SEALs of Winter: A military romance superbundle

by Seton, Cora

  “Need to…contact…base…”

  Even the act of speaking was beginning to take its toll on him, and worry pricked at Jen’s chest when she noticed that his skin was looking kind of gray. But she put on an encouraging face as she said, “Just get us on the right channel and I’ll do the rest.”

  Jamie’s fingers quivered as he twisted a knob—the volume, she realized. He was turning it nearly all the way down. Then he adjusted some settings, bloody fingertips trying to press a button, weakly missing it every time. She almost stepped in and pressed the damn thing for him, but finally he managed to do it, and she held her breath as he spoke into the radio.

  “Charlie to base,” he mumbled. “Charlie to base. Come in, base.”

  Soft static hissed in the air.

  A few seconds later, the sweetest words Jen had ever heard poured out of the speaker.

  “Charlie, we hear you. What’s your status?”

  Jamie’s lips barely moved as he tried to convey their predicament. “Private First Class Jamie Holbrook requesting immediate evac. Heavy fire and…” He was wheezing now. “Request…”

  And then he passed out.

  Horror swept through her like a landslide. “No.” She urgently touched his cheek, then slapped it lightly when he didn’t stir. “Jamie, wake up. Wake up, goddamn it.”

  A rough noise escaped his mouth, bringing a flood of relief to her stomach. He was alive. But he wasn’t opening his damn eyes, and the voice coming through the radio grew urgent.

  “Charlie, you copy?”

  Jen stared at Jamie’s closed eyelids, then grabbed the radio from his hand and pressed the talk button. “Charlie to base,” she said feebly, repeating what Jamie had relayed before.

  The line crackled with static again.

  And then, “Identify yourself.”

  She swallowed rapidly, trying to bring moisture to her dry mouth. “Jen.” She stumbled on the words. “I mean, Jennifer. My name is Jennifer Scott. I’m a photographer and I was on the supply run when…when we were attacked. Private Holbrook is badly injured. He was shot in the stomach, and…” She gulped hard. “And if you don’t get us some help soon, he’s going to die.”

  Chapter Eight

  ‡

  Classroom work sucked. It sucked big time, and it was something Cash hadn’t expected when he’d signed up for SEAL training. BUD/S had been intense, Hell Week had been brutal, and all the training that followed had been equally strenuous, but once he’d gotten his trident, he’d thought his days in the classroom were officially over.

  He’d been wrong. SEALs never stopped training, and they never stopped learning. They ran mock missions, mastered new weapons, perfected alternative methods of combat. Cash loved the hands-on stuff, but sitting behind a desk as Lieutenant Commander Thomas Becker explained the mechanics of a new landmine they were experimenting with? He’d much rather be out in the field seeing the explosives in action.

  In the chair next to him, Seth raised his hand to address their CO. “How is this any different from the Claymore? Because it seems the same to me. What kind of range are we looking at here?”

  Before Becker could respond, there was a knock on the door, and then it swung open and a young aide appeared in the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt,” he told Becker. “Commander Stevens has a message for you.”

  Becker frowned, glancing at his men. “Excuse me.”

  “Wonder what that’s about,” Dylan said, wrinkling his forehead.

  In the seat ahead of Cash’s, Jackson twisted around with a sigh. “Think we’re going wheels-up?”

  Christ, he hoped not. The last thing he needed was to get called out on an op when Jen was still away.

  Becker strode back into the room less than a minute later, his sharp address squashing any notions of the team being called to action. “McCoy.”

  Cash glanced up in surprise. “Sir?”

  “Report to Commander Stevens.” Becker shifted his gaze. “You, too, LT.”

  Cash exchanged a puzzled look with Carson, who shook his head in bewilderment. Both men jumped when Becker clapped his hands.

  “Now,” he snapped.

  Without delay, the two men rose from their chairs and headed for the door. Cash paused to shoot a questioning look at Becker, but the CO’s expression conveyed nothing. Still, Cash had known Beck a long time, and the man’s tense body language revealed that something was definitely wrong.

  Cash followed Carson out the door. The commander’s aide walked ahead of them, refusing to comment on what was happening, even when Carson grabbed his arm.

  “What the hell is going on?” Carson demanded.

  The dark-haired man shifted awkwardly. “I’m not at liberty to say. You’ll have to speak to Commander Stevens.” He took off walking again, as Cash and Carson trailed after him in dismay.

  “Maybe we are going wheels-up,” Cash muttered to Carson.

  “Just the two of us? No way, man. This is something else.”

  They moved at a brisk pace toward the elevator bank at the end of the corridor. A knot of panic twisted Cash’s gut as his brain worked overtime to make sense of things. If this pressing issue wasn’t related to the team, then that meant it had to be personal, and it involved him and Carson…

  And there was only one common denominator between him and Carson.

  “Jen,” he blurted out.

  Carson must have put two and two together at the same time, because his face creased with alarm and he nearly broke out in a run. Their boots thudded against the floor as the two men practically dove into the elevator. The fucking aide refused to open his fucking mouth, standing in silence as he shoved a key in the elevator panel and hit the button for the communications floor of the base.

  Why the hell were they going to communications?

  Cash couldn’t control his worry as he watched the numbers on the elevator wall light up with each passing floor. When the doors finally dinged open, he shot forward, staying hot on the aide’s heels, his arm jostling Carson’s as they hurried down yet another long hallway.

  Please, please, let her be okay.

  He didn’t know why he was so certain this was about Jen. But it was. He felt it, in the form of cold, paralyzing fear that shivered in his bones.

  A minute later, they entered a cavernous room that housed dozens of monitors and a vast array of electronics, and a stocky gray-haired man immediately appeared in front of him. Commander Stevens. Cash didn’t know the man well, but the decorated officer lacked the poker face Becker had perfected. The grave look in his dark eyes made it clear that he hadn’t called them in here to deliver good news.

  “What happened?” Carson said quietly, his face going pale.

  Stevens sighed. “I won’t beat around the bush. We just received a transmission from the Honduran army base in La Ceiba. There’s been an incident involving your sister, Lieutenant.” His gaze flicked to Cash. “And I believe you’re romantically involved with Ms. Scott?”

  A shaky breath shuddered out. “She’s my fiancée.”

  Carson’s eyebrows shot up, but Cash ignored his teammate’s surprised look. He also didn’t correct the lie he’d just told—he wasn’t about to be kicked out or excluded just because he didn’t have blood or legal ties to Jen.

  “Where is she?” he asked Stevens in a panicky tone. “Is she okay?”

  “At the moment, we don’t know the answer to either of those questions.”

  The frank reply knocked Cash’s entire world off its axis. He had to grip the side of a nearby desk to steady his equilibrium. Next to him, Carson wasn’t looking so good either.

  Stevens cleared his throat, glancing from one man to the other. “As of right now, we know this: Ms. Scott was in a small town west of La Ceiba—San Cortés—traveling in a military convoy consisting of ten military personnel, including five United States Marines, and four civilians from the Global Aid Foundation. Two dozen armed men ambushed the convoy.”

  Cash stopped breathing. Lite
rally. His lungs had seized, black dots flashing in his eyes as the report sunk in.

  “The casualty count is unknown at the moment, but from what Ms. Scott was able to tell us, we believe the entire military unit along with the civilians were KIA.”

  Cash’s gaze flew to the commander. “As she was able to tell you? What do you mean? You talked to her?”

  “Ms. Scott and her escort—Private Jamie Holbrook—were away from the main group when the attack occurred. Holbrook suffered a gunshot wound to the abdomen.”

  “And my sister?” Carson burst out. “Was she hurt?”

  “Unharmed, as far as we know. She’s communicating with the La Ceiba base as we speak. We have a copy of the initial transmission, when she first made contact with the corps captain at the base.”

  “I want to hear it,” Carson blurted out.

  “I anticipated that.” Stevens glanced at one of the nearby techs and barked a brusque command. “Bring up the transmission.”

  Cash clutched the desk as the technician’s fingers flew over a computer keyboard. His breathing had gone shallow, and he was having trouble keeping his eyes in focus. Everything looked blurry. Everything sounded like it was coming from far, far away.

  Until a voice echoed from the speakers, and suddenly he could hear with perfect clarity.

  Cash’s heart pounded as he listened to a weak male voice request an evac. The soldier in him went on alert, mentally asking for details, prompting the man on the radio to give his position, but in a heartbeat, that male voice faded out and was replaced with a female one.

  Jen.

  Cash’s head swiveled toward Carson, whose face went completely devoid of color as they listened to Jen identify herself.

  “Jen. I mean, Jennifer. My name is Jennifer Scott. I’m a photographer and I was on the supply run when…when we were attacked. Private Holbrook is badly injured. He was shot in the stomach, and… And if you don’t get us some help soon, he’s going to die.”

  Oh Jesus. He was going to throw up. He was seriously going to throw up, right on Commander Stevens’ perfectly shined shoes.

  He’d told her not to go. He’d told her. And now she was…she was…

  Cash choked on the bile sticking to his throat, valiantly battling the wave of nausea that overtook him. “Where’s the rest?” he demanded.

  “That’s all we got.” Stevens turned to Carson. “Once her identity was confirmed, the officer in charge ran a check on her and discovered she was your sister, Lieutenant. He contacted us as a courtesy.”

  “A courtesy?” Carson looked angry now, his blue eyes zeroing in on the technician at the desk. “Get us a live feed. Now. I want to hear everything that’s going on there.”

  “We’re working on it,” Stevens said tightly.

  Letting out a breath, Cash turned to the commander and spoke in a voice that was much calmer than he’d anticipated. “Sir, I’d like to put in a request for leave.”

  “So do I,” Carson said instantly. “As well as a request for transport to La Ceiba.”

  “Request denied.”

  Cash had never hit a superior officer, and it took every ounce of willpower not to slam his fist in the older man’s jaw. Request denied? How could he possibly deny them? They needed to get to Jen. Right now.

  “Lieutenant Scott. Petty Officer McCoy.” Stevens’ features softened as he addressed them both. “I know you’re worried about your sister—and fiancée—but there is nothing either of you can do to help her. It will take you more than five hours to reach the base. By the time you arrive, the situation will already be resolved.”

  “Resolved?” Cash echoed in disbelief. “She might be dead by then, goddamn it!”

  “McCoy,” Stevens said sharply. “Don’t make me regret bringing you in here. I assure you, we’re monitoring the situation closely.”

  The commander’s aide interrupted them, holding up a phone. “Commander, Captain Reynolds is on the line.”

  “Excuse me.”

  Without another word, Stevens went to accept the call, and Cash quickly turned to Carson. “We have to get out of here. We have to get to her.”

  To his shock, Carson gave a grim shake of his head. “Stevens is right. It’ll take us too long to get there.” Defeat lurked in his eyes. “We can’t help her.”

  Helplessness.

  Pure helplessness ripped through his body.

  It was an emotion Cash wasn’t familiar with. He was always in charge. Always in control of every situation. He saved lives for a living, for fuck’s sake.

  But he couldn’t save Jen.

  Sweet Jesus, he couldn’t save her.

  Stevens returned a moment later with a brisk update. “An evacuation team is being deployed. Ms. Scott has given them her location to the best of her knowledge, and an extraction is being executed as we speak.”

  The man’s words didn’t bring relief. Not even a trace of it. Because Cash wouldn’t be able to breathe until he knew for sure. Until he saw Jen with his own two eyes and knew without a shred of doubt that she was safe.

  “Got it,” the technician spoke up, typing swiftly on the keyboard. “We’ve been granted access to the transmission.”

  “Can we talk to her?” Cash said weakly.

  “Briefly,” Stevens replied. “We need to keep the line clear so she can communicate with the men on the ground. Jesus, McCoy. Sit down. You look like you’re going to pass out.”

  He felt like it. He’d never been so scared in his life, and his body could no longer support its own weight as he sank into the nearest available chair. Carson stood behind him, eerily silent as they waited for the feed to come up.

  A few seconds ticked by, and then Jen’s voice wafted from the speaker again.

  “—losing a lot of blood. But the bullet was a through and through, and I don’t think it hit any vital organs.”

  Despite his fear, a smile ghosted over Cash’s lips. A through and through. The woman knew her bullet wounds.

  Jen’s voice grew fierce. “No, don’t you dare go to sleep, Private! I’m not letting you die on me, understand?”

  She was talking to the soldier, and Cash’s heart squeezed so painfully he was surprised his ribs didn’t crack. He’d been in battle. He’d killed men, he’d seen men die, but goddamn it, he didn’t want that for Jen. She had the biggest heart of any woman he’d ever met, and he knew she’d be destroyed if that wounded marine died on her watch.

  “You need to keep him awake,” a male voice said. “Don’t let him lose consciousness.”

  “What do you think I’m doing over here? Singing him a lullaby?”

  Her mild sarcasm sent a burst of pride to Cash’s heart. Behind him, Carson snickered softly. Christ, she was amazing. Her confidence and strength radiated over the line, and hearing it eased the pressure weighing on his chest.

  “Don’t worry, Charlie, we’re working on getting an extraction team to you. You’ll be out of there in no time.”

  “Hurry,” she implored.

  As the feed went silent, Cash looked over at Stevens. “Can you put me through to her now?”

  The commander nodded at the technician, who adjusted several knobs, hit a couple of keys, then gestured to the microphone. “Just hit that button.”

  Cash instantly leaned in and did what he was told. When he spoke, it sounded like he was talking through a mouthful of gravel. “Jen, it’s me. It’s Cash. Can you hear me?”

  Silence.

  Agonizing silence.

  And then a hiss of surprise echoed through the transmission. “Oh my God. Cash? How…what…where are you?”

  He had to smile. “Don’t worry, I didn’t secretly tail you down there or anything. I’m home. At the base. Carson’s with me, too.” His smile faded fast. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She paused. “I’m scared.”

  “I know you are, baby. So am I.” A lump rose in his throat. “But it’s going to be fine. You’re going to be fine.”

  “Of cours
e I will.” Her staunch conviction made his heart soar. God, he loved this woman. “It’s Jamie I’m worried about. He’s hurt really bad, Cash.”

  “Just follow the medic’s instructions and he’ll be fine, too,” Cash said softly. “I promise, sweetheart.”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Stevens gesturing for him to wrap it up.

  “I have to go, baby. We need to keep the line open so you can communicate with Captain Reynolds. But I just wanted you to know that I’m here. I’m always with you, remember?”

  “I remember.” Her voice shook as wildly as his had. “I love you, Cash. Love you, Carson.”

  “We love you, too,” he said thickly.

  Cutting off the feed was like cutting off his own hand. He wanted to hear her voice again, but Stevens had laid down the law, and now all he could do was wait.

  And worry.

  And pray that the woman he loved would be all right.

  Chapter Nine

  ‡

  It was frightening to think she had a man’s life in her hands. Literally. Jen was doing her best to stanch the flow of blood trickling from Jamie’s wound. It seemed to have slowed down, but Jamie’s breathing was weaker now and his face looked like that god-awful gray carpeting in her grandmother’s retirement home.

  She was worried. So damn worried. But hearing Cash’s voice had been the motivation she’d needed, the fuel driving her to save the young man in front of her. To save them both.

  “Keep your eyes open,” she whispered when Jamie’s eyelids drooped.

  “Tired…” he murmured.

  “I know you are.” She stared at her hands, which were soaked with his blood. “But you can’t sleep.” Her throat ached as she swallowed. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “What’s her name?”

  His voice trembled. “Madeline.”

  “Aw, I love that name. It’s so pretty.”

  A loud yell echoed past the alley, and Jen shivered in fear, praying that the gang didn’t do a search of the streets. When she thought about Ortiz and the others, her stomach churned with nausea. She imagined their bodies on the pavement, blood and brains and—oh God, she was going to be sick.