Scorch (The MacKenzie Family Book 17)

T
o Scott
,

Because you weathered the storms with me through this book. I know I was a crazy person. Thanks for not strangling me in my sleep. I love you, always.

B
ooks are never written
by themselves. Thanks to Heather Osborne and Jean Jenkins (editorial), Damon Freeman (cover design), Paul Salvette (Paperback formatting), Jillian Stein (social media and graphics), and Scott Silverii (husband extraordinaire, ebook formatter, champion brainstormer, and excellent pants-kicker).

A
lso
, a huge thanks to Susan Hicks who helped answer my questions about what it’s like to be a female medic in the military. As always, any mistakes are mine and mine alone. I’d also like to acknowledge Dr. Hugh Herr and the amazing things happening at MIT with robotic prosthetics. It’s created a new way of life for so many.

L
ast but not least
, I want to sincerely thank all those who serve, whether it be in the military or in law enforcement of any kind. I hope through this series my love and respect for the profession you’ve chosen shows. God bless you all and stay safe.

T
he MacKenzies knew
how to throw a hell of a party.

Lacey Shaw took a sip of champagne and grimaced. She’d have much preferred a beer, but it seemed rude to turn away the gold-rimmed flute she’d been handed to toast the bride and groom.

She wasn’t quite sure what she was doing at Cade and Bayleigh MacKenzie’s wedding. She didn’t know either of them, but Declan, the groom’s brother, had told her to put on her best dress and a car would pick her up at a quarter to seven. Arguing with Declan MacKenzie was never a good idea, so she’d done as she’d been told. But her patience was running short. She’d give him ten more minutes to tell her why he’d brought her to the middle of Nowhere, Montana when she could’ve been sunning on a beach somewhere.

Declan MacKenzie was a bit of an enigma, and she wondered how many of the rumors circulating about him were true. She didn’t know him well, hardly at all really, but their paths had crossed a time or two. He was a legend in the CIA. A ghost. And danger cloaked him like a second skin. He also had a hell of a brain for espionage, along with money, power, and influence. There were those in the highest reaches of government who were terrified of Declan MacKenzie. And others who wanted to use him for their own political gain. But Declan couldn’t be bought, thank God—at least so far—which was why she’d answered his summons instead of getting on a plane to Aruba.

The fanciest thing she owned was a pair of BDUs that didn’t have blood or mud stains on them, so she’d borrowed a little black dress from her friend, Amanda. Lacey refused to touch a penny from the trust fund her parents had set up for her. If she couldn’t afford something on her military salary then she did without. Which meant she went without a lot. But it was better than the alternative.

Since Amanda was about five inches taller than Lacey, they’d done a quick hem job so the dress didn’t make her legs look like stubby tree limbs. Amanda was also a cup size bigger, but a padded bra had fixed that problem. Mostly.

At exactly a quarter to seven, a black SUV had pulled in front of the Big Sky Bed and Breakfast and driven her through the most beautiful country she’d ever seen. The colors were vivid—the green of the rolling hills, the cerulean lakes, the majesty of the white-capped mountains, and the blazing orange of the sun as it set behind them.

The SUV waited in line behind a slew of other cars, and she watched in fascination as invitations were checked as were the inside of the vehicles. She’d done a little bit of research on the MacKenzies before she’d come. They were a heavily decorated military and law enforcement family, and the need to serve and protect was obviously in the blood, as that particular legacy traced back more than a century. And if rumors were true, the MacKenzies would all soon be working for Declan. One thing was sure, they took their privacy and security very seriously if the looks of the armed guards were anything to judge by, though most people probably wouldn’t realize they were guards and not guests since they wore tuxes.

There had to be at least three hundred people on the MacKenzie’s land. The wedding ceremony had been held outdoors, overlooking the lake and mountains at sunset. She didn’t know Cade and Bayleigh MacKenzie, but by the looks on their faces as they gazed into each other’s eyes, and by the sincerity in their voices as they exchanged vows, she had to admit that it looked like the odds were in their favor. Cade even got choked up a little.

Once they’d been pronounced husband and wife, everyone was ushered into the giant white tent that had been erected on the property. She wasn’t sure how they did it, but the inside of the tent looked like a wonderland. Crystal chandeliers and twinkle lights gave it a romantic flair. A live band was set up in the corner by the dance floor. And round tables, each with a unique flower arrangement, were laid out with a delicate place-setting, the place cards with each person’s name sitting on top of the plate.

Dinner hadn’t been so bad. The food had been delicious, and the small talk at her table kept to a minimum. Maybe it was because she was giving off a “keep away” vibe. In any case, she’d been left to eat her dinner in peace, and had only had to say a few words to the older woman sitting next to her.

After dinner she’d found a place to sit at the end of the bar with her back against the wall of the tent so she could see everything and everyone. The bride and groom were sharing their first dance and the guests lined the dance floor and looked on, the joy on their faces palpable.

Lacey looked down at her watch. Five more minutes. Then she’d sneak away and no one would be the wiser. She was tired. And she was antsy. It was strange to think that less than a week before, she’d been halfway across the world, her hands covered in blood, and the bodies of her soldiers scattered around her as she tried to bring some order to chaos.

She’d always thought of them as hers. At least for a time—until she could return them safely to their families or salute as she honored their flag-draped caskets. She couldn’t save them all, she knew that. Most people in the medical profession had an ego. But egos didn’t mean shit in a war zone. There were some men who would never have the chance to be saved.

Lacey stared hard at the tiny bubbles in her glass, trying to keep the memories at bay. They were still too fresh. She’d been a civilian for exactly two days, and she had no idea what to do with herself. If she stayed in bed like she wanted to, with the lights dim and the covers pulled over her head, the memories haunted her. And she knew from past experience that being lost in those thoughts was a dangerous place to be. She didn’t have to see the scars on her wrists to know they were there.

Scenes played in slow-motion through her mind. The convoy as it travelled down a dusty road in Kandahar.

It had been just another day in a long line of many. Nothing unusual. Nothing that hadn’t been done a hundred times before. The sway of the armored personnel carriers was almost monotonous as they made their way along the winding two-lane roads, the wind causing tiny dust devils to whirl across their path.

No one spoke. Sand was gritty between her teeth and weariness had settled over her bones as snatches of sleep had come few and far between. The medical pack on her back felt heavier for some reason. She shifted in her seat and held tighter to the grab bar as they hit a particularly rough patch of road.

She had three days left until her tour was up. The feeling was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. The military had been her life for the last six years. Certainly not the life her parents had planned for their only child. Finishing high school at fifteen and having a college degree by the time she was eighteen hadn’t exactly left her with a lot of freedom to choose what she wanted to do with her life. But at eighteen she was no longer under their control, and she’d enlisted more out of rebellion than out of the love of serving her country, though it hadn’t taken long for the pride to take root.

To say her parents had been shocked and disappointed—enraged even—had been an understatement. But for the first time in her life the decision had been hers. And she’d loved every minute of it—of how men and women who’d been strangers had accepted her as one of their own and relied on her in times of trouble. The Army had given her training that no college degree could provide.

There were choices she had to make. What to do with the rest of her life as a civilian. Her commander wanted her to sign on for another tour, but she’d already decided to pursue something else. Maybe go back to school. Maybe try her hand at a nine-to-five kind of job. And she hoped her parents would see she could stand on her own without their dictating every aspect of her life. But that wasn’t likely. She’d been back in country for a couple of days and already received an itinerary for her social calendar and an appointment time to meet with her parents and the dean at Harvard. She noticed they hadn’t requested a meal or meeting with her before they met with the dean. It was bound to be an awkward exchange, since she didn’t plan on showing up.

It hadn’t been a hard decision to ignore the itinerary, or not to move back to the “privacy and safety” of Willow Ridge, which was what her parents called the monstrosity of a home they lived in. She seriously doubted her parents would appreciate her waking the household with her night terrors. Her father would want to put her in therapy and medicate her. Again. Her mother would look at her distastefully and go back to the hospital, where such personal embarrassment didn’t exist.

She couldn’t tear herself away from the memory of what had happened in Kandahar. She was there again. Sweat trickled from beneath her helmet and down her spine. The convoy had only passed one other car on their journey. Maybe that’s why she’d taken notice of the one approaching. There was nothing special about it—just an older model economy-sized sedan in the same vivid blue as the cloudless sky. And from what she could tell at such a distance, there looked to be a man behind the wheel and a woman in the passenger seat.

It should’ve been nothing, but it didn’t stop the uneasy feeling that came over her. The car slowed as it passed the first APC, and instinct made her turn to throw her body over Private Timmons, who was seated beside her. But she’d barely moved before the concussion of the blast ripped through the air. Finding something to hold onto was futile as they went airborne.

Time slowed. Her body felt every jolt. Her vision was dimmed by dust and debris, and she couldn’t tell at that point if the others were even still in the APC with her or if they’d been thrown out. And then as abruptly as the chaos had started, it stopped. Her ears rang so she heard nothing, not even the sound of her heart thumping in her chest. She hung upside down and stared into the gap where sunlight glared into her face, watching as the dust settled around her, wondering how badly she was hurt because she couldn’t feel anything. Wondering which of her friends had died, because a blast like that was meant to cause casualties. As many as possible.

“You look like you could use a beer,” someone said from beside her.

She jolted and wondered how long she’d been staring into the bubbles of her champagne. And then she realized it was Declan MacKenzie standing next to her, and she wondered how long he’d been trying to get her attention.

* * *

D
eclan MacKenzie wasn’t
a man who made uninformed decisions. Gathering intel was second nature. It’s what saved lives. But it hadn’t taken him long to know that MacKenzie Security needed Lacey Shaw. He just had to convince her of the fact.

“I’m not much of a champagne drinker myself,” he said, continuing the conversation smoothly when she didn’t answer.

He recognized that look in her eyes. The blankness that settled across the face as horrors replayed through the mind. He’d seen the look on the faces of his father and brothers. And he was sure they’d seen the same look on his face.

Declan pushed his glass of champagne toward the bartender and asked for two beers instead, and pushed one in front of her.

“Thanks,” she said.

“I’m not sure my brother cares one bit about champagne toasts or place-settings for three-hundred people, but he loves his bride, so here we are.”

He clinked his beer bottle against hers in a toast and drank deeply. She did the same.

“They make a lovely couple,” she said. “It’s weird to think of you as someone who has a family.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and said, “No offense.”

“None taken,” he said, smiling. “They never let me forget them for very long. It’s always good to have something to come home to after a mission. Especially a bad one.”

“Yeah, well,” she said, shrugging. “Shouldn’t you be doing family stuff?”

He took another pull of his beer. “They don’t need any of us hovering right now. Look at them.” He watched Cade and Bayleigh on the dance floor, gazing deeply into one another’s eyes. “It almost makes you believe in true love.”

“Skeptical, are you?” she asked, raising her brows.

“Lets just say that not everyone is meant to find their soul mate and settle down.”

“Are you saying that not everyone has a soul mate, or that just because you find your soul mate, it doesn’t mean you belong together?”

He looked at her with a long, cool look, but he had to give her credit. She didn’t look away.

“I read in your file that you’re extremely insightful. Thinking of going into psychology now that you’re back in the real world?”

She scrunched her nose in protest before she could help herself. “Not in a million years. My father is a psychologist.”

“I think I read that somewhere,” he said, lips quirking. “You have an impressive record.”

“I know. Should I bother to ask how you were able to look at my military personnel files?”

“If I told you I’d have to kill you,” he said. “But you can be assured I was very impressed by what I saw.”

“Well, then. I guess that’s okay,” she said dryly.

“Lacey Elise Shaw,” he said smoothly. “Child prodigy with an IQ of 162. The only daughter of doctors Edward and Lizbeth Shaw, who are both renowned in their respective fields of psychology and thoracic surgery.”