Shattered (32 page)

Acquiring the helo, which Shane had been concerned about, turned out to be the easiest part of the plan. The base was fucking deserted, except for some villagers who were looting the buildings. While he didn’t think it was a real good idea for angry civilians to have automatic weapons, Shane figured that problem would be something Madrid or Castillo or whoever the hell took over the country would have to deal with.

Right now, he just wanted to liberate himself a Black Hawk, get it over to the compound; evacuate Kirby, the other doctor, and the rest of the team; then get on with the rest of his life.

Which he was going to have to do.

Like, soon.

Unfortunately, two guys, dressed in the uniform of the rebel forces, had decided they had dibs on the copter.

“Oh, Christ,” Shane said, as they spun around toward him, AKs in their hands. “Just put the guns down, guys, and nobody’s going to get hurt.”

Apparently, his argument was unconvincing, because one of them lifted the gun and, holding it down at his side, like Rambo, began to fire, spraying the dirt a yard from from Shane’s boots.

The first guy couldn’t shoot worth shit and the second guy’s gun jammed. But that didn’t mean that one of the bad guys couldn’t get lucky. Or hit one of the women or children who were also stripping the place bare.

Cursing, Shane lifted his own M4 and eliminated the threat.

Because sometimes a guy just had to do what a guy had to do.

Rachel had always heard that SEALs worked in the dark. At night, in and out before anyone knew they’d been there, the clandestine special teams of SOF.

Apparently, they worked differently by day.

She was talking with the small bomb maker about books he’d read and how he might become a doctor like her and return to his village and take care of his own people, when suddenly the door was kicked in and four men wearing camouflage battle uniforms, their faces painted like something from anyone’s worst nightmare, shouted, “Go, go, go!”

Then to the startled children, “Acostarse boca abajo,”—telling them to lie facedown. Both startled and intimidated, they did exactly that. Several began crying.

“Don’t worry, Rachel,” one of the men said, “We’re here to rescue you.”

She stared. Blinked. Stared again. “Michael?”

“It’s me. Don’t worry.” He had to shout to be heard over the screaming of the children, who were having plastic handcuffs strapped on them. “You’re safe.”

Which was when she slapped his gruesomely painted face.

Hard.

“What the hell?” Michael Gannon lifted his own hand to his face and stared at her. “What did you do that for?” he shouted.

“Because you scared these poor children to death,” she yelled back.

“Ma’am,” a huge man dressed and painted like her former lover said, “those poor children are carrying automatic weapons.”

“They wouldn’t have used them.”

“You don’t know that,” another man, who was not a man at all, said.

“Kirby?” Rachel decided she must be dreaming. But this wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare.

“These are the men I told you about. From the Kush,” she said. “And, well, I guess you know Michael.”

“I thought I did.” Rachel glared at him as the children, sensing a drama taking place, slowly quieted down.

“You were in danger,” the former priest insisted. “You’ve no idea what’s happening out there. The entire fucking country is falling apart, and—”

“Did you just say ‘fuck’?”

“I don’t know.” He dragged a painted hand through his long hair.
“Maybe, but you’ve got me so—”

“Is a priest even allowed to use that word?”

“Probably. When provoked. But it’s a moot point, because I’m not a priest anymore.”

“You’re not?”

“Excuse me, ma’am,” the man who’d yet to speak said, “but we’ve got a helo coming in with an ETA of two minutes, so if you could just get outside—”

“Not without the children.”

“What?” They all stared at her.

“Rachel,” Kirby coaxed. “They’re not hurt. They’ll be fine. But you really do have to get out of here.”

“They’re coming with me.”

“Back to the States?” the largest of the men asked in obvious disbelief.

“No. There’s a place in Guatemala that helps kids recover from war. Helps them get their childhood back. We need to take them there.”

“For Chrissakes,” the man who’d told her about the copter complained.

Rachel folded her arms. “I’m not going without them.”

“Rachel,” Kirby tried again.

“If there’s room for me, there’s room for them, as well. They’ll need their restraints removed so they can protect themselves. Meanwhile—”

There was an explosion, like they’d suddenly been thrown into a battle zone.

“Oh, my God,” Kirby cried, running outside. “If Shane was shot down . . .”

The others followed. All stared as Ixtab literally blew her top, sending molten lava high into the air and spilling down the side of the broken cone of the mountain.

The air filled with a dark cloud of soot.

“We’ve got to get out.” The big man literally picked Rachel off her feet and began carrying her from the clinic.

Meanwhile, Michael, Kirby, and the other man began yanking the children to their feet, cutting the plastic straps, and dragging them outside, as well, where they all stood staring at the flaming lava flowing down the side of the volcano.

Even as she raced the children outside, Kirby was panicking about Shane. What if the explosion had caused him to crash? What if she were to lose him just as they’d finally gotten back together?

Her head was spinning from the ash she was sucking into her lungs as she stood with the others and stared up at the sky.

And then, out of the billowing dark cloud, a helicopter appeared.

Another minute and they’d be out of here.

Thirty seconds.

Just as Shane flared to land, the earth beneath Kirby’s feet began to groan and tremble, the tremendous pressures seeking release.

Shane had always thought of himself a lot like that guy in Titanic, the one who thought he was the luckiest son of a bitch in the world. Until he drowned, of course, but at least he’d gone down being noble.

In all his years of flying, he’d only crashed one helo, and even that had turned out okay, except for losing his leg, which he’d come to decide sure as hell wasn’t the worst thing that could’ve happened to him on that mountain.

And to top things off, Kirby was back in his life. For good.

But now, as he watched in horror as the earth began to split apart, unable to tell if the catastrophic rumbling was coming from the earth below or the volcano as it roared red streams of molten lava down its side, he was forced to wonder exactly how long “for good” was going to turn out to be.

If it was just the two women, he’d hover low enough for Quinn and Zach to jump on board, and they could use the basket to pull Rachel Moore and Kirby into the Black Hawk. But the children were obviously panicking, and the way the earth was rocking and rolling, he feared that they didn’t have time for that type of airlift.

Which meant he was going to have to land. Somehow.

He watched as a cleft opened up between Rachel and Michael. The doctor was fighting for a foothold as the fissure widened, threatening to swallow her into a maw of muck and stone. The same thing was happening to Gannon on the other side.

Amazingly, the army of children had formed a line, one of them holding on to Rachel’s legs, as they all pulled, as if playing a deadly game of tug-of-war. Against Mother Nature. After managing to back away just in time, the former priest jumped the gap and helped the children pull the aid doctor out of the earth.

Afraid that if he touched his skids down, the helo could be swallowed, Shane hovered just inches from the ground, praying that the heavy ash wouldn’t clog the engine and cause the bird to stall.

The three men and both women began dragging the children onto the bird. Rachel was next, and then it was Kirby’s turn, but she stumbled, and when she tried to stand up, she risked getting decapitated by the whirling rotor, which wasn’t anything like her at all.

It was Quinn who shoved her head down and literally threw her into the Black Hawk. Then he and Zach jumped on, as well, and Shane lifted off as the roar became deafening.

He was almost at treetop level when the earth opened, swallowing up much of the clinic as sparks of lava lit up the sky like tracers.

“Are you all right?” Shane managed to ask Kirby past the painfully large lump in his throat.

“I . . . oh, shit.” As a red stain blossomed on the front of Kirby’s jungle camouflage shirt, she passed out.

Rachel looked at Shane, who was trying to multitask between worrying about Kirby and fighting the roaring heat from the Ixtab and the heavy ash that was probably being sucked into his engines.

“I don’t know who the hell you are,” she said. “But you need to get us to a hospital. Because she’s been shot.”

After all the months he’d spent in hospitals, Shane could’ve lived the rest of his life without ever stepping foot in another.

But this was different.

Because Kirby was different.

The bullet had come close to killing her. She’d lost a lot of blood—even a drop was too much, to Shane’s mind—and she’d been drifting in and out of consciousness for three days.

And all that time, despite coaxing from the others, and assurance that they’d take his place for a time, he’d refused to leave her side.

“Shane?”

The soft voice jerked him out of a restless combat nap.

“You’re awake.” Relief and the huge lump in his throat clogged and roughened his words. He pushed himself out of the chair he’d been living in.

“I seem to be.” She glanced around. “I know this is a cliché, but where am I? And what happened?”

“You’re in a hospital in Costa Rica. You were shot when one of those kids Rachel insisted on bringing along accidentally discharged his damn pistol in the scramble to get onto the bird. It was touch and go for a while.”

He didn’t mention that they’d all given blood. “But Rachel and Mike kept you stable until we could get you here. And they, along with the surgeon, assured me you’ll be as good as new in no time at all.”

She pressed her fingers against her temple. “I don’t remember.”

“Being a doctor, you should know that’s not surprising,” he said. Her other hand was lying at her side on the sheet. He covered it with his, linking their fingers together. “Plus, they’ve been giving you enough Demerol to knock out a Clydesdale, to keep you quiet so you could heal.”

“Oh.”

A little silence settled over them. The awkwardness was odd after having become so comfortable with each other.

“Rachel and Michael took those kids to the halfway house place.” Shane figured she’d want to know that. “I guess it does a pretty good job of rehabilitating them so they can return to their regular lives.”

“That’s nice. It was horrible what was done to them.”

“Yeah.”

Another pause.

“What about the dogs?” she asked.

“Dogs?”

“The dogs that CIA inside man drugged. Did they make it out alive?”

“Oh, yeah.” Funny that she’d remember that, Shane thought. But then again, she’d always seemed to care more about others than herself. “They ended up at some animal rescue place. Seems they really weren’t very good guard dogs, anyway. The people there think they’ll make okay pets for the right family.”

“I’m glad.”

“To catch you up on all things political, Madrid was sworn into office this morning. She’s made Castillo part of her cabinet.”

“Keeping her friends close, but her enemies closer,” she murmured.

“Exactly.”

“What about Vasquez? Did he get away?”

“No. He was picked up on the tarmac at his private airfield and delivered to the authorities in Mexico. Where, apparently, he has an outstanding parking ticket dating back to a vacation he took in Mexico City with a mistress a few years ago.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Hey,” he shrugged. “I’m just the messenger. And you know how strict Mexico is about their driving laws.”

“About the same as Monteleón,” she said dryly.

“Yeah. But they’re extraditing him to the Hague.”

“Oh, the news just gets better and better.”

“I hope you will still think that when I tell you what I’ve decided. Well, sort of decided, anyway.” He took a deep breath. “I placed a couple calls to some guys I know in the Army. In the 160th.”

“Your old unit.”

“Yeah.”

Her brow furrowed, making him worry that he’d misjudged the situation. “I’ve got an offer to teach flying at Fort Campbell. I report for duty in a month.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful.” Her smile lit up the room, its brilliance burning away a bit of the awkwardness. “Will you be able to fly, too?”

“Yeah. Just not in combat situations. They say I can, and the leg sure seems to work okay, especially after what we put it through, but . . .” He shrugged. “I’d still worry.”

“Well, this is still a good compromise, I think. So, it sounds as if you’ve got your life back on track.”

“Well, that’s the thing.”

He couldn’t believe she didn’t know where he was going with this. She was a smart woman, and while they might not know every detail about each other, like their favorite movies, songs—stuff like most people talked about on those early getting-to-know-you dates they’d never had—she knew his mind. And his heart.

The same way he knew hers. Which was the important thing. Shane figured they had the next fifty years to work their way through the details.

“Fort Campbell’s in a real pretty place,” he said. “It straddles the border between Tennesee and Kentucky.”

“I’ve never been there.”

No. She wasn’t going to make it easy on him. But why should she? After what he’d done to her.

“Maybe, when you get out of here . . .”

But not right away. She’d need some time to get her strength back. Maybe go lie on some tropical beach, soak up some sun, make love, drink some mai tais, make love again. Maybe, he thought on a burst of optimism, make a baby.

“I’d like that,” she said when he brought up the beach. But not being a total idiot, he decided to keep the baby part to himself for now.

“Great, great.”

Jesus. Why was he so tongue-tied? He’d practiced this speech a million times. Even called the States and tried it out on Sabrina and Cait, both of whom had assured him it was irresistible. But his carefully thought-out words had gone flying out the window.

“I promised my parents I’d be home for Christmas.”

“Isn’t that funny? I’d forgotten all about the holiday.”

“You’ve been a little preoccupied. And unconscious.”

“Well, there was that,” she agreed.

The silence hovered between them, as thick as early morning fog.

No mission had ever made Shane this nervous. Not even that last flight in the Kush, when he’d seriously thought he was going to die.

“I was wondering if you’d like to come with me. Unless you had plans of your own.”

“My parents are doing Christmas in Germany this year. Apparently, there are lots of festivals in all these small towns. It’s a big deal, they tell me.”

“Sounds cool.”

“Yes. Though I have to admit, Germany isn’t exactly my favorite place.”

Yep. Here came that crawling part Quinn had warned him about. Shane braced himself, fully prepared to grovel over his screwup when he’d sent her away.

“So, sure, Christmas on a ranch in Oregon sounds lovely,” she surprised him by saying. “Will there be snow?”

“Probably.”

“Growing up in San Diego, I’ve never experienced a white Christmas. And the only cows I’ve ever seen are the dairy kind, so that’ll be different. If your parents won’t mind the company.”

“They’d love it. I told them all about you.”

“Oh?” She tilted her head. She may have appeared cool and collected, but the way her fingers had begun gathering up the sheet, he realized he wasn’t the only one who wasn’t feeling exactly at ease with this conversation.

He wanted to drag her into his arms. But he didn’t dare touch her. Not until he said what he needed to say.

“There’s something else,” Shane ventured. Just go for it. He shoved his hands through his hair, took a deep breath, and said, “Look, here’s the deal. Remember when you suggested working at Landstuhl?”

“That would be a little hard to forget. Though I am trying,” she said dryly.

“Well, I made a few more calls—”

“Nothing personal.” She held up a hand. “Well, actually, it is personal. Did I mention Germany isn’t exactly my favorite place?”

Because of him. But that might change down the road, too, Shane allowed himself to think on a little burst of enthusiasm. Maybe they’d take one of those Christmas tours. Maybe even a family trip with the kids.

“No. This was to Campbell. There’s a hospital there. And with so many troops being rotated overseas, they have an opening for a civilian trauma physician. It’s not traveling the world for WMR, but Rachel said you seemed like you were getting a little burned out on that—”

“You spoke to Rachel? About me?”

“Well, yeah. Because I figured she’s your friend, and since she and Michael are going to be working together for WMR—”

“They are?”

“Didn’t I tell you that part?”

“No. I believe you skipped a step.”

“He’s gotten someone to take over running his free clinic. Seems he has this yen to see the world and do good, and apparently she enjoys her work—”

“She loves it. Which makes her either a madwoman or a saint. Or maybe both.”

“Well, anyway, I ran the idea of you maybe going back to trauma, which you seemed to enjoy. But in a regular hospital, where you can actually follow up on your patients. And since it’d be a civilian gig, you wouldn’t have to worry about getting deployed anywhere. Like Germany.”

“And we’d be at Fort Campbell together?”

“Shit.” He dragged his hands through his hair again. “I’m not doing this very well, am I?”

“I suppose that depends on what this is.”

He dug into his pocket. Pulled out the box he’d kept with him for all these months. “I bought this online. Well, not exactly online. I mean, I found it, but my brother, he actually went and checked it out for me first. I had it with me that day in the Kush. I was going to find you and ask you to marry me.”

“You were?”

“Yeah. I was. Because as crazy as it was, because we sure as hell hadn’t had any kind of normal, getting-to-know-each-other type of relationship, I loved you, Captain Dr. Kirby Campbell. I loved you then, and I love you now.

“And I want to marry you. And have children with you, and grow old walking hand in hand on the beach, or a forest, or just rocking on the front porch, watching our grandkids throw sticks for the dog.”

“We’re going to have a dog?”

“Well, not if you don’t want one. I mean, if you’re allergic, or—”

“I love dogs.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Of course it is,” she said. “I love you, Shane. I’ve loved you forever. Since that very first day in the CSH.”

“You just fell for my ass.”

“It was a very fine ass. Still is, as a matter of fact. But I fell for rest of you, too. And now that I’ve decided to give up that giving-up-on-men idea, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather make babies with.

“As for Fort Campbell, Tennessee and Kentucky sound lovely. But I’d be willing to go to Timbuktu. So long as we are together.”

She opened the box. Drew in a quick breath as she took in the ring he’d never been able to get rid of.

“It fits,” she murmured, slipping it onto her finger.

“Of course it does. Just like us.”

“You certainly took long enough,” she complained prettily.

“I know. And you can feel free to remind me of that every year on our anniversary. But at least I had one thing going in my favor.”

“And what’s that?”

He lowered his smiling lips to hers. “Night Stalkers never quit.”

Read on for a sneak peek

at Breakpoint by JoAnn Ross,

due in bookstores

July 2009.

Somewhere in Afghanistan

It was 1430 hours or, as was commonly known among Spec Ops forces, O-Dark-Thirty.

The Afghan mountains had never been Tech Sergeant Dallas O’Halloran’s favorite part of the world, even before he’d had the bad luck to be on a Chinook shot down by an insurgent RPG not far from here.

But he’d survived that less-than-stellar experience, and it wasn’t like he got to choose the missions. Nor did he have any control over the torrential rain that was pounding down like bullets, causing rivers to overflow their banks, creating mud slides, and turning the ground he was slogging through into a quagmire.

An Air Force Combat Controller, he was accustomed to operating at the sharpest point of the spear. The CCT motto was “First in, last out,” and since Hollywood didn’t make movies about them, like they did those showboat SEAL frogboys or Delta Force hotshots, very few civilians knew they existed.

Which was just the way Dallas liked it.

A self-professed adrenaline junky, he’d cleared minefields to allow copters to land, and had even kicked a boat out of a helo over the ocean in the dead of night, free-fallen into the water, inflated the boat, then continued on his mission, occasionally pulling out his A-4 to help clear the area of bad guys, while still managing to juggle aircraft overhead to keep them from flying into one another.

More than one of his commanders had sworn he could think in four dimensions, and although he never boasted about his exploits, neither did Dallas argue the fact. Not wanting fellow SEAL and Delta Force team members—who could break spines with their bare hands—thinking of him as some geeky brainiac, he also never volunteered that he liked to relax by play three-dimensional chess.