by Sabrina York
By the time she reached the top deck, she could hear gunfire. Her chest tightened. God, she couldn’t stand it if anything happened to Lily. Aside from that, if it did, the senator would kill her. This whole junket had been Brandy’s idea. Go to Ethiopia and save the children. It had seemed like a good idea. Until now.
She pushed through the hatch just as a bullet zinged over her head, burrowing into the bulkhead with a howling sizzle. Pierre barreled past her with Lily on his heels. She collided with Brandy at the top of the stairs.
Yanking Lily inside, she slammed the heavy door. “Where the hell have you been?”
Lily sniffed. “Collecting Pierre. He wanted to watch.”
Brandy caught her arm and dragged her down the stairs. “Heaven protect us from innocents and devils,” she muttered.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. What were you thinking? Going after Pierre? You need to take care of your own ass. For pity sake, Lily, those were real bullets out there. A bullet doesn’t care who your father is. Understand? And when bullets are flying, anyone can get shot. Trust me. I’ve patched up more than one bystander who took a stray.”
“Well, I didn’t get shot.” And then, “Where are we going?”
“Into the hold.” They rounded the final landing and emerged into a large space packed with crates and boxes. The others were being ushered by a crewmember into a hidey hole at one end.
“It smells down here.”
Brandy blew out a sigh. “Get used to it, Lil. We could be here for a while. The pirates don’t just go away. They stay. They follow you. They continue attacking until you outrun them or until help comes.” She stopped and pinned Lily with a dark glower. “We’re in real danger here. People die in situations like this. They get taken prisoner. Held as hostages. For years sometimes.”
Finally. Finally she got through. Lily paled. She quit resisting. Brandy hurried after her into the cubbyhole. Once they were settled, she closed the door with a jerk.
The metal clang should have made her feel better. Made her feel safer.
But it didn’t.
* * *
For the next few hours, the sounds of the attack echoed through the bowels of the boat to their hiding place. Rapid fire, shouts, even the impact of what felt like a torpedo. Brandy was certain the pirates would sink the ship rather than let them go.
Fear clawed at her gut. As she huddled, she plotted how to get Lily to safety if the ship started taking on water, but she didn’t share her fears.
The others holed up with them were no help. Nancy sat there hugging her knees and whimpering. Michael sweated profusely, making the closed space smell of man-stank and Pierre kept cracking his knuckles as though, if the pirates found them, he would leap to their defense…or something.
With any luck Garnier could outrun the bastards until help arrived. These waters were speckled with fleets that regularly came to the aid of ships under attack, but the waters were vast.
A pity they didn’t have any luck. No luck at all. A massive impact slammed into the stern on the starboard side…and the engine shuddered to a stop. Brandy’s blood turned to ice. What followed was something of a panicked blur. They heard the pirates board. Gunfire and shouts and then the sounds of pillaging in the hold—right outside their door.
Everyone held their breath. Nancy even stopped whimpering, but her eyes were wide. Brandy nearly fainted when the pirates left the hold, but sometime in the night they returned. This time they did not bother with the pillaging. They came straight for their hideaway.
The cubby was locked from the inside, but only by a bolt. To Brandy’s horror, the door jiggled. Everyone leaned back, as though that could save them from this looming threat.
It did not.
The pirates made short work of the flimsy barrier, wrenching the door open, and Brandy found herself staring through the weak beam of a flashlight at a ragtag group of skinny men holding Kalashnikovs. She swallowed heavily. As automatic rifles went, they were notoriously unreliable. But a bullet was a bullet.
Slowly she raised her hands, urging the others to do so as well.
They all did.
All but Lily. Who smiled at the pirates.
Smiled.
Oh, God help them all.
* * *
“Whadda we got?” Drake Ronan asked as he ducked through the hatch and into the ship’s narrow corridor. He had to move fast to keep up with Ryder and the rest of the guys on his squad. None of them—not one of them—waited for anyone.
“It’s a hostage situation,” Ryder tossed over his shoulder as he hustled toward the briefing room. They’d gotten the call for this mission in the middle of a training op and they’d had to chopper in. They knew they were late. Probably the last squad to arrive. It sucked, because this was Drake’s first mission with this SEAL team—his dream team—and he really wanted to impress. He was determined to show everyone he had what it took to serve with this elite company.
SEAL teams had a tendency to form tight bonds—necessary when working in high-stress and dangerous situations—but it kind of made it a bitch for the new guy to break in. Especially when his squad leader didn’t want him.
He hoped to prove Ryder wrong.
Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed to be assigned with Ryder, but shit, when he’d saved the admiral from a terrorist attack, the brass had offered him his choice of assignments.
This was the team he wanted. The squad he needed. Fuck, this was why he’d become a SEAL. To work with Ryder.
If Ryder didn’t like it, he could just suck it.
Garrett bumped into him as they both tried to pass through the same hatch and then he glared at Drake as though it were his fault.
Awesome.
No doubt Ryder had prepped the squad to give the new kid the business.
So Drake shot Garrett a grin. A shit-eating grin.
Yeah. Kill ’em with kindness.
At the next hatch, Luke bumped into him. Figured. Garrett and Luke were two peas in a pod. At the third hatch, when Zack did the same, it got old. So Drake tripped the fucker. Zack went plowing into Mason, who whirled around and frowned at him.
When Ryder turned around and glowered at all of them, Drake fixed an innocent look on his face. Whistled even.
“Come on, guys. Stay focused,” he snapped. Ryder snapped a lot. Always had. He was a surly fuck sometimes. “This is a major op. A JTF. Best behavior.”
“Aye, aye,” they all chorused. They all knew the drill. When working on a joint task force there was one rule and one rule only. Impress the hell out of the other teams.
Ryder shot another frown around the cadre, just for good measure, pinning each member of his team with his displeasure. He pinned the most on Drake. Then again, he always had. Ever since they were kids.
Proving himself to Ryder was damn near impossible, but he would. Or die trying.
When they filed into the war room, all the other squads were assembled, so Lieutenant Harper lit right into the briefing, quickly going over the details of the incident. A ship, carrying aid workers headed for Ethiopia, had been taken by pirates. They had hostages. As Harper spoke, Drake glanced at the man to the CO’s left and flinched.
Fuck.
Commander Brandywine.
Of all people.
Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.
He tried to make himself smaller, but it was too late. The commander saw him; his eyes narrowed.
Drake remembered Brandywine from his BUD/S training. The guy was a fucking legend. Also, he hated Drake’s guts. Most likely because he’d been the one to drag Drake home after his company’s Hall of Fame liberty—which had been dubbed, by many, as the infamous Hall of Shame liberty. For graduating with perfect marks, his team had earned a special unescorted leave. They’d torn up the fucking town.
Brandywine had been the one to collect them at the police station and drag their asses back to base; his opinion of Drake was not stellar.
It might have
had something to do with the fact that Drake had barfed on his boots.
Brandywine’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything—like get out. Instead, he crossed his arms and fixed his attention on Harper waiting for his turn to speak as the lieutenant gave a preliminary overview of the operation. And when he did speak, Drake’s gut clenched.
He’d wondered why someone of Brandywine’s rank was here, overseeing this mission. The reason was a heartbreaker.
His daughter, Susan, was one of the hostages.
Drake stared at the slide on the screen, the picture of a smiling girl with nut-colored pigtails, a raft of freckles over her nose, a crooked smile…and braces.
“Shit,” he murmured before he could stop himself. “Is she seven?”
Ryder gored him with an elbow and he oofed.
The commander sent him a cold look. His voice was rough when he responded. “This is the only photo I have of her. The last one her mother sent me. She is…older now.” His throat worked as he scanned the company. “If you boys could bring my daughter home safely, I would be very appreciative.” With that, the commander left the room and the tension drained from Drake’s body.
Harper waited for the hatch to close on the war room before he continued. “I didn’t want to stress this in front of him, but you all need to be aware. This is not your typical pirate crew. For most of these bastards, this is just a business. The crews try very hard to keep their hostages safe and in good health. They are respectful of women. These guys… Well, they’ve already killed one hostage. Needless to say, time is of the essence. Team medics, be sure your bags are stocked. We have no idea what we’ll find.”
The briefing continued, going over the assignments, the details of the drops and the extraction points. Harper flicked back through the slides to a map of the area, pointing out the island where the hostages were being held and the island to the south that would serve as a secondary extraction site if needed. Most such rescues took place aboard ship, but because these idiots had damaged the ship during their attack, they’d had to evacuate to an island in an archipelago off the coast of Somalia.
It pretty much seemed like your standard rescue op. Drop in, clear the area, take out the hostiles and transport the hostages—both passengers and crew—to safety. He’d done at least ten like this. Drake checked his watch. Couple hours, tops.
The only downer was that their squad would be away from the heavy action, clearing a village to the north when intel had all the hostages being held in the south. But hey, a mission was a mission.
The briefing ended and the men all bustled out of the room and back to their assigned bunks to assemble their gear. The squad was silent as everyone prepared their packs and checked their weapons. They’d all done this a thousand times, so no chatter was required.
Drake dropped his heavy vest on the bed and Ryder frowned. “Wear it,” he clipped. “These pirates have already killed a couple crew members and one of the hostages. They won’t balk at shooting a SEAL.”
Drake frowned back at him. He knew better than to go out without body armor. That Ryder thought he had to tell him to wear it pissed him off. But then, Ryder had always been a bossy fuck. Growing up, he’d thought because he was older, he was the king of the fucking hill.
Difference was, this time he was the boss.
Just to be contrary, Drake didn’t put it on. He stuffed a few more things into his kit and fiddled with his weapon.
It was fun watching Ryder bristle. He stood and flexed his muscles, a snarl on his lips. “Goddamn it, Drake—”
He cut off when Mason clapped him on the shoulder. “He knows,” he said. “He’ll wear it.”
Mason was the only one on Ryder’s whole squad who had welcomed Drake in…but then, he and Mason had gone through BUD/S together. They’d been friends for years. He shot him a grateful nod.
It was going to be hell getting these guys to accept him. Ryder especially. Ryder was the most stubborn man on the planet.
“He better fucking wear it.” Ryder fitted his belt around his waist and yanked on the end to tighten it. “We don’t have room for hotshots on this team.”
“I’m not a hotshot,” Drake responded. He had to. He just couldn’t hold his tongue.
“Really?” Ryder looked him up and down and snorted. “Going in like a fucking cowboy in Kabul?”
“There wasn’t time—”
“Do you have any idea what your mom would say if she knew the details of that mission?”
“It’s classified.” Drake grinned. Okay, it was a smarmy grin, but sometimes Ryder was such an ass.
Ryder’s eyes narrowed. “Just keep yourself safe. Stay in the back—”
“I am not fucking staying in the back—”
“Listen, you little peckerwood. You asked to be on this team. My team. And as long as you’re on my squad, you will obey my orders. Do you understand?”
Shit.
He hated it when Ryder went all Neanderthal. He hated it even more when he was right.
As long as he was on this team, Ryder was calling the shots and Drake would obey orders. Even if it killed him.
But it probably wouldn’t.
Not if he stayed in the back.
Chapter Two
There was nothing Drake loved more than a night drop. It was a fucking thrill, jumping out of a plane, into the abyss, whistling through the sky like an arrow and then, once the chute opened, gliding silently to the ground.
The team landed on the beach, sloughed off their chute harnesses and switched from jump to assault gear. They skulked toward the target, keeping low and scanning the shoreline. Chatter crackled in Drake’s bone phone, keeping him apprised of the team’s locations and observations.
When they reached the village they were tasked with clearing, Garrett scanned it for thermal signatures and marked the locations of warm bodies in the sand. It looked like there was one person in each of the four huts and three guards sitting around the fire. Because all the hostages were reported to be in the village at the other end of the island, these were most likely all hostiles, but they’d been cautioned to expect anything.
Ryder assigned Zack, Mason and Tate to take out the guards while Garrett, Luke, Drake and Mr. Fancypants cleared the huts.
Easy-peasy.
With seven targets and seven SEALs, this would be a cakewalk.
They fanned out and settled into position. Zack and Mason quickly immobilized the guards by the fire, and Drake slipped into his target hut.
It was dark, but he had his night-vision goggles on and could see a lump over by the far wall. The lump didn’t move, so Drake edged closer. Knowing this could be a hostile, he angled his weapon forward and nudged the bundle.
A snort…and then a snore.
Whoever it was, they slept deeply.
He nudged again. Harder. When that didn’t work, he bent and yanked off the blanket and…
Fuck.
He blinked his eyes. Then rubbed them and stared again.
Holy shit.
This was not a pirate.
This was a woman. A woman who could be a Victoria’s Secret model. At least, judging from the boobs cupped in a tight t-shirt. Double Ds if he was any judge. And he was. Aside from that, she had a nipped waist and magnificent hips. She lay on her back with her arm over her eyes, so he couldn’t tell if she had a face to match that angel’s body. For a sliver of a moment, it occurred to him it might not matter.
Even here, in the middle of a mission, she made his mouth water.
Wow.
Just, wow.
He knew he was staring, but he couldn’t help it.
“I have a target.” Ryder’s voice crackled over the coms. “Repeat. I have a target.”
“Roger that,” Drake replied into his mic. “I have a target too.”
Garrett and Luke gave the same response.
In a heartbeat, their mission shifted from support to rescue.
The woman stilled and he knew she was awake. Sh
e lifted her arm and peered at him through the shadows and then, to his surprise, she reared up and tackled him.
It was a damn good thing he didn’t have his finger on the trigger when she did, or he might have shot her. But she did catch him by surprise, otherwise she would never have gotten the best of him, would never have knocked him to the ground and started whaling on him the way Ryder used to when they were kids.
“I told you to leave…me…alone.” She punctuated each word with a slam into his chest.
Somewhere in her barrage, she must have realized he wasn’t a pirate. Probably when her punches landed on stone-hard ballistic plates. She stopped and stared down at him.
The light from the fire, angling through the door, lit her face and—hell.
Yeah. She was fucking gorgeous too. Perfect. Simply perfect. And she was sitting right on his cock.
Also perfect.
Also hard.
She blinked and frowned at him. “Who are you?”
He sent her a mocking salute. “Navy SEALs, ma’am. We’re here to rescue you.”
Her perusal of him was not good for his ego. She made a face as she raked him with a sharp gaze. “Really?”
“Really. Could you…get off? We’re kind of on a time clock here.”
“Oh. Right.” She rolled off, and Drake hefted to his feet. With fifty pounds of body armor and gear, it took him longer than he would have liked. Not that he was trying to impress her or anything. This was a mission after all.
He had to remind himself of that.
“Okay,” he said, shooting her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Let’s go. Stay behind me.”
He walked her out the door and did a check of the clearing. Zack, Mason and Tate were holding their ground by the fire, scanning the area, ready to provide cover for their retreat. From the corner of his eye, he saw Garrett and Luke heading for the beach with their targets. Ryder had his hostage—a petite blonde—but he hadn’t moved out yet. It looked like he was waiting.