Forged in Ash (A Red-Hot SEALs Novel)

by Trish McCallan

  Impulses that couldn’t be reasoned with.

  When his chest started to burn, Mac realized he’d forgotten to breathe. Just another of those annoying, frustrating reactions she incited in him.

  “Mackenzie?” she asked, her tone not altering from that cool control.

  Mac’s mouth tightened. He hated, absolutely hated, the way he felt around her. Like he was back in eighth grade, the underprivileged, underdeveloped class laughingstock, getting ground beneath the prom queen’s high-heeled shoe.

  “Kinda busy right now,” he snapped, his hand so tight around the phone his fingers burned.

  “Too bad,” her voice cooled. “I was going to fill you in on some recent developments concerning a couple of the first-class passengers on—well, maybe later.” The line went dead.

  Son of a fucking bitch.

  He punched in her phone number and hit dial. It went straight to voice mail.

  He dialed again. Voice mail.

  “You grind your teeth any harder, and you’re going to need some serious dental work,” Zane said. He paused, and then asked dryly, “Amy?”

  Mac froze. He hadn’t realized anyone else had noticed his unwelcome reaction to the damn woman. “What the fuck makes you think that?”

  Zane snorted. “She’s the only person I know who’d hang up on you. What did she want before you pissed her off?”

  Mac relaxed, the last thing he needed was his frustrating—in more ways than one—reaction to the damn woman to become common knowledge among his men. Hell, among anyone.

  “Apparently there’s been a development with some of the passengers from flight 2077.”

  With a relieved whistle, Zane scanned the silent grounds. “That’s damn good news, because this little party’s looking more and more like a bust.”

  No shit. Mac tried Amy’s number again. Third time was apparently a charm, because she relented and answered.

  “I take it you’ve freed up some time?” she asked with no deviation in her cool, collected tone.

  Mac locked his instinctive response down. The fucking broad would almost certainly hang up on him again, and who knew how long she’d punish him next time before taking his call.

  “We’re in the middle of a stakeout,” he told her tightly, instead.

  “Really? Did he fail to show?”

  “No, he didn’t—” Mac’s voice rose.

  “You wouldn’t be talking to me if the stakeout was successful,” she interrupted, her voice so calmly reasonable it made Mac want to shake her and then kiss her fucking senseless—until she lost every ounce of that enormous self-containment.

  Which was, yeah—completely insane—and why he needed to make sure three states and 1,250 miles continued to separate them.

  He took a deep breath and released it carefully. “What about these passengers?”

  “A lab exploded four days ago. Twelve people assumed dead. Eight of the twelve were booked into first class on flight 2077.”

  Mac thought that over. “What are your FBI contacts saying?” he asked. “They checking into it? They questioning the coincidence of these scientists being on the plane four months ago?”

  She snorted, a mixture of frustration and derision in the sound. “Coincidence. That appears to be the operative word. At least in the FBI’s eyes.”

  So they weren’t checking into it.

  Mac wasn’t surprised. If the lab bombing was connected to the attempted hijacking, the men behind the two events sure as hell wouldn’t want them linked. Which meant whoever was working for them within the FBI would make sure the lab bombing didn’t draw any attention.

  Their lack of initiative could work in his team’s favor, though. The local investigation wouldn’t be trying to link the two events, nor would they be searching for anything beyond the scope of a normal arson investigation.

  He and Zane had speculated that the original hijacking had been an attempt to acquire the team of scientists, along with the research they’d been carrying with them. Maybe some of that research had survived the blast, even if the scientists hadn’t.

  Assuming the scientists had been in the building when it went boom.

  He nudged a rock with the toe of his boot as another possibility occurred to him. “The place was totally razed? Was there anything left?”

  “According to the reports, not much survived the blast,” Amy said.

  “They have bodies?” Mac asked.

  “A good dozen. Charred beyond recognition. They’ll have to pull dental records for identification.”

  “And if someone were to swap dental records…”

  “You think they kidnapped the scientists before torching the place.” Amy didn’t sound surprised by Mac’s suggestion. No doubt she’d already questioned that possibility herself.

  Mac shrugged. “We can’t discount the possibility. They sure as hell have the resources to pull off an op of this magnitude. And if they wanted those scientists bad enough to stage a hijacking…”

  Amy made a soft sound of agreement that traveled through Mac’s system like falling dominos. First his skin went tight, then his muscles clenched, his blood heated, his chest tightened—fuck—he gritted his teeth at the ache that took up residence in his groin.

  “So you’re coming up?” Amy asked, but there was no question in her voice.

  She’d banked on the certainty they’d hightail it up to check that lab out.

  Scrubbing a hand down his face, Mac glanced at the entrance to their trap. Still nothing. Pachico was way late now, too late to be anything but a thumbed nose. If Amy was right, though, and these scientists were the passengers Russ had been after, then another window had opened up before them.

  It was worth checking into.

  “What’s the name of the lab? The scientists?”

  Silence echoed down the line. “I’m going with you to check the place out.”

  Like fucking hell.

  He kept his voice easy. “Sure. What’s the lab’s name?”

  More silence. And then, “I’ll fill you in when you get up here.”

  Mac’s mouth tightened. Goddamn it, couldn’t the woman be reasonable for one fucking second?

  Of course, you could always go over, or around, a stone wall, or a stubborn woman.

  “It will be a couple of days before we can make it. We’re right in the middle of something.”

  “Your stakeout.”

  “That’s right. We’ll head up as soon as we’re done here.”

  Which would be in seconds, but she sure as fuck didn’t need to know that.

  “I’ll fill you in when you arrive.”

  He couldn’t tell whether she believed him or not. She hung up before he had a chance to, which irritated the hell out of him all over again.

  “We’re headed to Seattle?” Zane asked, waving the rest of the team in.

  “Yeah, I’ll fill you in on the way up.” Mac punched in Radar’s speed-dial number as he turned toward Zane’s van.

  How hard would it be to locate a lab that had recently burned? Shouldn’t be that hard, particularly if the explosion had claimed lives. The drive from Coronado to Seattle took approximately twenty hours, depending on traffic and weather. Radar would have scrambled up an address and the necessary intel before they arrived. They could be in and out of the bombed-out husk before Amy got suspicious.

  A strategy that was interrupted by the half-dozen police cars that suddenly barreled into view. They took the corner leading into their trap in a single line and headed straight toward them on a cloud of dust.

  “Fuck,” Mac said grimly, his hands on his hips as the cruisers approached. Somehow, he just knew this was not going to be fun.

  Or quick.

  Cosky advanced on the Escalade, his heart racing like a damn greyhound. How the hell was he going to hold them off long enough for the women to escape?

  “Kait!” a deep, rich baritone bellowed from inside the shadowy interior.

  Kait skidded to a stop and spun. Dra
gging Jillian with her, she bolted for the Escalade.

  What the hell? Cosky moved to intercept her.

  “It’s Wolf,” she yelled at Cosky’s approach.

  Another explosion sounded behind them, followed by the shriek of tortured metal. It was the cars, Cosky realized. The gas tanks were exploding.

  “Get inside,” Wolf ordered.

  Cosky wanted to slam the order back down the bastard’s throat. But damn it, they needed the ride. Leaping forward, he jerked open the back door, boosted Jillian inside, and followed her through the door. Kait dove into the passenger seat.

  The asshole behind the wheel floored it before the doors were even closed. As Cosky dragged the door shut—thank Christ he’d dislocated his left shoulder, rather than his right—he was aware of a dark head and a huge, broad body behind the steering wheel.

  A series of smaller explosions rocked the condo as the Escalade raced away. Probably the ammunitions lockers. They’d had a shitload of weapons and ammo in the place.

  Cosky twisted in the seat, scanning the road behind them. No other cars were in sight. Or at least in play.

  But the condo was a giant fireball, flames clawing fifteen feet into the air. A dense black cloud boiled overhead.

  “Everyone get out, bixoo3etiit?” Wolf asked.

  A square face with the chiseled cheekbones of one of those shirtless, moronic male models that graced the covers of his mom’s romance novels turned toward Kait. Pitch-black eyes scanned Kait’s face.

  He must not have liked what he saw, because he swore grimly and faced forward again, tension tightening the muscles of his huge shoulders.

  “Yeah, we all got out.” Kait’s voice was hoarse. “You have the best timing.”

  The compliment tightened Cosky’s lips. Now that his adrenaline was flatlining, suspicion kicked in. How had this asshole known where Kait was? She hadn’t talked to him. And while she’d called him—repeatedly—the only message she’d left had been of the “call me” variety.

  “Almost too good to be true,” Cosky agreed in a tight voice. When the bastard cocked his head slightly, Cosky knew he’d picked up on the subtext.

  Inscrutable obsidian eyes caught and held Cosky’s gaze in the rearview mirror. But then the tanned skin of his forehead wrinkled. He reached up with a huge, square hand and adjusted the rearview mirror, tilting it down and to the left.

  Cosky twisted slightly, following the new angle of the rearview mirror. It was centered on Jillian, who’d pressed herself against the door, as far away from him as it was possible to get. She’d curled in on herself, her arms wrapped around her belly, her cropped hair spiky. Her left eye was completely swollen shut and the color of a robin’s egg—while her right eye, brimming with wary hostility, shifted between Cosky and the driver’s seat.

  She looked fragile, and more than a little pathetic. But she was alive, and relatively unharmed.

  Which was more than Cosky could claim for himself.

  Grimacing, he faced forward again, his shoulder sending bolt after bolt of throbbing agony into his brain. Now that they were safe, it was getting harder and harder to lock the pain down. He needed to get hold of Rawls. As the corpsman of ST7, his roommate had plenty of experience manipulating dislocated joints back into place.

  But before he reached out to Rawls, he needed to get hold of the cops. Call the bombing in. The amount of ammo stashed in the Condo made it a serious threat to both bystanders and firefighters.

  He reached for the cell phone holster on his belt. It was empty.

  Son of a bitch, he’d left the damn thing on the coffee table—which no longer existed. “Kait, call nine-one-one,” Cosky said, leaning forward to take the pressure off his shoulder.

  They needed to get hold of Zane, Rawls, and Mac too. Let the team know everyone who’d been inside the house was safe.

  “Already done,” Wolf said, in that deep, smooth baritone Cosky had already come to recognize and hate.

  “Really?” Relieved to have something to concentrate on besides his damn shoulder, Cosky didn’t try to hide his suspicion. “When was that? Before the damn bomb went off?”

  “No,” Wolf responded, his rich tone not quite disguising the menacing challenge lurking beneath the smoothness. “Before the bomb went off I was too busy saving your worthless ass.”

  That’s when it clicked. Kait had received a call just before the bomb had detonated. He went rigid with rage. That call almost had to have armed the damn thing. The electronic jammer would have scrambled any other incoming signals.

  “You called Kait?” He worked to keep the aggression out of the question, but knew he hadn’t masked it well.

  “I did.” Challenge vibrated in the bastard’s voice. He twisted the rearview mirror back to the right. Glittering eyes brimming with hostility raked Cosky’s face. His lips twisted dismissively. “To warn her to get out of the house.”

  “How the hell did you know she needed warning?” Cosky demanded, his muscles bunching, tensing for battle.

  He reeled the enmity in. Damn it, he needed to use his brain. They were trapped in an SUV, going at least forty miles an hour. He had a fucked-up shoulder and knee. It would be impossible to get Jillian and Kait out of the vehicle at this speed, in his condition.

  He needed to keep the big bastard from pulling anything, at least until the Escalade was parked and he could neutralize him.

  “You don’t have the clearance for that answer.” Ebony eyes gleaming with hostility caught and held Cosky’s gaze.

  The bastard made no attempt to hide his wrath. Which begged the question—what was he so angry about? Had Kait told him about those hot-as-hell moments on the couch? If the two were involved, yeah, finding out Cosky had made love to her would explain the anger.

  “We need to stop by a hospital,” Kait interrupted the building skirmish. She twisted in her seat and leaned around the backrest of the passenger seat. Worried brown eyes raked Cosky’s awkwardly hanging left arm. “Cosky broke his shoulder.”

  “Dislocated,” Wolf said in an unconcerned voice before Cosky could correct her. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Like hell.

  From the menacing vibes, the big bastard was more likely to rip Cosky’s arm off and garrote him with it than manipulate it back into place.

  Kait must have picked up on the tension, because she frowned and turned toward the driver’s seat. “Wolf—”

  “You should have stayed away from him, nebii’o’oo.” The affection in the comment was clear, so was the frustration and anger.

  “You have no idea what happened,” Kait snapped, her shoulders stiffening.

  “I know you’re my netesei and he almost got you killed.” Steel laced the smooth baritone.

  Cosky’s body twitched. What the hell was a netesei? And what the fuck was Kait to him?

  Not his business, damn it. Not his business.

  Kait was off-limits to him.

  She was also a beautiful woman. Of course she was going to have male companionship. It was just a hell of a lot easier to ignore that fact when her male company wasn’t breathing down his neck.

  He took a deep breath, tried to relax. But it became trapped in his constricted chest.

  The Escalade took a hard right into an abandoned parking lot next to a high school football field and screeched to a stop next to the chain-link fence. Those hard black eyes met and held Cosky’s own through the rearview mirror. He caught the open challenge in the big bastard’s gaze.

  Every muscle in his body locked onto that challenge, reciprocated it.

  The driver’s door flew open. Wolf slid out of the SUV.

  Cosky thrust open his door and stepped out to meet him, his adrenaline firing like rocket fuel.

  The bastard wanted to have at it?

  Bring it on.

  He was vaguely aware of Kait exiting the SUV behind him, but the bulk of his attention was locked on the huge bastard stalking around the corner of the Escalade.

  They met up
next to the taillights.

  While Cosky wasn’t expecting a friendly handshake, neither was he expecting the battle-ax of a right hook to his jaw. The blow slammed into him like an anvil and would have knocked him on his ass if the Escalade’s rear door hadn’t caught his back.

  His face numb, ferocity a violent red mist blanketing his mind, he shoved off from the back door and launched himself at Kait’s nebe’ib.

  The bastard was going to be her ex-nebe’ib, if it was the last thing he did.

  “As I’ve explained,” Mac said for the tenth time as he leaned against the hot metal of the shift sergeant’s black-and-white cruiser. “We had a report that the woman who attacked Lieutenant Simcosky and Kait Winchester had taken refuge inside—”

  “And you wanted to check the premises yourself before calling it in.” The stocky patrol sergeant who’d spent the last twenty minutes interrogating him broke in, repeating verbatim what Mac had told him.

  “Exactly,” Mac said with a tight smile, one that showed his teeth and building annoyance. “We wanted to make sure she was in there, instead of wasting your time if it was a false positive.”

  He raised his arm and wiped a stream of sweat from his temple with his shoulder, then twisted slightly to check on his men. They’d been taken to individual cruisers for questioning.

  Luckily, they’d had time for a quick strategy session before the first cruiser had pulled up. At least everyone would be reciting the same information.

  “While we appreciate your concern for the department’s time management,” the sergeant drawled back, his voice both dry and disbelieving, “the question is whether you actually intended to call the situation in, or whether you’re here to apprehend the woman yourselves.” His voice dried and slowed even further. “As I’m sure you’re aware, it’s against federal statute for anyone in the United States military to act in a law enforcement capacity.”

  The smug, self-righteous motherfucking asshole. He knew fucking well that was the exact statute they’d been accused of breaking by the DOJ back in Seattle.