Forged in Ash (A Red-Hot SEALs Novel)

by Trish McCallan

  Cosky paused with his cell phone in hand. He hadn’t told his teammates about the previous diagnosis. Hell, he hadn’t told Aiden, either. The bastard had guessed. At the time, the thought of their pity had made his skin itch. But the situation was different now. Not only was the fracture healing—it was healing at an accelerated rate, almost double normal. There was a very good chance he’d be able to rejoin his team.

  Because of Kait.

  He looked down at the cell phone in his hand. “She did heal it,” he finally said. “You saw the X-rays from three days ago. The fracture wasn’t healing. These new ones show serious improvement. That has to be because of her. Because of what she did in her apartment and in the parking lot.”

  Rawls waved his hand dismissively. “I meant completely heal. Like the blisters. Your knee was toast, Cos. We all saw it. The patella was in the wrong damn place.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t as bad as we thought,” Zane said as he pulled out of the ER’s parking lot. “There was a lot of swelling. The swelling could have affected our perception.”

  Rawls pinched his chin, his thoughtful gaze dropping to Cosky’s leg, which was stretched across the backseat of the van and covered in ice packs. “Maybe.” But he sounded skeptical. “How’s it feeling? Still numb?”

  Cosky dropped his cell onto the seat, leaned forward to pick up the ice packs, and folded his knee to his chest. He slowly extended it again. For the first time since he’d hit the pavement, a twinge went through the joint, but the small pain was nothing compared to the jolts he’d experienced before.

  “It twinges, nothing serious,” he said, stretching it across the seat again. He draped the ice packs back over it and picked up his phone. After highlighting Kait’s number, he hit talk and lifted the phone.

  “I’ll admit one thing has me pretty worried,” Rawls said after a moment, his voice so serious Cosky’s phone paused on the way up. “You seem to have developed an unnatural affection for the emergency room.”

  Cosky responded by shooting him the finger. He caught Zane’s grin through the rearview mirror as the call went through.

  She answered on the first ring. “Wow, your timing is perfect.”

  Caught off guard, he pulled back slightly. “Come again?”

  “Well, I just wanted to share with you how much I appreciate being attacked and taken hostage in order to draw you into your crazy stalker’s snare.”

  “What?” Cosky straightened so hard his spine popped. “She attacked you? Are you hurt?”

  A pause waltzed down the line. “Attacked might be a slight exaggeration. Attempted attack would be more accurate.”

  What the hell?

  “Goddamn it, Kait!” His voice rose with each word until it thundered through the van. “Did she hurt you?”

  He was vaguely aware that Zane had pulled the van over to the side of the road, and both he and Rawls had twisted in their seats and were staring at him.

  “No, actually, I’m the one who did the damage.”

  He took a deep breath, let it out carefully, and worked on slowing his racing heart.

  “What happened?” he asked as calmly as he could manage.

  “She was waiting for me when I got back to my apartment. She had a knife.”

  His heart stopped. He could feel it. It literally stopped beating for a second or two. A wave of heat drowned him. He dragged in a couple of deep breaths and grabbed hold of his control. She was obviously fine. In fact, she was pretty damn sassy. That Goddamn bitch must be long gone.

  “How did you get away?” he asked tightly, the calmness a thin veneer.

  “I knocked her out.”

  His hand tightened around the cell. Slowly, oh so slowly, he pulled it from his ear and stared at it in disbelief.

  “You knocked her out,” he repeated, his voice sounding slow and stupid. He saw Zane and Rawls exchange glances.

  “Yeah.” She paused and then added in a careful voice, “With my bag of Miracle Whip.”

  There was another pause, longer this time, and then a giggle burbled down the line. With a hard swallow, he closed his eyes. That last comment had made no sense. She had obviously been more affected by the encounter than she was letting on. He opened his mouth to assure her that they were on their way and would keep her safe. She broke into the silence before he could get the assurance out.

  “Oh, thank God. She’s waking up. She’s been out so long I was getting worried.”

  The blood froze in Cosky’s veins.

  “She’s what? She’s still there?” he roared, jolting forward. “What the hell are you thinking? Get out of there.”

  Dead space pulsed down the line and then she coughed. “Ah, yeah. Did I forget to mention that I duct taped her feet and hands? She’s not going anywhere.”

  Of course she had. Son of a bitch.

  Cosky bent forward, his fingers so tight they started to cramp and his lungs so tight they started to wheeze.

  “Are you alright?” she asked, sounding concerned.

  His shoulders started to shake. Unable to help himself, Cosky started to laugh. Zane and Rawls exchanged grim glances, a clear indication his laughter sounded more frantic than natural.

  “She knocked our crazy lady out and tied her up,” he told his worried buddies, knowing they’d see the irony in the situation. She’d done, by herself, what the four of them hadn’t been able to do together. Respect spread through him. Kait was one capable and clever cookie, that was for sure.

  “Shit,” Zane said. “Tell her not to call the cops. We’re on the way.”

  The laughter died. He should have thought of that.

  “Look,” he said roughly, the urge to laugh still tickling his throat. “We need to talk to her. Don’t call the police.”

  Dead silence echoed down the line.

  Ah hell. She’d already called them.

  “The cops have her?” he asked, the urge to laugh gone.

  “No, but they’re on their way.” She sounded cautious, as though she didn’t like the direction the conversation had taken.

  “We need to talk to her,” Cosky said, and waited.

  “I’m sure the police will—”

  Cosky broke into her determinedly cheerful voice. “Alone. Without eyes and ears on us.”

  She swore. He could almost hear her mind working.

  “What’s going on? She called you a lying, murdering bastard. Why does she want you dead?”

  He took a deep, careful breath. Let it out as silently as possible. “That’s what we need to find out.”

  “And you can’t do that at the police station?”

  “No.”

  “She’s connected to what happened in Seattle, isn’t she?”

  It was his turn to swear. Christ, he didn’t want her sucked into this. She must have picked up on his reluctance and guessed at its cause.

  “I’m already involved,” she reminded him quietly. “You can’t keep me out of it now.”

  “Damn it.” He pressed the phone hard against his ear and closed his eyes. “We don’t know if she’s involved, that’s what we need to find out.”

  For a moment all he heard was her breathing and then she sighed.

  “Fine. I’ll take her down the back stairs. The cops will be coming through the lobby and up the elevator. Pull around to the back of the building. I’ll be coming out the last door. We don’t have long. The cops will be here in about four minutes.”

  “We’ll be there,” he promised. But the line was already dead.

  As soon as he lowered the phone, he remembered their possible tail. He swore, and shoved tense fingers through his hair. With the cops all but on scene, they didn’t have time for evasive maneuvers. They’d have to hope their eyes and ears were lagging so far back they wouldn’t see the exchange.

  * * *

  Chapter Twelve

  * * *

  HER HEAD SWIMMING and nausea clogging her throat, Jillian stumbled down the stairwell. She tried to balk on the next step, but was
forced forward by the insistent hand wrapped around her elbow. Marcus Simcosky’s blond bitch of a girlfriend was stronger than she looked. Or more likely, Jillian was weaker.

  The repeated collisions the day before had taken a toll on her body. She’d been tired prior to her rampage in the van, chronically malnourished and exhausted. But after her vehicular attack on those four bastards, things had gone from bad to grim. The dizziness and nausea, which she’d been flirting with for weeks, had become a constant companion.

  And that had been before Simcosky’s bitch had whacked her upside the head with her grocery sack. The impact had knocked loose some crucial connection between her brain and her body. Her legs felt like they were walking down the stairs by themselves, without the necessary sensory input from her mind—numb and clumsy, they misjudged distances and depths. She’d lost track of how many times she’d missed a step and almost pitched down the stairwell face-first.

  The only thing keeping her upright and moving was the determined woman by her side. Considering who the bitch was delivering her to, the support was less than a blessing.

  And to think she’d been so hopeful when the bitch had cut the duct tape from her ankles, certain that she’d be able to free herself. Escape.

  The hope had lasted until Simcosky’s girlfriend yanked her to her feet and force marched her toward the stairway. Stumbling, shaking, fighting back the vomit, Jillian had realized all too soon that she’d lost the battle. Lost the war. Lost any possibility of exacting revenge.

  With her hands bound, barely able to see or stand, what chance did she have of escaping?

  A rush of despair flooded her, weighed down legs that already felt like they were encased in cement and slogging through quicksand.

  She’d failed.

  She’d failed her babies and her brother and herself. She was about to die without making one ounce of difference, without avenging the murders of her children or her twin, and without setting the record straight and clearing her brother’s name.

  Grief consumed her, mixed with the despair. Dull lethargy numbed her heavy body and even heavier heart. She should have closed her eyes and drifted into death four months ago. At least she’d be resting at the bottom of Lake Katcheca now, along with her babies.

  Her babies, who’d been stolen from life before they even had the chance to live.

  She missed the next step and pitched forward. Kaity pulled her back, stabilizing her.

  “We’re almost there.”

  Kaity’s voice came from a distance, down a long, echoing tunnel.

  Jillian leaned against the stairwell’s wall and gave her eyes permission to close.

  “I hit you pretty hard. I think you have a concussion. Plus, your eye’s swelling shut. I brought the ice pack. It will slow the swelling if you can keep it on your eye.”

  “Just kill me and be done with it,” Jillian said, without straightening or opening her eyes. “They’ll shoot me as soon as you turn me over, so you’ll be as guilty as them when I die.”

  “They’re not going to kill you. They just want to ask you some questions.”

  “Is that what they told you?” Jillian found enough strength to laugh. “And you believed them? They’re lying. Everything that comes out of their mouths is a lie. They’ll kill me as soon as they have me alone. Just as they tried to do before. Just as they did to my brother. Just as they did to my children.”

  Kaity’s hand tightened on her arm and drew her forward and down. Jillian concentrated on remaining conscious and upright. Although why bother? She should let go. Let her head spin up to the stars and her body tumble down the stairs. If she was lucky, Kaity wouldn’t be able to cheat gravity.

  If she was lucky, the fall would kill her.

  And then lady luck stripped that final hope from her.

  “We’re there,” Kaity said, drawing Jillian to a stop and holding her upright by slipping an arm around her waist.

  Jillian felt a breath of despair, before it evaporated beneath the lethargy. She opened her eyes, fought to focus. The blurred image of a metal door took shape.

  “Who killed your family?” Kaity asked, stopping in front of the door.

  Jillian stared at the gray metal, watched it disappear in a flock of dancing black dots. “Your boyfriend and his buddies.”

  “When? Where?”

  The questions came from a distance. Vaguely Jillian felt the arm tighten. She stared at the ground and watched her blue-and-white pin-striped sneakers shuffle forward.

  “The guys didn’t kill your family,” Kaity said. “I don’t know what happened, but I know them. And they don’t kill innocents.”

  “Then you don’t know them as well as you think,” Jillian whispered, the effort draining the last of her strength.

  The grating screech of metal being wrenched apart sounded.

  The black tunnel that had dimmed her ears moved into her eyes. Blue sky and grass spun around her, and was swallowed by a bright white haze. The white haze shrunk, framed itself with black.

  “Rawls! Thank God! She’s in bad shape. I barely got her down the stairs.”

  Jillian’s arms were lifted and something hard pressed against her belly. Suddenly she was light as breath, floating.

  “I think she has a concussion, and her eye’s almost swollen shut. Here’s the ice pack. You’re going to check her out, right? She should see a doctor.”

  Jillian wanted to laugh. But it was too much effort. A doctor? Like these lying, murdering bastards would tend to her before they killed her.

  “I’m handing her off to Cos and staying to help you with the Five-0,” a different voice said. A male voice with a soothing Southern twang.

  “No. You need to go with her. You have the medical training.”

  “Now Kaity—”

  “You’re going with her, Rawls. I’m dead serious. She needs medical treatment. I can handle the cops on my own.”

  “Cos will keep an eye on her until—”

  “You go with her, or I’m calling the cops and telling them you have her. I’ll give them Zane’s plate number. At least I know the cops will take her to a doctor.”

  “Christ, Kait, we don’t have time for this.” The Southern twang was gone, sheer male exasperation throbbed in its place.

  The unmistakable sound of a minivan’s sliding door opening sounded and memories engulfed her.

  “Take those cleats off Wes. You ripped chunks out of the carpet last time you climbed in.”

  “Are we going for ice cream, Mom? Kenya’s dad took us to Baskin-Robbins.”

  “That’s the plan. Buckle your sister in.”

  “She won’t stop wiggling.”

  “Lizzy—”

  “Oh God, she’s crying!”

  That lovely, floating feeling abruptly stopped. Something hard wrapped around her waist.

  “What the hell’s taking so long?”

  She recognized Marcus Simcosky’s hard voice and struggled to open her eyes. The bench seat of a minivan came into view.

  Flash.

  The slow sway of Wes’s hanging head, the flash of his white-gold hair.

  “No. No. No.”

  The sudden searing agony cleared her head.

  “Rawls, do something!” Kaity sounded panicked.

  Wes’s blond hair morphed into black. The chubby cheeks of childish innocence shifted into the hard, sculpted face of pure masculinity.

  Marcus Simcosky.

  And he was reaching for her.

  No! Adrenaline hit. She swung her bound hands at his looming head.

  “Son of a bitch.” The words were bit out, and then her arms were caged and she was dragged into the van and anchored beside him. “I’ve got her,” he snapped. “Go.”

  To her right, from her good eye she saw a flash of movement, and a familiar-looking man with blond hair and blue eyes swung into the van, settling on the bench seat beside her. The sliding door slammed shut.

  “What the hell, Rawls?” Simcosky’s voice rose. “You
were supposed to stay behind.”

  “Tell that to Kait. Go, damn it. The Five-0’ve arrived. We need to ghost it.”

  The van started to move. Jillian’s head spun.

  “Stop the van,” Simcosky yelled from her right.

  The roar slammed into Jillian’s head and sparked a throbbing so vicious it brought the nausea surging up. She jolted forward, dropped her head between her splayed knees and heaved. And heaved. And heaved.

  She heard swearing, and a hand cupped the back of her neck, lingered there.

  “This is why I came,” the blond, blue-eyed man with the Southern twang said.

  He had a name. Jillian knew he had a name, but she gave up trying to remember it.

  “Kait was worried about her, with reason, I might add. She said she’d call the Five-0 and give them our plates if I didn’t come along to take care of her.”

  “Kait spends so much time worrying about other people, she forgets to worry about herself,” Marcus Simcosky snapped. “Zane, stop the van. I’ll wait with Kait.”

  The van kept moving.

  “Goddamn it,” Simcosky’s voice rose again. “Zane—”

  “The cops are already here,” a calm voice broke in. “We can’t chance them catching sight of her. Besides, the doc told you to lay off that leg for a couple of days.”

  Swearing broke out to her right.

  “Zane, hand back your water. She’s dehydrated as hell. We need to get fluids in her. Hey there, sweetheart.” The voice took on a gentle, crooning tone. “Let’s sit you back so I can check out that shiner.”

  Hands took hold of her shoulders and eased her up and back.

  “You called Mac? Right?” the man with the gentle hands and soothing voice said, his voice growing more distant with each beat of her heart. “Call him back; tell him to get hold of Radar. I need…”