Hot Alpha SEALs: Military Romance Megaset

by Sharon Hamilton

  Moving at sloth speed, she and Ford eased out of the cane and into the grass. They pulled out binoculars wrapped in burlap and gradually raised themselves far enough out of the grass to scan the clearing.

  There. On the far side of it, under an overhang of live oaks. A ramshackle, low, long shed made of rusted corrugated tin and mismatched wood panels. Ray Kimball was sitting on a plastic chair beside the front door, chewing tobacco and spitting.

  She and Ford eased back down. He hand-signaled for them to move around the clearing to the far side of the building. It was slow and painstaking going creeping through the grass without signaling their presence to Ray.

  Eventually, they crept out of the brush and into the gloom cast by a giant mangrove tree. Dozens of prop roots grew down into the water from the spreading branches of the central tree overhead. Ford and Trina wound through the trunks, pausing to mark them with small cuts in the bark as they passed through.

  They emerged no more than ten yards from the back of the shack. A cracked and filthy window was mounted high on this side of the shed. She followed Ford as he eased close to the building. He took the left side of the window, and she took the right. They peered inside.

  Yup. Meth lab. Barrels of chemicals at one end and a mixing set-up at the other took up most of the space in the shed. A work table in the middle held containers for packaging the finished product. Travis Kimball was wrapping blocks of a white substance in plastic and packing tape at the moment, in fact. His back was to them, so she took her time memorizing the exact layout of the room.

  When she’d seen enough to move around the room confidently in total darkness, she eased back from the window. Ford signaled to ask if she was ready to move out. She nodded.

  This job was going to be a piece of cake. Wire the building to blow. Back off and send the whole thing to kingdom come.

  She took a casual step and froze as something clicked under her foot. She felt as much as heard the quiet snick. Oh, crap. Apparently, the Kimballs had a few tricks of their own up their nonexistant sleeves.

  Ford took a half-dozen more steps away from her and turned briefly, no doubt to find out why she wasn’t following him as closely as she should be. He took one look at her frozen posture and signaled her urgently not to move.

  Duh.

  He made his way back to her with extreme caution. Before each step, he examined the ground and poked at it with a narrow metal rod that reminded her of a car antenna. This was taking too long. If one of the Kimballs decided to run a perimeter check, she was fully exposed out here. She’d be easy pickings, trapped as she was.

  Finally, at long last, Ford reached her and bent down to lift away the leaves around her boot one cautious leaf at a time. There. A pressure plate. About half her boot sole was on the plate. Which was a boon. They had access to the other part of the plate.

  He stood up and placed his mouth directly on her ear. “Don’t move. I’ll be back.”

  He gazed down at her, worry darkening his eyes to nearly black. Silently, she pleaded with him to save her, and he nodded back, just once, but reassuringly. Their gazes locked for one more long, desperate second, and then he turned away.

  The waiting all but killed her as each second dragged out for an eternity. She eased her sidearm out of its holster, hating the idea of engaging in a firefight while standing on a live landmine.

  When he finally returned, Ford was carrying a hefty rock nearly the length of his forearm. He dug around the plate and exposed an old claymore mine. The brothers had probably picked up the device from an Army surplus store and re-loaded it with some homegrown explosive.

  Ford eased the rock onto the pressure plate beside her foot and leaned his body weight onto it. He mouthed, “Step off. Slowly.”

  “Let me hold the rock,” she mouthed back.

  He shook his head sharply in the negative. Dammit. Did he have to be such a freaking hero? If she held the rock down, only her life was at risk. It was stupid of him to put himself in jeopardy, too, like this. She supposed it was the SEAL way. All for one and one for all. Still. She didn’t like seeing him in danger.

  Holding her breath, she lifted her weight by slow degrees.

  He breathed, “It needs another rock.”

  Damn. And knowing him, he would insist on staying with the live mine. She didn’t even bother trying to argue him out of it.

  Frantic with worry, she took his antenna thingie and probed the ground before each step she took. It was maddening knowing he was at risk while she had to move like a snail. She glanced back over her shoulder yet again to check on him, and he hand signaled her a word, spelled out. Patience.

  Screw that. He was in danger. She did, of course continue checking each step with all the care he could wish for. But it was stressful in the extreme forcing herself to follow his edict and be patient.

  She hit the woods and hunted around for a good-sized rock. Spotting one half-buried, she dug it free and picked it up. And now for the return trip.

  At length, she reached him and eased the heavy rock down beside the first one. He waved her back, and she followed the order, scowling. Very slowly, he lifted his hand off the rocks.

  Silence. Praise the lord and pass the potatoes. No explosion.

  He led her back into the safety of the trees. They retreated until the shed disappeared from sight completely, and then he turned and wrapped her tightly in his arms. She hugged him back, pouring out all her terror and pent-up emotion into that desperate embrace.

  “My fault,” he muttered. “I underestimated the bastards.”

  “No, it’s mine. I should have noticed the depression in the ground before I stepped in it.”

  “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

  She nuzzled his chest. “Me, too. But you shouldn’t have come back and taken my place. You have to let me risk my life the same way you would risk yours.”

  He exhaled hard. “Easy to tell my brain that. Not so easy to convince my heart of it.”

  His heart? As in the part of him where feelings resided? As in caring? Maybe even a little love?

  “Let’s build a hide under that bush over there,” Ford murmured, all business once more. “Now that we know where the mine is, we can move around it, tonight.”

  She shifted back into work mode with him. But her head spun with the possibility that he actually might harbor real feelings for her. They cleared enough space under the thick bush for both of them to stretch out side-by-side. They took turns on the watch, scanning the area around them. Bugs were abundant, and the heat was intense, but gradually, the afternoon waned into evening and the worst of the misery subsided. As the light faded, it was actually kind of nice lying beside Ford. He was relaxed against her side as they planned their mission in low whispers.

  They would target the barrels at the left end of the building with their explosives. The amount of C-4 they would use would be minimal—just enough to ignite the highly flammable chemicals used in cooking meth. The authorities would not investigate a simple meth explosion too deeply. But if a giant blast from high explosives went off out here, experts would be called in, and the two of them would potentially have to evade the law or end up with some tall explaining to do.

  While right might be on their side tonight, the law was not. Detonating high explosives as civilians without authority could land them in jail if they got caught. They’d taken enough of a risk last night shooting Jimbo Kimball. They’d banked on his illegal activities and rotten reputation to keep him away from a reputable hospital that would report a gunshot wound to the authorities.

  Working awkwardly on her stomach, Trina fashioned a small shape charge that would penetrate the side of one of the barrels of chemicals. She attached a small detonator that could be remotely activated.

  During her second watch, darkness fell as Ford took a nap. He turned on his side in his sleep, his hand landing in the small of her back, and his thigh creeping across the back of hers. He might not admit it while he was awake, but his unc
onscious affection spoke volumes. He was attracted to her. Felt at ease with her. Liked the connection between them.

  She struggled to concentrate on the forest and scrub around them as his hand slid lower to cup her rear end. His fingers curled into the crevasse between her thighs and tush with shocking intimacy. Not that he hadn’t already explored and claimed every inch of her body during their lovemaking last night. Memory of his thoroughness heated her face and her core as she lay there, not moving.

  How would she feel if this were some other SEAL groping her in his sleep? It would definitely bother her. But with Ford, it seemed as natural as breathing. If only the two of them could work in the field together going forward.

  He shifted his weight, and abruptly she felt his presence. He’d woken up. His hand flexed on her ass, and his mouth touched her neck. “Best wake-up in a hide ever,” he murmured.

  “And you didn’t like the idea of girls on the teams. Hah.”

  “Still don’t. But I like the idea of you on my team.”

  “Is that possi—”

  “Shh.”

  She froze, listening intently for what he’d heard. A boat motor was approaching the island. If they were lucky, it was coming to pick up Travis and Ray and take them home for the night. Her watch said ten minutes had passed when the boat cranked up again. Either she and Ford were the only people left on the island, or the little spit of land had just gotten very crowded.

  “If they’ve left, this would be a perfect window to set the charges and get out of here,” Ford breathed.

  “Or, they’re all here, now.”

  “The boat left. I say we go check it out. What do you think?”

  He was asking her? Treating her as a equal? Cool. She shrugged. “Why not?”

  They crept back to the edge of the clearing, steering well wide of the known claymore. All was quiet outside. Ford signaled her to check the shed, and she eased up to the back window to peer in. Empty.

  He touched his throat mike. “Go in and set the charge. Watch for traps, particularly around the door. I’ll stand watch out here. Am moving to directly opposite the front door.”

  She worried a little at his chosen position. It would protect her beautifully, but it would also place him directly between the Kimball’s boat dock and the clearing. If anyone came back, he’d be dangerously close to the brothers’ path of travel.

  She moved to the front door of the shed, and no surprise, it was locked. She pulled out her lock pick gun and in a few seconds had the padlock unlatched. There would be no way to replace it from inside the shed, but she left the padlock hanging on the hasp beside the door.

  Slipping inside quickly, she pulled down her night vision goggles. The lab leapt to life around her. It was messy and stank to high heaven. She picked her way between the packing table and the chemical mixing set-up toward the collection of drums to her right. Of course, they weren’t labeled. She poked around among them, looking for a barrel of methanol, or maybe some ether or toluene. Something flammable to set her charge on.

  She spotted a small, knee-high barrel off to one side and lifted the lid to peek inside. Bingo. She touched her throat mike. “Idiots have red phosphorus in here.”

  “Jesus. Light it up.”

  Red phosphorus was the stuff match tips were made of. It was an occasional ingredient in meth recipes and crazy flammable. Carefully, she moved the small barrel right up next to the others and set her shape charge low on the back of the little drum over a rusty spot where the metal would be weakest. God, the Kimballs were making this too easy.

  She’d no sooner had the thought than she heard a sound. A motor.

  Ford bit out one word. “Boat.”

  He no doubt had no more time to chat because he was busy going to ground and hiding. She ran for the door and cracked it open in time to see Jimbo Kimball, his right arm in a sling, striding up the path from the dock. Straight at her. No way could she slip outside without him seeing her. Dammit.

  Time for Plan B. She raced for the barrels at the end of the shed and crouched behind them. Testing the crappy corrugated aluminum siding, she found a piece that was already somewhat loose and examined it. Screws held it in place. She whipped out her multi-tool and unfolded a plier head. She grabbed the hex nut securing the first screw and tried to give it a twist, but it wouldn’t budge.

  She leaned into it harder, and it sluggishly made a quarter turn. If only she had Ford’s hand strength. If she died in here because she was, in fact, too weak to be a SEAL, she was going to be royally pissed when she got to Heaven or Hell or wherever she ended up. She tried again. The rusted screw gave way with a sickeningly loud screech.

  “What the hell was that?” Jimbo demanded from right outside the freaking front door.

  “Rat, prob’ly,” one of the other brothers drawled.

  “Fucking stoned rat if he’s eatin’ our shit,” one of the others chortled.

  “Rat droppings in the product halve the price,” Jimbo snarled.

  The first nut popped free and she frantically went to work on the second nut.

  “Hey! Fucking lock’s not locked. Which one of you dickheads forgot to close up the place?” Jimbo demanded. The sound of an open hand slapping flesh rang out behind her.

  She wrestled with the second nut, leaning into it for all she was worth. Her hand screamed in protest as she gripped the makeshift pliers with all her strength. It gave way with an even louder screech than the first screw.

  “Jesus Christ. There’s someone in there. Come out with your hands up, ya fucker!” Jimbo yelled.

  She turned the now loose nut with urgent haste. It popped free just as door swung open behind her, and she dropped to the floor.

  “Hey! Jimbo!” a familiar voice rang out in the clearing. What the hell was Ford doing? Of course she knew what he was doing—he was distracting the Kimball boys to give her time to escape—but it was a suicide move!

  “Who dat?” Jimbo yelled back.

  “It’s your old buddy, Ford Alambeaux,” one of the other brothers said low.

  “Not my fuckin’ buddy,” Jimbo growled back sotto voce. “Bastard’s not leaving this island alive. Y’unnerstan’? This shit ends tonight. We’re killin’ ’im.”

  Crap. Ford was out there operating on the assumption that this wasn’t going to turn into a full-blown shootout. The rules of engagement they’d set for themselves did not involve lethal force. But Jimbo’s muttered intention to kill Ford had just changed all that. And she was in no position to warn Ford.

  She shoved on the bottom of the aluminum panel, bending it outward and wriggling under it. The thing scraped painfully down her back, hanging up momentarily on her utility belt. She gave a terrified yank and her belt popped free. She made like an alligator, low-crawling on her belly away from the structure. God bless Commander Perriman wherever he was tonight for all those trips under barbed wire in training, crawling along awkwardly just like this, using her elbows and toes to propel her forward.

  She eased up to a crouch and darted into the shadow of the nearest tree. “I’m clear,” she breathed into her throat mike.

  “Come out and mebbe we’ll only beat the shit out o’ ya,” one of the other brothers yelled.

  Don’t do it, Ford.

  She eased to her left toward the edge of the shed for a better view of the brothers. Without warning, a big, hard hand clamped over her mouth. Fuck. One of the brothers. She mule-kicked backward with all her might at what she estimated to be knee height. The hand turned her loose and she bolted forward, or at least she tried to. But the bastard grabbed the back of her shirt. A hard, heavy fist slammed into her ear, knocking her earpiece out and making her head ring.

  She dropped to her knees, whipped around low, and drove up with her fist into Jimbo’s groin as hard as she could. He howled and clocked her in the chin with his other fist as he doubled over.

  Her jaw felt like it had exploded. The punch hurt like hell, but she’d taken worse in her youth. And hey, she was sti
ll conscious and not spitting teeth. She rose quickly and chopped down hard on the back of his neck. He dropped like a rock. She jumped to the corner of the shed and paused to peek around the end of it.

  Crap. The other three Kimball boys had shotguns pointed at Ford, whose hands were resting on top of his head. She couldn’t take out all three of them at once.

  Unless she blew up the shed. She estimated how far Ford was from the building. If she warned him to drop, he ought to be clear of the worst of the blast. She sprinted off to her left into the woods, away from the shed, not bothering to hide the sounds of her progress. A shotgun blast rang out behind her. And another one. Heedless of her own safety, she didn’t bother to hide. Shots fired at her were shots not fired at Ford.

  Dammit. Only the two shotgun blasts. One of the Kimballs had the foresight to keep his gun trained on Ford.

  “On my mark, hit the deck,” she transmitted over her throat mike, low and urgent. Her earpiece was still missing in action, so she had no way of receiving an acknowledgment from Ford, even if he were in a position to give her one, which he wasn’t at the moment. “Three. Two. One. Mark.”

  She mashed the detonator and threw her hands over her ears as a loud blast followed by a second, almighty blast tore the night apart. Something slammed into her back and all she registered was searing pain before everything went black.

  Chapter Twelve

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  Ford dropped without questioning Trina’s command. Not only was that lab going to go up huge, but there was no telling how many claymores around the place would blow, too.

  The blast was spectacular. He barely got his hands over his ears before a wave of light and heat, followed by a deafening crash of sound slammed into his back.

  He keyed his throat mike urgently. “Report.”

  No answer.

  Shit. He eased up out of the flattened brush and debris covering him, weapon at the ready. No sign of any Kimballs. Standing so close to the blast like they had been, he doubted any of them were conscious at the moment, assuming they were still alive after being thrown back by the explosion.