SEALed With A Kiss: Heroes With Heart

by Low, Gennita

  PJ took a job piloting private jets for private contractors—it kept her in just enough danger to satisfy her and not enough to make Saint drag her home and chain her to the couch.

  Jamie smiled, because she was guessing Chris felt the same about her. Desk work wasn’t exciting, but she could still help people by getting them comfortable with the process of witness protection before they were turned over to the US Marshals. After the baby was born, she’d continue that way because Chris’s job was enough danger for one small baby.

  Chris had been away for a lot of her pregnancy. They Skyped whenever possible but she’d known the nature of his job as a SEAL even before she’d met him. She was part of the FBI and had spent the majority of her life in Witness Protection as well, up until several months earlier. She wasn’t a wuss by any means.

  They’d fought about that very thing right before he’d gone away this last time, about how they both couldn’t be in the line of fire. She knew he was right. Having grown up in danger, she knew that better than anyone. But being told what to do was never her style. It made her bristle. She thought Chris knew that, but since all of this happened, it had been tough settling back into normal for all of them.

  None of them had ever really had it. PJ seemed to be handling it the best of all of them, relishing in having a place of her own. Well, Saint’s own, but he didn’t care what PJ did as long as she remained happy.

  And it appeared she reciprocated the favor to Saint, because according to Chris, the big, Louisiana born and bred CO hadn’t been this happy ever.

  Neither had she, but it was hard not to be when surrounded by love and heroes.

  Chapter Three

  ‡

  There was no radio in the car but that didn’t stop Chris from singing “Rock of Ages” not as loudly as he would’ve liked to out of respect for Saint and the fact that they couldn’t afford to draw any extra attention to themselves.

  He was so tense that his entire body ached and he wouldn’t relax until he touched down in Virginia.

  You’re gonna have a kid—no more relaxing for you, anyway.

  They’d made it twenty miles along precarious roads before the car started breaking down.

  “Come on, come on,” he muttered, ran his hands along the steering wheel like he could cajole it into staying alive.

  Didn’t work. After another several miles and a sputtering, smoking engine, the Land Rover finally gave up the ghost.

  “Not like we didn’t expect it,” Saint said. “On foot.”

  The two of them were out of the jacked up Land Rover and moving stealthily and fast along the side of the road, just out of view.

  They could attempt to hitch, but in these early morning hours before the light of day, trusting any random vehicle along the way to get them there faster would be risky as hell.

  The hit of his boots against the soft dust was the rhythm in his head for the next four miles. He’d had harder runs, with heavier gear and more danger but none of them meant anything close to what this one did.

  He didn’t care about the sweat or the fact that his stitches stopped holding somewhere along mile two. Saint pushed him along at one point when Chris got lightheaded and then he got a second wind.

  But they both stopped dead in their tracks when they heard the familiar rat-tat-tat of AK fire.

  “That’s near the LZ,” Saint cursed, checked the SAT phone. “Battery’s dead.”

  Chris listened for any other sounds over the din. “Which way would Reid go if this started?” And then he answered his own question like he knew it to be the truth. “North. There’s room for the helo.”

  “The soldiers being there is just dumb luck.”

  “For our sake, hope there’s a lot of that going around.”

  As he finished, Saint was already headed back out to the road. “Come on, man!” he called and in seconds, Chris was scrambling into the back of a truck that barely slowed to let them on board.

  Didn’t matter—they were traveling in the right direction and away from the gunfire.

  Didn’t matter even when he heard the squawking as the sounds of shots receded, turned to discover they were riding with the chicken cages. It was crowded and it stank and Chris didn’t care. Saint did, muttered the entire next few miles that Chris and his child were going to owe him. That Jake and Nick already did, owed him more than any human could possibly hope to payback but Saint would make sure they did.

  “We’re not stopping on this next stretch of road,” the passenger called back to them a little while later.

  “We’ve got to get off here,” Saint said after they’d gone a decently quick five miles. Hell, they’d jumped from higher into worse and Chris followed Saint as they jumped and rolled away before they could be spotted by other cars.

  “Six klicks,” Saint confirmed and they went down the hill and into the jungle until they finally hit a clearing big enough for a helo to land, which it had. The big bird sat silently and Chris sighed thankfully as he and Saint made their way toward it, signaling the pilot they were the men he’d been waiting for.

  They boarded and the pilot started the engines. Take off would be quick and dirty and they headed toward the back before they were thrown.

  “Maybe we have to start giving the SEALs more credit,” Reid called, his drawl apparent even as he yelled over the roar of the helo.

  Chris shot him the finger and hunkered down on the floor to check out how much blood he was losing. It was freezing but he stripped down and let Delta’s medic deal with it while he slept or passed out or some combination of the two.

  When he opened his eyes, it was time to refuel. “Phone?” he croaked.

  “Dude, you have an infection,” the medic told him.

  “Dude, I need the phone.”

  Saint handed him one as the medic frowned and Chris dialed Jake’s number.

  “Dude, where the hell are you? Because your wife pregnant is scarier than Saint,” Jake said in lieu of hello.

  “Tell him I heard that,” Saint barked. “Comparing me to a pregnant woman.”

  “Is she all right?” Chris asked, ignoring them both. “I’m six hours out.”

  “She’s hanging in. Worried. A storm’s coming through.” Jake paused. “You hurt?”

  “A little. I’ll be fine by the time I get there. Just keep her calm.”

  “We’re all here for her, man. Just get your ass home safely.”

  “Tell her—”

  “I know what to tell her. Don’t get all goddamned sappy with me,” Jake said before hanging up, right on time, too, because the roar of the engine started a second later.

  Chris handed Saint back the phone and let the medic do his thing with IVs and antibiotics. Slept a little and woke himself up when he realized he was dreaming about that night at the school when he killed a man to save PJ—and ultimately, Jamie. Because although he harbored no guilt over taking out a criminal, the scars Jamie would bear from the entire ordeal would never leave her. He could only hope to lessen them with time.

  Chapter Four

  ‡

  Jake hung up with Chris and paced until Isabelle’s car pulled into the driveway maybe ten minutes later. He was out the door in seconds, because that smile, that fucking smile of hers lit him up from the inside.

  She hugged him tight, like she was saying, I’ll never let you go.

  She wouldn’t, he was sure of it. And neither would he.

  “Missed you,” she murmured against his neck. “Traffic was horrible.”

  “I offered to come get you.”

  “You couldn’t land.”

  “Climbing the rope’s not that hard. I would’ve helped,” he chided lightly.

  “The scary part is, I know you’re completely serious.” She threaded her hand in his. “How’s Jamie?”

  “Freaked out and trying not to show it.” He let go of her so he could grab her bags. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

  “Wait. I have something to tell you—about
Africa.”

  The memories that country brought back flooded his mind, some good, some painful. She’d been back to Africa for Doctors Without Borders once since they’d married. And it had been with him.

  She’d agreed, since they really didn’t want to spend any more time apart than his job allowed, and they were going back again next year. Together.

  He kept his voice neutral “What’s up?”

  “We might have to cancel.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?” he demanded, his hands on her like he could feel what the problem was. But she took his wrists and put his palms on her belly.

  It took him about five seconds to catch on. He breathed in sharply and then again because he felt a little dizzy. And then he met her eyes and Isabelle’s floodgates opened.

  “I had no idea. I’m three months along and it’s twins. Girls. Never had them in my family and your know I’m on the pill…”

  “Hold up.” Jake stared at her, one hand reaching up to brush away a few stray tears. And this was a woman who rarely cried. “Twin girls?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are they sure?”

  “Pretty sure, yes.”

  “God help me,” he muttered as the earth shifted beneath his feet.

  “Jake, I’m really freaked out.”

  Join the club, baby. But before he could stop it, a huge smile spread over his face. “We’re going to be fine. We’ve handled so much worse than this. This is the good stuff—and we deserve it.”

  He hugged her and her arms threaded around his shoulders—she was laughing, relief evident in her voice. “You’re not upset—really?”

  “Not at all.” He kissed her as the snow started to fall around them, until all he wanted to do was get her alone. Picked her up as she protested, carried her through the house and up to the second floor, because he could tell his brothers and Jamie later.

  But right now, it was just for the two of them.

  *

  “Storm’s coming,” Kenny murmured to himself as he looked up at the night sky and tried not to connect with Chris. It was too hard on both of them, especially when his son was deployed.

  The psychic Cajun bullshit, as Jake deemed it years ago, came in handy at times. This was not one of them.

  All the missions Chris went on were important, but this one… it made Kenny’s heart heavy. He wasn’t sure if it was the time of year or the impending birth but dammit, his son needed to be here, for so many reasons.

  “Maggie, you’ve got to help them,” he said quietly. “Have to help me, too.”

  The wound of her loss was still so fresh. Watching his sons find the loves of their lives brought him more comfort than he’d ever hoped to have.

  “The baby’s breech,” Jamie said softly from behind him. “I just came from an ultrasound. Maybe I should—”

  “Give him time,” Kenny told her, turning to put his arm around her shoulder. “Nothing’s going to happen to that sweet bebe.”

  She smiled when he slipped into Cajun cadence.

  “Chris was breech—shouldn’t be surprised,” Kenny continued. “Maggie and her momma, they fixed it all good.”

  He didn’t tell her that Maggie nearly died giving birth. Obviously, Chris had wisely chosen to spare Jamie that information as well.

  But Jamie was insistent on a home birth, wanted Chris to deliver the baby. He’d tried to steer her toward a hospital birth without scaring her, but she would not be deterred.

  Of course, that was before the baby was breech. Now, he knew he would have to convince her to get to the hospital at the first signs of labor if his son didn’t arrive in time.

  *

  Jamie and Kenny ended up sitting in the kitchen for a while—he heated her up some of the gumbo he’d made earlier, which she loved, and being connected to Chris like this made everything all right for that little while.

  “Hey, anyone here?” PJ called after letting herself into the house.”

  “Kitchen!” Jamie called back.

  Her sister walked in and dumped her bag before hugging both her and Kenny. “I brought extra clothes, because I don’t think I should leave you during the storm.”

  “Good idea,” Kenny told her. “We have plenty of room.”

  “Hopefully you have a lot of food, too,” Kaylee said as she walked into the room, Nick behind her, holding onto her hand.

  “Always,” Kenny said as he hugged her too. And then Jake came in, with Izzy by his side and yes, the house was filling up. It wasn’t exactly a typical Christmas, but hers growing up had always been fairly quiet.

  PJ looked at Jake. “Have you heard anything?”

  “They’re on their way home, I think.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “He and Saint left the hospital—”

  “Why were they in the hospital?” Jamie and PJ demanded in unison.

  “And they’re fine,” Jake finished.

  “Because you say so?” Jamie asked.

  “Yes,” Jake said coolly.

  “Can we get back to the hospital thing?” PJ prompted.

  “No. I’ve said too much already.”

  “Now what?”

  “You were in the military, so you should recognize this part. We wait.”

  PJ snorted. Jamie felt her belly tighten into what she hoped was only one of those Braxton Hicks contractions. “I’m going to go lay down for a while.”

  “You okay?” PJ asked and Jamie nodded, avoiding Kenny’s face. She didn’t want to upset him any more than he already was, and so she went into the rooms she and Chris had been using on the first floor, more like a private suite with a living area and separate bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed and lifted her legs a little so she could stare at her swollen feet.

  She’d done research on the Internet about how to turn the baby naturally—there were several techniques, including acupuncture—and she’d try any of them.

  They’re on their way home, I think.

  Chapter Five

  ‡

  Jamie couldn’t sleep hours later, found herself pacing restlessly as if on guard. It had started to snow hours before and it was a heavy, blanketing blizzard with diagonal icy hail that scratched the windows and rattled the house with its fierce winds.

  She rubbed her hand on the glass door that led out to the back terrace as if that could help her see through the snow. She started a little, blinked, then stared a little harder as she spotted something—someone—moving through the blowing snow.

  A mirage. A fantastic, tall mirage, his jungle print cammies cutting a path through the white stuff. As he got closer, she saw the blood and dirt and once he came close enough, paint on his face.

  She was the one who remained frozen because was so sure this was a dream. The best kind.

  And then, after what seemed like hours, he was at the glass door. He saw her, cocked his head as if waiting for her to realize this was all very real and finally—finally—he opened the door and stepped inside.

  She took several steps back to let him in. Cold air enveloped her, refreshing, like some kind of renewal. And then he shut the door behind him and said, “Hey.”

  “You look—”

  “Wet,” he finished and she laughed softly, not wanting to break the spell. She reached up instead and uncovered his head first, the wool cap giving way to reveal the ever-present green bandanna he wrapped his hair in every time he was on a mission. “I walked ten miles in the snow, uphill. And don’t think this kid will ever hear the end of it.”

  His different color eyes stood out in stark contrast to his very tanned skin. She reached out and stroked his cheek, just to make sure he was real. “You just got in?”

  “About an hour ago. Roads are impassable.”

  “Not for you.”

  “Not for you,” he countered as her fingers skittered over the buttons on his jacket before skimming the icy material off him, letting it falls to the floor.

  He stood patiently, this familiar act becomin
g something of a ritual between them. It was like she had to catalogue everything when he came back—every smile, every scratch—and he let her, without complaint.

  Her pace quickened as she touched the cold skin on his biceps. She needed to get him warm, wanted him skin to skin with her. At this moment, that was her only mission and the only one that mattered.

  She pulled the shirt over his head next, his dogtags clinking and coming to rest on his bare chest, and saw where the blood had come from. The gauze that covered his size was large, but clean.

  “It’s nothing,” he told her and she didn’t press even as she continued to memorize the other, numerous bruises and scrapes littering his upper body. He wore them as if they were nothing. He bent and took off his boots, but only because she couldn’t. And then she helped him off with his pants next—he eased them off and laid them on a chair carefully because they were heavy with some of his gear.

  “Rough trip home?”

  “Not so bad,” he said.

  “Why are there chicken feathers coming out of your pocket?”

  “Just be grateful the walk home in the storm washed away the smell.”

  “Most of it,” she teased.

  “Fuck, you look beautiful,” he murmured, a hand on her swollen belly.

  “Big.”

  “Gorgeous,” he corrected, and he meant it.

  “Let me clean you off,” she murmured. “Come on.”

  He followed her to the bathroom, sat on the edge of the bathtub while she wet a washcloth and wiped the paint and dirt from his face gently, like she was uncovering the real him again, like she did every time he came back.

  It would never be that easy—coming home rarely was for these men, she’d learned—but this helped connect them again.

  He let her finish with his face and neck, both knowing he needed more than a washcloth, but he wasn’t complaining. He’d stripped completely before he sat down and it was warm enough to where he’d stopped shivering.

  “Thanks,” he said when she was done, and she cupped his clean face in her hands as time dropped away and it was their first time together on the plane or the second in Africa before things went bad and it all blended together in a wonderful way. Their history.