Teasing Her Seal (Uniformly Hot!)

by Anne Marsh

  Levi set down the first rifle and reached for a second. “We’re certain Marcos is moving early?”

  “Positive. Our inside guy confirmed it.” The man had taken an enormous risk to get that intel out to them fast. Gray appreciated it. Having Marcos’s advance team show up unannounced wouldn’t have been good. He was already walking a tightrope between baiting the trap sufficiently for Marcos and keeping the civvies at ground zero safe.

  “We need to insert the second SEAL team ASAP,” he continued.

  The original plan had called for Gray’s team to infiltrate the resort staff and lay the groundwork for a second team that would come in later to provide backup. The insert had to be quick. Stealthy was also a definite requirement. The second team was scheduled to drop from two helos that would come in low over the bay behind their campsite in case Marcos had eyes on the ground, which was highly likely. Bringing the helos in and hitting the pause button over the beach would give the guys a narrow window to fast rope down to the ground. Team unloaded, the helos would head back to the Navy tanker waiting in international waters. Gray needed to be able to handle the situation with the utmost skill and prowess. This was his team and his guys on the line.

  “We meet and greet with the second SEAL team, then we lay up and wait for Marcos’s advance team. His guys are coming in early, but resort staff is up at dark o’clock. Our asses are going to be saved by the shit weather—the early morning yoga and jogging crazies aren’t going to be on the beach. If we do it fast, we should be clear before anyone notices.”

  As much as he wanted to get Laney’s butt off the island immediately, it simply wasn’t possible, and only part of his concern was due to the fact that she was a civilian who hadn’t signed up to be part of a covert military operation. He didn’t want to see her get hurt. She should be just another piece in the chess game of his mission, a convenient prop for his undercover role, but she wasn’t. He had to admit that much to himself. She was something—someone—more. Sex had definitely been a bad idea.

  Levi looked over at him. “Ready to get the party started?”

  Anything to get him out of his head. “Let’s roll.”

  It took over an hour to cross the island to the designated landing zone. It would have been quicker to cut through the resort, but riskier. So they’d gone the long way, skirting the pathways in a long, slow crawl through the jungle as they made for the beach. They had to run blind because Marcos could have eyes on the water and light would give them away. There was no way a casual tourist was running around in this kind of rain in the middle of the night.

  Dark-oh-hundred and raining. Some days his job sucked. There was definitely no getting a civilian chopper off the ground now. The resort’s seaplane might have been an option, but the plane didn’t handle best under gusty conditions, and that was what they were looking at now. So all he needed to do was to keep any firefight away from the guest bungalows.

  The bay didn’t look quite so picturesque when they reached it. The rain tore up the lagoon and dripped off the palm trees. Of course it was where he’d watched Laney run, so his beach fantasy came back with a vengeance. But he knew better than anyone that erections and missions didn’t go together. Levi took position on Gray’s left, while Mason moved out in front, Sam and Remy heading silently east and disappearing into the surf. They’d be waiting under the pier when the Zodiacs came in. The ocean was mad as hell tonight, the surf churning relentlessly up onto the wet sand. The Black Hawk swept in over the lagoon right on schedule, lights off, until it hovered over the beach.

  Mason eyed the choppy lagoon. “Those boys better hope they don’t miss and fall in.”

  “Choices.” Levi tapped his finger against his teeth. “Skewer your ass on a coral head or serve as a shark’s late-evening snack.”

  Sharks were a potential issue at night, although the lagoon was sheltered. Bull sharks in particular were night feeders, and it was possible to run into one even in these shallower waters. The low number of recorded shark attacks made it a low-risk proposition, however, and Levi knew that. He was just having fun with them.

  “Maybe sharks don’t like SEAL sushi.” Gray hunkered down to wait as the rest of his team disappeared into the dark.

  “Five bucks says we find out.” Levi flashed him a grin, his teeth white against his face paint.

  The chopper settled into a holding pattern, and the rope master tossed out one hundred fifty feet of fast rope. The rope bounced, smacking into the strip of wet sand where beach met ocean. According to the plan, they had ten minutes to unload and get the Black Hawk the hell out before they ran the risk of being spotted by the incoming Zodiacs.

  Showtime. Salt, sand and the heavy, lush weight of the water-soaked jungle air made breathing difficult. Even after dark and in the pouring rain, it was still hotter than hell, and the full camo didn’t help. Gray had water in his boots, and if he tipped his head back and opened his mouth, he ran the risk of waterboarding himself. Good times. At least he wasn’t packing fifty pounds of gear like the incoming SEALs.

  The deployment bags came out first, dropping from the open door and hitting the beach. Then the first SEAL swung his legs out the door, grabbed the rope and dropped. As soon as his boots hit, he ran for the jungle cover, a green blur in Gray’s night-vision goggles. The team commander slid down the rope last, then the Black Hawk rose up and banked sharply, moving out and away in a quick blast of sand and water.

  Gray checked the time as the other team leader loped across the sand to join him. They were on schedule. Twenty minutes to go-time, and the Zodiacs’ arrival at the main dock, if Marcos’s advance team didn’t decide to shake their shit up. It was a mighty big if. Signaling for the other SEAL to follow, he headed toward the dock.

  Marcos’s advance team was playing it cool, pretending to be resort guests. They had to land on the helo pad or arrive at the dock to avoid arousing suspicion. The pad was set a half mile away from the resort to preserve the peace and quiet of the bungalows. Guests arriving by helicopter were then driven to the resort in jeeps or golf carts. Ashley’s intel said the advance team was coming in by Zodiac. That meant there was a yacht cruising just offshore, hence the Black Hawk’s stealth approach.

  When they reached the dock, he signaled for a halt. The pier was too close to the guest bungalows for his liking. If they failed to contain Marcos’s advance team, all hell could break loose. Still, Laney didn’t know what was going down, he reminded himself. She wouldn’t be wandering around and into danger. If he did his job right, she’d sleep through tonight and wake up in the morning none the wiser.

  At sixty seconds to go-time, the familiar dark shape of a Zodiac hit the slot, driving through the channel, and rode the swells toward the beach. Marcos’s men had dropped the boat from a fishing vessel several miles offshore. He scanned the Zodiac with his night-vision goggles, grabbing a quick head count. Six men. The expected number and no surprises. The SEALs from the second team would be moving into formation behind them as they closed on the dock. It should be straightforward, but Gray had had far too many missions go strange to tempt fate.

  So far, so good, though.

  The Zodiac bumped against the dock and resort “staff” moved out to greet the new arrivals, carrying trays of chilled juice and hot towels. Since using civilians was an unacceptable risk, the two men were actually undercover operatives. The plan was to avoid a shooting war, so he had two snipers up in the trees. His receiver crackled in his ear as the first of his shooters reported in. “I don’t have a clear shot.”

  The SEALs kicked up out of the water, taking down their targets, and the two SEALs on the dock hit the ground as they palmed the weapons they’d concealed in their waistbands. And just like that, gunfire erupted. Damn it. Someone would hear the noise and investigate.

  “Backup plan.” Gray lunged out of the jungle, rifle up, running all out for the Zodiac. One hundred yards of sand, followed by another thirty feet of shallow water. It was remarkably similar to running thr
ough concrete. As his boots hit the water, the splash giving away any remaining element of surprise, he decided there was probably a market for a workout DVD like that. He aimed and squeezed off a round as heads turned in his direction. Unlike Marcos’s advance team, his had a silencer.

  A sharp stinging sensation in his side announced the unwelcome news that somebody on Marcos’s side had both excellent aim and armor-piercing rounds. He gritted his teeth against the pain.

  Well. Hell.

  * * *

  FANTASY ISLAND’S EMPLOYEE quarters were no military hospital with state-of-the-art equipment. The small single room housed a bed and a straight-back chair in addition to a sink and a mirrored medicine cabinet. Compared to the luxury bungalows dotting the beach, the room was positively spartan. Still, Gray was damned glad to see a bed even if lying down wasn’t an option at the moment. Hitting the mattress could be his backup plan. He peeled off his equipment and then his T-shirt. The bullet had grazed his side, just below his rib cage, the worst of the potential damage averted by his body armor.

  Patching up the damage was never fun.

  The door opened and closed behind him. Since Mason was standing watch out in the hallway, his incoming guest had to be an ally.

  “If you bleed on the floor, you clean it up.” The voice belonged to Sam, their field medic. Good times. Gray didn’t get to bleed alone anymore.

  Dropping the bloody T-shirt on the floor, he swabbed it around with his foot, ignoring Sam’s bark of laughter. “Cleanup’s a snap.”

  “Says you.” Levi didn’t move from his position leaning against the wall.

  “How did you get shot?” Sam asked as he dropped his med kit on the bed. Too bad they couldn’t fast-forward to the next part of the night.

  “The usual way,” he snorted. “Someone aimed and pulled the trigger. I failed to move in time.”

  “Lucky for you his aim was off.” Sam patted the bed. “Sit. The doctor is in.”

  If he sat, he wouldn’t get back up. He gripped the edge of the sink. “I’m good here.”

  “The medical equivalent of a drive-through. Excellent.” Sam moved up behind him, snapping on a pair of latex gloves. “Are you planning on dying on me?”

  “Not tonight,” he gritted out. Even the most superficial bullet wounds hurt like a bitch. He always forgot how much.

  “Good to know.” Sam carefully prodded, and Gray’s breath hissed out through his teeth. The key to dealing with an injury was to patch it up and ignore it. Too bad the patching part was so unpleasant.

  “Slap a Band-Aid on it and call it good.” The second SEAL team was moving Marcos’s advance team to an American vessel as they spoke, and he wanted to keep an eye on the transfer.

  Before Sam could answer—and undoubtedly protest—the door opened and closed again.

  “Is this a goddamned party?” Gray knew the question came out more growl than not, but now he felt like a sideshow. He’d shake this off, but it would be easier if he were alone.

  “If it is, it’s the worst party I’ve ever been to.” Ashley strode toward him and eyed Gray’s side as if he was a painting in a freaking art gallery. Not that her camo and boots were opening-night attire, but Gray had a bad feeling he wasn’t thinking clearly. “Wow. You need to move faster.”

  She looked at Sam. “How bad is it?”

  He shrugged. “I’m a field medic. It looks fairly superficial to me, but we’re in the tropics. The possibility for infection is high.”

  “I’m not pulling out.” Tight timeline aside, he wasn’t sending his unit in against Marcos alone. They needed every man. The advance team hadn’t gone down easily, and security would be tighter around Marcos.

  Ashley cursed. For a pretty girl, she sure had a potty mouth. It was no wonder she fit in so well with the SEAL unit. They weren’t pretty, either.

  “Laney’s a doctor,” she suggested. “Get her to fix you.”

  Laney was also a civilian. Under no circumstances was he dragging her into his operation.

  “Not an option,” he snapped. “Give me a shot of antibiotic and bandage up the damage. Think you can do that?”

  Sam growled right back, but he also moved away and grabbed his bag and started sorting out supplies, which meant Gray got his way tonight.

  Ashley wouldn’t let it go. “Laney’s a trauma surgeon. She’s one of the best there is, and you want Sam to patch you up, instead? No offense, Sam.”

  “None taken.” The medic added a roll of gauze to his stack of supplies. The gauze was harmless. The scissors, however, were one more item in a pile of sharp, pointy objects Gray had no desire to examine too closely. This was going to hurt.

  “She’s a civilian.” And that was certainly part of the truth.

  Laney wasn’t part of the SEAL unit. She didn’t have combat training, and he wanted to keep her far, far away from Marcos and his goons. So, yeah, she was a doctor. And she had undoubtedly patched up far worse in the ER chutes, but he didn’t want to be one more gunshot victim asking for help. Hell. He didn’t ask for help period, plus, looking helpless in front of Laney was the last thing he ever wanted to do.

  “She’s a trauma surgeon,” Ashley repeated. “She’s seen worse, and if anyone can get you back up and running quickly, it’s Laney.”

  “Laney stays out of this.” He sucked in a breath, tightening his grip on the sink as Sam began to explore the wound.

  “At least lie down.” Ashley sounded impatient. “Do you have an aversion to mattresses, as well?”

  Not at all. If he lay down, however, he wouldn’t be getting back up in the near future. He’d also make one hell of a mess on the sheets and that would be harder to conceal.

  “Sam’s going to be quick.” Please God. The medic did something that sent fire blazing through his side, and Gray started counting. Get to ten and then reassess. He could do that.

  Sam grunted, focused on his work. “Take an aspirin. You’ll live.”

  Good news, because hell would freeze over before he went knocking at Laney’s door with this kind of trouble.

  9

  THE PERSISTENT SOUND of rain hammering the palm trees and then Laney’s umbrella almost drowned out the sound of the ocean. According to the weather report that resort staff had slipped under her door last night, a small tropical storm had moved into the area for the next couple of days. Booking massages by the pool would be off-limits. The surrounding jungle was damp and wet, the early-morning sky dull.

  The walk to the employee housing was a ten-minute exercise in second-guessing herself. The employees occupied a neat, two-story apartment building tucked behind a discreet screen of palm trees. A watery sun rose over the ocean, almost entirely concealed by the falling rain. Those people who compared tropical rain to drops of pineapple juice? They were dead wrong.

  She spotted few lights on in the building. Please let Ashley be right about which room was Gray’s. She had a second fantasy to try on him. So, if the mountain wouldn’t come to Mohammed...she’d go to him. She liked walking in the rain, but cozying up in bed with Gray seemed like the better choice right now. Especially since the constant rain had soaked her running shoes and kicked mud up the back of her legs. Romantic. Not.

  When she stepped into the hallway, however, a dark shadow moved to intercept her, and she tried to remember how to breathe. It was just one of the resort employees. Who apparently had a thing for camo gear in his off hours. He paired military-grade boots, BDU pants and a damp T-shirt stretched over his powerful chest. And...was that a gun?

  “Can I help you with something?” The deep, smoky voice that came out of the darkness meant business. While the voice’s owner waited for her answer, he angled his body between hers and the hallway, cutting off her view of the gun tucked in the waistband of his pants.

  In some ways he reminded her of the gangbangers she’d patched up in the San Francisco ER. He wore the same easy confidence and animal-like awareness as the tattooed, low-rider men who’d prowled the inner-city streets, f
lashing gang signs and inking their allegiances into their skin. In other ways he resembled private security. He moved with lazy grace, as if it was simply a given he was bigger, badder and armed. Dangerous. She recognized the physical confidence of a man who knew he could take down anyone who got in his way. She posed no threat to him.

  “I’m looking for Gray.” She’d have bet this guy, whoever he was, knew about the two of them even before she spoke the words, and his nod confirmed her suspicions.

  “I’ll tell him you stopped by.” He didn’t move from his position in the middle of the hallway.

  “No need. I’ll tell him myself.” She took a step forward, testing him. The man was built like a brick wall. There would be no getting through him.

  “Gray’s busy right now.”

  What the hell did that mean? It was practically dark o’clock and the spa wasn’t open for business yet. She peered over the guy’s shoulders—the man was roughly the size of an ox—and, sure enough, that was Gray’s room right there. Her sneakers touched boots, her body very much in his personal space. And he didn’t budge. Damn it.

  “Who are you?” she demanded.

  He gave her a half smile. “I’m Mason. I’m a cook.”

  No. He wasn’t. A low groan reached her through the door. Gray’s voice. She recognized the sound as easily as she recognized the rough note of pain, the smell of antiseptic and, beneath that, blood.

  “Now would be a good time to leave.” Mason nodded toward the exit. A black harness crisscrossed his chest, and a lethal-looking knife hung from his waist. Definitely not a cook.

  Nothing on Fantasy Island was what it seemed. The resort was staffed by a group of rough, scarred men and Mason was packing? Any number of scenarios ran through her head, none of them good, but then a second groan issued from Gray’s bedroom, abruptly cut off.

  She swallowed. What was going on here? “I’m a doctor.”