Forged in Ember

by Trish McCallan

  He walked back to the table with Link beside him. The minute everyone was settled and quiet, Rawls launched the first of the questions.

  Slouched back in his chair, he was all Southern laziness. “Run through the personnel on-site per shift again.”

  They’d asked him variations of this question at least half a dozen times so far. It was an important one. A life-and-death one. If the answers offered weren’t truthful, they needed to know. Lies could be caught during repetition. If someone knew the answer to a question, it came immediately to mind. If it was false, if they had made it up, they hesitated, trying to remember the details of their answers before. Or they offered different answers. So far Link’s answers had come quickly and been consistent.

  Mac was almost certain he wasn’t lying.

  “Day shift has six people,” Link said patiently. “The housekeeper, who also cooks; the groundskeeper; the doctor; two nurses; and the helicopter pilot. The helicopter is parked on the pad. After six p.m., the housekeeper and groundskeeper retire to their house on the opposite side of the island. So there are four people in the compound between six p.m. and six a.m. Everyone except the night nurse will be sleeping. The physician and pilot are on call but are required to remain on the premises in case of an emergency.”

  “How long are the shifts?” Cosky spoke this time.

  “Twelve hours.”

  Mac grabbed the legal notepad they’d been taking notes on and folded the sheets until he came to a fresh page. He pushed it and a pen toward Link.

  “Map out the compound. Rooms, bathrooms, closets. Don’t leave anything out.”

  There were two other such maps among the pages. Those two had matched up perfectly. They’d see if this one did as well. Once the map was drawn and rechecked, everyone settled back in their chairs.

  “With the compound chopper already taking up the pad, when we call ours in, it’ll have to land somewhere else,” Cosky said.

  Their strategy called for a water insertion—he hoped like fuck this one went better than the last—followed by a helicopter landing once the compound had been secured.

  Kait would come in with the bird.

  “There is a large courtyard off the library. It’s across the compound, so it will be a bit of a longer haul. But there’s plenty of room to land your helicopter.” Link paused, frowned, and seemed to hesitate before finally shrugging. “You guys understand that Embray is incapable of speech. Incapable of movement. You won’t get anything out of him. If you’re thinking of using him as a hostage, a negotiating chip, you’ll be wasting your time and resources. Eric and Coulson will never negotiate for him. They don’t need to. He can’t do them any harm now. He can’t do you any good. This whole endeavor is rather useless.”

  Silence rounded the table, and everyone avoided looking at one another.

  From Link’s perspective, what they were planning would sound foolish and wasteful. But he didn’t know about the ace up their sleeve.

  Which reminded Mac . . .

  He stretched, made a show of looking at his watch before rising to his feet. “I think we’re good for tonight. I’m going to take a walk, check in on Benji. One of you boys take Link back to the war room.”

  A round of amused, knowing looks passed among his men. He ignored them. They were certain he was headed off to visit a woman. He was, but not the woman they assumed. There was another woman on his mind. A woman he happened to know was sitting by Benji’s bedside, giving Amy a break to shower and eat.

  It was time to get down and dirty—in a conversational way—with Kait Winchester.

  Cosky might be adamantly opposed to letting Kait into that room, but Cosky’s fiancée had a mind and heart of her own, along with an interesting way of getting Cosky to change his mind.

  When he explained the circumstances and consequences to her, she’d insist on joining them in that room regardless of Cosky’s opposition. Regardless of the danger. He had to hand it to her: the woman was a warrior at heart.

  For an instant, just an instant, a swell of guilt pressed in on him. If anything happened to her during this mission, Cosky would never forgive him. Hell, he might not forgive himself.

  It was a hell of a realization—one he wouldn’t have had six months ago. But when he thought of swapping Kait for Amy—of walking her into danger—yeah, his perception tilted on its axis.

  What the hell were these women doing to him?

  Chapter Seventeen

  AMY PAUSED BEFORE Mac’s door, a glaring sense of déjà vu creeping up on her. Hadn’t she just done this? Was that her modus operandi these days? Show up at Mackenzie’s door in the middle of the night without invitation?

  Any other man might take her new hobby as an invitation to a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am. She frowned. Heck, considering that verbal sexual ambush she’d done on him at her son’s bedside, he could be forgiven for assuming that was exactly what she was after.

  She wasn’t. She just wanted to say thank you, that was all. Let him know how much she appreciated the lengths he’d go to help her son.

  When Amy had returned from showering and grabbing a quick bite, Kait had told her how Mac had approached her to explain why it was imperative that she attempt to heal Embray in his hospital room while he was still hooked up to the machines.

  The fact that Mac had hunted Kait down in private, rather than having Cosky enlist her aid, was a clear indication that Cosky had been vehemently opposed to the plan. So opposed, he hadn’t planned to tell her about the option.

  Which meant Mac had gone around his best friend and lieutenant’s back. A move that could very well cause a massive schism between the two men—perhaps between the entire team.

  But he’d done it anyway.

  Because the best chance of saving Benji was bringing Embray back alive. To keep him alive, they needed Kait in that room to heal him before unhooking him from the machines.

  Amy wasn’t a woman who cried often or easily. She could count on both hands how many times she’d given in to tears. But what he’d done, the possible sacrifice he’d made—for Benji, for her—brought the blur of tears to her eyes.

  Mackenzie was not a soft man. Or a man given to extravagant measures. He was an honest man. A good man. One who saw the world in black and white. He moved within his world on the twin principles of trust and loyalty—when it came to his team, anyway. When it came to his life as a SEAL.

  Yet he’d broken both of his core principles—Cosky’s trust and his own loyalty to his teammates—for her.

  She should have been appalled at what he’d done, what he’d sacrificed—except he’d done it to save Benji and Brendan. And she was good with that reason. She’d break every oath, every principle, every law to save her sons.

  She needed him to know she understood what he’d done and what his actions might cost him. She needed him to know how much she appreciated his efforts.

  How much she appreciated him.

  But . . . she glanced down the deserted hallway and listened to the silence. No noise drifted through any of the doors. She’d lost track of time, and the lack of windows in the base screwed with her natural body rhythm, but she sensed it was late. Quite late.

  Maybe she didn’t need to let him know all this right now.

  Maybe it could wait until morning. Besides, Kait—who had agreed to watch Benji for a bit longer—would need to head back to the apartment she shared with Cosky.

  As she turned, set to leave, the door abruptly opened. Mac looked as surprised to see her as she was to see him.

  “Hey,” he said, obviously at a loss for words.

  “Hey,” she repeated, at a loss herself.

  After a few seconds of awkwardly staring at each other, he stepped back and threw the door open wide.

  “You want to come in?”

  “Sure.” The word was garbled and breathless, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “Yeah. Sure.”

  The awkward silence followed them into the room. Amy cleared her throat ag
ain. “I’m not keeping you from anything, am I? Looks like you were on your way out.”

  He shrugged and ran a hand over his hair. “Nah, couldn’t sleep. Decided to get out, stretch my legs.”

  “Ah.” Well, this conversation was sure going nowhere fast. Her gaze settled on his hair. It was quite a bit longer than it had been when she’d first laid eyes on him. Rather than those spiky bristles, it looked soft and thick with the slightest hint of a curl.

  Sexy.

  The gray at his temples added a touch of dignity to the sexy.

  “How’s Benji?”

  She forced her eyes back to his face, finding concern in his expression.

  “The same.” Her throat closed, causing another round of throat clearing. “I guess I should be grateful his blood work hasn’t gotten worse.”

  It was hard to feel grateful about anything, though, except possibly the man standing in front of her.

  “We’re hoping to get the go-ahead tomorrow morning. Head out early enough to hit the San Juan Islands by midnight.”

  Another midnight operation. He was probably used to them. From what she gathered from listening in on Mackenzie and his men while they talked shop or strategy, these midnight missions were preferred. It made sense. Most people would be asleep, with slower reflexes and mental fuzziness.

  “You’re going in by boat again?” Amy wasn’t surprised by his nod. He’d mentioned that possibility earlier.

  “Too loud and bright by bird. It would wake up everyone on the island, blow the operation. The island’s too small to land a couple of klicks away and hike in. So we’re stuck with a beach landing.”

  She nodded again, tried to remember why she’d come. Oh yeah . . . “I wanted to thank you. I mean, that’s why I came. To thank you. For everything you’re doing for Benji . . . for me.”

  It was hard to believe he could look even more uncomfortable, but he managed it. All fidgety and awkward.

  “It’s no big deal,” he muttered, staring at his boots instead of her face. “The least I could do.”

  Her heart melted. He looked like a grade schooler who’d just given his first crush a fistful of wildflowers—if the grade schooler were six feet tall and sexy as hell.

  Maybe she wasn’t here just because of her appreciation.

  “Look, about what I said at the clinic.” She glanced at the wall clock. It was after midnight. She couldn’t stay long; she needed to get back to Benji. But this needed to be said.

  “You don’t need to worry about that.” He lifted his head, caught her eyes. The gaze that held hers was so earnest it wrenched her heart. “You’re under tremendous stress. I get it. I didn’t take that conversation seriously, and I don’t harbor any expectations. We’ll just forget you brought it up.”

  Her heart melted into a gooey puddle and started dripping all over the floor.

  What a complete idiot.

  “That’s awfully understanding of you,” she told him dryly. “But I was serious about what I said. I was also completely aware of what I was offering, regardless of the tremendous stress I’ve been under. Obviously the timing is off right now. But after you get back with Embray and once Benji is back to normal, I fully intend to jump your bones.”

  He rocked back on his feet, his mouth falling open like she’d hit him with a Taser.

  He did a slow shake of his head, befuddlement in his eyes. “Jump my bones?”

  “I’m sorry. Is that slang not in your lexicon? How about I fully intend to fuck you two ways to Sunday.” She lifted an eyebrow and hoped the jargon came off as smoothly confident rather than uncomfortable and out of character—which was how she felt. “Does that clear it up?”

  The shell-shocked look vanished. A mesmerizing glitter sprang up in his black eyes. He cocked his head, studying her intently before tsking. “I’m astonished to hear such profanity coming from you, considering your distaste of swearing.”

  “You mean fuck?” The eyebrow she lifted was pure challenge. “I’m not using it as an adjective. I’m using it as a verb—an action verb to be precise; hence it is not swearing.”

  “How inventive.” He took a predatory step forward, meeting her challenge and escalating it. “So do I have any say in this?”

  “Of course!” She forced herself to remain still when every instinct insisted on retreat. “If my offer doesn’t interest you, I’ll move on. I’m sure there are other men on base willing to take me up on it.”

  The glitter in his eyes intensified. “Fuck that. Nobody on base will touch you.”

  What? He doesn’t think anyone else will find me desirable?

  “Course, I might have to neuter your first few choices until the message gets out.”

  Oh . . .

  “What message?” she whispered as he closed in on her.

  “That you’re taken,” he murmured against her lips.

  Rather than nerves, a warm, fluffy sense of desirability rose inside her. It had been a long time since she’d felt wanted like this. A very long time.

  But then the memory of what happened during their last kiss flashed through her mind. She hadn’t planned on passion coming into play tonight, and she hadn’t had a chance to start researching rape trauma yet.

  It shouldn’t matter, though, right? This felt so perfect and immediate. She’d just concentrate on the man before her and drown out the bad memories.

  The first kiss had been at her instigation. But this second one . . . this second one was all his.

  She expected his lips to seize hers, to blaze across her with the same hunger she saw carved across his face and glittering in his eyes.

  Instead they were soft, gentle—seducing instead of taking. His lips stroked. His teeth nipped. His tongue licked. He worked a tingling path across her mouth and cheek, lingered for a thorough exploration of the sensitive spot just below her ear, and then lazily nibbled his way back to her lips. She was putty beneath his mouth by the time his lips finally settled back on hers.

  He felt so good against her. Solid. Hot. Pure male animal. At some point during his lazy seduction, her hands had found the hem of his T-shirt and crept up under it, enjoying the sensation of hard muscle beneath her palms. Then she discovered that a light scrape of fingernails down the rigid plane of his back left rippling muscles in their wake. And that if she dug her nails in slightly, the tempo of his heart picked up. He suckled her lips a little harder, a little faster, as some of that laziness gave way to hunger.

  She wanted the hunger. She wanted him raw and panting under her hands. She wanted to be devoured as though she were unbreakable—made of steel.

  To move him along, she opened her mouth and flicked her tongue along his lips. Her arms tightened, her fingers digging harder into his back.

  Tingles spread across her scalp and down her spine, settling into the hot, throbbing junction between her legs. Squeezing her legs together to ease the building ache, she nibbled his lips and teased his tongue with the flirty swipe of hers. Her body subtly stroked his, hips to hips, breasts to chest, as the wicked blast of longing grew stronger.

  She could do this. Hunger ruled her. Nothing mattered but Mac and the need unfurling inside her.

  Now she wanted—needed—more.

  He got the message . . . and acted on it. His mouth opened wide over hers—seduction overtaken by hunger. By claiming. His hands moved down to her hips to drag her against his swollen crotch. As his mouth moved over hers and his tongue swept into her mouth, his arms slid around her back.

  Hard arms locked her against him until they were sealed together, pelvis to pelvis, breast to chest, mouth to mouth. Until she was completely helpless and trapped in his arms.

  Unease stirred and nudged back the urgency. She concentrated fiercely on Mac. Reminded herself whose arms she was in. When she pulled back, his arms loosened but not quite fast enough.

  Flash.

  The nightmare roared up, swamping her.

  Harsh bright lights. Burning around her wrists and ankles and between
her legs. A hot, hard body on top of her. Helplessness. Trapped.

  She jolted back. The unease shot straight to panic. Her arms fled his back. She forced her hands between their bodies and shoved.

  “Amy . . . Amy, easy . . . easy, babe.” His arms loosened even more.

  She broke away so violently she would have gone over backward and hit the floor if his hand hadn’t snaked out, captured her elbow, and steadied her.

  With great gulping breaths, she stood before him. Shaking. Her skin crawled. The nightmare still raked her mind. Once she was steady on her feet, he let her elbow go and stepped back.

  “I’m sorry.” She forced the apology out on gulps of air.

  God . . . oh God . . . how could you do this to him again?

  “You have nothing to apologize for.” His voice was quiet and firm. “We’ll work around this. It will just take time.”

  That sounded like he hadn’t given up on her. The realization gave her the courage to raise her head. She found him standing before her, his face calm, his stance firm. Like he wasn’t going anywhere. There was concern in the frown that wrinkled his brow. But no anger. No blame. No defeat.

  “We should have expected these . . . aftershocks,” he told her in that same quiet, calm voice. “After what happened, after what those bastards did to you—” He flinched as she recoiled.

  “Aftershocks,” she repeated, the breathless gulps giving way to hoarseness. Her heart and lungs were settling. Her skin had stopped its crawl.

  “Aftershocks. Consequences. Whatever you want to call it.” Mac scanned her face and relaxed slightly. “The point is, we know what triggers your reaction now.”

  “We do?” Amy tilted her head, staring back in bewilderment. What was he talking about?

  The panic had dissipated, as had the flashback. Her lungs and heart were working again, but the panic attack had flushed the hunger out of her system too. It had stolen her passion. Frustrated anger whipped through her, blasting away the icy touch of the nightmare.

  “Yes, we do.” Mac’s face gentled. He took a careful step forward. “You reacted only when my arms closed around you, when I pulled you to me and held you there. When I wasn’t touching you or I touched you only lightly, you were fine. Hell, you were as hot as I was.”