Hot Alpha SEALs: Military Romance Megaset

by Sharon Hamilton

  “Cut to the chase, Fish. What are you proposing?” Gator asked.

  “I think the doctor and her medical staff are targets of the guerilla group. We should put at least one of us on board, equipped with communication equipment to keep in touch and report back. These people go ashore where needed to provide medical assistance to the poor. When they are on shore, I could be part of the team as boots on the ground to provide security and intel should they be targeted again.”

  Gator’s eyes narrowed, as if he was considering the proposal. “And you think having an inside guy would help?”

  “Someone on board the Nightingale could provide the locations of their next stops,” Jack said.

  “I volunteer,” Irish said, his gaze tracking an image on the screen. “That blonde is just what this frogman needs to keep him hopping.”

  Gator shook his head. “Sorry, Irish. Fish was offered the job.”

  “Damn,” Irish swore. “I’d give my left nut to go with you.”

  “Save your nuts for the fight,” Fish said with a wide grin.

  Gator faced Jack. “Okay. Accept the lady doctor’s offer.”

  His stomach fluttered and his pulse quickened at the thought of seeing the pretty doctor again. “I’ll need some communication equipment that won’t be too easily detected.”

  Swede dropped off the bar stool and strode across the floor to the hardened case full of everything they could possibly need for a surveillance and tactical operation.

  “I’ll get my duffle.” Jack hurried to the beautifully designed stateroom he’d been assigned to share with Dustin “Dustman” Ford. Each man had a twin bed tucked against opposite walls. Drawers, closets and cubbies provided more storage than the studio apartment he had back in Virginia.

  He pulled his duffle out of the closet, jammed shorts, polo shirts, T-shirts and undergarments into the bag along with his shaving kit and tennis shoes. As for weapons, he couldn’t really go on board the Nightingale fully loaded with all he’d brought on this mission. He tucked his nine-millimeter pistol in with his underwear and added the little H&K 40-caliber pistol he could fit practically anywhere. That left his rifles. Most were too long to stash in his duffle. But he had one that could break down into separate pieces for storage and ease of packing into small places. The weapon was lightweight and quick to assemble with a one-hundred meter range. He doubted the skipper or Steve’s weapons would have near the power or accuracy of any of his.

  At the last minute, he folded in the dress slacks and shoes he’d been ordered to bring in case they needed to stage a fancy dinner party on the Pegasus, or if they needed to establish themselves as rich visitors with the local authorities. A ruse to make themselves known to the guerillas.

  With all the clothes and weapons he needed packed into his duffle, he went back to the living area where Swede had another bag lined with a towel and filled with electronics.

  “I can’t take all that. I’m likely to share a room with someone else. Stashing that much stuff would be hard.” He picked through the bag. “I need comm in my ear, several GPS tracking devices and a handheld tracker.”

  “What about weapons?”

  “I have two pistols and my breakdown rifle.”

  “Here, take some explosives, detonators and grenades.” Dustman jammed them into the side pouches of his duffle bag. “You never know when you’ll need them.”

  Laden down with more than he thought he could get away with, Jack headed for the back of the yacht and the jet ski.

  Gator followed, detailing a communication protocol as to when he should check in and how often.

  Jack nodded, stuck the communication device that looked like a hearing aid into his ear and climbed aboard the jet ski. “Let’s catch us some pirates.”

  Natalie paced the length of the Nightingale’s dining area. “We can’t operate in a hostile environment.”

  Her team had gathered—some seated at the table, others leaning against the wall, out of her way while she paced.

  “We signed on knowing the dangers of working in Honduras,” Mac said. “The situation’s not nearly as bad as what I dealt with in Afghanistan.”

  Natalie shot him a frown. “True, but we’re not in Afghanistan, and not all of us are Army-trained combat medics. We don’t have the tactical experience to fight off an enemy attack.”

  “We should call it and move farther north,” Steve said. “Back to Costa Rica. That area isn’t having nearly the issues with guerillas, and I’m sure a lot of people there need our help as much.”

  “We just worked our way through the shores of Costa Rica. The people of Honduras are in bad shape. Not only have they been dealing with a corrupt government, but they have to endure the guerillas injuring innocents.” Natalie shook her head. “I can’t abandon them. Some of these people are in desperate need.”

  “And we will be no good to them if we’re dead.” Steve rubbed his injured leg.

  Natalie stared at his hand, smoothing over the gunshot wound he’d received courtesy of the guerillas. “You’re right, Steve. I can’t expect any of you to risk going into an area as volatile as Honduras. Asking that is not fair of me.”

  “Who’s asking? We’re volunteering.” Hallie lifted her hand. “All those who are okay with continuing our mission as originally planned, raise your hand.”

  Every member of the medical staff raised his or her hand, except Steve. He glanced around at the others. “We’re making a big mistake,” he warned as he slowly raised his hand.

  “We’re in,” Mac stated. “Now, can we call it a night? I want to double-check our medical supplies and repack our shore kits for tomorrow.”

  “I’ll help,” Natalie insisted. “The rest of you get some rest. Today’s been busy and tomorrow will involve even more work.”

  “Hopefully without the added excitement of a guerilla attack,” Dr. Biacowski said. “You should stay on the boat tomorrow and let me do shore duty.”

  Natalie stared at the older doctor. His face was still pale and he was still weak from his bout with dysentery from something he ate at one of their stops. “Today was hard on your body, Craig. Until you’re back at one hundred percent, I want you to stay on the Nightingale.”

  “I tell you, I’m feeling much better. A good night’s sleep and I’ll be ready to go,” he argued.

  Crossing her arms over her chest, she gave him a pointed look. “Yeah, and if we have another day like today and have to run like the wind, could you keep up?”

  The man started to open his mouth, then sighed and shook his head. “Probably not.”

  “End of discussion,” Natalie said, brooking no argument. “You’re to stay on the boat. We need someone back here to take care of us if anything should go wrong, like it did today.”

  Hallie patted the doctor’s face. “Don’t worry, there will be more sick people for you to heal when you get better. You need to stay in as much as possible and get better in a hurry. After we set up the clinic on the beach tomorrow, we’re supposed to sail over to the port at Trujillo. Their annual patron saint festival is in two nights. We’re all due a little R&R.”

  “Is it safe to go to the festival, after what happened today?” Steve pushed to his feet, balancing all his weight on his uninjured leg.

  “The town should be okay. Enough people are there, between the locals and tourists. And the Honduran military will have an increased presence for the event. I checked. We should be okay,” Hallie said. “Dr. Rhoades will go, won’t you?”

  “I don’t know.” After the attack that day, Natalie wasn’t sure about anything.

  “You have to go. The trip wouldn’t be the same without you. Besides, some of the locals asked you to be there. And I’m sure the ones we see when we set up the clinic in Trujillo will be as eager to see you there, as well.”

  She did try to make an effort to join festivities put on by the locals. They were more open if she and the crew participated in important events. “I’ll go with you. I could use a little r
elaxation, especially after today.”

  “Me, too,” Hallie said. “I’m ready to get off the boat for a little wine and dancing.” She grabbed Mac’s hand and spun beneath his arm. “What do you say? Will you dance with me?”

  Mac’s mouth tightened. “I’m not much of a dancer.”

  Hallie propped her fists on her hips. “Steve, are you going?”

  Steve shook his head.

  “Exactly. Jean-David will probably stay with the boat. Dr. Biacowski, do you dance?”

  “I gave up my dancing shoes in my undergrad days.” He patted his stomach, appearing glad to use his ailment as an excuse. “I’d rather stay aboard the boat and read a good book. I don’t want to risk being out of commission for any more time than I already have.”

  Hallie turned to Mac. “That leaves you.” She put both hands together under her chin and batted her eyelashes. “Please?”

  “Okay, fine.” He stepped around her. “That is, if we go and if there isn’t any trouble in town. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m preparing for tomorrow’s village visit.”

  “I’m coming with you.” Natalie followed him out of the dining area to hit the storeroom where they kept all the equipment and medication locked up in case the boat was in dock and someone tried to come aboard. She used her key to open the door and led the way inside.

  “I heard Skipper talking to that jet ski rider,” Mac said.

  “Jack?” Natalie corrected. She knew where Mac was headed before he opened his mouth, so she beat him to the punch. “I asked her to offer him a position on board the Nightingale.”

  “That’s what I heard. I was hoping the offer was a mistake.”

  “We need protection.”

  “What can one guy do against an army of guerillas?”

  Natalie turned to face him. “You were there. You saw what he could do. He distracted them long enough for us to get a head start.”

  “If not for the Black Hawk helicopter, he would have been killed. We don’t need a martyr who likes to hotdog on a jet ski.” His lips formed a tight line. “And where the hell did that Black Hawk come from?”

  “Skipper said she’d heard from one of the other ships in the area that a U.S. Army Black Hawk helicopter unit was staging a training exercise somewhere around here. She thinks it’s to establish a presence because of the increased guerilla activity.” Natalie pulled a bottle of amoxicillin from a shelf and checked the expiration date before placing it into the case they carried into the field. She added several vials of prophylaxes for malaria, measles, mumps, and rubella to those already in the case. As many children as they could vaccinate, the better.

  “Steve had a very good point.” Mac took the vials from her hands and placed them carefully in the elastic bands specially attached to the inside of the case to keep them from banging around in transport. “Today was too close. We could have been killed.”

  “We’ve already gone over this.” She checked the case, mentally ticking off what they would need for the next day’s sick call clinic. “If you don’t feel comfortable going ashore, stay on board.”

  “And leave you without any protection?” Mac shook his head. “Not a chance.”

  “We’ll be sure to watch for trouble and stay close enough to the skiff to make a quick getaway.”

  “There will only be three of us tomorrow.”

  She knew he was right, but she couldn’t disappoint the locals. “We already put out the word that we’d be there. Those children need medical care.”

  Mac checked one more time, before closing the medical kit. When he straightened, he caught Natalie’s arm. “I know how much you care about these people. But you need to think about yourself sometimes.”

  Her heart squeezed so tightly in her chest it hurt. “Mac, I have to do this.”

  “Why?”

  She stared up at him and, for a moment, thought about telling him her life story. But she didn’t want to burden him with her heartache. This project was her dream, a dream born of tragedy. Mac, of all of them, would understand. He’d watched members of his unit die, even had some of them die in his arms.

  “I just have to.” She ducked around him and headed for the outside deck. When the memories surfaced, they rose up like a volcano shooting out the top of a mountain—fast, hot and furious. She fought them back, refusing to sink into that black abyss of depression that hovered on the edge of her psyche.

  Jean-David had the helm for the first half of the night, and Daphne would take over the last half. Ronnie had taken them out to one of the nearby islands and anchored off the coast, away from the mainland. They would head back in the next day to set up their makeshift clinic at one of the villages. Then they’d move on to Trujillo and spend the night anchored close to the town.

  Alone on the deck, Natalie gave in to the rush of emotions that had been building throughout the day. Tomorrow would have been her daughter’s fifth birthday. Emma hadn’t lived to see her first. She’d been only eight months old when they’d been sideswiped by an eighteen-wheeler whose driver had fallen asleep. Their car had gone off the road and rolled over and over down a steep embankment and then burst into flame.

  Natalie had been thrown from the vehicle and knocked unconscious. Her husband, Andrew, and baby Emma hadn’t been as fortunate. Their seatbelts had held secure all the way to the bottom of the hill when the vehicle was engulfed in fire.

  The smell of smoke still had the power to make her choke on her memories. She’d come to when the car exploded, shaking the ground beneath her. She’d stayed conscious only long enough to permanently imprint the fiery inferno on her memory.

  Standing on the deck of the Nightingale, she inhaled deep breaths, sucking in the salty, tangy air of the tropics. Struggling to push thoughts of Emma and Andrew to the back of her mind. After almost five years, she thought the pain would have dulled. She’d left Colorado, left the mountains and the place where she’d grown up to escape the memories. Nothing about the sea reminded her of Andrew and Emma. Never again could she live in the mountains. They closed in around her, making her remember too much, reminding her of all she’d lost that night.

  Little Emma, the happiest baby, with chubby cheeks and a smile that would melt her heart every time, had just been learning to walk. She could say dada, mama and bye-bye. One moment, they were a happy little family of three, and in the blink of an eye, Natalie was alone.

  A tear slipped from the corner of her eye.

  Natalie clenched her fist, willing herself to stop. But another tear followed the first and before long, a steady stream trailed down her cheeks. The ship’s generator drowned out all other sounds and hopefully, the sobs she couldn’t manage to contain. She stood in the moonlight, letting her tears flow unchecked. Get it out, she told herself. Push out the pain and move on with life. She was alive for a reason and that reason was to help others. Otherwise, she might as well have died in the crash that killed Andrew and Emma.

  “Dr. Rhoades,” a deep voice said behind her.

  Natalie sucked in a sob and held her breath, unable to turn or answer.

  “Natalie?”

  The deep rich tone wrapped around her, filling the cold, lonely place she’d let herself slide into. Big, capable hands curled around her arms and turned her to face him.

  Jack Fischer stood before her, his blue eyes reflecting the moonlight, his brows furrowed. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She opened her mouth to tell him that she was, but nothing came out. Instead, more tears flowed down her cheeks.

  In a flash, he pulled her into his arms and held her close. “Tell me what’s wrong. Maybe I can help.”

  She leaned her cheek against his chest, absorbing his warmth and strength. “No one can,” she whispered past the lump in her throat. “They’re gone forever.”

  Chapter Three

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  When Jack had arrived back at the Nightingale, Jean-David greeted him and threw him a line. Once on board, the deckhand told him the medical staff was ha
ving a meeting in the dining hall in the cabin. By the time he’d found his way to the dining area, the meeting had broken up. Hallie had been there, making a cup of tea. When she saw him, she immediately hugged him and said something about having another dance partner at the festival.

  Jack wasn’t sure what that was about. He just wanted to meet with Dr. Rhoades and let her know he would be coming to work on the Nightingale as head of security.

  Hallie told him he might find Dr. Rhoades in the storeroom or her stateroom. The storeroom turned out to be locked, and she hadn’t answered his knock on her stateroom door.

  Finally, he went up on deck, thinking she might be having a final chat with the skipper before they called it a night. He found her, not in the pilothouse but on the forward deck, her shoulders slumped and shaking.

  Not wanting to intrude, he stopped and listened for a moment. At the sound of a muffled sob, he’d moved forward, calling out her name.

  Now he stood with her wrapped in his arms. The take-charge doctor, melting with emotion. He gave her a moment or two, but when his shirt grew damp, he couldn’t take it any longer. As a SEAL, he preferred to charge in and slay the demons. He was a fixer, not a nurturer.

  “Hey, that was my favorite shirt.” Jack captured her face in both hands and turned it up to his. Moonlight glistened off her wet cheeks and made the teardrops caught in her eyelashes sparkle. Even with a wet face and red-rimmed eyes, she was beautiful.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I got your shirt wet. I don’t normally do this.”

  “I really don’t care about the shirt. And if you need a shoulder to cry on, have at it. But tell me why and maybe I can help.”

  She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter.” Her bottom lip trembled, and a huge teardrop slipped from the corner of her eye and rolled down her cheek.

  “Apparently, it does.” With his thumb, he wiped away the tear.

  “You shouldn’t see me this way.”