Forged in Ash (A Red-Hot SEALs Novel)

by Trish McCallan

  “And you didn’t consider contacting local law enforcement so they could handle the rescue of Agent Chastain’s family?” The prosecutor’s tone was accusing.

  “Agent Chastain was certain his office and DHS were compromised. He was also certain contacting the local PD would filter back to his field office and from there to the kidnappers, and his family would be executed. After reviewing his evidence, we agreed with his assessment. There were additional concerns that the hostages were in grave danger given the hijacking had been aborted. We didn’t feel we could wait to take action, so we contacted Admiral McKay who agreed with our evaluation and gave us the green light.”

  “Isn’t it convenient that Agent Chastain and Admiral McKay are no longer available to confirm your account of that day?” the prosecutor said dryly.

  No longer available?

  Cosky gritted his teeth, swallowing a tide of rage. Chastain and McKay deserved better than this farce.

  “They are no longer available because they were murdered.” Try as he might, Cosky couldn’t quite mask the contempt boiling within him. “You call that convenient? Perhaps you should run that description by their wives and children.”

  The prosecutor’s round face flooded with red. An unhealthy red. “You’re well aware I used that term in conjunction with you and your teammates’ vigilante behavior and the fact neither Agent Chastain nor Admiral McKay are alive to testify to their involvement in the events you describe.”

  “Chastain’s and Admiral McKay’s murders are linked to the events of March twenty-ninth and thirtieth.” Cosky’s voice turned arctic. “Chastain was killed immediately following the release of his wife and children. McKay was bombed within hours of giving us the go-ahead. Their deaths are not a coincidence.”

  “Their murders are under investigation,” the prosecutor said tightly, the flush slowly fading from his face. He sent a stiff smile toward the jury box. “But their murders, tragic as they are, are not the focus of this proceeding. Your vigilante behavior is the focus of this hearing, and the fact you and your buddies left a string of fatalities behind you.”

  Cosky crossed his arms. “The fatalities took place during the insertion to release Amy Chastain and her children from their captivity.” He paused, trying to wrestle back the sarcasm. “The kidnappers were reluctant to release their prizes.”

  “Isn’t it true that you were shot multiple times, in fact—near fatally wounded during this assault?”

  With a frown, Cosky settled back against his chair. Where the hell was the bastard going with this line of questioning? “That’s correct.”

  “So you were unconscious during most of this battle and thus unable to verify that lethal force was necessary.”

  Was he fucking kidding? What a Pollyanna asshole.

  “Are you aware of the firing capacity of a single MP5?” Cosky shot back.

  When the prosecutor frowned and opened his mouth, Cosky turned to face the jury. Hell, nothing he said was going to convince this clueless bastard. His best bet was to hope that some of the jury members had a kernel of common sense.

  “A single MP5 can rattle off hundreds of rounds per minute. The men holding Amy Chastain and her children had four of these weapons on the premises, along with assorted handguns and rifles. From the Argentine example, there was little doubt the hijackers were willing to slaughter women and children. So to answer your question—yes, fatal force was absolutely necessary in order to free the hostages.”

  Soon after, the jury forewoman released him from the witness box. Cosky didn’t budge. It was time the prosecutor answered some of his questions.

  “Has anyone looked into the first-class passengers and tried to identify the seven people the hijackers were after?” he asked the prosecutor and caught the momentary freezing of the attorney’s tall frame.

  “There’s no evidence to suggest there was a list of names.”

  The fact the guy had responded to the question was a surprise—his answer wasn’t.

  Cosky’s gaze narrowed. “Agent Chastain was given a list of first-class passengers. He was told to make these passengers available if he wanted to see his family again.”

  “So you and your teammates claim,” the prosecutor said in a bored voice. He walked over to the table across from the witness stand and stacked his papers together. “Yet no evidence of this purported list has shown up in any of Agent Chastain’s personal effects.”

  Cosky’s mouth tightened. Christ, save him from idiots in high places.

  “Considering his laptop and cell phone went missing following his death, the lack of concrete evidence is understandable. Perhaps you don’t understand the ramifications of this list? Every person booked into first class on that flight was a scientist and several of these scientists are working on projects with military applications.”

  “Yes, yes.” The prosecutor waved him off. “The passengers will be looked into.”

  Bullshit.

  Cosky swore beneath his breath. The lack of interest in the passengers totally stymied them. Didn’t those assholes realize how important those seven names were? Someone had tried to hijack a plane to get their hands on them.

  His frustration was at a high boil as the jury forewoman escorted him out of the room.

  Zane took one look at his face and barked out a tight laugh. “I see you warmed up to that bastard as much as I did.”

  That earned a slight smile. But the smile quickly faded.

  Zane slung an arm over Beth’s shoulder as they headed down the hall, matching their paces to Cosky’s crutch-enabled hobbling.

  Cosky shook his head in disgust. Apparently, the poor sucker couldn’t walk, talk, or sit without touching her. Then again, Zane had almost lost Beth to Russ Branson—or whoever the hell the guy had been, so he should give him a little slack.

  The thought of Branson brought another surge of frustration. You’d think it would be easy to track down the identity of the mastermind who’d orchestrated the hijacking and kidnappings, but the bastard had turned out to be a ghost. Too bad Zane hadn’t managed to ask him one damn question before killing him.

  “My brother’s offered up his apartment when he deploys, until Beth and I can buy a place,” Zane said as the group started walking again. “So we need to start looking for someone to take over my share of the condo.”

  Cosky simply nodded. It had been only a matter of time before Zane moved out. Beth hadn’t complained about sharing the condo with them when she flew down to visit. But hell, the lovebirds undoubtedly wanted their privacy—particularly with a baby on the way.

  “Aiden’s looking for a place,” Rawls said as he rejoined them.

  Fucking hell.

  No way.

  Cosky jerked hard and his crutches skidded on the marble floor. Off balance, he pitched forward.

  “Are you okay, dear?” His mother caught his elbow and steadied him.

  Warmth heated his face. How humiliating, nothing like having your mother save your ass. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. But the tension didn’t ease.

  “Aiden needs to stick it out where he’s at, and work through whatever his problem is with Tag,” he said harshly.

  Which was true. But not the reason he was eighty-sixing the idea of Squad 2’s sniper moving into the condo.

  Rawls shot him a surprised look and shrugged. “That falling out is between him and Tag, not our fence to mend. Besides, with Aiden about, we’ll see more of Kait. My mouth’s still watering from that chili she brought to the barbeque last year.”

  Every muscle in Cosky’s body tightened.

  The last thing he needed was Kait underfoot. He’d barely weaned himself from those damn dreams as it was.

  Hunger stirred at the memory of ghostly fingers skating up and down his spine, and a waterfall of golden hair caressing his sweaty skin.

  Shit, this was exactly why Aiden wasn’t going to move in with them. The last thing he needed was a constant fucking reminder of Kait.

  “W
ho’s Kait?” his mom asked in a slow, thoughtful voice.

  The interested sidelong glance she sent him had Cosky swearing beneath his breath. Mom had been getting increasingly vocal about “her grandchildren” since Zane had met Beth. Since he was her only child there was little doubt where the nonexistent rug rats were supposed to spring from.

  “Aiden’s angel of a sister,” Rawls said. “The prettiest girl you’ve ever seen and a mean cook to boot.”

  “Really?” his mom said. “Cosky’s never mentioned her.”

  Great. She sounded suspicious now.

  “Because she’s nobody,” Cosky snapped.

  Which was the truth. He’d spent the past five years making sure she remained nobody to him.

  No way in hell was he abandoning that strategy now. Even if it meant cutting Aiden off.

  August

  By the time Cosky pulled out of the clinic’s parking lot and merged into San Diego’s traffic, numbness buffered the shock. Still—the orthopedic surgeon’s words echoed through his head.

  “The good news is the plate and screws are in good position, and the tibial fragments remained aligned. But the translucency and widening lines between the bone grafts indicate non-healing.”

  The knifing pain that pierced his knee as he shifted his foot from gas pedal to brake, while merging his truck onto the San Diego freeway, reinforced the surgeon’s diagnosis.

  The leg had been giving him hell since he’d weaned himself from the pain meds, but he’d shrugged the pain off, blaming it on the aggressive physical therapy regime. The surgeon had made it clear from day one that the percentages were against him. It would take a hell of a lot of luck and hard work to rejoin SEAL Team 7.

  He wasn’t afraid of hard work, or the pain that came with it. Plus, it had seemed like luck was on his side. The reconstructive surgery had gone well, the leg had been weight bearing at three months—exactly as the doctor expected. Everything had been on course…or so he’d thought.

  Until today.

  Cosky swore as the car in front of him suddenly stopped, and he wrenched his foot from gas to brake. Agony ripped through his knee. Slowly, the pain settled into a deep, throbbing ache.

  He’d suspected the knifing pains weren’t normal when he’d casually mentioned them at his checkup, and the doc had sent him down for X-rays.

  “…without additional surgery and bone grafting, the plate will eventually break…”

  The shocked numbness had given way to simmering frustration by the time he reached his condo’s parking lot. The emotion was heightened by the low-slung Mustang parked in what had been Zane’s space before he’d moved out.

  Cosky parked beside the vintage Mustang without feeling even a hint of his normal envy. He’d tried like hell to keep Aiden out of the condo, but when his vehement stonewalling started to raise questions, he’d backed down. He didn’t need Zane and Rawls—and sure as hell not Aiden—realizing exactly why he was so reluctant to bunk with the man.

  He’d never live it down.

  He eyed the cherry-red sports car morosely as he shoved open his door. Just because Aiden had arrived didn’t mean he’d brought Kait. From the boxes and garbage bags towering in the passenger and backseats, there wasn’t room for anyone else. He did a quick recon of the parking lot and relaxed when he recognized all the cars.

  As he eased out of his truck, he tried to convince himself that it didn’t matter if she did show up. It had been years…his reaction wouldn’t be as overpowering. He was a different man. She was a different woman. The sparks might not even be there.

  Yeah, like hell.

  If the attraction wasn’t still simmering, he wouldn’t have thrown up every objection he could think of when Rawls suggested Aiden as Zane’s replacement.

  He’d just locked his truck, when the front door to the condo opened and Aiden jogged down the steps.

  “Hey,” Cosky said, nodding at the half wave his new roommate shot him.

  “Hey.” Aiden reached his Mustang and yanked open the passenger door, grabbing all four boxes on the seat. “Looks like we’re going wheels up, figured I’d move my stuff while I had the chance.”

  Cosky scowled; if not for his leg and the medical leave they’d put him on, he’d be prepping for deployment too.

  Well…if he hadn’t been booked on that plane to Hawaii, and hadn’t tried to save the day, and hadn’t been thoroughly fucked for his efforts.

  For Christ’s sake, they’d done everything by the book, but apparently that didn’t make a Goddamn difference these days—rather than kudos, everyone had been reassigned to paper pushing pending the investigations. Once his medical leave was up, he’d be joining them, training the new plebes would have been more welcome.

  “You need another pair of hands?” Cosky asked as Aiden closed the passenger door with his hip.

  Aiden adjusted the load in his arms, his black hair gleaming beneath the sun. Sharp eyes raked Cosky’s frame, lingering on the right knee. But he just shrugged. “Knock yourself out.”

  His new roommate had disappeared inside the condo by the time Cosky reached the Mustang. After opening the driver’s door, he dragged a pair of garbage sacks out, slung them over his shoulder and started for the Condo. A half a dozen steps later, pure agony seared his knee. An icy sweat soaked the back of his T-shirt.

  His leg went numb beneath him.

  Which was new.

  And unwelcome.

  Son of a bitch. He stumbled to a standstill and dropped the bags, then bent over, digging rigid fingers into the joint.

  “You okay?” Aiden asked from somewhere above him.

  Oh, hell yeah, just peachy keen.

  Cosky gritted his teeth and kept massaging. “Overdid it at PT.”

  “Ice will help,” Aiden said, and Cosky couldn’t tell whether he’d bought the lie or not. “You need a hand?”

  “Nah, I’m good.”

  Aiden grunted and shrugged, then loped over to grab the two garbage bags at Cosky’s feet. With another surge of frustration, Cosky watched him vanish into the condo.

  Well, he couldn’t stand here forever. After a few seconds of kneading and praying, he straightened and took a careful step. His knee let loose with a burst of tingling, but it accepted his weight.

  Slowly, babying the hell out of his leg, he hobbled up the sidewalk and took the stairs in a one-two shuffle. The numbness settled deeper, electrified by periodic bursts of tingling.

  Something told him this new symptom was a bad sign.

  A black cloud settled over him as he opened the freezer and grabbed two bags of peas. He smacked the plastic bags against the fridge door, before limping back to the living room. Sitting down on the couch he took off his shoes, shoved his sweats down over his athletic shorts, and dragged them off one leg at a time. In the old days he would have kicked them off, but with the way his luck was running, the simple act of kicking would probably snap his leg off and send it flying across the room.

  He’d arranged the bags of frozen peas over the compression sleeve by the time Aiden appeared.

  Cosky glanced up. “You all set?”

  “Yeah.”

  Aiden settled into the leather recliner to the left of the couch and studied Cosky’s pea-shrouded knee. “How’s it healing?”

  Cosky started to lie, but the words stuck in his throat.

  “…unlikely to completely heal…additional surgery…more scarring, disability to the joint…no possibility it will withstand the rigors of your profession…”

  No possibility.

  Fourteen years of deployments, of dodging bullets, bombs, and flash grenades on foreign soil, only to fall in an attack on US soil, by US citizens.

  Fate had a nasty sense of humor.

  God only knew what Aiden saw on his face, because he frowned and leaned forward. “That bad, huh?”

  Cosky’s shrug was too tight. “It’s not healing.”

  “Damn.” Aiden pinched the bridge of his nose. He opened his mouth, only to
close it again. Suddenly he lurched up and paced to the window.

  The guy was antsy as shit. Maybe Cosky’s situation was hitting too close to home. Aiden had spent weeks in the hospital himself after they’d dragged him up to that rooftop in Baghdad and from there into the evac chopper. Nobody had expected him to walk again, let alone reclaim his seat in the Zodiac.

  Aiden abruptly spun around. “You know my dad was Native American?”

  “No,” Cosky said.

  What did Aiden’s ethnicity have to do with anything? Beyond looks of course, since Aiden did look like his dad. Commander Winchester had had the same broad shoulders and long, lean frame. They’d shared the same high cheekbones, black hair, and dark eyes too.

  Kait on the other hand…His mind flashed to a long, thick golden braid. She took after their mother. You’d never know Aiden and Kait were siblings, not by their coloring anyway.

  A whisper of ancient cravings brushed his mind…sleek, cool skin sliding against his naked, sweaty body. Alarmed, he buried the image. Those damn dreams had haunted him for years, the last thing he needed was resurgences of those sweaty, sleepless nights.

  “Dad was full Arapaho. He disowned it, but it was still in him. He had certain…” Aidan paused to swipe a hand over his head. “Hell, I rarely mention this. Most people…” He trailed off and shook his head. “But you and Zane are close. You accept his…gifts…”

  What the hell?

  Cosky leaned against the sofa’s armrest. “What are you talking about?”

  “The flashes, the ones Zane has. You trust them.”

  With an impatient shake of his head, Cosky rescued a sliding bag of peas and rearranged the bundle across his knee. “What the hell do they have to do with anything?”

  “Remember when you pulled me out of Baghdad?”

  Cosky tensed. He’d thought they were past all those damn thank-yous.

  Aiden gave a sharp bark of laughter. “Relax; I’m not going to smother you with my gratitude. That mortar shell blew a chunk off my spine. Docs said I would never walk again. Sure as hell never run.”