Explosive Conditions

by L. J. Garland

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Explosive Conditions

  Copyright © 2014 by L.J. Garland and Debbie Gould

  ISBN: 978-1-61333-668-7

  Cover art by Fiona Jayde

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

  Look for us online at:

  www.decadentpublishing.com/

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  Explosive Conditions

  Pararescuemen – Book 3

  A 1Night Stand Story

  By

  L.J. Garland

  &

  Debbie Gould

  ~Dedication~

  To the men and women who risk their lives every day to make the world a safer place. We thank you.

  Chapter One

  The familiar buzz of adrenaline coursed through Staff Sergeant Zeke “Diz” Matthews’ veins as he prepared to rappel one hundred feet to the stranded sailboat bobbing on the choppy Gulf waters below. Rope dangling out of the helo, salty smoke-filled winds buffeting his face, Diz made a rapid descent, landing on the bow of the drifting vessel. He unhooked and got out of the way as three other team members made their way down—Tech Sergeant Bobby “Bobcat” Martin remaining behind to cover them with the 50 cal. Nobody I’d rather have watching our asses.

  The team had been out training when they’d spotted The Liquid Asset. Not far from the yacht, a suspicious red speedboat cut across the seas toward land. A quick call to the Coast Guard revealed no distress calls logged. So why hadn’t the speedboat rendered aid? Pirates. Must have heard our approach and made a run for it.

  On alert, Diz drew his 9mm Baretta and scanned the premises. Charred railings, the mast leaning askew at a dangerous angle, the deck streaked with…. Damn. From the amount of blood covering the wood, someone had life-threatening injuries. The training-turned-mission was headed south fast.

  “Search for survivors,” Lt. Colin “Ghost” Beckett ordered once Junior Lieutenant Kyle “Raven” Alvarez and Senior Airman Jason Moore were on board.

  Diz took the stairs down to the starboard cabin, passing the galley where Kyle would search.

  “One down in the cockpit,” came Jason’s voice over the communications headset. “Male. I hazard a guess in his mid to late forties. Dude’s been beaten bad. Throat’s cut.”

  Jesus Christ, this is bad.

  “Stern clear,” came Ghost’s voice. “Lots of blood though.”

  “Galley’s been ransacked,” Raven said, checking in. “Wait. Got a body.”

  Diz crept down the stairs into the living and sleeping area of the vessel.

  “Aw, hell,” Raven muttered. “It’s a guy. Mid-twenties, maybe. Hard to tell with all the blood. Same as Jason’s. Throat cut.”

  Diz pulled out his flashlight, switched it on, and moved toward the stateroom. As he reached for the doorknob, a glint of light caused him to pause. He moved the light beam for a closer look. A wire ran from the jamb and disappeared behind a cabinet. “Hold, guys. I found something.”

  “What?” Ghost asked.

  “A wire. Checking now.” He edged across the floor, scanning the carpet with his flashlight. Kneeling in front of the cabinet, he traced his fingers around the edges. No triggers. Good. Holding his breath, he eased the door open. Oh, fuck. “Ghost, we got a problem.”

  “Talk to me.”

  “Half a dozen bricks of C4 wired to the stateroom door. Timer.”

  “Shit,” Ghost growled.

  “Down to two minutes.”

  “There might be survivors in that room. Can you disarm it?”

  “On it.” Zeke trained the light on the bomb, his gaze tracing wires. Seemed whoever jammed this lethal masterpiece together believed in misdirection. Several of the wires were duds, meant to confuse or mislead. But then several others were rigged to blow. Fuck me. This wasn’t put together by pirates. He glanced at the stateroom door. What the hell is in there?

  He shifted his attention back to the bomb. “Ah, there you are, sneaky bastard.” He tapped his mic. “I think I got it, LT.”

  “Do you or don’t you?” Ghost responded.

  “I got it.” Reaching in his belt pack, he pulled out a pair of wire cutters. Steeling himself, he positioned the tool. “Cutting in three…two….”

  Snick.

  Silence. He blew out a shaky breath.

  “So, did you cut the damn wire or not?” came Kyle over the radio.

  “You’re still breathing, aren’t you?” he shot back. “We’re clear.”

  “Good job,” Ghost said.

  The guys chattered their relief in his earbud. Zeke moved toward the stateroom, slowly turned the knob, and opened the door. Holy shit. Even in the semidarkness, he could tell the room had been ransacked. A chair lay turned on its side against the wall. Dresser drawers were pulled open, clothes littered the floor, and even the pages of a book had been ripped out and tossed aside. What were the thieves after? And to rig the ship to blow like that? Musta been something important.

  The hot metallic scent of blood filled his nostrils. Never a good sign. He swept the light beam across the floor, following a wet crimson trail, and jolted, his hand tightening on his gun. Aw, shit.

  Two women—beaten, gagged, and bound by ropes—lay against the far wall. Their hands were clasped together, and they faced each other on a narrow bed. Neither moved or appeared to be breathing.

  He stepped closer to the older of the two and placed his fingers over her carotid. Damn it. He fingered his mic. “Two female victims. No pulse on one. I’m checking the other.”

  He slid over to the younger woman. As he reached to brush aside her long brown hair from where it lay matted against her neck, a bloodied hand clamped hard around his wrist. The woman’s lids popped open, revealing the greenest, most terrified eyes he’d ever seen.

  Chapter Two

  Six months later….

  Zeke sprang up in h
is bed, his pulse hammering. Sweat covered his body and drenched the sheets tangled around him. Shit. The same damn nightmare for six months. Except it wasn’t a nightmare. The vivid dream replayed the exact events that transpired during one of their training exercises when they’d come across a disabled yacht. A family had been slaughtered. The twenty-seven-year-old daughter, Kaci Phillips, had survived the massacre—barely. And since then, her emerald gaze had haunted him every night.

  She’d been terrified of him at first, trying to push him away. He’d had a hard time convincing her to let go of her mother. But when he told her he was with the Air Force and there to help, she’d grabbed onto him and didn’t let go until they handed her over to the doctors at the hospital. Her sobs tore at his heart and echoed in his soul every day.

  Throwing back the damp sheets, Zeke rose and strode through the dark house to the kitchen. He grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water. An image of her frightened gaze dashed through his mind, her bloodied body, swollen eye, and tear-stained face. He shuddered, a mix of anguish and rage twisting his gut.

  He hadn’t gone back to see her after they’d delivered her to the Emergency Department. The effect she’d had on him in the short time it had taken to lift her off the boat and transport her to the nearest medical facility had been profound. During his tour with the Pararescue Jumpers, he’d seen enough shit to last anyone a lifetime. But nothing had stayed with him like the scene on that sailboat. Nothing like her. If he’d gone to see her after, he might not have ever left her side—a complication he didn’t need in his life.

  Zeke rubbed his temples. Hell of a headache. He’d hoped the six-pack of beer would help him sleep dreamless through the night. Instead, it’d left him parched and with a pounder of a migraine. He snagged the ibuprofen from the cabinet, popped the top, and chased four caplets down with the glass of water.

  He’d read the reports, and it appeared pirates had raided The Liquid Asset. He didn’t agree—where would pirates have come up with half a dozen bricks of C4? Mr. Phillips had been a corporate lawyer and his wife Patricia an investigative reporter for The Florida Times. The son was still in school, working on a law degree. Their backgrounds had been checked, and authorities were unable to find anyone who might want to harm the friendly, outgoing couple or their family.

  Their daughter, Kaci, had checked out as well, and the whole incident written off as a horrible tragedy. Neat and tidy and tucked away. But crap, it didn’t sit right. Zeke didn’t buy one piece of it. They’d all seen the mess on that boat, but the others hadn’t heard the words Kaci whispered to her mother as she was pulled from her grasp.

  “I’ll find it, Mom. I swear.”

  Zeke set the glass in the sink and padded to the living room to sit on the couch. Nope, pirates didn’t have a damn thing to do with the murders and torching of that boat.

  But there wasn’t a damn thing he could do. No matter what he’d heard or how he felt about the incident, nothing would make a difference to the people in charge who wanted the investigation wrapped up with a tight, pretty bow. So instead, he got disrupted sleep, waking up before dawn with dreams of haunted eyes in a beautiful face framed by sun-tinted brown tresses.

  Zeke shoved his palms through his hair and then glanced at the clock near the television. Three forty-five a.m. The guys would meet for PT—Physical Training—in an hour. He pushed up from the couch. Might as well get some java flowing through his veins. The caffeine might even chase his migraine away. Either way, he needed to shake off the damn dream before he met with the rest of the team.

  Nothing slipped by them, and their friggin insights pissed him off—even if they were accurate. He didn’t need it. Damn fools, anyway.

  Showered, dressed, and full of octane, he arrived on base and met up with Lt. Beckett, Martin, Alvarez, and Moore.

  The team computer whiz met him at the door to the training room. “Man, you look”

  “What?” Zeke snapped. “I know you weren’t about to say like shit.”

  Kyle swaggered over. “No, he was going to say, you look like you need a Twinkie.” He held out a package containing a yellow sponge cake crammed with sugary filling.

  Zeke snorted and snatched the carbohydrate nightmare. Hell, all the preservatives in the world couldn’t make him feel any worse than he already did. Ripping the plastic open, he shoved half the snack cake into his mouth, and sickly sweet cream assaulted his tongue. His stomach rolled, but he forced himself to swallow. “Good God, how do you eat this crap? I can feel my damn heart slowing from clogged arteries after one bite.”

  The team medic smirked and popped another cake in his mouth.

  “Hey, Diz.” Bobby slapped him on the back. “Thought I’d warned you about getting sucked into Kyle’s Cream Lover’s Cult.”

  The two men always shot insults at one another, a friendly rivalry—most of the time. But with Bobby’s sniper expertise and Kyle as the team medic, they each understood the value of the other. Each team member was trained as an airborne emergency medical technician, stabilizing patients and offering basic trauma care. They could also perform battlefield surgery—insert chest tubes, remove fluid from around the heart, even perform amputations, if need be. And they could do all that after parachuting into hostile territory to rescue a downed pilot, scuba diving into murky waters, squeezing underneath a wrecked vehicle, or rappelling from the helicopter into a free-fire zone. Hell, they lived and breathed danger, and loved every minute of it. Their motto: These things we do, that others may live. But Kyle had also gone through four years of medical school before joining the Air Force.

  The team medic chewed his snack cake and grinned, his dark eyes narrowing. With a nod, he gave Bobby the finger, executed an about-face, and strode away.

  Bobby cackled. “Damn, I love pissing that guy off. Too easy.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a red bag and poured candies into his palm. “Hell, everyone knows Skittles are a more manly choice than Twinkies.” He tossed the colored candies into his mouth.

  “And how does Siobhan feel about your Skittle addiction?” Colin entered the room and ushered them toward the table where they would discuss their training for the day.

  “Loves it.”

  Colin raised a brow. “Right.” He pulled out a chair and sat. “How Madame Eve ever found your perfect match, I’ll never know. It’s clear the woman wields some serious magic.”

  Bobby frowned. “Hey, probably the easiest match she ever made. I’m a lovable guy.”

  “Right.” Kyle took a seat, turning his attention to Colin. “And I hear you made captain. Congratulations, man. Hard earned, well deserved.”

  Zeke joined the rest of the team in the accolades. Colin Beckett was a good leader, a good friend.

  “Thanks.” Shaking his head, Colin shifted his gaze to Zeke. “And what about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “You look like shit.”

  Jason burst out laughing. Zeke glared at him, and the kid rolled over to a fit of coughing. Yeah, like that would fool anyone.

  “You need to get laid,” Bobby said. “And quick. Colin’s right, you look like shit.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” he snapped and dropped into a chair. Kaci’s face flashed in his mind, but he forced it away. “So, I’m not sleeping so good. Happens to people all around the world. It’s not affecting my performance. I can still run any of you assholes into the ground.”

  Bobby snorted and jerked a thumb toward the computer whiz. “The kid says he can take you on the cargo nets.”

  Jason blanched. “What?”

  The team sniper squeezed Jason’s shoulder. “Don’t let me down, Moore. I’ve got money on you.”

  Zeke bolted to his feet and stormed from the building. He walked halfway across the parking lot to stand in the dark and inhale the salt-tinged morning air. Damn, the sun hadn’t even risen, and Kaci was already foremost in his thoughts. Would he ever get past this?

  “We were just yanking your chain.”
Bobby strode toward him, stopping at his side to stare out over the tarmac lined with helicopters and refueling jets.

  “Fuck you.”

  Bobby nodded and handed him a business card.

  Zeke squinted at the card, unable to make out the words in the semidarkness. “What’s this, some shrink?”

  “No, but that might help, too.” He turned to face the buildings behind them. “I get it, you know? I was in a dark place. Not like yours, but dark enough. Madame Eve works miracles.” He gestured at the card. “She’ll contact you in a couple days.”

  Zeke gritted his teeth, and Bobcat marched off across the lot, his boots pounding the asphalt.

  “You’re welcome,” came his call. “And don’t be late for PT. No sense pissing the Captain off.”

  A one-night stand through Madame Eve’s service? How the hell was he supposed to hook up with someone when every night he dreamed of Kaci Phillips? One night of no-strings, hot sex would not fix his problems. No way.

  Zeke shoved the card into his pocket and pivoted toward the building where the rest of his team waited.

  Shit.

  Chapter Three

  “Oh, my God. I…. Oh!” The rush of sensations—the surprise, the shock—left Kaci at a loss for words. “I didn’t know it would be like this. It feels so good. Holy cow, why didn’t you do this before?” She ran her fingers through the shortened, silky strands of her freshly cut and colored hair.

  What had once been long bland tresses of nameless brown were now short, sassy, coppery red locks. Just gazing into the mirror in her best friend’s salon, took her light years away from the defeated woman she’d been the last six months.

  Tara, the tall brunette she’d know all her life, stood behind her with her hands on Kaci’s shoulders. “You weren’t ready. You were still in mourning. And I’m not saying you aren’t still raw with the loss of your parents and brother, but I’ve seen that spark back in your eyes over the past couple weeks. Whether you believe it or not, you’re ready to face whatever it is you’ve been hiding from us.”