Seal Team Ten

by Brockmann, Suzanne

  The answers were there—who Jake was, and what he needed Mish to do there in prison—but they were just beyond his grasp.

  Everything shifted then, the way dreams often do. And then Mish was in an alley, thunder rolling as the first huge drops of rain began to fall. In an instant, he was soaked.

  He pushed his wet hair back, out of his face, wishing he had a ponytail holder. Dim light gleamed on the barrel of his side arm and he ducked into the shadows, waiting for the footsteps to come closer. Closer...

  "Casey! Come on, Casey, wake up!" Rough hands shook him, and Mish opened his eyes, instantly awake, Rebecca Keyes leaned over him, her hair tousled from sleep.

  He was shocked. What was she doing in his bed? Not that he didn't want her there, because he did. Badly. But he couldn't remember how she'd gotten there. And he couldn't imagine acting on his attraction for this woman. It would be flat-out wrong to become intimately involved with anyone until he'd reintroduced himself to himself.

  He couldn't imagine Becca allowing herself to be seduced, either. She'd been so frostily angry with him. How had that happened? He couldn't remember how he'd convinced her to warm up and sleep with him. And maybe worst of all, he couldn't even remember the sex. And that was shockingly alarming.

  Was this more amnesia? It didn't make sense. He could remember going to bed—alone—and turning off the light. He could remember the way Becca had looked straight through him during dinner. He could remember waking up in the shelter, his head pounding. He could remember Jarell, the motel, the bus ride to...

  Prison.

  He'd dreamt about prison. Being cuffed and chained. Remembered someone named Jake...

  She shook him again. "Snap to, dammit! I need you to help."

  Reality crashed in. Mish was lying in a cot barely large enough to sleep one, let alone two. And Becca wasn't dressed for a night of one-on-one—unless her idea of one-on-one was a cattle-roping contest. She was wearing jeans and boots and a wide-brimmed cowboy hat on her head.

  He sat up, the blanket sliding off of his bare chest, and Becca took a step back, as if afraid he wasn't wearing anything at all beneath those covers.

  He was. Boxers. He also remembered keeping them on last night.

  "Chip Alden's gone AWOL," she told him bluntly, "and we've got a storm moving in. I need all the manpower I can get—searching for the kid before the riverbed floods."

  Mish nodded, clearly reading her silent message. She needed all the help she could get—even from a low-down, good-for-nothing, lying snake such as himself.

  He swung his legs out of bed and pulled on his jeans and the T-shirt he'd worn yesterday, slipping into his boots as she turned and sprinted away. He followed her, quickly catching up. Thunder continued to rumble as the crowd of guests and employees gathering outside the ranch office glanced worriedly up at the dark sky.

  Becca quickly split them into groups, sending them off in different directions, some on horseback, some on foot.

  "Check the barn and public buildings," she ordered Mish before easily swinging herself up onto a horse and riding out.

  He could hear the echoing voices of the search parties as they headed into the darkness, calling loudly, hoping to awaken the sleeping boy.

  His was a throwaway job. He knew Becca didn't think they'd find Chip in the barn or the dining hall or even the arcade room. But someone had to look there, and he was that someone.

  He went into the barn.

  Stormchaser was the only horse left in the stables, and she cocked her ears curiously at him, as if amazed by all of the predawn activity.

  It had been Stormchaser's stall that Mish had been cleaning when Chip had come into the barn just that afternoon, to try to con him into saddling up a pair of horses.

  Mish froze, suddenly hearing an echo of Chip's pre-pubescent voice. There's this place, about a half a mile east of here "where there's these big, creepy-looking rocks, kind of like some giant's fingers sticking out of the ground....

  There was a relief map of the ranch on the barn wall, and Mish quickly measured the scale with his fingers, trying to find those rock formations Chip had mentioned. He knew how to read maps, and he easily found something six-tenths of a mile east-northeast that might've been those rocks. It was right next to a low-lying area—the dry riverbed.

  Thunder cracked, closer this time, and the first plump drops of rain began to fall, hissing on the dry barn roof.

  If Chip had set up camp in that riverbed...

  Mish ran out toward the corral, but everyone was gone. He could hear their voices in the distance. Most of them had headed south.

  He went back into the barn, where a huge flashlight hung by the door. But even using that, it would be impossible for him to achieve any real speed running more than a half a mile over the rough terrain.

  He turned and looked Stormchaser directly in the eye.

  She whinnied nervously as another bolt of lightning flashed, the boom of thunder close behind.

  "Yeah, I don't like this weather, either," Mish said to the horse, opening the stall door, "but I know where this kid is, and I've got to get out there, so what do you say we make this a team effort?"

  Stormchaser didn't disagree. Of course, she didn't exactly agree, either.

  "I've never done this before in my life." Mish took a bridle down from the wall, speaking in a low, soft, soothing voice, the way he'd heard Becca talk to the horse. "But I spent most of yesterday watching the procedure, so let's just give it a try, okay?"

  As Mish drew closer, the mare clenched her teeth.

  "I think this bit thing is supposed to go behind your teeth, not in front of them," Mish told her, still in that low voice. "And I think I saw the other guys touch you back here a bit, and just kind of wait until you're maybe not paying quite so much attention and then...slip it in. There we go. Good horse. Atta girl. Way to go."

  Stormchaser snorted, chomping disgruntledly on the bit.

  "I can't imagine that feels very pleasant," Mish continued, slipping a saddle blanket onto her strong chestnut-colored back. "I can't imagine any of this is a whole lot of fun for you, especially after the way that idiot treated you this afternoon."

  He took a saddle off the wall, gently placing it in the center of the blanket, and secured the belt around the horse's belly. As he'd seen the other ranch hands do, he waited until Stormchaser relaxed, and then tightened it several notches.

  The stirrups seemed to be about the right length for his legs, so he looped the reins over the horse's head and led her out into the night, tucking the flashlight under one arm.

  The rain was falling heavier now, and Stormchaser tried to back away, into the barn.

  'No, you don't," he murmured to the horse, pointing her in the direction he wanted to go. ' 'What kind of tough-as-nails Western cow horse are you, anyway?" He put his left foot into the stirrup and held onto the pommel. 'Tm probably doing this all wrong and backwards, so I appreciate your patience," he said as he tried to imitate the move Becca had made, and swing himself into the saddle. He landed with a thud, nearly going over the other side. "Whoa!"

  Stormchaser snorted, pricking up her ears as Mish took gentle hold of the reins. He had to remember that these things were attached to the horse's tender mouth.

  Now, what was the opposite of whoa? "Giddyap!" he said.

  Lightning flashed, thunder crashed, and Stormchaser bolted.

  Becca couldn't believe her eyes. Lightning flashed again, and again she saw Stormchaser, running like a bat out of hell with Casey Parker lying low and flat along the mare's neck, riding like a seasoned rodeo cowboy. She felt a flash of annoyance—the guy had led her to believe he didn't know the least little thing about horses—including riding.

  She moved to cut them off just as Casey reined Storm-chaser in.

  "I know where Chip is," he called out, seemingly unaware of the rain that was now falling steadily, streaming down his face.

  He nudged Stormchaser's sides, and the horse took off again
. Becca followed, pressing Silver hard to keep up.

  She had her flashlight on, and in its bright beam, she could see that Casey wasn't riding like a professional cowboy—he was holding on for dear life.

  "I talked to him this afternoon," the man shouted to her, "and he wanted to go out to this place where there were some rock formations."

  Finger Rocks. God, that was right on the edge of the dry riverbed. Only, with all this rain, it wasn't going to stay dry for long—if it wasn't already flooded from the rain up in the mountains.

  Becca gave Silver his head, letting him fly across the ground, praying they weren't too late. Please, God, let them find this little boy still alive....

  She heard it before she saw it.

  The river was running.

  Lightning flared, and Finger Rocks appeared out of the darkness, looming crazily over them. The water in the riverbed was dark and frothy, and filled with bobbing logs and debris being washed downstream.

  There was no sign of Chip.

  Becca slid down off Silver, using her flashlight to illuminate the banks of the river.

  Casey was still atop Stormchaser, and he pointed out into the rushing water. "There!"

  She saw it, too.

  She saw what might have been the top of a small head near a branch that had been snagged on an outcropping of rocks.

  "Chip!" she shouted over the roar of the river and the bursts of thunder. "Chip!"

  The head moved and became a small, pale face that reflected the light from her torch.

  It was Chip. He was clinging for dear life to the end of a weathered old branch.

  As Casey slid down off Stormchaser, Becca saw him take in the situation with a glance. The branch Chip was holding on to was wedged between two rocks at the river's edge, right before the water took a hard loop to the left and swept even faster down the hill. The white water down there told of rapids—rocks that could crush the life out of a ten-year-old flung against them with the water's raging force.

  It was only a matter of time before the debris knocked Chip free from his perch and swept him downstream.

  The tumble of rocks at the side of the river made it treacherous going. Casey slipped and slid over them, turning back to give Becca a hand.

  She didn't need or want his help. "I'm fine," she shouted at him. "Keep going!"

  Finally, they were both there.

  "Hang on, kid," she heard Casey call to Chip. "We'll get you out of there!"

  "I want my mom!" The little boy was weeping. "Please, I want my mom!"

  "Just let us pull you out of there, and we'll find her right away," Casey told him, his voice reassuring. They would get the boy out of the river. And if he was feeling any doubt about it, he wasn't letting it show. He tugged at the thick end of the branch Chip was clinging to, but it wouldn't give. Becca set down her flashlight and helped. It didn't take long to realize that the damned thing wasn't going to budge. They weren't going to be able to free the branch to pull the kid out of there.

  The rain was falling unmercifully now, streaming off the brim of her hat in a solid sheet.

  "I'll have to climb out after him," she shouted to Casey.

  He used one hand to wipe the water from his face, little good that it did. He shook his head. "No. I'll do it."

  "Are you kidding? That branch won't hold your weight!"

  "It might not hold yours."

  "Hold onto my legs," Becca told him. "If the branch breaks, I'll hang onto it, and you can haul us both out of the water."

  He didn't like it, but she didn't give him a chance to argue. She just started inching her way out along that branch.

  She could feel his hands on her legs, his fingers hooking around the bottom edges of her jeans. She could see Chip's pale, frightened face as lightning flashed again.

  The boy was edging toward her, even as she was moving closer to him.

  She was so close. Another foot and a half, and—

  It happened so fast.

  A piece of wood barreling downstream caught Chip full in the chest, and with a shriek, his handhold on the branch was broken.

  Becca heard herself scream as the boy, eyes wide with terror, fingers reaching for her, was swept underneath the water.

  She felt herself hauled upward and nearly thrown onto the shore and sensed more than saw Casey scrambling back up and over the rocks. She grabbed for her flashlight, holding it high, illuminating the river, praying for a glimpse of Chip's brown hair, praying he'd manage to grab hold of another branch.

  She saw him!

  Dear God, no! The boy was being swept downriver. Another few seconds, and he'd hit those rapids.

  But then she saw Casey, running along the river bank, heading directly for the place where the river turned. She saw him dive, a graceful, athletic movement.

  And then he was out of range of her light, and she saw nothing more.

  Mish knew without a doubt in the stretched-out seconds that he hung suspended over the raging water that he knew how to swim.

  And he didn't just know how to do the dog paddle. He knew how to swim. As uncomfortable as he'd been while riding Stormchaser, here in the river he was completely in his element. He was at home in the water unlike anywhere else in the world.

  He hit the river with a splash and it grabbed him, tugging, pulling, yanking him downstream. He went with it, using its power to push him up back toward the surface. Only when his head was above water again did he fight the current, searching for any sign of Chip.

  He saw the debris coming—it looked like a solid chunk of a telephone pole—but he didn't have time to get completely out of the way. It hit him solidly in his left side, pushing him under and spinning him around, the white blaze of pain made worse by the water burning his lungs.

  He kicked and stroked against the pain, surfacing with a rush, coughing out the water he'd inhaled and gasping in a blessed flood of air.

  And the kid was swept right into his arms.

  If he hadn't believed in the workings of some kind of higher power before, he did now.

  Mish let the force of the water take him again, using his strength as a swimmer merely to steer them toward the rocky shore.

  And then he was crawling out, his side on fire, Chip still clinging to his neck, both of them sobbing for air. And Becca was there, helping pull the kid to even higher ground. She then reached for him.

  Lightning flashed, and he saw that she'd lost her hat. Her dark curls were plastered to her head and beneath her jacket, her shirt was glued to her breasts. It wasn't a shirt, he realized. She was wearing a white nightgown. And absolutely nothing underneath. She had an incredibly gorgeous body, but it was her eyes he found himself wanting to see again. Brimming with the warmth of emotion and relief, her eyes were impossibly beautiful.

  He could have sat there in the rain all night, just waiting for the lightning, so he could get another glimpse of her face.

  But Becca scooped Chip into her arms and pushed herself to her feet. "Let's get back to the ranch."

  Ted Alden, Chip's father, came out of their cabin. "The doctor says he's got a few broken ribs, but his lungs are clear and his blood pressure's strong. We'll monitor that through the rest of the night—make sure there've been no internal injuries we don't know about."

  The rain had stopped, and the clouds were breaking up. Becca could see the first faint stars shining hazily in the sky. She nodded. "Do you need help? You look as if once you fall asleep, you're going to stay asleep for a day or two."

  Alden ran his hands down his face. "No, we've got the alarm clock set. And Ashley's set hers, too. Just in case."

  "Well, I'm here if you need me."

  "Thanks."

  Becca turned to go, but he stopped her.

  "We've caused nothing but trouble this trip. Are you going to ask us to leave tomorrow?"

  She had to laugh. "You mean, like the way I asked Travis Brown to leave?" She shook her head. "No, I'm trying not to make a habit of running paying guests of
f with a shotgun. It's bad for business."

  "Thank that cowboy again for me," Alden said. "If the two of you hadn't been there, Chip might've..."

  Chip would have died.

  Becca knew what Ted Alden couldn't bring himself to say aloud. His son would have died. The hell with her— she'd had very little to do with saving the boy's life. The truth was, if it weren't for Casey Parker, they would be dragging that river right this very moment, searching for Chip's crushed and lifeless little body.

  Becca swallowed a sudden rush of intense emotion. She had to blink hard to push back a surge of moisture in her eyes. "I'll thank him," she said quietly. "Kiss Chip good-night for me, all right?"

  Alden nodded, easing the screen door shut behind him.

  It must have been the fatigue bringing all these waves of emotion to the surface. Becca couldn't remember the last time she'd cried, yet here she was, ready to curl up into a soggy ball and weep like a baby.

  Everything was all right. The boy was safe. But she couldn't keep herself from thinking about what might have been. She couldn't help remembering that look of pure fear on the little boy's face as he was swept out of her reach, Why didn't you save me? echoing in his eyes. If Chip had died, his face would have haunted her for the rest of her life.

  If Chip had died...

  What if Casey hadn't been there with his amazing abil ity to swim like some kind of sea animal? What if the river had swept Chip past him? What if... ?

  Her insides churned and bile rose in her throat. She had to sit down, right there on the edge of the muddy road, and try her damnedest not to retch. She clung to her wet jacket, wrapping it tightly around her, praying for the nausea to pass.

  "Are you all right?" The voice came out of the darkness, soft and gentle.

  "Yeah," she lied, not wanting to look up and into the bottomless depths of Casey's eyes, not wanting him to see that she was shaking. "I'm just... I'm..."

  She felt him sit down next to her, felt his closeness and warmth. He didn't say anything. He just sat there as she tried to breathe, as she desperately tried to regain her equilibrium and stop this damned shaking that was rattling her very brain.