“Yup. Definite SEAL potential.” Just about every SEAL he knew enjoyed a good explosion. While Trina banked the fire, he went inside to fetch the good toys from upstairs. They gulped down the nearly forgotten chili and got to work surrounding the property with all manner of nasty surprises for the Kimball boys.
He figured the Kimballs would lick their wounds and get drunk tonight, using alcohol-induced courage to work themselves up to attacking him and Trina. Tomorrow night was when he expected the Kimballs to come calling, but he and Trina might as well prepare tonight, just in case.
She knew the basics of trapping, and he added to her body of knowledge during the evening. She had a diabolical streak and excelled in spotting unpleasant ways to roll a victim’s ankle, knock someone into the swamp, or otherwise make life extremely unpleasant for whoever set off one of her traps.
When they had the place well and truly trapped, they retreated into the woods about a quarter-mile from the house and set up a hide for themselves. They laid down a tarp and built a low profile shelter on top of it, camouflaging the whole thing with native vegetation until the blind was impossible to distinguish from the brush around it, even from only a few yards away.
“You want the first watch?” he asked Trina as the deep dark of night settled around them.
“I don’t care.”
“Always take first watch if you have a choice,” he instructed. “It allows you to get a longer block of uninterrupted sleep later, during the hours that your Circadian rhythms think you should be sleeping.”
“Okay then. First watch it is for me.”
He crawled into the hide. He had a secret reason for pushing her to take the first watch. This way, their bed wouldn’t smell like her yet and keep him awake and horny for hours on end.
A tap on his foot woke him up some time later, and he took his turn on the watch. At daybreak, Trina crawled out of the hide, looking tousled and sleepy and so sexy she took his breath away. “Quiet night?” she murmured.
He nodded, his gaze scanning the familiar terrain. “Feel like doing a little hunting of our own today?”
“Absolutely.”
They painted their faces with camo grease, and eschewed the loud airboat for a canoe they could paddle in near total silence. They camouflaged the vessel with branches and torn cloth and headed out to the nearest likely hiding spot for the Kimball meth lab. He fell into the rhythms of a SEAL mission as naturally as breathing.
Trina picked up the movement patterns quickly. She also picked up quickly on techniques for traveling silently. In his experience, the guys who’d grown up around violent adults were the best at creeping around unnoticed. Trina was no exception.
They ran out of light without finding the elusive lab.
“Time to head back to base camp,” he murmured to Trina in the front of the canoe as they pushed off from yet another isolated islet deep in the bayou.
“Do we try again tomorrow or wait for them to come to us and follow them back to their lab?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Whichever happens first.”
She nodded, sending her ponytail dancing around her shoulders. She reached forward to dip her paddle into the water, and her shoulder and back muscles flexed, catching his eye. Her body had been so athletic beneath his, lithe and strong and supple. A craving to have her again washed over him.
Do not get addicted to her, he ordered himself. Yeah, right. That ship had already sailed.
In the mean time, they had a house to defend. The Kimballs would have no compunction about burning the place down if they figured out he and Trina were staying there. And he would hate to see the old homestead go up in flames.
He turned the canoe for home, and they paddled cautiously to the peninsula where the house sat. Taking no chances, they eased onto shore and approached the house by stealth. All was quiet. They put out the fire under the still, dismantled the still itself, and stowed the parts inside. They had enough drinking water stockpiled to get them through a solid week.
They ate ravioli cold from the cans and headed back out to their hide. He bedded down as soon as it got dark to get as much sleep as he could. He fully expected the Kimball boys to come calling tonight.
A hand over his mouth yanked him to full consciousness and battle alert some time later. He heard immediately what had caused Trina to wake him. A boat motor was approaching. Even as he listened, it cut off. But too late. The Kimball boys had made their first tactical mistake.
Second mistake: they appeared to be headed for the dock. He’d told Trina they would be that obvious in their approach, and she had argued that the Kimballs wouldn’t be that arrogant. He glanced over at her in triumph now, and she just shook her head in disgust.
Mistake number two meant the Kimball boys were about to make mistake number three…walking right into the thick of the traps he and Trina had laid for them. This should be fun.
Trina pulled out the smaller of the two sniper rigs he’d brought out here and loaded a rubber round into the chamber. It would stop a target and cause a fair amount of blunt impact trauma, but the rubber bullet wouldn’t generally kill a man.
He checked the shotgun lying beside him and chambered a bean bag round quietly. Then he picked up a night vision spotter’s scope and dialed in on the south end of the peninsula where the Kimballs were about to get several nasty shocks.
The first tripwire beyond the dock was simple. Each end of the wire was attached to a big cluster of stinging nettles that would be dragged in on the members of party behind the first guy whose boot caught the wire.
Sure enough, in a few seconds, sounds of thrashing drifted on the still night air to the hide. Trina grinned beside him.
Next up was a pile of rolling logs in the path. A simple trap, but effective, particularly for half-drunk bubbas stumbling around in the dark without night vision equipment.
A voice complained clearly in the darkness, “Jesus, Jimbo. Git off me.”
“If you see the bastard, shoot ’im. Hurt ’im but don’t kill ’im. We’s gonna have ourselves some fun, first.”
Ford’s humor evaporated. So. That’s how they wanted to play it, huh? The oldest Kimball, Travis, came into view in his scope. Range: 62 yards. Zero windage. Elevation effectively nil. He flashed the numbers to Trina by way of hand signals, and she flashed them back in confirmation. He nodded and she dialed in her sight. She could take this shot blindfolded, but treating easy shots the exact same way as hard shots helped build good shooting habits.
The Kimballs staggered clear of the logs a little farther to the right than he and Trina had planned for. He signaled her to take the shot, and she nodded. He saw her shift her aim to the right most brother, and then a rifle blast followed by a yelp from Ray, one of the middle boys.
“I’m fucking shot!”
“Very funny, Alambeaux!.” Jimbo shouted. “I’m gonna break yer kneecaps, and then do your girlfriend while you watch!”
Ford’s jaw hardened. Jim was going to regret that comment.
Trina chambered another round, sliding the bolt closed quietly. Ford held up a hand, signaling her to wait. She nodded and settled into the motionless waiting state of a sniper. Well done. Fast learner.
The boys took a half-dozen steps, right into the sweet spot of the log that was going to swing down out of the tree tops and slam them all into the swamp right…about…now.
The crash was spectacular as all four Kimball boys were swept off their feet and into the swamp. They came up sputtering and cursing, and handguns glinted dully in the scant moonlight.
“Guns,” he breathed into his throat microphone.
“Roger,” she replied in a bare whisper.
Okay, fun and games over. Ford picked up his shotgun and sighted in on the first Kimball splashing ashore. He murmured low to Trina, “Fire at will.”
She pegged Ray again, but this time the guy fell to his knees, clutching at his throat. Ouch. Trina was not playing nice any more. For his part, he aimed at Jimbo�
�s crotch and nailed the eldest Kimball in the junk with a bean bag round. It would hit with the force of a prize-fighter burying a fist with all his might into the guy’s crotch. Jimbo doubled over gasping like a chicken with its neck half wrung. Ford reloaded quickly, and Trina did the same beside him.
They alternated peppering the Kimballs with incoming rounds for about the next sixty chaotic seconds as it slowly dawned on the Kimballs that they were under actual attack. The brothers clustered together back-to-back, peering into the darkness without the benefit of night vision goggles.
His and Trina’s superior technology and superior training spelled big trouble for the Kimball boys tonight. Tough shit. They were thugs and bullies. High time someone gave them a little taste of their own medicine.
Ford jumped to his feet and ran to the second firing position as a gunshot rang out over his head. He was reluctant to fire live rounds because, unlike the Kimball boys, neither he nor Trina would miss.
He laid down covering fire and glimpsed the lime green blob of Trina running low to their right as she left the primary hide and headed for her secondary firing position. They’d decided earlier not to make tonight easy for the Kimballs. This encounter was about sending a message to the brothers to leave him and Trina the hell alone. He’d used this ambush as a training opportunity for Trina, working out ingress and egress points, optimum firing positions, field of fire problems, and a host of other tactical considerations. Which was to say, the Kimballs weren’t going to know what had hit them when this ambush was over.
He and Trina peppered the brothers in painful crossfire for about two more minutes. Ford had just started for his third hide when something slammed into the side of his right knee. A screeching scream of metal on metal split the night air and the Kimballs hooted with glee.
Damn. He was hit.
Chapter Ten
‡
Ford’s knee collapsed out from under him and he pitched over whether he wanted to or not. Using quickness and agility honed over years of training, he managed to turn the fall into a roll from back to belly, coming up in a firing position.
Ignoring the searing pain in his right knee, he fired off a pair of beanbags in quick succession, and a series of shots, one right after another, came from Trina’s position. Man, she was reloading fast. Must be pissed off that a lucky ricochet had hit her partner.
He flexed the joint experimentally and felt his pant leg for wetness that would indicate heavy bleeding. It bent without increasing the pain, and his trouser fabric wasn’t soaked. There was a little blood, but nothing life threatening. Thank God.
He smiled a little. Never thought he’d be so glad to have a knee brace on his leg. The titanium had protected him from taking a slug through the knee that would have truly fucked up the joint for good. Hey. He always said he’d rather be lucky than good.
Another gunshot zinged past uncomfortably close to his head. All right. Enough of this shit. He keyed his throat mike and breathed. “Go live. One shot. No kill.”
“Roger,” Trina replied low in his earpiece.
It took about fifteen seconds for her to load a Teflon™-tipped, low grain-load sniper round and take aim.
The shot rang out stunningly loud in the night after the soft rubber rounds. Simultaneous with the shot was a scream. Interesting. She’d gone after Jimbo. Good choice. He’d always been the ringleader of the bunch. If Jimbo could be persuaded to bug out, the other boys would follow him.
“Sonofabitch! Fucker shot me bad! I’m bleedin’ all over heah’. Git me to the boat. Jeezus, I need me a doctor. Fuckfuckfuck. Gimme yo’shirt, Travis. C’mon, now, I’m dyin’.”
Ford listened in grim satisfaction as Jimbo ranted all the way back to the dock. The other Kimballs eventually horsed Jimbo into their boat. A motor roared, and silence settled around the peninsula.
“Clear your quadrant,” he ordered Trina.
He stood up to run a quick patrol on his quadrant and make sure no Kimballs had stayed behind to give him and Trina a nasty surprise of their own, but his knee was having none of that. Searing pain shot through the joint when he tried to bend it. Nope. His knee was not going anywhere. He did some mental swearing of his own, and limped through a clearing pattern as best he could.
“I’m clear,” Trina reported.
“I have a small problem. Make your way to me.”
She came across his zone, clearing her way as she went. Good girl. It took her a few minutes, but she materialized out of the darkness beside him. “What’s up?” she said low.
“My knee’s messed up.”
She moved quickly to his right side and wedged her shoulder under his armpit. With her help, he made his way back to the house and up the front steps. She took him into her room and helped him sit down on her bed. She’d rigged up a ticking mattress for on top of the bedframe in here.
“Can you get your pants off, or should I cut them?” she asked.
“Honey, any woman who looks like you will never have any trouble getting me out of my pants.”
“I see the bullet didn’t hit your sense of humor.”
He gritted his teeth as she fumbled at his crotch. “How about I unzip my own pants?” Otherwise, she was going to be joining him on this bed for a little unscheduled sex.
She sat back on her heels to watch. He peeled his camo pants down over his hips and gentle hands were abruptly there to help skim them down his legs.
“Ahh. Well, no wonder your knee hurts,” she announced. She ripped free the thick Velcro bands securing the brace and lifted it away from his leg. As soon as she did, the knifelike pain in his joint subsided.
She held the brace up and relief rushed through him. The bullet had damaged the titanium, causing a piece of the metal to sliver off and bend inward so it would jab the side of his knee. He looked down at his leg. Sure enough, a thin gash in the side of his knee was trickling blood down his calf.
“Lemme clean that up and get some butterfly bandages on it. I don’t think it’s deep enough for stitches.” Trina rose to her feet and left the room. He used her absence to allow the panic he’d been holding at bay to flow through him and then to drain away. He’d thought for a minute there that it was all over for him as a SEAL.
She returned quickly with first aid supplies, and cleaned up and bandaged what was, in effect, a boo-boo on his knee.
“All better,” she announced.
He bent the joint a few times, and it was blessedly mobile and pain free with that sharp piece of the brace out of it. “Right as rain, Nurse Zarkos,” he declared.
“Does that mean I can yell at you for scaring me, now?”
He shrugged. “Guys are going to get shot and injured all the time in the field. Get used to it.”
“Yeah, but they’re not you,” she muttered under her breath.
“I told you not to—”
She cut him off and said defensively, “Yes, I know. Don’t fall for you. I remember. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be concerned for you.”
Dammit. She had fallen for him. And then he became aware of something strange. A knot of warmth in his gut. What the hell was that all about? He was not glad she was worried about him! But that little lump of warmth wouldn’t go away no matter how much he swore at it or threatened it.
Trina’s heart dropped to her feet as an angry expression flitting across Ford’s face at the idea that she might have fallen for him. Why was he so dead set on her not having any feelings for him? Was he that determined never to open himself up to love?
The L-word startled her. Whoa. Where had that come from? She wasn’t looking for love any more than he was. A real relationship with a decent guy who rocked her world in the sack? Sure. But true love—not a chance.
She bent her head down to hide the dismay in her eyes from his all too perceptive stare. She unzipped his combat boots and unbloused his pants, then pulled his pants the rest of the way off his legs. No sense knocking off the bandage and starting his cut bleeding again just when she�
��d got it stopped.
Ford stood up, putting her gaze exactly crotch-high on him. God. Right there. All she had to do was lean forward. Push his shorts aside, and take him in her mouth. Even as the thought crossed her mind, his male parts stirred, swelling rapidly behind his shorts.
Hands gripped her shoulders. Lifted her slowly to her feet. Her unwilling gaze traveled up his body, taking in the washboard abs, the bulging pecs and broad shoulders. A finger touched her chin, tilting her face up, forcing her to look him in the eyes.
“We good?” Ford murmured.
Jeez. How to answer that? They’d be great if he would just kiss her and forget about the whole “Don’t fall for me” thing. She ended up mumbling, “Umm, yeah. Sure.”
“I don’t know much about women, but I do know one thing. When a woman says nothing’s wrong, something’s always wrong. And when she says she’s fine like you just did, she’s emphatically not fine. Talk to me, Zee. What’s going on?”
She winced. If only he wasn’t so direct all the time. She knew better than to try to lie to a SEAL—they all had advanced POW training and knew both how to lie and how to spot a lie. She opted for partial truth. “I want you, Ford. Right now.”
“A little post-mission adrenaline got you jacked up?”
That must be it. Tonight was the first time she’d ever shot a real bullet at a real human being. At the time, she’d been so focused on protecting Ford that it hadn’t dawned on her what she’d done. But now that he mentioned it, adrenaline was, indeed, screaming through her body And it was demanding an outlet in no uncertain terms.
“I feel like I could run a marathon right about now,” she confessed. She risked a glance up at him. “Or have epic sex with you. Your choice.”
He laughed, low and sexy. “Best sex you’ll ever have is right after a scary-as-hell mission. And they get a lot scarier than chasing off those goons tonight.”
Whatever. She wanted sex. And she wanted it right now. She slid her hands up under Ford’s t-shirt against hot, naked male flesh. “Didn’t you get even the tiniest adrenaline spike out there, tonight? When your knee brace got shot, maybe?”
Hot Alpha SEALs: Military Romance Megaset Page 29