Stranded with the SEAL

by Amy Gamet

  The wind slowed and he trudged the remaining distance to the door.

  He had to put her down, needed to find a way inside or to break a window. Only when he rested her on the snow did he realize he’d left his jacket back at the accident scene. Looking around, he found a metal watering can to the side of the door and used it to smash one of the sidelights beside it. He reached in and unlocked the door, exhaling a quivering breath, then opened it.

  He dragged her inside.

  Every part of his body was begging for relief, but he had to see what her injuries were, had to get her warm, had to see if anything could be done to help her. Bending down once more, he picked her up and carried her to a couch, putting her down gently until his knee gave way in protest.

  He kicked off his wet shoes and pulled off his socks, desperate to get out of the cold pieces, and knew she must be far colder than he. First things first. He had to call an ambulance. “I’m going to find the phone.” Turning around, he got his first good look at the cabin.

  The room was dominated by a large stone fireplace. Snowshoes hung on the wall, along with a winter scene that made Warsaw Mountain look far better than Hawk’s current experience with it. He wandered into a small kitchen, an old-fashioned wall phone hanging there. It had no dial tone, and he swore mightily.

  Turning down a dark hallway, he found the thermostat set to forty-five and bumped it up to seventy, then checked the bedrooms for a phone before grabbing two blankets and a pillow and returning to Olivia.

  Her pants were wet on her thighs, ice crystals forming in places. “Let’s get you out of these clothes.” He started with her shoes — leather boots meant more for fashion than for snow—then he took off her socks and peeled her wet leggings down and off.

  Her skin was blue and he cringed, covering her legs with the blanket.

  You did this to her.

  “You need to get warm,” he said. He took off her coat and was surprised when he saw her shirt said “Bride” in sparkling gold letters. She barely looked old enough for marriage.

  He’d seen shirts like that on women in bars, celebrating their bachelorette parties. He carefully slipped it up and over her head, noting the fresh bruises on the left side of her body where she must have landed. The dark peaks of her nipples were visible in his peripheral vision, but he kept his eyes trained on his hands as he pulled the blanket up to cover her. “I’ll go see if I can find you some clothes.”

  Hawk rubbed his hand over his mouth as he made his way down the quickly darkening corridor. If she was wearing a bra, it was damn near see-through. Or she wasn’t wearing one at all. His body twitched to life and he chastised himself for the thought. She was hurt, nearly frozen to death, and she needed his help. Only a pervert would get hard from that.

  Or a red-blooded man who hasn’t gotten laid in too long.

  He shook his head, forcing his thoughts back in line.

  The larger of two bedrooms had two dressers, one with a woman’s wardrobe, one with a man’s. He threw the wet clothes into a corner and pulled out a pair of pink long johns for her to wear before shucking off his own wet clothing with a sigh. His arms were heavy as he pulled on a pair of sweat pants and a hoodie.

  He returned to the living room and sat gently on the edge of the couch. He began to examine her head injury.

  She recoiled. “Ouch.”

  He looked at her face, her eyes still closed, and a wave of protectiveness swept through him. “Can you hear me, sweetie?”

  “Mmm hmm.”

  She was responding to him. That was good. “How are you feeling?”

  “Cold.”

  “Is that it?”

  “My head hurts.”

  “I know. I need to look at that, okay?”

  “And my fingers hurt.”

  He pulled her hands out from under the covers, finding a diamond engagement ring on her left ring finger. The hand was swelling, and he fingered a dark bruise on her wrist, his brows coming together in concern. Gently, he placed her hand in his, and a tingle ran up his arm when his palm brushed hers.

  “Squeeze my hand as hard as you can,” he said.

  She grabbed on to him, her grip surprisingly strong.

  “Good.” He turned her wrist backwards, his eye catching another bruise, this one high on her arm and the size and color of a purple grape. The hair on the back of his neck went up and he frowned, lifting her arm and looking for the bruise’s telltale companions.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I don’t think your wrist is broken,” he evaded.

  There. Three matching grape bruises on the other side of her arm. The accident hadn’t caused them. Someone hurt her before he did, and the knowledge curdled in his stomach as his eyes went back to the rock on her wedding finger. Odds were good the man who’d given it to her was the same one who dug his fingers into the tender flesh of her arm.

  It took some doing, but he managed to get the ring off and tucked it inside his pants pocket before focusing his attention on her head.

  This time she didn’t pull away as he examined her. “It looks pretty superficial,” he said, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have a concussion or worse where he couldn’t see.

  “Are you a doctor?” she asked.

  “No. Do you remember what happened?”

  She made a little sound like a child crying. “I’m so cold.”

  “I have warm clothes for you.”

  Her eyes opened at that, and she moved to sit up, the blanket beginning to fall before she covered herself. “Where are my clothes?” she asked.

  “I took them off. They were wet. It’s okay.” He helped her put on the long johns, not wanting her to feel more vulnerable than she already did. He had two sisters and would just as soon knock any guy silly who took advantage of a woman. Sitting by her feet, he pulled back the covers and helped her put on the matching pants.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, averting her eyes. “Do you have any aspirin?”

  She thought this was his house. He cocked his eyebrows, unsure if he should correct her and deciding it was easier to let it go. He found some painkillers in the bathroom and turned the water on, but nothing happened.

  He cursed under his breath. The pipes were probably frozen.

  She was sound asleep when he returned. He popped the painkillers in his own mouth and swallowed them dry.

  He found firewood on a covered porch out back and quickly made a fire, then took a candle from the mantel and went to check out the water pipes in the basement. They were wrapped with wires he recognized as heat tape, and plugged into electrical outlets in the ceiling.

  He located the electric meter and fingered the wire tag that held the outer ring in place to guard against tampering. He found a pair of wire cutters on a small workbench and cut through the wire. The metal ring around the glass meter needed a little encouragement from a screwdriver, but then it came off, allowing Trevor to remove the entire glass meter from its backing.

  Two plastic tabs covered large prongs, and he removed them before plugging the meter back in and replacing the metal ring. The wheel on the meter began to spin, showing electricity was running through it.

  Somebody would be facing a large fine from the electric company for breaking the wire seal, but defrosting the pipes was far more important at the moment, and if there was an electric pump on the well, they also needed the electricity to bring water into the house at all.

  Back upstairs, Trevor patched the hole in the window with cardboard from a cereal box, then wrapped the second blanket around his shoulders and sat down on the couch opposite Olivia to check his knee. It was badly swollen, with a red and purple contusion from the top of his kneecap to the top of his shin. He put pressure on the kneecap and hissed as he inhaled.

  This was not how this day was supposed to have gone. His only consolation was that she seemed to be okay and the snowstorm that had caused their accident would likely prevent Steele from leaving Warsaw Mountain this evening
as the intel claimed. According to the weather report Hawk heard before he left Denver, it was supposed to be even worse to the east, which was where Steele needed to drop off the shipment.

  Come morning, the woman would be feeling better and he could find another way to get in and out of Steele’s compound. Without any weapons or ammunition, a vehicle, and without any C4. “I knew I was going to run out of C4,” he muttered, pulling the blanket up to his chin.

  When daylight came, he’d make a new plan. But no matter what happened, he wasn’t leaving this mountain until Steele was dead. He owed it to Ralph.

  His eyes drifted shut. He was asleep within minutes.

  4

  Logan O’Malley was reading in his childhood bed, his feet dangling off the end like the lanky giant he was. His plan to go to the beach with the rest of HERO Force had petered out before it really got off the ground, with Cowboy and Matteo being the only ones to actually make it to Cabo San Lucas. Seemed those two clowns were the only ones who actually did a lot of things.

  Logan certainly hadn’t planned on spending the week in his hometown, meaning only to stop off for a night or two before heading to Cabo, but his mother was so happy to have both her children home at the same time, he’d decided to stay.

  The door opened and his sister walked in without knocking. “Jesus, Logan. Put some fucking clothes on.”

  He looked down at his striped bikini briefs, half-covered by a Batman comforter. “It’s my room, Charlotte. And when did you start talking like that?”

  “Janie and Sarah are coming over to get ready for the reunion, and you have the better bathroom. And I’ve been talking like that for most of my adult life, thank you very much. Now I’d like you to pack up and go shake your money-maker someplace else.”

  He frowned. That wasn’t true. She’d only been talking that way since marrying Loser Rick fresh out of high school, and she never lost the colorful vocabulary after she divorced him. But the rest of her little speech piqued his interest. Out of all of his sister’s friends, they were getting a visit from his personal favorite, and he smiled a wolf’s grin. “Sarah Davenport?” She’d been a cute little prude in high school, all buttoned-up sweaters and perky little tits.

  Charlotte pointed a manicured red nail at him. “Don’t even think about it. The last time you were home, Trisha Palmieri wouldn’t speak to me for a month afterwards. You said you’d call her.”

  “I did call. I left my wallet on her dresser and I had to get it back.” He winked. “Besides, you don’t even like Trisha Palmieri.”

  “That’s not the point. Just because you went from a geeky geek to a hot geek doesn’t mean you can go all Don Juan on my whole high school yearbook.”

  “We’re not in high school anymore, Sis. I can date your friends if I want to.”

  Logan’s cell phone chimed, and she turned to face him, hand on her hip and a gleam in her eye. “Then I can date yours, too.”

  “Sure.”

  She smiled widely and he instantly realized his mistake.

  “Except Cowboy,” he said, reaching for his phone.

  Charlotte scowled. “One of these days, you’re not going to have any say in the matter. He likes me, too, you know.”

  Logan screwed his face up and blew out air, but he knew she was right. He’d seen the way his HERO Force co-worker looked at his sister, and he knew exactly what the bastard was thinking when he did it. Hell, it was written all over his face that he wanted to get into Charlotte’s pants, and he probably would have done so already if he and Logan didn’t work together.

  Cowboy was a great guy to have on the Teams, and even better with HERO Force, but he was about as far from a stand-up guy where women were concerned as a guy could get, bedding every pretty girl within a fifteen-mile radius, and taking in more area than that for the hot ones. He imagined Charlotte on Cowboy’s arm, and squeezed his eyes shut.

  “I don’t want to hear this.” He answered his phone. “Logan.”

  “It’s Jax. I need you to do something for me.”

  Logan’s pulse picked up speed. Jax hadn’t given him any reason to think he was pleased with Logan’s performance since hiring him for HERO Force six months ago. Sometimes Logan was all but sure Jax regretted it.

  Charlotte crossed her arms and whispered, “I’m not a virgin, brother-boy, and you don’t get to decide who I fuck.”

  Logan frowned and gestured for her to be quiet. “Shoot,” he said into the phone.

  Jax’s voice was like a bark. “I need you to trace Hawk’s phone.”

  Logan’s stomach sank and tightened into a knot.

  It doesn’t mean Hawk did anything wrong.

  “Something wrong?” Logan asked.

  Charlotte cocked her head and he waved her away, even as blood rushed to his cheeks, turning them hot. He moved to his computer. She didn’t leave.

  “I just need to find him,” said Jax.

  “He’s not answering?”

  “Just trace the damn phone, Doc.”

  Logan pursed his lips as the program loaded. Doc was the nickname the other guys gave him when he joined HERO Force because he was a medical doctor and a Ph.D., but the nickname hadn’t really stuck and sounded especially forced on Jax’s lips. Logan swallowed hard against his throat, which had gone suddenly dry.

  You knew you shouldn’t have told Hawk anything.

  Logan’s fingers moved stiffly over the keys, typing in a series of codes and password overrides. “I’m almost there.”

  You’ll type in his GPS and it will come up with Cabo or Miami or something like that.

  He cut and pasted the serial number for Hawk’s phone into the tracking software, convinced the screen would say anyplace in the world except the one place Hawk shouldn’t be. The screen refreshed, a series of coordinates and a general location searing into Logan’s retinas.

  Damn it all to hell.

  His balls would be on the chopping block for this, his coveted and beloved position with HERO Force nothing more than a memory. This was the only thing he wanted to do, the only team he wanted to do it with. He licked his lips and found his voice. “Warsaw, Colorado.”

  Jax exploded into a string of swearing that put Charlotte’s vocabulary to shame. “Hawk’s gone rogue, and now we have to stop him before he does something stupid.”

  Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. “This would probably be a good time to tell you he’s been asking for the latest intel on Steele.”

  “What?”

  Charlotte raised her eyebrows and sucked in a breath, the look she gave him clearly saying, You’re in trouble. Logan gestured violently toward the door, but she ignored him and turned on the TV.

  Jax was screaming in Logan’s ear. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

  “I assumed you knew.”

  “How much did you give him?” asked Jax.

  “Daily updates this week. When I heard the phone, I assumed it was him because he didn’t call yet today.”

  Jax exploded again and Logan let the insults wash over him. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said, reverting to his more formal address for his boss. “I should have checked with you first.”

  “Damn straight you should have checked with me! Give me his coordinates.”

  Logan clicked to another screen and rattled off a series of numbers. “Sir, I’m only a few hours from there. I can drive up and check on him myself.”

  Charlotte hit him on the back and he gaped at her. What was that for?

  She shook her hand at the TV, where traffic was crawling through snow-covered streets. The headline at the bottom of the page read, “Storm of the Century Strikes Colorado Mountains.”

  Logan reached for the remote control and turned up the volume. “Scratch that, Jax. We have a problem. As we speak, Warsaw Mountain’s in the middle of the worst blizzard they’ve had in years.” The scene changed to a round and balding weatherman in front of a color-coded map. “Hang on,” Logan said into the phone. “The weather’s coming on.�
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  “…a northeasterly direction. Conditions rapidly deteriorated through the early morning hours, resulting in the governor declaring a state of emergency for the northern part of the state here in red, as well as the closure of all interstates and local expressways, with a ban on unnecessary travel in place for Dublin and Marcos Counties. With more than three feet forecasted for the highest elevations, we don’t anticipate that travel ban to be lifted anytime soon.”

  Logan rubbed his lower lip. He knew as well as anyone what would happen if they couldn’t get to Hawk before Hawk made it to Steele. Total annihilation. Sweat broke out on Logan’s palms and brow. “They’re expecting three more feet on Warsaw Mountain,” he said into the phone.

  “Did Hawk make it to Steele?” barked Jax. “Is he at the top of the mountain?”

  “Checking the coordinates now.” Logan copied and pasted the numbers into a map program, the view zooming in from the globe to the United States to Colorado in a whoosh. A pinpoint appeared. “Not yet, sir. He’s eleven miles from the compound.”

  Another stream of profanity raged in Logan’s ear, followed by a heavy, angry huff. “Then we’re fucked,” finished Jax. “Two goddamn years and he’s going to go in there and blow everything to hell, and HERO Force to hell with it. All for Ralph, like he thought I wouldn’t take care of it.”

  Logan held his breath. His eyes met Charlotte’s as she mimed her concern. But he knew better than to speak, the temptation to fill the silence nothing compared to his desire to slip unnoticed from this conversation. He didn’t know who Ralph was, but the one time he’d heard the name — while Jax and Hawk were screaming at each other across the conference table about Steele — told him the topic was more explosive than nitro.

  The voice of a newscaster trailed on in the background. “…some concern about the structure, as it is scheduled to be torn down and rebuilt in the spring after failing an engineering inspection in the fall.”

  Jax’s voice was deep and foreboding. “Where is he now?”

  Logan refreshed the software, wondering if this was how the next hour would be spent — tracking Hawk’s phone as they watched him approach the Steele mansion, stay for a while, and retreat. The screen repopulated and Logan frowned. “He’s not moving.”