SEAL Under Siege (Men of Valor) (2 page)

“Yes.” But the shaking in her knees threatened to make her a liar, and she rubbed her hands up and down her shins.

“We’ve got to rock and roll, L.T.”

She jerked at the deep voice coming from the doorway, but before she could do more than that, he was by her other side, both men tugging her to her feet.

L.T. didn’t waste time with introductions, instead asking his tall friend, “Did you take care of them?”

“Yes. But one got a call-off. Backup is on the way, I think.”

“You think?” L.T.’s eyes flashed.

“Hey, I’m not the language expert on the team.”

She’d been so wrapped up in their rapid back-and-forth that she barely noticed that they’d crossed the room and were propelling her toward the stairway.

“Stay with me and, whatever happens, don’t let go of my hand.” He held her hand up to her eyes and squeezed her fingers until she squeezed his back. “Got it?”

“Yes.” She wrapped her other hand around his wrist as the two navy men sailed down the stairs. Her skirt whipped around her ankles and she stepped on the side of it, nearly sending her tumbling into L.T.’s back. She caught herself by the grip on his arm at the last minute, and he glanced over his shoulder at her, the look in his eyes asking if she was all right. She nodded quickly, and he spun around.

By the time they reached the front door of the building, she was breathing as if she’d climbed Mount Everest, her lungs screaming for air and heart pounding hard.

L.T. paused for a moment, looking down the midnight streets. She took the chance to gulp in deep breaths, sure that they’d be gone just as fast.

Without a word, the second man slipped into the night, his gun lifted to his shoulder in rock-steady hands. Staci and L.T. followed him into the cloak of darkness.

“Hang in there,” he whispered just as a bullet burst in the sand at their feet.

Every thought vanished as her feet pounded the streets, winding between buildings and down alleys until her ragged breaths were louder than her footfalls. Sweat ran down her back and arms, but she refused to loosen her damp grip on L.T.’s hand, even as he tucked her into his side.

Another round flew past them, slamming into a building, as men began shouting at them to stop. “Got to pick it up.” L.T. tugged on her hand, somehow pulling her forward and pushing from behind.

She gasped for a breath and swiped at the sweat rolling from her forehead into her eyes as their pursuers sent out an endless spray of bullets, peppering several nearby buildings in the process. Lights flicked on in the houses, the bright windows spotlighting their position on the streets.

The taller man dropped back, returning fire and telling the curious to get back in their homes.

“We’re almost there,” L.T. assured her.

How could he still talk? Her mouth felt like she was breathing through sand, her feet heavy and aching. As he pulled her around another corner, her foot caught in the hem of her robe, and she flew to the ground, landing hard on her hands and knees.

L.T. didn’t bother telling her to get up, instead lifting her to her feet. As soon as the soles of her shoes hit the ground, something screamed past her, setting her arm on fire. She grunted at the impact, stumbling three steps.

She waited for the feel of the ground against her side, preparing for the impact of another fall. But it never came. Instead, she was suddenly weightless, bouncing on L.T.’s shoulder, one of his arms wrapped around her legs.

“Try to hold still.”

“All right.” Easier said than done. It was quite possibly the most uncomfortable position in the world, each step jabbing her in the stomach. But at least she wasn’t on her own feet anymore.

She let her arms hang down his back, trying to figure out what to do with her hands. Finally she grabbed his belt to give her something to hang on to, but her left arm was useless. She couldn’t make her hand grasp anything.

What was dripping from her fingertips?

She rubbed her left thumb over her fingertips, which were slick and sticky.

It wasn’t sweat.

She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat, refusing to wonder if it was from the awkward position or the blood dripping down her arm.

“ETA thirty seconds.”

It took her a moment to realize he wasn’t speaking to her, but relief washed through her as they rounded one last building, greeted by the gentle crashing of waves against the sandy shore. She couldn’t see or hear them, but somehow she knew there were more soldiers waiting for them. More men like L.T.

L.T.’s steps slowed down as he splashed into the water. It was nearly to his knees by the time he stopped.

“We’ve got company,” he said to one of the others as he swung her to his front, holding her back and under her knees and lifting her into what looked like a black inflated lifeboat. “She’s been hit in the arm, but she hasn’t lost consciousness.”

He set her down on her back, but didn’t let go of her hand. “You’ll be fine now, Ms. Hayes.” The boat floated toward open water, and he walked alongside it.

“Aren’t you coming with us?” Her eyes suddenly filled with tears at the thought of not having her mysterious hero by her side. There hadn’t been a chance before, but she’d thought that once they got away, she could tell him about what she’d seen, what she’d heard while she’d been held captive. Maybe he could help her.

“Not until you’re safely out of range. Then we’ll get out of here.” He bobbed in time with the waves that must have been at least to his waist.

“Please.” Her voice broke, but she pressed on. There wasn’t much time. “Can you help me?” The crashing waves covered her words, but her grip never loosened, even as he relaxed his fingers.

“You’re going to be okay.” He pulled his hand away, his words assuaging none of her fears. “They’ll take good care of you.”

“Please.” Her cry pierced the silent night. Her heart still raced, despite his words of comfort. She might be safe in the moment, but what about when she returned home? “He’ll know that I know.”

She tried to shout the words, but they barely came out as a whisper. The fear, the blood loss and the crashing adrenaline drained her last ounce of energy. Even though she was still in danger, she couldn’t help but give in to exhaustion. Closing her eyes, everything went black.

TWO

Two weeks later

S
taci ran her hand over the side of her face in a vain attempt to cover the still-red scar in front of her ear—left by a particularly unpleasant guard the day before her rescue. Forcing her hands back to her lap, she smoothed out the wrinkled lines of her skirt, tugging on the hem. After two years of following Lybanian laws and covering every inch of her body except her face, the skirt that hit below her knees felt too short.

She pulled the sleeves of her cardigan sweater down to her wrists in turn. Anything to keep her mind off the man she was waiting to see.

But he didn’t know she was coming for a visit.

And she didn’t even know his name.

The walls of the brightly lit office were devoid of windows, like the cell she’d endured for weeks. But this wasn’t Lybania. It wasn’t a cell.

She was free to leave.

Except she had to see him. The man who had rescued her. The only one who might agree to help her. She’d tried to talk to the public affairs officer assigned to the mission, a local policeman and even her congressman.

No one would take her seriously.

The public affairs officers hadn’t even listened to her—too busy briefing her about the next interview.

The desk officer at her local precinct had agreed to take her statement but then had stared at her evidence with clear disinterest. To be sure, the foreign words on it probably looked like nothing more than scribbles to him, but she had hoped the map itself would make him take her seriously. It hadn’t. The drawing had been too vague, too imprecise. Too easy to write off. He’d made a dismissive offer to pass the scrap of paper to a detective for review, but she wasn’t about to leave the only evidence of the upcoming danger with a man who seemed more concerned with jaywalkers than terrorists.

As for her congressman... Well, his secretary had expressed appropriate concern for Staci’s recent ordeal, but had made it clear that the congressman’s calendar was full. The unspoken message was that the congressman had no time to deal with delusional constituents.

“It’s normal for rescued hostages to deal with post-traumatic stress disorder,” the PAO had said. “I can recommend a few very good counselors to help you deal with the stress of your ordeal and the ensuing media firestorm.”

It wasn’t stress. She wasn’t hallucinating.

Her last chance was the lieutenant who had carried her to safety. Maybe he’d believe her. Maybe he could help her.

A woman at the commissary on base had told her that some of the SEALs of Team FIFTEEN had offices in this building.

She’d wait until she saw someone familiar. Or until someone realized she’d skipped out on the interview training she was supposed to be attending with the PAO and kick her out.

At the far end of a long hallway lined with offices, a metal door clanged open, rattling the walls of the trailer. A swarm of men entered, laughing and pounding each other on the back, each in matching tan T-shirts and brown camouflage pants.

How could she possibly recognize her rescuer if they all looked alike?

What if he wasn’t as handsome as she remembered? What if his eyes weren’t as blue or his hair as boyishly tousled? Or his smile as kind and his features as perfectly put together as they had seemed to be under that black paint? After all, he’d ridden in like a knight on a white horse at a time when she was almost too afraid to think. He couldn’t possibly be as attractive as her hazy memories of that night recalled.

The group of men drew near, clearly not aware of her presence, so she stood and grabbed on to the bottom of her sweater for support. Suddenly the short man at the front of the group stopped, holding up his hand to signal that all of the dozen or so should do the same. And they did, as if they’d practiced this single move every day for a year. Conversation ceased, and she quivered under the weight of so many eyes.

“How’d you get in here?”

She pointed over her shoulder, half turning toward the trailer’s front door before thinking better of spilling the whole story. It was best to just ask for what she wanted to know. “I’m trying to find a lieutenant.”

The man at the front squinted at her, his scowl growing. “We have a couple of those, but none you’d like very well. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I’m looking for a specific one. But...well...” She stared at her clasped hands just long enough to build up the courage to look back into the wall of men. “I’m afraid I don’t know his name. I’m Staci, Staci Hayes. And there was a SEAL, a lieutenant, I believe, who rescued me in Lybania.”

“L.T., do you want to take this one?”

Like the Red Sea parting when Moses lifted his staff, the men moved against the walls until a familiar figure walked down the aisle. His gait easy and confident, he squinted at her until he’d reached the front of the pack, his hands resting loosely on his hips.

“Ms. Hayes, what can I do for you?”

She held out her hand, hoping he’d take it, hoping she looked less foolish than she felt.

He glanced down at her hand, and when his eyes rose, they stole her breath. There was no mistaking this was the man who had rescued her. His eyes weren’t friendly, but they hadn’t been two weeks ago, either. Then and now, they were focused and direct—taking in the situation at hand. At least she had his attention.

“I’m Staci.” She pushed her hand farther forward, ignoring the lump in her throat as her fingers passed the halfway point between them.

He nodded to the group still congregated behind him. “They call me L.T.” His eyes searched her face, finally lighting on her right side, on the scar that the doctor had said would probably always be visible.

She pulled back the hand that he obviously wasn’t going to shake, and used it to cover the scar, staring at the floor in front of his feet. Apparently he wasn’t going to give her his name, no matter how hard he stared at her. All right. She didn’t need his name. Just his help.

“May we speak?” She glanced around his muscled shoulder—the same one she’d been slung over—into the faces of his men. “In private.”

His face pinched for a moment, all the air in the trailer suddenly vanishing. Still he stared at her, his eyes roaming from her hair to her feet and back. It wasn’t an obnoxious assessment, or even inappropriate. Clearly he was a man used to knowing what was coming, and her surprise visit didn’t suit him.

The silence dragged on for what felt like hours, but all of the men remained motionless. She didn’t even catch one blinking. Perfectly silent. Perfectly still.

By comparison, she felt like a camel in a crystal store, every straightening of her sweater or twitch of her neck amplified, every shuffle of her foot echoing to the farthest corner of the hall. But she couldn’t seem to stop moving.

A strange habit she’d picked up during her time in captivity. Movement meant she was still alive. It gave her something to focus on in that pit, something to touch when she’d almost forgotten the feel of her own skin.

Now she was a hummingbird among ravens. Why couldn’t she stop drawing attention to herself?

Wrapping her arms around her stomach, she held her breath and pinched her eyes closed until the man responded.

“All right.” Her eyes flew open, and he nodded toward the nearest office with a wide window looking into the hallway.

He held out his hand, and she scurried in the direction he indicated. As she passed him, he cupped a hand under her elbow, and she flinched. Once he’d closed the door behind them, he spun on her, his eyes flashing with an intensity sharper than a sword. “Are you still injured?”

Her hand got to her shoulder before she realized she was going for her scar again. “No. Why do you ask?”

“Out there in the hallway, you flinched when I touched you. Did that hurt? Did the bullet do serious damage?”

“Oh.” She bit her bottom lip. How was she supposed to explain that she still wasn’t used to human touch? After three weeks of only painful interactions, even her mother’s hug felt unnatural. “Um...no. It didn’t hurt. The doctor on the aircraft carrier said it was a clean exit. I’m fine.”

He ran his hand over his face, the sinewy muscles of his forearm bunching and pulling taut as he stared at the ceiling and blew out a slow breath. “Ms. Hayes, what are you doing here? This—” He flicked his finger back and forth between them. “This isn’t allowed. You’re not supposed to be here. We aren’t supposed to communicate once the mission is over. Didn’t the PAO tell you that?”

“I know.”

“Where are you supposed to be right now?” His brows furrowed, compassion transforming his features.

She looked away from the Pacific blue of his eyes, her words caught in her throat.

“How’d you get on the base?”

She wheezed around the lump sitting on top of her airway, hugging her sweater in place. “I was supposed to have an interview prep course with the lieutenant commander in the public affairs office.”

He marched to the far side of the desk, the only significant piece of furniture in the room, glanced at her over his shoulder and began pacing, hands grasped behind his back. “I understand that you’ve been through a serious ordeal, and I’m sorry that you had to go through that. But I’m not allowed any private contact with you.” He scrubbed his face again with an open palm, still not looking in her direction.

It was easier to think and speak when he wasn’t staring her down, so she rushed to tell him everything. “Do you remember the last thing I said to you that night?”

He stopped but kept his head straight forward. “I do.” With the shake of his head, he ran his fingers through his pale brown hair. “You were under a lot of stress, and you’d been imprisoned for weeks. It isn’t unusual to hallucinate under those kinds of conditions.”

“I wasn’t hallucinating.”

He turned back toward her, but she couldn’t meet his gaze. It was too disarming. So she looked around the room, searching for something—anything—to help steer this conversation where it needed to go.

Hugging her arms around her stomach, she took a deep breath. If she didn’t lay it all on the line now, there might not be a later.

“You said I was safe. You said you’d protect me.”

“I did. You made it safely home, didn’t you?” His words were short but not unkind.

“I made it home, anyway.”

Those blue eyes sliced into hers.

“What does that mean?” His lips barely moved.

“Someone has been following me, and I think it’s the same man from Lybania.”

“The one who will know that you know?” His arms crossed over his broad chest, the sleeves of his T-shirt pulling snug around his biceps. He looked so intimidating. If he hadn’t leaned toward her, head cocked in concern, she’d have turned and run.

She nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“Did you call the police? Tell them you’re being stalked, and they can look into it for you. They can handle things like that.”

“I did call the police. They wouldn’t help me. I promise you’re the last person I want to bother with this, but I don’t have anywhere else to turn.”

He sighed, dropping his hands to his side. “So, who is this guy?”

“Um...” She bit her lip and looked down at her sandals. “I don’t know.”

His eyebrows shot up his forehead, which wrinkled in even ripples. She could read the doubt on his face. He probably thought she saw a Middle Eastern man behind her in line for coffee, and that fear made her jump to the conclusion that he was following her. His voice dropped to almost a whisper. “I think you need to talk to someone about this. The PAO could probably recommend a counselor.”

Her blood boiled at his condescension, and her apprehension evaporated. Taking a deep breath in through her nose, she pushed it out through tight lips.

If she had any idea how to face down the man following her on her own, she would. But since she didn’t, she had to convince the lieutenant to help.

Taking a firm step toward him, she pointed her finger toward his chest, but stopped about two feet short of touching him. She wasn’t that brave. “Listen to me. I’m in trouble, but it’s not just me. I don’t know the name of the man who’s after me, but I know that I heard him plotting to blow up something here in San Diego.”

“Do you speak Arabic?”

“Just enough to get by for two years in Lybania.”

He squinted at her, leaning toward her still-outstretched finger. “Then how do you know you didn’t misunderstand what he said?”

“He was speaking English.”

* * *

Tristan snapped his full focus on Staci at her words. “Was he American?”

“Yes.” She didn’t hesitate.

Could she be telling the truth? “How do you know?”

“How would you know an American? He spoke like an American, used words like an American.”

“Did he have an accent?”

She looked toward the ceiling, worrying her lip between her teeth before answering. “Not that I noticed. He wasn’t from the South or Boston or New Jersey. He sounded like a national newscaster, polished and smooth.”

Rats. This girl honestly thought she’d overheard something. Whether she was really being stalked or not, there was no denying she thought she was in trouble.

But he wasn’t the right one to help her. Getting involved in something like this could only spell trouble—mostly with his commanding officer, who had already warned him once about being too friendly with rescued hostages.

He scrubbed his fingers along his scalp, a vain attempt to relieve some of the pressure building there. She wasn’t supposed to be there. He was breaking all the rules already by speaking one-on-one with a rescued hostage. If his CO found out, he’d be knee-deep in a serious mess, and no matter how pretty she was, she wasn’t worth risking being grounded for the next mission or worse.

He didn’t like telling a scared woman that he couldn’t help her, but what other choice did he have? It was highly likely that the danger was all in her mind, even though she’d convinced herself that it was real. It would be wrong to give up the chance to go on missions that made a real difference just to help her fight imaginary enemies.

She flicked a strand of dark hair over her shoulder, blinking huge green eyes up at him. Her full, pink lips pressed together, wrinkling her nose slightly. It took everything inside him not to smile at her, to put her at ease and give her the assurance she craved.