Her SEAL Protector

by Jillian Burns

Then, a faint call from below. “We’re here.”

  It was a female voice, hoarse from dehydration no doubt, but...alive. Yes! He spun back. “How many?” He grabbed his flashlight and shone it down into the hole.

  Clay could barely make out a pair of arms moving as they covered a face.

  “Two,” the female called.

  “Can you tell me your names?” The rule was to first verify all captives.

  “Gabriella Diaz and James Pender.”

  Identities confirmed, Clay called it in to L.T. then shouted into the well again. “Anyone need medical attention?”

  The woman called up, “We’re okay. But Mr. Van Horton isn’t here. He was hurt. Do you have him?”

  The woman sounded pretty calm considering what she must’ve gone through. Van Horton. Wounded and missing. Not good. “We’ll get you out. Hold on.”

  “Don’t leave us! You’ve got to get us out of here!” a man cried. Clay shifted the beam of light onto the other, paler hostage.

  “I’m going to throw down a rope. Tie it under your arms and I’ll pull you up one at a time.”

  Clay signaled the team. “One still missing. Search the area.” Doughboy, Chipper and the rest fanned out, heading into the surrounding foliage. Clay leaned his M4 against the adobe wall, took off his pack and pulled out his length of nylon rope. With nothing else nearby to secure it to, he tied it around his waist and then tossed it down, hoping it would be long enough.

  “Me first. I have to go first!” Clay heard the man in the well whine.

  “There’s a body partially buried out here,” Chipper’s voice sounded in Clay’s earbud. “Caucasian. I think it’s one of the hostages.”

  The rope jerked and Clay braced his feet against the adobe, leaned back and pulled the rope hand over hand until a tall, thin, mud-caked man appeared above the edge. His face was streaked with tear tracks as he scrabbled out and clung to Clay, sobbing.

  Clay finally had to force him to let go and relinquish the rope. What kind of coward didn’t let a woman go first?

  Disgusted, Clay tossed the rope back down into the well. “Now you, ma’am.”

  Within a minute the rope tugged and Clay easily lifted the rope until a heart-shaped face appeared above the rim. Her long dark curls were a mass of tangles and her large, dark brown eyes seemed to gaze at him in disbelief. Her wide mouth trembled, though he could see she was trying to keep her lips clamped tightly together. As he pulled her up and over the edge, she landed on her feet, but her knees buckled beneath her. He caught her around the waist and she clung to his shoulders. “Sorry. I...”

  “No worries. We’ll have you home safe in no time.”

  “What about Mr. Van Hort—”

  Shots fired to Clay’s right and he dropped to the dirt, taking the woman with him and covering her. The man screamed and sobbed louder, cowering next to him.

  “Stay here, stay down.” A spray of bullets fired as Clay grabbed his M-4 and peeked over the well wall.

  In his ear, L.T. was barking orders. “Q.R. coming in at one click to the south. Secure the targets and get out.”

  Damn. Quick response. The kidnappers weren’t going to make this easy.

  “Chipper’s down!” Doughboy yelled into his earbud.

  Shorty came hightailing it into the clearing, shooting behind him. His left arm was bleeding. Clay covered him, firing multiple rounds in the direction of the flying bullets.

  As Shorty slid behind the well wall, the male hostage clutched at him. “You gotta get me out of here!”

  The woman crawled over and put her arm around the guy, murmuring soothing words into his ear. Clay had to admit he wasn’t sure he could’ve stayed that calm in her place.

  L.T. barked more orders as all hell broke loose. “Our position’s compromised. Go to secondary extract!”

  Clay signaled to Shorty that he would lay cover while Shorty got the two hostages out. Clay was going back for Doughboy and Chipper.

  Rising from his crouch, he laid down fire while Shorty grabbed the two hostages and ran for L.T.’s position. But the woman stumbled—or the male hostage shoved her as he clung to Shorty, and the fire was too heavy for Shorty to go back for her. Calling out every curse word he knew, Clay raced over and covered her with his body while firing into the foliage.

  “I’ve got Chipper. Headed for secondary extract,” Doughboy called through Clay’s earbud.

  One less thing to worry about. Clay scooped up the female around the waist and ran toward the exit route, but the kidnappers’ truck came barreling through the brush straight for them. Taking a sharp left, Clay darted into dense undergrowth, heading for the fallback exit he’d scoped out last night. He pulled a flash-bang from his belt and pitched it behind them. Hopefully, that would slow their pursuers down.

  Heedless of near impenetrable vines and shrubs, he fought through the jungle growth to put as much distance between them and the abductors as he could manage.

  Gunshots popped in the distance, the sound of the trucks’ engine grew fainter. The woman was keeping up on her own, so he dropped his arm and grabbed her hand instead, slowing a bit. “Follow me and stay close.” From the corner of his eye he saw her nod.

  Hoping the pace wasn’t too much for her, he trudged farther and farther into thickening vegetation, using his M-4 to hack plants out of the way. By the time he determined gunshots had stopped and no one was following them, he was puffing out deep breaths and his camo was soaked with sweat.

  He came to a halt and crouched down, and the woman crouched with him. Wiping his face on his sleeve, he tried to assess the situation. They were cut off from the rest of the team. No way they would make it to the secondary extract. Not in time. Before his team got too far out of range, he radioed L.T., confirmed their position and instructed him to send a helo to the emergency extract.

  The petite woman was staring at him expectantly, but not questioning him. Her faith in his ability to get her out seemed solid. He just hoped he could prove her right.

  Because they were going to have to spend the night in this jungle.

  2

  A SEARING PAIN burned across Gabby’s back. She hadn’t noticed it until this moment. The adrenaline that had seen her through the escape had vanished. But she was alive.

  “We need to keep moving.” Her rescuer straightened and extended a hand to help her up.

  But Gabby couldn’t move. She sank to her hands and knees on the wet jungle floor, shaking uncontrollably. She was paralyzed. Not with fear, or even shock. It was just...overwhelming emotion. She was alive! She was out of that disgusting hole. She was going home!

  But... Mr. V. She hadn’t seen him since the kidnappers had dropped her and James into that well. What if he was dead? All her bravado collapsed and she burst into tears. She couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop crying.

  Vaguely she heard her rescuer curse and she tried to stifle the sobs. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, ma’am, don’t you apologize.” For the first time, she noticed his heavy Southern drawl. Maybe Georgia or South Carolina? But not Texas. Her own Texan twang had been remarked upon by her Northern coworkers, but this man’s accent had a softer, slower cadence. Thinking about something trivial like that helped stifle her embarrassing outburst. She sniffed and before she could wipe her nose on her sleeve, he placed a large, thick green camo bandanna in her hand.

  “Thank you.” She cleaned her face with the bandanna, inhaling the clean, crisp laundry scent. She breathed it in and felt calmer.

  The hulking soldier snapped off his helmet and crouched beside her. “Hey.” He cupped her shoulder. “You’re doing good. Don’t worry. I’m going to get you out of here.”

  His eyes. They were a soft brown, so full of reassurance and concern, so incongruous with the frightening dark-green-and-black face paint
and the grim set of his mouth.

  “What about Mr. Van Horton? And James?” James’s terror had never subsided. Inside the well it had gotten worse. Gabby had tried to comfort him as best she could, but he’d grown steadily less stable as the hours passed. “They’re going to make it home, too, right?”

  He nodded. “Mr. Pender is on his way to the American embassy.”

  “And Mr. V?”

  The soldier hesitated.

  Oh no. Gabby could feel her eyes sting with more tears. Mr. V was dead? She’d never known anyone who’d been murdered before. She’d tried to nurse him as best she could, asking their captors for water and medicine for his fever, but Mr. V had never regained consciousness.

  “Can you get up?” The soldier slid a strong arm around her waist and she cried out.

  He yanked it back, blood smeared on his palm. “What the—” He looked at his hand. “You’re bleeding? You were hit?”

  “I don’t know.” Her voice shook. She twisted to try to see and whimpered at the stab of pain.

  The soldier spat out a curse word, dropped his helmet and backpack, then dug inside the pack and pulled out a first aid kit.

  She’d been shot? She could feel panic rise up and choke her. She’d survived two days with homicidal kidnappers only to be shot? What if she bled to death? Mr. V was dead and now her. What if this soldier couldn’t get the bullet out, or it was lodged in her spine or—

  “Take off your shirt.”

  Gabby froze and blinked at him, but he wasn’t even looking at her. He was busy pulling out a pack of wet wipes, a tube of ointment and a roll of gauze.

  A wild urge to laugh bubbled up. She must be in shock. Of course the GI didn’t mean anything sexual by his demand, but this wasn’t exactly how she’d pictured herself undressing for a guy for the first time. Well, she wasn’t panicked anymore.

  “Ms. Diaz? I need to see to your injury.”

  “Yes. Okay.” She turned away from him, forcing her fingers to undo the buttons on her formerly white silk blouse.

  He helped her lower it off her shoulders and down her arms, then she felt gentle fingers wiping something cold across the middle of her back. It stung and she tensed. There was sharp surface pain, but she didn’t feel anything internal. That had to be good, right? “Is it...?”

  “Just a graze. You’ll be fine. I’m applying a topical antibiotic.”

  Just a graze. She breathed out a relieved and grateful breath.

  She felt him smear some ointment on and then heard ripping paper as he pressed a bandage to her back and began winding the roll of gauze around her. His arms wrapped around her waist and his whiskered jaw grazed her cheek. He froze, the sides of his hands touching her rib cage. She sucked in and then realized that only lifted her breasts higher. He had an up close and personal view of the cleavage above her bra.

  She turned her head to look at him and their gazes met.

  His lips were parted and she could see that they weren’t as harsh as they’d looked before. They were sensual and—they flattened as he sat back on his heels and continued wrapping the gauze around her. But when he returned to her front he very carefully kept his arms at a distance. And his gaze averted.

  What would it be like to kiss those lips? What if...

  “There you go.” He tied off the gauze and draped her blouse across her shoulders.

  What was wrong with her? She could still die and she was thinking about kissing? She gingerly stuck her arms back in her sleeves and buttoned her shirt.

  “Here.” He extended a bottle of water and she grabbed it and drank greedily.

  “Thank you.” She tried to give the bottle back.

  “Take these.” He held two small pills in his palm. “For the pain.”

  “Thanks.” She tossed them in her mouth and swallowed with another sip of water while the soldier started packing up the medical kit. He was cute. In a boyish kind of way. Which seemed a silly description for a large, hard-muscled, military guy. Maybe it was the buzz-cut hair, or his kindness in caring for her.

  She shook her head. “How far to the Jeep or helicopter or whatever?”

  Zipping up his pack, he slung it over one shoulder, replaced his helmet without snapping the chin straps and stood. He drew in a breath before finally looking at her. “Are you ambulatory?”

  She nodded, but before she could straighten, a deep, menacing feline growl echoed somewhere close to them and Gabby froze. She’d grown accustomed to the constant background noises of the jungle. The chirp and buzz of insects, the weird shrieks of birds, the clicks of beetles, even the screeching monkeys, but this—this panther, or leopard, or whatever it was that lived in this jungle, sounded ominous.

  Large hands grasped her under the shoulders and lifted her to her feet as if she weighed no more than a feather. She stood face-to-hard-chest with the soldier, so close she could smell a subtle—and pleasant—masculine musk. She became hyper-aware of his hands cupping the sides of her chest. His thumbs rested just above the slope of her breasts. If he slid them down a few inches he could rub the tips of her hardening nipples. Her breathing hitched and she looked up into his eyes.

  His Adam’s apple moved as his tongue came out to lick his lips. “We gotta go.” He removed his hands and stepped back.

  Reality intruded on her thoughts. The griminess of her skin. The rough texture of her mud-caked clothes. The ragged tear in the side of her best pencil skirt. And the absurdity of wearing pumps with one heel broken off.

  How could she even be thinking about anything sexual right now?

  Besides, he hadn’t answered her question. “There is a Jeep or a helicopter coming for us, right?” she asked.

  “Affirmative.” Confident. No hesitation. That was good.

  He reached into a Velcro-sealed pocket on his pant leg, pulled out a tube of ointment and handed it to her. “This will help with the mosquitoes.”

  A little late. Bites covered her arms and legs. As she smeared the ointment on exposed skin, he took the bottle of water from her, screwed the lid back on and stuck it in another large pants pocket low on his thigh. “We need to ration this.”

  Okay, that was less good. “Um...how long—”

  “Let’s go.” He put words into action, sticking his other arm through the backpack strap and hitching it over his shoulder as he strode off.

  Tamping down a niggle of dread, Gabby followed. “Look, I realize I kind of lost it back there, but I promise I won’t get all hysterical if you tell me the truth. Whatever it is, I can handle knowing bad news better than not knowing.”

  He stopped and twisted to meet her gaze. “We need to travel about ten clicks—roughly about six miles—by nightfall. I’d rather not travel in the dark.”

  Panic almost swamped her again, but she drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She’d promised not to get hysterical. “Nightfall? We’re not...leaving today?”

  “The helo will meet us at the extraction location at dawn.”

  She blinked away irritating tears.

  “Look, we need to be moving.”

  “Right.” She nodded.

  Facing forward again, he strode away. “If you can’t keep up, just let me know, okay?”

  “Yes, sir.” She hurried to catch up.

  “Clay.”

  Gabby studied the ground but didn’t see any. “Where?”

  “What?”

  “Where’s the clay?

  “No, that’s my name. Call me Clay, Ms. Diaz.”

  “Oh!” Even in the heat of this forsaken—no, not forsaken, Abuelita’s voice corrected her, God was even in this jungle—Gabby felt her face grow warmer. The soldier must think she was slow-witted. As she had constantly for the past two days, she gripped the medallion on the chain around her neck and asked for faith that the
y would make it home alive. Abuelita had given her the silver medal for her First Communion and it always comforted her.

  “Ms. Diaz?”

  The soldier’s face came into focus. His concerned face. Because she’d halted.

  “We have to keep moving.”

  “Right.” She straightened her shoulders and forced a smile. “Call me Gabby.”

  * * *

  CLAY COULDN’T DECIDE if this woman was the bravest civilian he’d ever encountered, or the craziest. Maybe she was both.

  For instance, that smile she’d just flashed. After what he’d just told her she should be complaining about something by now. They’d missed the rescue helo. They weren’t going to make it to the secondary extraction. And surviving overnight in this jungle was going to prove challenging. But knowing all this, she’d...smiled? And that smile had hit him right in the gut. She’d been held captive, shot at, bitten and scratched up, and wasn’t smelling too sweet.

  But that hadn’t stopped him checking her out. He wasn’t called Hounddog for nothing.

  Her thin, used-to-be-white shirt was damp and clinging to her, showing through to her very practical, plain white bra. Her dark brown eyes were fringed with thick lashes and didn’t miss a thing. And those lips. Made to be thoroughly kissed. Plus she had the kind of figure he loved on a woman. Full and lush in all the right places. He’d had to muster up an extra ounce of discipline wrapping that gauze around her waist.

  But he had a job to do.

  He heard an abbreviated shriek behind him and spun to check on her.

  With a flinch she whisked off a beetle that had landed on her chest. Her lips trembled, but she pinched them together. They’d been traveling about an hour and she was keeping up pretty well, but she looked done in.

  Keep her distracted. “So, Gabby.” He resumed heading west, hacking through twisting vines and thick fronds with his knife, holding a tangle of ferns out of the way for her. “Where you from?”

  “Texas. In the Rio Grande Valley. A little town just outside of Corpus Christi called San Juan.”

  “And how’d you get into banking?” He glanced back at her.