Bring Him Home

by Karina Bliss

  Bring Him Home

  Special Forces #3

  Karina Bliss

  Former soldier Nathan Wyatt had no choice but to leave his army buddy to die, a secret that’s still tearing him apart.

  Two years on, he’s in Hollywood prostituting his war medal for work as a bodyguard to the stars when his best friend’s widow drags him home to fulfill his neglected responsibilities to her family trust.

  When he discovers Claire can’t forgive her late husband for breaking a crucial promise, Nate sees his path to salvation. He’ll be his buddy’s advocate, secure Steve’s place in his wife’s memory.

  The last thing he intends is to find himself in a love triangle with his dead best friend.

  Will admitting the truth—all of it—set him free, or alienate the woman he’s come to passionately love?

  A Sizzling Book Club pick at SmartBitchesTrashyBooks and a Recommended Read at DearAuthor.

  First published by Harlequin Enterprises in 2012

  World English Rights: © Karina Bliss

  I love to hear from readers. You can contact me by:

  Emailing karina@karinabliss.com

  Tweeting @BlissKarina

  Visiting Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/KarinaBlissAuthor

  Visit my website and sign up to my newsletter here for release updates: www.karinabliss.com

  Table of Contents

  BRING HIM HOME

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  About the Author

  Copyright Information

  Chapter One

  Northeastern Afghanistan

  Ears ringing from the explosion, Nathan Wyatt struggled to retain consciousness, one hand instinctively closing on his weapon, while he flung the other forward to find a brace as the Humvee spun one hundred and eighty degrees. His nose hurt like a bastard.

  The vehicle ground to a halt on its destroyed front tires with a slamming jolt, facing the second of the four-vehicle convoy they’d been leading.

  From the backseat, Nate blinked, trying to process what he was seeing.

  The road mine had blown in the hood, twisting their custom-fitted bull bars into a kids’ climbing frame and sending shrapnel tearing into the interior. Groaning, Ross slumped over the steering wheel, blood soaking his lower body. Beside him, Steve raised shaky hands to a head wound.

  The roar of an accelerator dragged his attention through the shattered windscreen. The second convoy vehicle was reversing at high speed, its occupants—local allies—firing wildly. Bullets whizzed past the mangled Humvee. C’mon, guys, we taught you better than—

  Boom!

  The truck imploded in a blinding flash of light and the Humvee shuddered under a percussion shock. Gravel, rock and flaming debris showered the roof. Nate’s brain engaged. Fast. The first improvised explosive device had been weight triggered. The second, timer detonated. Someone had waited to set it off when the truck backed up to find cover.

  He jerked upright, wiped a hand over his rapidly swelling nose. “Ambush!” he hollered at Lee. No response. For the first time he realized the gunner’s legs weren’t dangling from the turret. Seizing a link of ammo for the .50 machine gun bolted to the Humvee’s roof, he yelled at Steve, “We’ve lost Lee!”

  Boom!

  The jerry cans of fuel exploded in the burning truck, spewing flaming material in every direction and belching clouds of black smoke. It swirled through their doorless vehicle, making him cough.

  “Need help!” Steve shouted. Grabbing the comms unit with one hand, he used the other to press down on an arterial wound in Ross’s thigh that was pumping blood like an oil well, thick and viscous.

  Nate dropped the ammo link and scrambled for the medic kit.

  “Contact, contact!” Steve shouted, giving the coordinates for backup as Nate ripped the packaging on an elastic latex band and jerked it tight a couple inches above the wound. A third explosion from the burning truck rocked their vehicle, and Nate cursed as one of the two steel S-hooks caught Ross’s flesh. Good thing he was unconscious.

  Steve dropped the mic and took over with Ross. “Got it. Recon!”

  Reshouldering the link of ammo and his weapon, Nate swung up through the hole in the Humvee’s roof, emerging into fierce heat and choking clouds of noxious black smoke. Even through a broken nose he could distinguish the obscene note of barbecuing flesh.

  The blazing truck was providing temporary cover. But it only needed a shift in the hot desert wind to expose them. To show the enemy their job wasn’t done.

  It took one glance to ascertain the machine gun was inoperable. As he armed his M4A1 with a grenade launcher, he strained to see through the stinging smoke. Trying to locate the enemy, sight Lee, discover an LUP—laying-up position. The fumes coated his throat, already tight with emotion he couldn’t afford. Stay alive, mate. We’ll come for you.

  But first they had to save themselves.

  The ringing in his ears gone, he could hear exploding rocket-propelled grenades, bursts of 40mm grenade fire and the steady stream of small arms and machine guns. Through the billowing smoke he caught glimpses of tracer rounds, and could see that the convoy’s two remaining vehicles were under attack and returning fire. Nate ducked back into the Humvee.

  His body twisted at an awkward angle, Steve was applying a QuikClot sponge to Ross’s wound. “Our guys engaging.” Nate handed him a pressure bandage and started collecting extra weapons and ammo. “No sign of Lee, but visibility’s shit, which is buying us time. Can’t see an LUP. We’ll have to take our chances with the ditch alongside the road. Now let’s get the hell out of here before the insurgents discover we’re not dead yet.”

  “My foot’s trapped.” Steve tied off a bandage. “Leave me a crowbar and a GPMG. I’ll catch up to you two.”

  Nate dropped his armful on the ground outside the Humvee, fetched the crowbar and set to work, cutting off Steve’s protest. “You can waste time arguing or you can plug Ross into a saline/morphine drip.”

  Steve bent over Ross. Blood from his head wound dripped onto the unconscious man and he paused to wipe it with his sleeve. It was shredded and bloody with shrapnel, but the Kevlar vest had protected his chest. “Smoke starts thinning, you go,” he barked.

  Nate began levering the jagged metal away from Steve’s calf. “Don’t distract a one-eyed man.” The left was swelling shut and his nose had clotted, forcing him to breathe through his mouth, which drew the acrid smoke farther into his lungs. Every cough made him feel as if his face was being hit by a two-by-four.

  In the midst of the chaos, both men worked with glacial calm. Steve stuck a needle in Ross’s arm. “Stay alive, Ice.”

  Ross stirred. “Hey, we’re the Indestructibles,” he muttered. He opened his eyes. “Where’s Lee?”

  His hands slippery with blood and sweat and a fear he wouldn’t give in to, Nate redoubled his efforts. “Expecting him any minute, leading the U.S. frickin’ cavalry.”

  Ross lapsed back into unconsciousness. “Smoke’s thinning,” warned Steve.

  “Got it.” With a grunt, Nate levered the last of the tangled metal away from Steve’s calf, then swore. The ankle was securely clamped in place
by the twisted bull bars.

  For a moment Steve stilled, then calmly finished taping the IV to Ross’s body. “Pass me some hardware and get outta here.”

  Nate dropped the crowbar. “I’ll get a hacksaw. Cut off your foot if I have to.”

  “There’s no time, mate.” Steve’s voice was shaky but determined.

  As if substantiating his argument, they heard the whine of an RPG. Twenty meters in front of them the road exploded. They’d been spotted.

  Steve picked up Ross’s weapon. “Take Ice and find cover. I’ll keep them busy.”

  “No man left behind.” Scrambling to his feet, Nate hauled out a machine gun and lay on the ground beside the Humvee. Wiping the sweat from his battered face, he took aim and fired. A burst of rounds kicked up the hill.

  “I said go. We’re not all dying today.” Ignoring Steve, Nate lined up another shot. A second RPG imploded, fifteen meters to the left of the vehicle, igniting a small pool of fuel. “Get Ross the hell out of here and save his life.” Viciously, Steve kicked Nate in the ribs with his free foot. “That’s an order, soldier!” With a roar of frustration, Nate scrambled to his feet and hoisted Ross onto his shoulder. Steve loaded him up with munitions. “Tell my family I love them. And tell my wife—” His voice broke. “Tell Claire I’m sorry.”

  Nate set his jaw. “I’ll drop Ross and come back.”

  His best friend’s gaze met his. “Goodbye, mate.”

  “I’m coming back, goddamn it!”

  Steadying Ross, Nate ran. Lungs pumping, stomach sour, heart breaking. He ran.

  The blast flung him forward on a surge of heat and power. He landed winded, staring into a blue Sunday sky with Ross on top of him. Rolling them both into the ditch, he elbowed up the shallow bank with desperate speed. The Humvee was burning, Steve, a silhouette amidst the flames. Half a dozen insurgents descended from the wadi, opening fire.

  On a sob, Nate raised his weapon to his good eye, aimed and pulled the trigger.

  And then the fighting started.

  Chapter Two

  Eighteen months later

  Nate marked the blonde as a potential stalker the moment she walked poolside on Hotel Hollywood’s rooftop garden where rocker Zander Freedman’s party raged with its usual excess.

  For a start she wasn’t conscious of being observed—not a trait of any of the celebrity guests here. And she was nervous. Despite the cool way she lifted her chin as she walked through the throng, she clutched her purse tightly. Damn it, the bag was large enough to conceal a weapon.

  He couldn’t read her eyes. She wore shades that dwarfed her face, but her exposed arms were too pale for a local and the simple blue halter sundress was department store, not designer. After a year in the service of the rich and famous Nate could tell the difference. And though she seemed as pretty—and as skinny—as any anorexic starlet, the boobs were real.

  His gaze dropped to her feet. Serviceable sandals and unpainted toenails in a place where everyone was buffed, polished, gleaming, manicured, pedicured, tautened…hell…a couple even had butt implants.

  He glanced at the other security detail to see if she’d triggered their radar. Luther and Jake were doing a perimeter check; Andrew had been waylaid by an older movie actress, known for her penchant for muscle. And judging by the twenty-two-year-old’s starstruck expression, he wasn’t unhappy about it. With a pang, Nate remembered a time when he’d been part of a team he could rely on. “Don’t party with clients,” he growled into his mouthpiece and Andrew jumped guiltily.

  As a line of waiters simultaneously popped the corks on twelve bottles of Krug champagne, the blonde paused by the ice sculpture of an electric guitar, its strings dripping in the Los Angeles heat. Waving away the waitress who approached her with a tray of hors d’oeuvres, she scanned the crowd with the single-minded intensity Nate recognized as that of a rabid fan.

  Casually he stepped closer to his employer, currently holding court by the guardrail, a cigar in one hand, a tumbler of Grey Goose vodka in the other. A rock icon with a genius for marketing, Zander was fresh off a season of a hit reality show where Rage’s lead singer had cast new band members for his comeback tour.

  Unfortunately the show had also increased his quota of crazies.

  Swinging his attention back to the blonde, Nate caught her staring in their direction. Probably harmless, just wanted to ask Zander to father her babies. Or hear her sing.

  Or she could be like the fan who’d shot John Lennon.

  She swallowed hard, tucked a loose strand of long hair behind her ear then started walking toward them. He strode forward to intercept her through the olfactory blanket of expensive perfumes, lotions and liquor, today leavened with chlorine and… Nate took another whiff. Surely even Zander’s crowd wasn’t arrogant enough to smoke marijuana at a public event? He’d check that out next.

  “Ma’am?” With a polite smile, he stopped in front of the blonde and lifted his mirrored aviator shades so she could read in his eyes that he meant business. “Can I see your invitation?” Instead, she reached out a hand. Lightning fast he caught her slender wrist, registering the rapid beat of her pulse under his fingers.

  “Nate,” she said in a New Zealand accent. “Don’t you recognize me?”

  Shocked, he dropped her wrist as if he’d been burned. “Claire,” he croaked then took a deep breath to steady his voice. “What are you doing here?”

  But he knew. With Steve dead, they needed to appoint a third trustee for her family trust. Nate thought of the papers sitting in his study while he psyched himself up into finally dealing with them and cursed his procrastination.

  His best friend’s widow lifted her sunglasses, and he braced himself for the accusation he knew was coming. But her blue eyes held only affection…and empathy. He forced himself not to flinch. “Can I have a hug first?” she said.

  “Of course.” His arms were leaden as he embraced her. “How are you?”

  “Jet-lagged.” If Claire noticed his reluctance she was ignoring it. “I dumped my bags off at your condo. Or, rather, your neighbor’s. She was in her garden, fortunately. I tracked your location through that celebrity-locator website. Technology must really make your job harder.”

  “Yeah.” She was expecting to stay with him? He broke into a cold sweat under his black Burberry suit. “But how the hell did you talk your way in?”

  “I said you were my brother,” Claire confessed cheerfully, “and that we had a family emergency. And I showed them this.” She opened her handbag and retrieved a snapshot.

  He glanced at it, unprepared for the pain that swept over him. It had been taken three years earlier, shortly after Nate and Claire had gone halves in Heaven Sent.

  In the photo, the three of them stood in front of the dilapidated fishing vessel, Claire in the middle. Steve had just suggested renaming the boat They Saw Us Coming and they were all laughing into the camera.

  Nate dropped it back into her bag. “You should never have got through security,” he rasped.

  “You could at least pretend to be pleased to see me. I’ve come halfway across the world to get you.”

  “Get me?”

  “Only for a few days.”

  He had to nip this in the bud right now. “Claire, Zander’s going on tour next week. I can’t come home right now.”

  “Rolling Stone magazine said it doesn’t kick off until next month.”

  “Yeah, but we fly out early to set up,” he lied. “I’d lose my job. Look, I’ll sign those papers you sent through a while back. You can take them home with you. And of course I’ll reimburse you for your flights.”

  “Unfortunately it’s no longer that simple.” There was a hint of desperation in her voice.

  “Hang on…Luther?” He spoke into his mic. “Cover Zander for me for a couple minutes.” The receiver crackled. “Got it.”

  Cupping Claire’s elbow, he steered her into the shade, away from the curious glances of the polished and indiscreet guests mingling nea
rby. “Fill me in.”

  “I have a buyer for the house.”

  “You’re selling?”

  She nodded. “And I need you to sign the transfer of ownership. If you come home for a few days then we can complete the documentation very quickly. I can’t afford the sale to fall through.”

  His frown deepened. “Are you in financial trouble?”

  “No, but I need more capital to fast-track the boat upgrade so she’s ready for November.”

  “Okay, now you’ve really lost me.”

  “Before the broadbill and striped marlin arrive? And the snapper numbers take a leap.” She smiled. “So to speak.”

  He looked at her blankly.

  “My new fishing charter venture?” she prompted. “It was all in my offer for your share of the boat, Nate.”

  He hadn’t even opened the last envelope. His face heated.

  Her smile grew a little tight. “Just as well I jumped on a plane, huh?”

  “Claire, I’m sorry. Things are so busy here.” Lame, even to his ears.

  “You don’t have to make excuses,” she said quietly. “Not to me. Everyone has their own method of grieving and if yours is avoiding your friends for a while… I get that.” She took a deep breath. “But I can’t keep sitting in limbo. With Steve dead and you living overseas, the trust isn’t working anymore. I want to break it, put everything in my name. All I need is a few days. Can’t you spare me that?”