Forged in Smoke (A Red-Hot SEALs Novel Book 3)

by Trish McCallan

  Once Cosky returned, with or without Rawls, they’d discuss heading topside to take those bastards on. Do some damage of their own.

  They could sure use a fountain of information—even a reluctant one.

  Of course, someone would have to stay with the women and children, provide some protection in case the motherfuckers above found their way below. Not that there was much chance of that—although . . .

  He scowled as Amy’s youngest pushed past him and made a beeline for a jagged edge of the rock wall. If he was right, and the boys were tagged, those bastards might know they were underground and start looking for a passageway.

  “Look how much it sparkles, Mom! I bet it’s a diamond. Grampa says they come from the ground.”

  Zane joined him. “Glad to see you guys made it out in one piece.” He glanced over Mac’s shoulder.

  “Cos went back to look for Rawls.” Mac acknowledged the implied question.

  Zane simply nodded. He glanced at the child enthusiastically prying at the sparkling chunk on the wall. “You realize they must have been followed.”

  “No shit.” Mac rolled his shoulders, lowering his voice as well.

  “They changed clothes, right down to their skin,” Amy pointed out from behind them in that flat, conversational tone of voice that annoyed him profoundly. Why the hell it affected him so adversely, he had no clue, but he gritted his teeth and swallowed his instinctive retort.

  “Then the tracking device must be somewhere on their bodies, not their clothes.” He managed to remind her in an even voice.

  “Which they haven’t noticed? And I didn’t notice when I helped them change.” Amy’s voice flattened even further.

  Zane glanced between the two of them and scrubbed a palm over his head. “Maybe they were drugged, and the device was inserted while they were out. If it’s small enough, it could be inserted in a filling, or injected directly into their skin.”

  She snorted, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. “Or maybe it’s just a coincidence. They haven’t been out of my brother’s or my parents’ sight. Believe me, if the boys had been injected with something, we would have known about it.”

  Zane traded a cautious glance with Mac, before tilting his head and facing off against their redheaded momma bear. “Maybe . . . but it won’t hurt to check the boys out.”

  Mac had no clue what Amy’s response would be. Normally she was the most reasonable, calm-headed woman he knew—until, apparently, her maternal instincts kicked in.

  “Could it have been inserted during a flu shot?” Brendan broke in.

  “A flu shot.” Amy’s voice sharpened. “Did someone give you one recently?”

  “Yeah, some doctor friend of Uncle Clay’s.” Her son turned a considering look on his left forearm. “It hurt too, swelled way up.”

  “You had a flu shot before school started.” Amy’s eyes narrowed. “Did Clay say why you needed another one?”

  Because those bastards had needed a means of injecting a tracking chip, and a flu shot made the perfect cover. Mac stirred restlessly. Was the woman really so dense she didn’t see that? But he immediately jettisoned that conclusion. Amy wasn’t stupid. Far too loyal maybe, particularly to family—but hardly stupid.

  “The doctor said there’d been an outbreak at school, and they wouldn’t let us back in without the current inoculation against it.” He paused to cock his head as though he was thinking back. “Uncle Clay stayed with us to make sure there wasn’t any funny business.”

  Amy raised her gaze to Mac’s face.

  “There’ve been a lot of flu strains this year, so it’s possible,” she said, but her eyes were troubled. “Clay wouldn’t do anything to hurt the boys. He may not always show it, but we’re family. He loves us.”

  Mac swallowed his snort. From what he’d seen in the quarry, Uncle Clay was a rat-asshole. Not that he was going to tell her that.

  “Of course, it’s possible there was an actual flu outbreak.” Zane calmly took the reins of the conversation. “It’s also possible a microchip was inserted during that shot.”

  “Okay.” Her chin lifted, her gaze shifting back to Mac. “What are our options?”

  There was only one option, and she wasn’t going to like it. “We know where the shot was given. We take a look. See if something’s in there.”

  The words just hung there, echoing in the thick, dusty air.

  And then her chin tightened and tilted. “And how, exactly, do you suggest we do that?”

  She already knew, of course. There was only one fucking way to see inside flesh without an MRI or X-ray machine.

  “We cut into the spot and look. If there’s something there, we remove it.” He hardened his face and tone. It wasn’t like he wanted to cut into the kid’s arm. Regardless of what she apparently thought, he didn’t enjoy torturing children.

  “Without a doctor? Or sanitary conditions? Or the necessary equipment? Absolutely not.”

  “He’s right, Mom,” Brendan said, stepping up beside them and instantly dissolving the standoff.

  There was no way that adult tone had come from an eleven-year-old—more like a seasoned warrior with numerous campaigns under his belt.

  Brendan shifted to face Mac, holding his gaze with steady dark eyes. The expression on the kid’s face was as old as his voice. “The shot left a scab. It will be easy to find the injection site.”

  Respect stirred. Christ, if the kid was this self-possessed at eleven, what the hell was he going to be like at thirty? At forty?

  He was going to be pretty damn formidable, that much was certain.

  Amy’s face tightened, she glanced at her son’s calm, resolute face, but before she had a chance to countermand him, Jude stepped forward.

  “This will not be necessary. Wolf comes. He will take us to betee3oo hohe’. We have the facilities there to remove such devices.”

  Mac scowled. Betee3oo hohe’? Where the bloody fuck is that?

  And then the first part of Jude’s speech hit him. Wolf was coming? When the hell had that happened, and how did Jude know? Had he called Wolf somehow? If so, how? The radios didn’t have enough range . . . and the sat phone was in the kitchen. Rawls wouldn’t have had time to contact Wolf above the tunnels, and there wouldn’t have been enough reception below—besides, how would he have gotten the info to Jude? If it had come via radio, everyone would have heard it—including the assholes attacking them. A third possibility struck. Did Jude have a sat phone? Had he called his CO prior to escaping into the tunnels?

  He shot a questioning look at Zane, who shrugged.

  With an irritated roll of his shoulders, Mac dropped the questions. From past experience, he knew the impassive bastard wouldn’t answer unless it suited him.

  “If the boys are tagged, our enemies will follow you back to your base,” Mac said. Not that the Arapaho badass needed the reminder. Jude had damn well understood the implications of his suggestion.

  Jude folded his muscled forearms and lifted heavy black eyebrows. “They can try.”

  Faith awoke slowly, vaguely aware of a strong, rhythmic throb against her ear. Heat cocooned her, rocked her in a firm embrace. She sighed, a low hum of satisfaction, and snuggled closer to the warmth toasting her right side from cheek to hip.

  The rocking stopped.

  “Faith? Open your eyes for me, sugar.”

  The entreaty in the deep, Southern-spiced voice forced Faith’s eyes open. Not that she could see much through the shadows surrounding her. But what she did see was confusing—like a band of arms encircling her and a broad chest against her cheek.

  “You awake, baby?”

  She would have thought she was dreaming, except for the tension in the smooth, rich voice rumbling against her ear. She recognized that voice. Responded to it.

  “Rawls?” She started to stretch, but the bands of steel encircling her constricted, holding her in place.

  “How you feelin’, baby?” The normally smooth voice was rough, raspy.
>
  She frowned slightly, unease jiggling. Why did he sound so raw? But the disquiet was impossible to maintain when she felt so wonderful—warm, cozy, cared for.

  “I feel great.” She sighed again, nuzzling her cheek into his chest. And it was true. She did feel great. Better than she could ever remember feeling. Which begged the question. “Why are you carrying me?”

  There was a noticeable lift and fall to his chest, as though he’d taken a deep breath, followed by an even bigger exhale. And then the rocking started again.

  “Do you remember what happened?”

  She thought back, images unfurling in her mind.

  Explosions overhead. The ceiling cracking and tumbling down. Dirt and concrete plunging through the gaping holes. Fleeing. Agony in her arm and chest. The inability to breathe.

  Her heart must have acted up. Hardly surprising considering they’d faced the very real possibility of being buried alive. She glanced up, relieved to find the concrete above her head intact. Rawls must have hauled her to safety. At least they didn’t have to fend off that particular danger at the moment. The first time had obviously put enough stress on her heart to trigger the tachycardia. Thank God she’d saved that last dose of Cordarone.

  “Thank you,” she mumbled on a deep contented breath. The earlier crisis so dim and dreamlike, it didn’t have the power to pierce her current serenity.

  “For what?”

  His voice sounded closer, and she could swear something was nuzzling the top of her head.

  “For getting the Cordarone into me. I would have died without it.” An unwelcome realization scratched at the contentment. She must have been totally out of it, because she didn’t remember taking that pill.

  “Yeah . . . ” That odd rasp was back in his voice. “I couldn’t get to the pill. I didn’t save you. Kait did.”

  “Kait?” She raised her head, trying to make out his face in the shadows surrounding them. Where were the flashlights? But then the renewed tension in his arms and the rawness to his voice distracted her. There was more to the story than he was telling her.

  “She healed you.” Thickness ironed out his drawl.

  “Healed? Why did I need healing?” She tried to remember. But her recollection stopped when the ceiling had given way. “What happened?” She forced the question out, even though she was pretty sure she didn’t want to know the answer.

  “Your heart stopped. I couldn’t get it goin’ again.” There was a world of dark, gritty anguish in his stark reply.

  My heart stopped? I died?

  She shook the possibility off.

  No way. I’d know if I died.

  “I’m awake. Alert. So you must have gotten it going again.” She tried for a teasing tone to lighten his mood, because it was impossible to take his account of what had happened seriously. Not when she felt better than she had in—well—ever.

  “I didn’t. Kait did.”

  So they were back to that again, were they? Faith shook her head. “It was probably beating, just so faintly you couldn’t hear it without your stethoscope. It must have recovered on its own, given time.”

  “Sure.” Pure dryness condensed the words. “I reckon all that CPR I did was just for show.”

  He’d done CPR on her? Faith focused on her chest. If he’d done CPR, there should have been some lingering sense of pain. Bruising or aching. She sure as heck wouldn’t feel like she’d spent the last month at a spa.

  He must have picked up on the skepticism in her silence.

  His voice cooled. “Have you forgotten I’m a medic?”

  “Of course I haven’t forgotten. It’s just—”

  “—easier to believe I couldn’t find your heartbeat than Kait healed you?”

  Well . . . pretty much.

  But guilt stirred. By everyone’s account, he was a very good medic. Which made sense since he’d gone through medical school and into his third year of residency. Not to mention all those years keeping his teammates alive on the battlefield.

  Against her will, common sense stirred. Someone with those kinds of credentials would know if a heart was beating. It wasn’t fair to just dismiss his opinion like that.

  No wonder he hadn’t appreciated her disbelief.

  “Okay. Let’s agree my heart did stop. Maybe your CPR took effect at the same time Kait arrived.” She offered the alternative tentatively.

  With a snort, he picked up his pace. “Anythin’s possible.”

  While he didn’t sound like he believed her new explanation, that earlier tension seeped out of his muscles.

  Faith relaxed against him again. He appeared to carry her with no effort, but it wasn’t fair to let him do all the work. She was perfectly capable of walking—even if she didn’t want to. Even if she’d much rather lie here and wallow in the pleasure of his closeness and the feel of his hard, warm muscles rubbing against her body. Drown in the hot, musky scent swirling around her head.

  Good lord, did the man ever feel and smell delectable.

  “I’m perfectly capable of walking,” she finally forced herself to admit.

  “I’m sure you are.” He stopped long enough to give her a subtle hug. “Just kick back and relax. No sense in tuckerin’ yourself out. Everyone’s waiting for us just up ahead.”

  She glanced down the dusky tunnel, for the first time realizing there was a flashlight beam bouncing around up ahead—leading the way. Which explained why the area around them was dusky rather than dark. Some of the light ahead must be filtering back.

  “Who’s up there?” she asked. All she could make out was a bulky shadow.

  “Cosky and Kait.”

  Oh . . .

  Her mind shifted gears. “Was anyone hurt? Did everyone make it out of the cabins okay?”

  “Everyone else is fine.”

  Everyone else, as in she wasn’t fine. Possibly her willingness to remain in his arms was giving him the wrong impression.

  “Honestly, I’m fine. Put me down.”

  “No.” His arms tightening, he continued walking.

  Well, fine then. She’d just enjoy the ride. With that in mind she looped her arms around his neck and settled back down to enjoy his muscles and scent. Her momma hadn’t raised a fool.

  The silence that fell between them was easy. Comfortable. She gave in to the impulse to close her eyes and doze.

  “Faith.”

  “Hmmmm.”

  “Do you remember anythin’ from when you were out? When your heart stopped?”

  That question brought her head up. “What do you mean?”

  He was quiet for a moment. And then a shrug lifted the arms curled around his neck. “You have any weird dreams? Any stray memories? Anythin’ odd happen back then?”

  She frowned. “Like what?”

  Stillness fell again, only this time it lacked the ease of earlier.

  “Any . . . you know . . . out-of-body kinda experiences?” he finally asked after the silence had dragged on far too long.

  She raised her eyebrows at the combination of curiosity and discomfort in his voice. “You mean like an NDE?”

  “Yeah, like that.”

  “No. There was nothing like that.”

  What an odd question. Why in the world would he ask about near-death experiences? But his question elicited another memory.

  The rifle lifting. Rawls spinning in a circle shouting a name. Pachico. Pachico—who was dead and apparently acting as Rawls’s ghost.

  Suddenly the question about NDEs made sense.

  And just like that it was her turn for curiosity. She tried to frame her question as tactfully as possible. “Is that what happened to you that night you were shot in the woods? Is that where you picked up your ghost?”

  He’d told her in the kitchen the day before that he’d been mortally wounded and Kait had healed him. Maybe he’d experienced something akin to a near-death experience while he was out, and the experience had paved the foundation for his delusion.

  “My ghost,” he re
peated beneath his breath in a disgusted voice.

  Who was that irritation directed at? Him? Her? Pachico? All three of them?

  Nor did it escape her notice that he hadn’t answered either of her questions. Obviously he didn’t want to talk about what he’d gone through. She swallowed her brewing sermon on the scientific veracity of near-death experiences. As someone with wide experience in the medical profession, he would have heard all the competing theories.

  His ghost, on the other hand, that was just too tempting a subject to ignore. “Is Pachico here?”

  A slight twitch of his shoulder was the only indication he’d heard the question. But once again he refused to participate. Apparently the topic of his ghost was off limits too.

  Well, that was just too bad.

  However, her plan to pester the information out of him vanished beneath a wave of exhaustion. Apparently, her body recommended immediate sleep to offset its recent ordeal. It didn’t help that his arms were warm and comforting or that with each step, he rocked her. Her eyes drifted closed . . . she’d just rest for a while . . . plenty of time to ask about his ghost later.

  Eric Manheim scowled as he dropped his cell phone on the breakfast table.

  Breathing deeply, he counted to ten while sitting perfectly still. Damn it. Another delay. Another fuckup. They’d found their targets, even had the camp surrounded. They’d had every fucking thing in place. Was it too much to ask that things go according to plan?

  “Problem?” Esme murmured, commiseration warming her pale blue gaze.

  He focused on her face. Breathed in her light, breezy scent, and the frustration eased. Her eyes never failed to fascinate him, shifting as they did between pale icy-blue and brilliant azure, depending on the whim of the lighting or her emotions of the moment.

  “The signal’s gone underground,” Eric told her tightly.

  “How far and where underground?” Esme folded her newspaper in half and set it neatly on the glass table beside her cup of tea.

  “Twenty feet, give or take, within a thousand feet of their camp. Apparently, the campsite was built over some kind of rabbit’s warren.”