looks with Trammell and then Hollister. “This can’t be a coincidence.”

“No fuck.” Trammell’s agreement was clipped.

“Someone want to fill me in?” Mac asked between his teeth, splitting his glare between his Delta and Echo officers.

Russo scrubbed a hand down his face. He stood there for a moment, apparently thinking, and then dropped his arm. Squaring his shoulders, he turned to Mac. “McKay was targeted last night. Car bomb. NCIS locked the incident down pending investigation. We were gagged.”

A blast of shock ripped through Mac, followed by a hard kick of grief.

“He’s dead?” he asked, after he was certain his vocal cords wouldn’t cut out on him. “Why in the
God Damn Fuck
wasn’t I notified?”

He’d talked to Captain Gillomay that morning, reported on Cosky’s condition. Why the hell would Gillo kept silent about McKay’s death? A gag order? He was the fucking commander of ST7. The captain knew they’d been friends, if the platoons had been notified, he should have been too.

Another round of those grim, tense glances passed between Russo, Hollister and Trammell.

Ice prickled his spine. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Russo paced toward the bed, his dark eyes somber. “Gillomay doesn’t know you got the green light from McKay.”

Mac’s face tightened. “I went to Gillo first—when he hedged, I took it to McKay. He knows.” Rigid silence descended over the room. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Mac finally said. “The bastard’s cutting us off.”

Christ, it was unbelievable. Yeah, he and the captain had had their differences, but for the motherfucker to turn on his own team….

It was against Federal Law for United States military personnel to act within a law enforcement capacity. Acting under SAC John Chastain’s umbrella had been dicey enough, but without Chastain and McKay to back their story they were well and truly fucked.

He took a deep breath. Focused. Since the statute they’d be accused of breaking was a federal one, the FBI would investigate. And wasn’t that just fucking beautiful, since the FBI was compromised and covering their asses. Still, NCIS would investigate as well. He just had to prove he’d gone up the ladder and received approval. He just had to prove Gillomay was a lying, hypocritical prick.

“They have any idea who took McKay out?” Mac wasn’t surprised by the silent shake of Russo’s dark head.

He locked this newest grief behind a frown and glared down at his blankets. His boys were right. The timing of the Admiral’s hit was too much of a coincidence. Somehow McKay’s murder had to be connected to this mess with the FBI, and Gillomay’s fucking lie would swing the investigation in the wrong direction.

McKay deserved justice. Mac intended to make sure he got it. But that meant pointing NCIS toward the right debris field.

Mac’s gaze lifted, locked on the silent redheaded woman across the room. “What the fuck did your husband drag us into?”

Hazel eyes met and held his own. “To find that out, you’re going to have to help me. It looks like your CO’s hanging you out to dry. The FBI gets pretty pissy when officers within the United States military turn renegade.”

She was right. Rage heated his belly. Cosky was somewhere in the bowels of the hospital fighting for his life. Damn if he was going to let his team take the fall when the whitewashing commenced.

“Those bullets they pulled from us will corroborate our version of events.” He’d stuff those damn bullets down any bureaucratic naysayer’s throat if he had to. “You and Ginny Clancy can testify on our behalf.”

“About our kidnapping? Sure. The fact you rescued us? Sure.” She shrugged, and settled against the door. “First question will be why you didn’t contact the proper authorities and let them handle the extraction. Without John and McKay to verify your story, you and your team are screwed.”

“The detective who interviewed us yesterday raised these questions,” Zane said quietly. “We knew we were climbing out on a limb when we agreed to help. Chastain and the Admiral’s deaths chopped that limb down.”

Russo nodded in agreement and turned to stare at Mac. “We need to prove Chastain and McKay’s murders are linked, which means we need to prove Chastain asked for help because he had no alternative.”

Mac growled and thumped the back of his head against the pillow.

Motherfucking son of a bitch.

Gillomay had jammed his escape hatch.

Looking into the hijacking and subsequent murders was one thing, but something told him Amy Chastain wasn’t going to be content watching from the sidelines. Which meant he’d be spending far too much time getting up close and personal with his own case of Kryptonite.

* * *

Thank you for reading Forged in Fire.

Forged in Ice

(Book Two of the Forged Series)

Will be Cosky’s story

It has a tentative release date of summer of 2012

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Coming Soon!

Yesterday’s Child

By

Trish McCallan

Nine years after the disappearance of Deborah's son, her baby comes home: wearing the same clothes he disappeared in, without aging a day and with no memory of where he's been. . . .