by Anne Marsh
“You okay walking back to your bungalow alone?” he said instead.
There was a pause as she fished for her sandals with her toes. “I think I can manage,” she answered dryly.
“You can stay here if you prefer.”
“Alone.” Now she sounded put out.
He jammed his feet into his boots, bent over and started lacing. “Those are your only two options.”
She sighed. “We need to work on our mornings after.”
He didn’t think they’d sucked so badly. “I’m not complaining.”
“Because you’re the one leaving to go to work.”
“How did you think it would go?” Genuinely curious, he started grabbing weapons. He had a .40-caliber Glock model 17 with four magazines, a KA-BAR knife, and a Heckler & Koch MP-5 machine gun holstered to his thigh. He’d need to grab more multiple magazines for the machine gun, .40-caliber Teflon-coated hollow-points designed to pierce any body armor, including the SEALs, because he didn’t know how well prepared Marcos would be. She made a choked sound and he looked up. “What?”
“They let you bring all that stuff onto Fantasy Island?”
He snorted. “We didn’t have to worry about the TSA. We rode a commercial airliner into our drop zone and then we bailed out.”
The flight had taken off from Miami International looking like any tropics-bound jetliner, except the passengers had been almost exclusively male. Gray and his team had schlepped carry-ons full of jump gear, and the cargo hold didn’t hold suitcases. They’d popped the door and jumped when they got near Fantasy Island. It wasn’t a bad way to travel as long as you avoided the jet engines and timed the jump right.
“Right. I can see the 3-1-1 liquid rules didn’t apply to you.”
Jumping with sixty-five pounds of cargo, aiming for a quarter-mile stretch of sand? Yeah. TSA’s rules had not applied in that situation. He rolled his shoulders, settling his harness in place. The chitchat thing was strange. Not strange bad, but completely unfamiliar. But he needed to get his head in the game and his ass into the hallway. It was showtime, not express-your-feelings time.
“You’re injured,” she reminded him. “Even you, Mr. Super SEAL, can’t heal that quickly.”
“It’s just a scratch,” he said gruffly.
“And you have a medical degree from the University of WebMD?” She yanked up the hem of his T-shirt. “Hold this.”
Part of him wanted to push her away. He didn’t take orders and he was out of time. But normal folks expressed concern when their loved ones were going away on a business trip. Or in deep shit. Or running the risk of dying. Yeah. He’d stick with the business trip analogy. So he stood there, holding up his shirt, while she reapplied a bandage, her movements quick and efficient as she taped the gauze in place. This mattered to her, so it was the least he could do.
“There.” She stepped back and he dropped his shirt. “You’ll do.”
His body held no surprises. He’d been X-rayed, tested and poked to death before he’d been allowed to join a special warfare training compound as a SEAL trainee. After that, he’d trained, honed and disciplined that body. There was no one type of man who made it through SEAL training. Big guys, little guys, it was all about the motivation and having the sheer determination and will. So he wasn’t worried about the bullet. He knew what his body was capable of and he’d be fine.
Nope. The problem wasn’t his body. It was his goddamn heart. He had something stuck in it, and he was pretty certain it was Laney.
She met his gaze. “Where is this going?”
They both knew he couldn’t tell her the details. On the other hand, he didn’t want her worrying—or trying to follow him. “The landing zone on the other side of the island. We have incoming.”
She stared at him, the familiar pucker forming between her eyebrows. “This isn’t about helicopters.”
Right. She’d meant them.
“Never mind.” Her sigh ruffled his hair, and he wanted to smooth away the frown, memorize the answer that would make her happy.
“Well, good luck...” Pausing, she tilted her face up to his. That was his cue, but he felt as if they were playing out another fantasy, one he hadn’t been given the script to. How did civilians do this? Hand over a cup of coffee, plant a kiss on her lips and hightail it? Planning. He needed to plan more the next time.
When he still didn’t say anything, because he was a dumbass, she hitched in a breath and stepped in closer, sliding her hands up his arms and over his shoulders. His arsenal had to be digging into her, but she didn’t seem to mind. Laney was a good sport and practical to boot. God, he needed to go. To find some drug-runner ass to kick. But another part of him wanted to stay right here, with this woman.
“I need you to come back to me, okay?”
That had been the wrong thing to say. Fantasies were just that—fantasies.
She knew it even before Gray froze in the doorway. She needed a do-over, a list of witty things to say when your lover geared up and headed out on a secret military mission. “I don’t go looking for trouble,” he said, his voice low and gruff. “But I never walk away from a fight when it finds me. Some of us, we walk the wall holding our rifles, and we never pull the trigger, but me, I’m part of a unit where I’ll aim and fire if that’s what the mission requires. I think you should know that.”
Gray bristled with weapons and camo, a look that was part sexy, part scary because this was no game. He was really going to go out there and, if he had guns, so would other people. Soldiers got hurt. She should know. She’d already sewn him up once. Stretching up on tiptoe, she pressed a kiss against his stubble-roughened cheek. The gesture was another inappropriate move, but she wanted the kiss for herself.
“Got it,” she said.
This wasn’t how she’d imagined their night ending. Although, really, what had she thought would happen? Pancakes at an all-night diner? A declaration of love? Pancakes were good and she’d bet the resort’s restaurant would cook them, but he was her breakup man, her fun-times guy. She hadn’t planned on keeping him, so it was good he was already on his way out the door.
* * *
GRAY AND LEVI lay on their stomachs in position on the western side of the road leading from the landing pad to the resort. Remy and Mason had the east side. A shooting pair was focused on the apex of the ambush. That gave them six shooters on this stretch of road. The rest of the second SEAL team had the backside of the landing pad covered. If the SEALs riding the jeeps couldn’t disarm Marcos—and no one believed the man would come unarmed—and Marcos broke away, Gray, Levi and the others would provide crossfire in the kill zone. Taking their perp alive was the priority, but they’d take him down if it were the only option.
From his vantage point, Gray couldn’t see the thatched-roof hut just down the jungle track that served as the resort’s “airport.” Everything there would seem normal, with no telltale clues that two teams of SEALs had replaced the usual staff. Two jeeps waited to meet the arriving guests, and Gray had SEALs in both vehicles, along with more SEALs dressed in the advance team’s clothes. Marcos shouldn’t realize anything had happened until he was boots down on the ground.
The jungle slowly woke up around them. Birds called back and forth over the whine of insects, and a male howler monkey vocalized in the distance. With his legs spread, Gray’s boots touched Levi’s. Even when the helicopter came into sight and they went silent, he wouldn’t be alone. He’d be toe to heel and in constant communication even though moving wasn’t an option. According to Ashley’s inside source, Marcos planned to time his arrival for sunrise. That wasn’t optimal flying time, but apparently, Marcos’s girlfriend had declared it romantic and a symbol of new beginnings. He’d bet Marcos had loved that. If all went according to plan, she’d be pulled away from Marcos and out of any possible firefight. Gray didn’t know how much she understood about Marcos’s business dealings, but Uncle Sam had a list of questions with her name on it.
As if he’d read
Gray’s mind, Levi turned his head. “We need to discuss your dating strategies.”
“Now?” It was still ten minutes until go-time. He listened, but couldn’t hear the chopper’s blades yet.
“You see a Starbucks where we can grab a coffee while we wait?” Levi’s teeth were a slash of white in his face paint.
Gray shifted slowly on his belly, easing into a more comfortable position. The jungle floor was no Barcalounger. “If you want to try and have a heart-to-heart while we’re setting up an ambush, be my guest.”
“You can get up and leave. Not without blowing the mission.” Satisfaction filled Levi’s voice.
“Is this payback?” He racked his brain, but he couldn’t remember tweaking Levi about his love life recently.
“Friendly advice.” The other man eased up on his elbows and scanned the road.
“Since when do you play psychoanalyst?”
“Since you forced me to overhear your sweet goodbyes with Doctor Laney.” Levi grimaced and sank back down, near invisible on the jungle floor. “Plus, I’m bored. Anyway, you need to work on both your delivery and your content.”
“That was private.” He’d hoped.
Levi grinned. “Don’t be such a girl.”
“I could quit,” he warned. “Text Uncle Sam my resignation right now and walk away.”
Levi snorted. “And Uncle Sam could take his own sweet time accepting your resignation. Remy’s been waiting six months to hear back on his.”
“I could shoot you. Solve my problem quicker.”
“You like me.” Levi grinned. “Besides, I’m going to hand you the keys to Laney’s heart.”
“We’re not serious,” he said. Which was a stupid thing to claim because if he knew one thing, it was that Laney confused the hell out of him. She was sweet and open and trusting. While he...was not.
Levi shook his head. “Keep telling yourself that.”
“Shut up.”
Of course Levi didn’t. The man was unstoppable when he had something, and he only had about eight minutes to get it said before Marcos landed and they both got more than a little busy.
“She asked where you thought the two of you were going. That, my man, was the part where you should have told her that you were glad the two of you were having that conversation. If you’re in a sharing mood, you tell her you’re really interested in her. Bottom line, you let her know she’s more than a convenient hookup.”
“Noted.” Was that a helicopter he heard? Action would be welcome because, damn it, he was sick and tired of lying here like a log with only Levi and his thoughts for company. He knew that this thing with Laney was more than sex, and it scared the hell out of him. Shooting something would be a welcome change of pace. And since he doubted Marcos would go down without some kind of fight, he estimated his wish would come true in approximately seven minutes.
The rhythmic thwup-thwup of an incoming helicopter interrupted Levi’s answer, followed shortly thereafter by the sound of tires crunching over the dirt track. The first jeep came into focus: two bodyguards, the resort driver, Marcos and the girlfriend. The second jeep carried two more guards and a mountain of Coach luggage. He repositioned, sighting his rifle.
As soon as the first jeep crested the track, Levi lobbed a flash bang into its path. There was a bright flash followed by a clap of sound. The grenade would disorient the jeep’s occupants for a few seconds.
“Let’s move.” Surging to his feet, Gray ran for the lead jeep.
The SEAL in the driver’s seat had hit the brakes hard. One of the guards had been thrown clear, and Gray signaled for Levi to take charge of him. The driver had gone for bodyguard number two.
“Manos arriba,” Gray barked. “Arrondilese.”
Anyone stupid enough to ignore the order and draw would be picked off by the sharpshooters up in the trees. The girlfriend turned out to be a shrieker, but Sam took care of that fast, wrestling her off the jeep and to the ground, one palm over her mouth.
Ramming his shoulder into Marcos, Gray secured the perp’s handgun and tossed him onto the ground. The man fought like a son of a bitch, surging back onto his feet, and Gray had to hand it to him. The guy knew how to take care of himself. Maybe hand-to-hand was a required skill in the drug trade these days. One well-aimed punch to the jaw took Marcos down, however, and Gray zip tied the man’s hands behind his back and patted him down for weapons.
Two guards down, Marcos and the girlfriend secured. Check, check and check. He swept the area, looking for potential issues. The other unit was all over the second jeep, but then gunfire erupted. Shit. Both the sharpshooters and Gray’s team had silencers. Any noise had to be coming from the two bodyguards in the second vehicle.
“Report,” he barked. Bullets sprayed the ground and then stopped.
Sam rose up from the other side of the second jeep. “We’re clear, but we’ve got a problem.”
Gray sprinted toward him. On the other side of the second jeep, Remy leaned heavily against the jeep’s side, bleeding profusely.
14
GRAY SLIPPED THROUGH the darkness toward Laney’s bungalow. Mission accomplished, bad guy in custody. Marcos would be on his way to the mainland and a US military prison within the hour. And Gray was confident that whatever intel the man had would eventually make its way to the right ears. Useful ears. Unfortunately, the mission hadn’t gone entirely his unit’s way. Right now one of his guys was possibly bleeding out, spending the last minutes of his life lying on the jungle floor some eight hundred miles from the Louisiana bayou where he’d been born and raised.
That wasn’t happening on Gray’s watch, not if he could help it. Which explained why he was inbound on Laney’s bungalow, the jungle alive around him with early-morning wake-up noises, and worse, as the birds and the howler monkeys took notice of his presence. He’d abandoned the covert part of covert op in favor of a six-minute mile.
He sprinted up the path, hoping that any early-rising guests would write him off as a fanatic jogger. Unfortunately, time was not on his side. Laney’s bungalow was on the resort’s northern perimeter. Once again, he cursed the resort’s owners for the pro-green stance that had banished golf carts and any other form of motorized transport from Fantasy Island. Bicycles were encouraged, but locked up overnight. By the time he’d picked the lock on the storage shed, he might as well have hoofed it on foot.
When he turned the corner, Laney’s bungalow was dark, the curtains still drawn. He raced up the steps and swiped the keycard through the lock. Ashley had assured him the master card would open any door, and it appeared she’d been correct. The lock flickered green and he heard the door pop. He was in.
Stepping inside, he quietly closed the door behind him. Leaving the door open would invite questions if anyone passed by, and housekeeping would be starting soon. He looked toward the bed, hoping for movement. This wasn’t the way he’d wanted to come home to her. Not that he’d thought about it or her during his mission. Not more than once or twice at any rate.
Then he saw her. Sprawled on top of the covers, she wore only a T-shirt and shorts, despite the fact that she’d once again air-conditioned the bungalow to roughly the inner temperature of an igloo. She’d foregone a ponytail, a red-letter day, and brown hair spilled over the pillow, clearly visible in the light from the bathroom. She hated the dark. She’d mentioned that once, sounding sheepish, and he’d thought it was cute. Unlike her, he loved the dark.
The even in and out of her breathing filled the room. God. She looked peaceful. Happy even. He hated like hell to wake her up, but Remy was out of time and she was his best chance at survival.
He crouched down beside the bed and placed one hand on her shoulder. The other he rested near her mouth. He couldn’t risk a scream, but he didn’t want to scare the crap out of her. It was bad enough he’d suddenly materialized in her room without an invite. He wouldn’t make this worse for her if he could help it.
“Laney.” He brushed his mouth over her ear. Okay. So the
almost-kiss was for him. He suddenly understood that picture of the sailor kissing a random woman when he docked, sweeping her back and off her feet. He felt the same way when he saw Laney, as if he could laugh and jump into the bed and wrap himself around her. Kiss her some, love her lots.
No. That was the wrong word. He definitely didn’t do love.
“I need a doctor,” he said, more roughly than he’d intended.
She came awake in a rush and it was easy to imagine her as the attending doctor at a hospital, catching a catnap in an empty room. Waking up when the nurse came in or the pager went off. She woke up as if she expected it, as if she’d never quite allowed herself to relax completely.
“Gray?” His name, sleepy and soft.
“Yeah, sweetheart. It’s me.” He touched her cheek. The gesture was selfish, but he couldn’t help himself. Teammates had used the words big, mean and bastard to describe Gray, and they weren’t wrong. He certainly had no business inviting himself into her bedroom, no matter how welcome she’d made him before. The regret was a new emotion, regret for what he’d done, the women he’d slept with. Funny how sex had seemed to fill the empty hole inside him but now he felt emptier than ever.
“I hate to ask this.” But he would.
“Okay,” she said, sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Something flashed over her face. Hope? Anticipation? Hell if he knew, but one thing was certain. Whatever it was, he was going to disappoint her.
“I’ve got a man down and Sam’s out of his league. I need you to take a look.”
She stared at him for a moment. “Okay,” she repeated. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. From his position on the floor, he had an excellent view of her long, bare legs and tousled hair. Her T-shirt had rucked up around her middle while she slept, and she tugged it down absentmindedly.
“How bad is it?” She hurried over to the closet and rifled the contents, grabbing clothes and shoes.