Breaking Point

by Lindsey McKenna

  Tears gather in her eyes. The poor rabbit’s foot was pathetically hairless, but she curled her fingers around it. “I—I promise I’ll wear it, Gabe.” The words I love you were almost torn out of her. What if she was killed in the next two months? Bay knew it was better Gabe did not know she was falling in love with him; the grief would be easier for him to bear if it did happen.

  Framing Bay’s face, he kissed her hard, branding her. He was hers. Bay absorbed his strength and courage into that final soul-searing kiss.

  As they came apart, Gabe rasped, “I’ll be waiting for you, Bay...that’s a promise... We’ll have email...Skype...” And he turned on his heel, opened the door and silently slipped out of it.

  Her mouth tingled wildly in the wake of his last, powerful kiss. The main door opened and shut. Standing there, fingertips resting against her swollen lower lip, Bay felt her knees go weak. Leaning against the desk, her breath coming in gulps, she closed her eyes. She allowed herself to feel Gabe touching her, his hands heatedly memorizing her body, kissing her senseless. She’d never felt more hungry, more needy, than right now. Somewhere in her spinning senses, she realized belatedly that Chief Hampton knew they had a relationship, albeit a chaste one. That was why he’d arranged this unexpected meeting. Bay opened her eyes, resting her hands on the desk. Either Hampton had sensed it or Gabe had told him directly about it. She’d find out more later.

  Smiling softly, Bay eased off the desk. She gently placed the lucky rabbit’s foot in her cammie pocket and closed it. In the distance, she could hear a CH-47 powering up to take off. It was carrying the SEAL platoon to Bagram. The puncturing whirl of the blades reverberated throughout the camp. Her heart expanded with silent joy over being able to kiss Gabe. How long had she wanted to do that? Four months. And two more to go.

  Bay left the now-silent building. The helicopter bearing the SEAL team was leaving, the roar covering Camp Bravo. She headed slowly toward the Black Jaguar Squadron HQ. There, she would receive her new orders. Somewhere in this camp, she’d be taking those new orders to another captain of an Army Special Forces A team. And she’d learn to fit in again, become a team member and be support to that group, just as she had done with this SEAL platoon.

  Her heart exploded with joy over being able to say goodbye to Gabe, to be held in his powerful arms and kissed until her world melted into his. Bay knew without question, it was love. She’d never before felt what she felt for Gabe. Over the next two months, they’d make their relationship work. If they could handle the past four months of looking and no touching, the next two months would be bearable. As the SEAL saying went, the only easy day was yesterday.

  Christmas. Bay halted as she saw a CH-47 in the distance, moving higher into the early morning light blue sky, heading toward Bagram. The man she loved was on that flight. Pressing her hand against her wildly pounding heart, suffused with love for him, Bay stood there, watching the helicopter finally grow into a small black dot and then disappear altogether into the blue of the sky.

  Christmas...

  Compressing her lips, Bay forced herself to walk to the BJS HQ. Her body might be here at Camp Bravo, but her heart was held gently between the hands of a SEAL warrior who loved her with a fierceness that took her breath away. Christmas couldn’t come too soon....

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  GABE WAS WORRIED. He stood inside Lindbergh International Airport, the main San Diego civilian terminal, waiting for the arrival of Bay’s commercial airliner. Leaning casually against one of the walls off to one side of the security area, arms across his chest, Gabe absently watched people streaming from the security area. Christmas music played softly in the background. It was raining, the weather cool for San Diego. He wore a black leather jacket along with his Levi’s jeans and a red, long-sleeved cotton shirt beneath it.

  His gaze moved across the happy crowds, the excited people waiting on this side of security for their loved ones to emerge so they could welcome them home. His mouth compressed with long-held emotions as he waited impatiently for Bay. Gabe began to understand as never before what a family went through stateside. The tables had been turned on him. He was home, safe in the States, and Bay was in harm’s way. Gabe was grateful the master chief of his platoon, Braidy Colton, was able to feed him intel, up to a point, on Bay and her whereabouts with the Special Forces A team she had been assigned to.

  His brow furrowed as he thought about the last transmission from the SEAL platoon based at Camp Bravo. Bay’s team was in that same village they’d been in before, the same one where the medevac crew was killed by a Taliban RPG. After the B-52s had cleared out the Taliban insurgents, that Special Forces team went in and lived in the village, trying to stabilize it. The U.S. Army black ops group was much different from the SEALs in that they were nation builders. SEALs were not. They took the fight to the bad guys. SF teams went in, created connection with the leaders and people. They remained in the village, providing medical, food and any other type of humanitarian services they could render. Many of the team members spoke Pashto and were educated on the tribe’s protocols. Bay had taken the place of another 18 Delta corpsman who was wounded in an earlier firefight with that SF team.

  Gabe idly pulled his cell phone from his pocket and looked at it again. Bay had his cell number and would text him as soon as she deplaned. It was 8:00 p.m. and her flight from San Francisco was supposed to arrive any minute now. His heart soared with joy. And then it plummeted with anxiety. The master chief had called him at his condo in Coronado three days ago and told him to get into the Team HQ pronto. Colton had something to tell him that couldn’t be discussed over an unsecured phone.

  Gabe had driven to ST3 HQ on Coronado and seen the master chief. Colton had picked up some intel from the village Bay was in at present. The village had been attacked by Taliban. No matter what the master chief tried to do through the SEAL network at Camp Bravo, they could only get sporadic info about the firefight. Gabe was worried about Bay’s safety. Had she been wounded? Killed? He’d gone back to his condo, torn up and living in agonizing limbo.

  Things were tense at Camp Bravo, the SEAL OIC had told the master chief. Usually, in the winter, all attacks ceased because of the heavy snowfall and conditions impossible for moving an army around the Hindu Kush Mountains. But this time, the Taliban was on the move, something new in their strategy playbook. The attack on the village was showing the Taliban was active despite the terrible weather conditions. It was a buildup to the coming spring offensive the SEAL OIC at Camp Bravo told the master chief. Not a welcome sign.

  There was nothing on the screen of his cell phone. Gabe pushed it back into his pocket and waited. He’d gone through three days of hell of not knowing if Bay was wounded, dead or all right. Yesterday, out of the blue, he’d received a call from her. She had called him from Bagram Fixed Wing Terminal and was getting ready to board a C-5 to Rota, Spain. She would then catch another C-5 flight across the Atlantic to Andrews Air Force Base near Washington, D.C.

  Gabe had felt his dread dissolve beneath her husky voice. She spoke quickly, because boarding was going to take place in a few minutes. And yes, there had been a firefight at the village. She said she was good, and that’s all that mattered to him. But “good” in SEAL lingo had a whole lot of interpretations. Gabe had broken his ankle out on a mission, taped it up with duct tape and completed it. When the chief ask how he was, he’d said, “Good.” His instincts told him something was wrong with Bay but she couldn’t discuss it on the phone. Damn.

  But when she’d called from Andrews yesterday, Gabe’s concern grew. He heard exhaustion in Bay’s voice and understood how time zones, jet lag and not getting decent sleep all conspired against a person. Plus, she was coming directly out of combat. From war to peace in a very short space of time and no decompression time.

  And then, late in the afternoon, he’d gotten another call from her. She was stuck at Travis Air Force
Base north of San Francisco. There were no flights into NAS North Island at Coronado. She’d have to find another way to get to the San Francisco International Airport and then grab a commercial flight down to San Diego.

  Gabe knew the special pressures put on someone who’d been in combat who was suddenly thrown violently back into the civilian world. Airports were a special nightmare all of their own. The crowds, the TSA security and the holiday season meant herds of humanity. The last thing someone who’d just been in life-and-death combat situation wanted was to be surrounded by chatty people who had no sense of how the military person was feeling internally. Gabe was sure Bay needed to have silence, to be alone, to be given a chance to decompress, but none of that was happening for her. The extra emotional strain on Bay’s nervous system would tear her down. The only question was: How much?

  His cell phone vibrated. Gabe pulled it out and saw a text message. It was from Bay. She was deplaning. His heart rate doubled and he forced himself to remain where he was. A large crowd of awaiting, excited families gathered ten feet deep just outside security, anxious to see their loved ones to arrive. Another group, holding signs welcoming soldiers home, stood off to the left. His vantage point gave him a clear view of the narrow area between the wall and security where all passengers would flow into the terminal. The noise level grew in volumes as anticipation mounted.

  * * *

  BAY WALKED SLOWLY, remaining near the wall as hundreds of people quickly flowed past her. It felt good to get out of the cramped, ridiculously small coach seat of the airplane and move once again. Her body was bruised, her joints stiff. Just being active helped her feel better.

  She carried her ruck on her back, her weapons stored back at Andrews Air Force Base where she’d pick them up in thirty days. Wiping her face, she felt incredibly drained but her heart beat wildly in anticipation of seeing Gabe. He would understand what she was going through. He would provide her the safety and protection she so desperately craved. And most of all, even though she was fatigued, her spirit lifted as she got through the opening and out of security area.

  The noise hurt her ears and she winced. It was almost too much for her to bear. The crowds, the loud laughter, the cries of joy and celebration pounded against her oversensitized nervous system. Bay was suddenly jostled by a scowling businessman who had a briefcase in hand. He struck her left shoulder, trying to squeeze between her and the slower-moving crowd, throwing her off stride. A group of well-wishers waved a sign at a group of National Guard soldiers, men and women, ahead of her. There was a huge swell of cheers. With her ears ringing, all she wanted to do was find Gabe in this thick, milling crowd. Her senses were raw and blown. She didn’t even have the necessary focus to find him. For an instant, Bay felt adrift and panicked, turning slowly around, enclosed by the crowd.

  Fingers curved firmly around her upper right arm. Bay looked up. Gabe’s face was dark with concern as he pulled her against him and then used himself as a shield between her and the other passengers bumping and jostling into one another. Bay gave him a strained smile of welcome, her heart opening fiercely with love for him. He was being a SEAL right now, protecting her. He understood where she was emotionally, as if she were in another kind of brutal firefight.

  Gabe gently guided her off to one side, away from the milling crowds and rushing passengers. Feeling his guard dog energy, Bay released an audible sigh. He maneuvered her next to a wall where they could be alone.

  Gabe helped ease the heavy ruck off her shoulders, which caused her to grimace. He took the ruck and placed it across his left shoulder. Positioning himself in front of Bay, she wearily leaned against the wall, tilting her head up to meet his gaze.

  “Welcome home,” he rasped, leaning down and gently kissing her. The noise swelled even higher around them. Gabe could feel her cringe with anxiety. But he also felt her warmth, her personal joy of being with him once again. He kept their kiss short, knowing Bay needed his care. As he ran his hand down her left shoulder and along her back to her waist, she flinched and her face went white. What the hell? He instantly lifted his hand away from her waist, frowning.

  “What?” he demanded, searching her eyes.

  “It’s nothing. I’m good. Can we get down to baggage and pick up my duffel bag? I need to get out of here before I lose my mind.”

  He nodded, swallowing his concern. “Let’s go. I know a less crowded way to get down there,” he said, touching her cheek. Instant relief came into Bay’s face. She was terrifyingly vulnerable. What the hell had happened out in that village? Gabe placed his arm around her shoulders, kept her on his right side, away from all the jostling, pushing and moving hoards of civilians. Bay remained beneath Gabe’s arm while they waited forty-five minutes in Baggage before her green duffel bag was spit out onto the carousel. She seemed content to simply rest her head against his shoulder, absorb his strong, solid body as a support for her tired one. They didn’t speak much; they didn’t have to.

  Gabe retrieved the eighty-pound duffel and hoisted it easily across his right shoulder. Bay waited nearby. She looked better, a flush spreading across her cheeks. He’d shielded her so she could simply rest and hide beneath his arm. But why had Bay flinched when he barely grazed her ribs on the left side of her body? Saying nothing, Gabe guided her outside.

  The rain smelled wonderful. It was light, constant, the darkness hiding them as Gabe guided her toward the parking lot outside the terminal. The raindrops felt good the puddles splashed beneath their booted feet. Rain was such a blessing, and so little of it fell in Afghanistan. It was considered a rare event, one to celebrate.

  Gabe halted at his dark blue SUV and opened the passenger door for Bay.

  “Hop in,” he told her.

  She climbed in slowly, favoring her left side. Scowling, Gabe put the duffel and rucksack in the rear of his vehicle. As he closed it, he felt the rain running down the sides of his face. It was picking up, the wind beginning to blow. Once he climbed in, he could see Bay’s shadowed profile. Her brow was wrinkled, her right hand resting against her ribs on the left side of her body.

  “What’s going on with your ribs?” he asked, shutting the door.

  Bay’s mouth quirked. “I took a bullet to my Kevlar three days ago. It’s nothing. I’m good.” She turned her head, her gaze meeting his and melting beneath it. Gabe’s face was deeply shadowed, his eyes glittering with worry. “I’m okay, Gabe. I’m just—tired,” she whispered,

  “Got it,” he said, starting the SUV. Turning on the windshield wipers, he added, “We’ll be home in about thirty minutes.” Bay had picked up on something a SEAL always told his buddies or the chief. “I’m good” translated: “I’m hurting like hell, but I can continue the mission.” She didn’t fool him, but he didn’t gig her on it, either. Right now Bay needed peace, not pressure. Tenderness, not censure.

  Sighing, Bay closed her eyes, leaning against the seat, feeling all the tension begin to drain out of her. “I was so looking forward to this...to seeing you...”

  “I’m sorry you had such a hell of a time getting flights. You didn’t need that on top of everything else.” Gabe quickly guided the SUV out of the area, heading down the freeway toward San Diego and Coronado. The rain was picking up and the temperature was dropping. Worried, he would look at Bay every once in a while. She closed her eyes, her lips parted, her right hand protectively over her left side.

  “You were in a firefight three days ago,” he said quietly.

  “Yeah...a bad one.”

  “My master chief got wind of it through the SEAL platoon stationed at Bravo. Can you tell me what happened?”

  Bay sighed. “All hell broke loose.” She opened her eyes, watching the windshield wipers move quickly back and forth. The rain reminded her of tears falling from the sky. “No one was expecting an attack by the Taliban in winter. It had snowed the night before. I was with the SF team in a home i
n the center of the village. We were eating our MREs when the Taliban attacked. They were sending RPGs into every house they could reach.” Wiping her face, she felt the moisture beneath her fingertips.

  “The captain of the group called for help from Bravo, but the Taliban were in the village. It came down to the ten of us facing an unknown force. There was no drone up, either. We didn’t have eyes in the sky because the CIA didn’t fly them because no one attacked during the winter months. Both drones were in for maintenance.”

  “The Taliban is forever creative,” Gabe muttered, hearing the slur of her words. His mind bounced from her receiving a hit to her Kevlar to the stress of the attack. Bay had come straight out of a firefight, stepped on a C-5 and come back to Christmas crowds at a major civilian airport. A perfect storm.

  Bay managed a slight snort, but the pain in her left side amped up. Moving her fingers gently across the swollen, bruised area beneath her cammies, she whispered, “They have changed tactics.”

  “What happened then?” he demanded, seeing the Coronado Bridge that spanned the bay from San Diego to the island coming up. The lights along the graceful spans lit up the lowered clouds hanging just above it. Below, the lights glimmered reflectively across the dark waters of the San Diego Bay.

  “It—was awful.” Her voice lowered. “You know how you guys showed me how to move with a SIG in rattle battle?”

  “Yeah,” he said, his voice grim. It meant she was on the run with the SF team, running, firing and hoping like hell not to take a hit.

  “Well, we went on the offensive. We had no idea what kind of force we were up against. We moved in twos through the village, with NVGs on, finding out where the RPGs were being fired. I was with Sergeant Hugh Cristner, and he knew what he was doing. Eventually, we ran out of ammo for our rifles and went for our pistols.” Bay shook her head, her voice lowering with emotion. “I was down to my last mag in my SIG and Hugh was completely out of ammo. It was a scary situation because no one was coming to help us with any reinforcements. At dawn the next morning, after it was all over and we pushed the insurgents out of the village, we found fifty dead Taliban.”