SEAL Under Siege (Men of Valor)

by Johnson, Liz

  He laughed, the sound full and throaty. “I don’t mean he’ll blow up your kitchen.” He added a wink as he patted the top of her knee. “He just knows how things blow better than most. Which means he knows how to keep things from blowing better than them, too.”

  “And his name is Zig?” Maybe it was a family name, but who would saddle their child with a name guaranteed to get him teased?

  “No. It’s Zach McCloud.”

  He’d told her a few days before that the SEALs called each other by nicknames. “So how did he get the name Zig?”

  “You’ll understand when you meet him.”

  “How—”

  A bald head poked in around the door frame. “All clear.” The rest of his body—broad shoulders, arms laced with muscles and long legs—followed into the doorway.

  Tristan pressed his palms against the edge of the tub and popped to his feet before wrapping his long, callused fingers around her wrist and pulling with a quick burst that had her standing—and far too close to his chest—before she could do it herself.

  “You’re safe now, ma’am.” The bald head shone in the bright bathroom lights as the other man offered part bow, part nod.

  “Zig?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She lifted one leg to step out of the tub, L.T. cupping her elbow with a grip just firm enough to catch her should she slip. Giving him a tentative smile, she turned back to Zig. “I’m hardly old enough to be called ma’am. Don’t you think?”

  His big brown eyes twinkled, although the expression on his face never shifted from stoic calm. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, then, Zig. Tell me how you got your nickname.”

  Again his eyes glimmered with otherwise unseen humor. He rubbed a flat hand over the dome of his head. “Guess I reminded the instructors of their favorite cartoon.”

  She frowned, pressing her hands to her hips. The tall, lean man looked as much like the short, plump cartoon as a peacock looked like a guinea pig. There was no comparison. He was the type of man who would have made Judy elbow her in the side and whisper something about finding a good husband.

  L.T. stepped out of the tub behind her, his breath brushing the top of her head and sweeping a whole different kind of chill down her spine. She didn’t need Judy there to tell her he was a good man.

  She also didn’t need another reminder why she had no business thinking along those lines.

  When Chris had broken up with her, he had made it explicitly clear why she’d never be good enough for him or any other man. It shouldn’t matter to her that good men were hard to find. She wasn’t in the market for one anyway.

  Zig’s eyes swung toward L.T., the humor there vanishing. “You want to see it?”

  “Yes.” L.T. moved around her, and she fell into step behind him. Before they reached the bathroom door, he stopped and spun around. “Where are you going?”

  “To the kitchen. With you.”

  “Uh-uh.” He shook his head so hard his neck popped. “You don’t need to see or hear this.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  He huffed out a breath between tight lips. “Listen to me, Staci. This isn’t something that you want in your mind.” He cupped a hand around her shoulder, holding her still to make her meet his eyes, to see how serious he was. “This is the stuff nightmares are made of, and you don’t want to see any of it. It’ll make you scared to live in your own home.”

  She pressed the tips of her fingers into her palms and tried for a lighter tone. “That’s funny. I’m already scared in my own home.”

  As the words sprang out of her mouth, she knew their truth. The only secure place she had in the entire world wasn’t safe anymore. Seeing the remnants of a bomb that was meant to injure her wasn’t going to change that.

  “I’m the pro here.” His fingers squeezed gently. “Remember what I told you in Lybania. I need you to trust me on this.”

  She stared hard into his eyes, fighting the urge to blink away from the intensity there and break their standoff. “I’m already in danger. At least if I know what to look for, maybe I can keep my eyes open and recognize another threat.”

  His lips pursed to the side, his forehead a sea of wrinkles.

  “Please. I need to know what I’m facing.”

  “All right.” He turned and walked toward the kitchen, and she shadowed him the whole way there.

  There were three others standing around the island, filling every nook and using up all of the oxygen in the room. Her head swam, her legs abruptly unstable, and she tripped as she reached the counter.

  Again, L.T. came to her rescue, righting her with a rock-solid hand around her arm without even looking at her. He and Zig joined the conversation around a colorful pile of wires laying on the brown-paper wrapping.

  “Go ahead.” L.T. nodded to his men, and the weight of three pairs of eyes shifted from her shoulders. “What did you find?”

  The youngest guy bobbed his mop of messy hair. “Whoever made this is a pro.”

  She shot a quick glance at L.T. out of the corner of her eye. His attention never wavered from the kid, who didn’t look old enough to be out of college, let alone a SEAL.

  Zig leaned forward and pointed to one of the wires. “He had a fail-safe in case this one didn’t do the job. I nearly missed it. It was wrapped up and under here.” He pressed a finger to the lip of a pipe. “But it wasn’t just a detonator. It was an incinerator.”

  “You ever see anything like that?”

  Zig nodded, his motion deliberate and thoughtful. “I had an instructor once talk about using this extra wire as both a fail-safe and to ignite an incinerator, but I’ve never seen it used before in practice. Like I said. He’s a pro. And downright creative.”

  Staci swallowed at the lump in her throat, taking a tiny step toward the warmth radiating from L.T. “Why would there be an incinerator?”

  L.T. met her gaze, his facial features motionless and benign. But she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his. She felt him take hold of her hand and latch on tight.

  Zig cleared his throat behind a fist. “In this case, the incinerator makes the whole thing look like an accident.”

  She blinked twice at L.T., pain rocketing across her forehead from one temple to the other. Apparently he could read her mind, because his lips barely moved as he explained, “It would have blown so hard and fast that the wrapping, pipe and igniter wouldn’t have been distinguishable from anything else in your house. It would have looked like a gas explosion, and no one would have known to look for a bomber.”

  Her hands curled into fists, but he didn’t flinch as she squeezed his fingers.

  The youngest team member shrugged. “Guess that explains why there wasn’t a sniper outside, huh?”

  L.T. shot the kid a glare that would have wilted flowers. “Not now, Willie.”

  As the lieutenant swung his gaze back to her, Staci squeezed his hand and borrowed as much strength as she could from him.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m not exactly sure.”

  She squinted at him, and he lifted one shoulder. “Not really, anyway. All I know for sure at this moment is that someone wants you out of the way. And he wants it to look like an accident.”

  *

  Tristan immediately regretted telling Staci the entire truth. Her face turned white, and her hand shook in spite of its tight grip on his.

  She didn’t need to know the lengths that someone would go to to get rid of her. It would have been enough that Tristan and his team were aware of the real threat. Someone definitely wanted Staci out of the way, most likely because he thought that she had enough intel to stop him from reaching his ultimate objective.

  Tristan patted her shoulder with his free hand, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t dissolve into tears. Sure, he had practice thanks to his sister, Ashley, who was prone to emotional outbursts. Even if she claimed they were a result of her pregnancy. But he could barely handle a weepy Ashley, and he didn’t ha
ve a clue what to do with a near stranger in a crying fit.

  Staci took a shaking breath, straightening her shoulders and letting go of him to lock her hands in front of her. After several quick flutters of her long lashes, she cleared her throat. “Well, that’s going to put a damper on my reacclimation.”

  Zig and Willie let loose with laughs so loud that they almost dwarfed her hesitant grin. But her smile wouldn’t be thwarted so easily, and she glanced up at him out of the corner of her eye. The lift in the corner of her mouth showed off just a few white teeth and tugged on the puckered skin along the red scar in front of her ear.

  He offered her a matching half smile. “I guess it would.”

  What was this woman like in the real world? In the grit of an op, in the face of a death threat, she followed orders and then cracked jokes.

  But what about on a sunny Sunday afternoon? Did she like to walk barefoot on the beach? Or sit in a comfy chair, reading a book? Or snuggle on the couch in front of a football game?

  Her gaze flicked from his face to the dismantled bomb and back, her posture tightening just enough for him to notice. The device was useless now, but the pile of wires still had enough power to make her uncomfortable in her own home.

  “Zig, why don’t you and the guys take that out to the truck?” He motioned toward the brown wrapper. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  Willie wiggled his eyebrows but stayed blessedly silent as the three men scooped up the dismembered pieces and marched toward the front door, closing it so silently behind them that Staci looked around his shoulder to make sure it had been pulled tight.

  When she was certain they were alone, she crossed her arms over her chest, sinking against the counter, using it to hold her up. He’d done that for her a time or two. He’d kept her standing and running in Lybania and kept her from hitting the ground after her car accident.

  And if the sudden pinch in his gut was an indicator, he wouldn’t mind having that job again.

  And that was a dangerous attitude to have.

  His CO had always been clear about the rules surrounding rescue missions. Tristan’s anonymity was paramount. He’d seen the commander lay into SEALs who’d played loose and fast with pictures on social media, posting hints to their role on the teams and leaving the kids too visible to go undercover.

  The rescued was the story. Not the rescuer.

  And outside of all of that, there was still the personal reason. He knew how exciting and romantic women thought it would be to date a SEAL. And he also knew just how risky those relationships could be. It wasn’t just a question of the danger he had to face, or the secrets he had to keep, even from the ones he loved the most. No, the hardest part was just how often he was away. How many birthdays he missed, how many anniversaries went uncelebrated. How many times someone he loved needed him at home, when instead he was half a world away. If he couldn’t trust himself to be there to take care of the woman he loved, then he had no right to get involved in the first place. He’d learned that the hard way, and he sure didn’t need any reminders.

  If he were a smart man—and graduating at the top of his class at the Naval Academy suggested he was—he’d walk away from Staci Hayes before his head got filled with dumb ideas like trying to be the guy who’d be there for her on a permanent basis.

  He could help her get set up in a safe place and call his linguistics instructor again to see if he could translate the words on the map. He’d keep an eye out and alert the right authorities to make sure someone followed up on the tip.

  Hopefully it would all be resolved soon, and then he’d be free to forget this mission altogether. He’d already done more than anyone could expect.

  “So, what do we do now?” She licked her lips, twirling the end of a long curl around her finger, and tugging until it bounced back into place.

  We?

  A rope around his lungs tightened, pinching his chest. When had they become a “we”?

  He stepped back. Putting a few more feet between them couldn’t hurt. After ten minutes in the tub, enough time to memorize the sweet scent of her perfume, he needed to get far enough away to think about anything other than tropical fruits.

  “You should go someplace safe until this guy is caught. Do you have a relative you can stay with?”

  Her lips pursed to the side, her brows lowering over her jade-green eyes. “But he knows who they are. At least who my sister is. I’m not going to stay with her or anyone else and put them in jeopardy. If he came after me, my family would be in danger, right?”

  She had a point. The guy had done his homework.

  “What about a friend or college roommate or someone you wouldn’t be easily connected with?”

  She shook her head. “Most of them have families now, too. And even if it was safe for them, which I would never risk, what about finding the man responsible for all this? Don’t you think I should be close by so that I can help identify him? After all, I’m the only one who’s heard his voice.”

  “But you’ve never seen him, right?”

  “Well, not his face.”

  He cocked his head to the side. This was new. “What part of him did you see?”

  She pressed a long finger to her bottom lip before running the same finger down the path of her scar. Her gaze drifted to a point well beyond his shoulder, but he didn’t look away from her face. “It was so dark in that room. But he walked past the door as my guard—the one who dropped the map—stepped inside. I could only see a bit of his arm. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows.”

  He leaned forward, closing the distance he’d been so eager to find just moments before. “Any distinguishing marks or tattoos?”

  “There was something on his arm. A tattoo, maybe.”

  “Could you draw it?”

  “No. It didn’t really make any sense. Just oddly put together lines, but it was green, like a classic tattoo on a tan arm.”

  “Was he hairy?”

  She closed her eyes for a long moment, her eyelids dancing. Wrinkles across her forehead and the thin line of her lips reminded him that this was not a pleasant memory for her. And he hated that he was the one asking her to relive it.

  But if they could just identify the American and stop his plot, she’d be free to live the life she should have.

  “Not particularly. But the hair he had was dark.”

  “So, we’re looking for a man with an unidentified tattoo, dark hair and an American accent.”

  Shrugging, she nodded. “Not much to go on, I know. But if I could just hear him speak, I think I’d be able to point him out.”

  “And if you get that close, you’d also be in even more danger than you are now.” His tone took on a low growl, and he cleared his throat, trying to get rid of it. He didn’t need to have any kind of reaction to this woman. But the protective instincts she brought to the surface were anything but unaffected.

  He rubbed a hand over his churning stomach, catching a finger in the belt loop of his BDU pants.

  He needed to do something with this girl, but what? She was in trouble, and he wouldn’t leave her to fend for herself. No matter what protocol dictated.

  “I can stay here.” She straightened her spine and ran her hands down the side of her black stretch pants. “I’ll be okay. And I’ll be able to keep an eye out for anyone snooping around.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Her face turned into a mask of confusion at his words.

  “If you stay put, someone just might snoop around and find you. And then where would you end up?”

  Her eyes grew wide, her mouth forming a perfect O. A faint quiver in her bottom lip exposed her fear before she could clamp her straight white teeth on it.

  She was scared. And for good reason. If she was found, she could end up back in a room just like her Lybanian cell. Or worse. And he couldn’t come rushing in to rescue her again. But he could keep her from ending up in that same spot. Maybe it was just an extension of the mission, b
ut something deep in his gut told him that she needed his protection. Not just anyone would do. She needed him.

  Sure, it was against regulations. And he knew firsthand the pain that came with getting too emotionally involved with a woman who didn’t understand how little he had to give as a SEAL.

  But she didn’t need just anyone. She needed him.

  The knot in his stomach pulled taut.

  The road down which his mind wandered was fraught with landmines. This was a bad idea. He’d failed when another pretty face had needed a protector.

  Maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time he could save her.

  Staci batted long lashes at him. Not flirting, really. Just graceful movements that shaded her eyes. The fear there flickered as she dropped her gaze toward her folded hands, her shoulders sloping as she looked away.

  He didn’t have to do much. Just had to stay by her side, keep her close and in his line of sight. Who could blame him for taking care of an innocent in danger?

  And if she developed feelings or wanted more than just his help?

  He shoved the thought away.

  Staci just wanted to be safe. And if she indicated she wanted more than that from him? He could gently remind her that she was probably just feeling residual emotions from the prison rescue. He wasn’t the settling-down type. There were better men for that.

  There was only one way to keep her safe until they figured out who was behind this.

  “My sister is staying with me right now, but I’ve got an extra room at my place. Why don’t you stay with us?”

  FIVE

  The only thing more surprising than L.T.’s blurted question was her immediate response.

  “All right.” Staci pressed her hands down her pant legs as her own words ran on the tail of his question. “I’d hate to be extra trouble.”

  He shook his head, the emotions on his face not quite matching his invitation. “My sister, Ashley, is about your age, and her husband is in training in Chicago for a couple more weeks. She could use the company—and the distraction. She’s at my place in case she goes into labor early.”