by Bruhns, Nina
“Yeah?”
“He’s really good.”
She felt her eyes well up. “Yeah. He is.” In more ways than one. Everything about him was good. She’d be a fool to let him go. Regardless of what kind of relationship he wanted.
Every minute she’d had with him had been happier than any she’d ever spent before.
If he wanted no strings, she’d give him no strings.
Just please let him come back to me now.
In less than half an hour, the AUV had been put back together again and loaded into the torpedo rack. And then it was gone, back in the sea and swimming away.
Clint steered it close to the imposter and typed a few keystrokes. Once again, everyone held their breath.
Nothing happened.
Clint cursed, and typed some more.
No one moved an eyelash.
Overhead, the heavy metal guitars wailed. They waited. And waited.
And suddenly the monitor blipped.
Another silent cheer erupted.
Clint and Chief Edwards sagged in their seats, exhausted but grinning like coyotes.
Success!
DeAnne met Darcy’s gaze and smiled. Now, finally, maybe they’d be able to go to the surface and get some news.
The captain seemed to read their minds.
“Guess we’re due for a surface run,” he said, and strode off to the control room.
DeAnne had to restrain herself from tagging along and urging him to hurry. Instead, she and Darcy returned to the wardroom, where the STORM equipment was still set up. As soon as they got within range, Darcy’s computer would connect with the STORM servers and download all communications within seconds.
They waited on pins and needles. Until at last the com page appeared and several messages scrolled onto the screen.
The top one read: URGENT.
Darcy clicked on it and scanned the message.
Her whole body froze. A sound DeAnne had never heard before came from deep in her throat. “Oh, God,” Darcy said, and turned to her with horror etched on her face.
“What?” she demanded, suddenly terrified. “What’s happened?”
“They’ve all—” Darcy gave a choked cry. “They’ve all been shot!”
36
DeAnne could not believe she was doing this.
But she had no choice.
There wasn’t a chance in hell she’d let Clint and Darcy leave her behind on the submarine and ride off to rescue the guys without her.
Oh, they’d tried to talk her out of it. Till they were blue in the face. But they’d been wasting their time. Time the men might not have.
“I’m going,” she’d told them, more determined than she’d ever been in her life. “And that’s final.”
So they’d given in.
And now she was actually going.
Ho-boy.
She could do it. She could.
DeAnne swallowed heavily and held out her arms while the rating fitted her up in a harness for the lift into the same small, private helicopter that had taken Kip away last night.
Had it only been twenty-four hours since she’d seen him?
It seemed like an entire lifetime.
And it may well have been. If he was dead . . . she’d want to die, too.
She loved him that much.
But she was not going to cry. She was not.
Tears would not help the man she loved. Only action would.
Rand Jaeger had sent the urgent message. After reading it and nearly breaking down, Darcy had collected herself and e-mailed him right back demanding details. But an unsecure satellite connection was not the place to share that kind of information, so Jaeger only supplied the bare bones, and had sent the helo instead.
Apparently, all three men had been shot—Quinn in the thigh, Alex in the shoulder, and Kip square in the chest. Thankfully they’d all been wearing Kevlar, so Kip was battered and bruised, with two broken ribs, but blessedly alive.
But the plan had worked. They’d been able to spring Nikolai. Thank God. Because it had been Nikolai who’d gotten to the car and managed to scoop them up amid a hail of bullets just before the soldiers reached them. It had been a very close thing. They’d barely escaped with their lives.
Now they were holed up in a scuzzbag hotel somewhere near the harbor, in desperate need of real medical attention. Quinn had lost a lot of blood. Julie knew where they were, but she was being watched and didn’t dare go to them.
Even so, it was only a matter of time before the PLA found them.
And that wasn’t an option.
With her harness secured, DeAnne climbed up the barrel ladder to the sub’s aft upper deck. Clint had gone up the rope to the helicopter first, so he could help her and Darcy. Darcy was just now climbing in through the open cargo hatch.
DeAnne looked up, her heart pounding out of control. The wind whipped through her hair, the rope on its descent dancing and jumping in the gusts like a devil round a fire. The rotor blades above her whooshed, fighting the updraft.
Oh, lord, what was she doing?
This was not who she was! She wasn’t some kind of kick-ass female commando! She was a diplomat, for heaven’s sake. She used her words, not—
Oh, fuck it.
She grabbed the rope and hung on for dear life.
Stop whining, girl, and go get your man!
37
Leave it to Bobby Lee to get himself into a fix she needed to bail him out of.
Darcy kept telling herself that over and over. Keeping her façade of female chauvinism front and center. Just so she wouldn’t go nuts with worry about the damn man.
Outwardly, she stayed calm and confident.
But inside . . .
Oh, sweet lord. He couldn’t die. Couldn’t be captured. What would she do without him?
Her heart trembled at the thought.
No, she told herself firmly. That was not going to happen.
He’d be fine.
All three of their men would be fine, she amended, spotting the borderline panic in the face of her traveling companion. DeAnne Lovejoy’s hands were shaking so badly they put her own wobbly knees in the category of rock solid.
“So, what’s the plan?” Clint Walker asked. He looked marginally relaxed, if a little haggard after being up all night with the difficult programming, then focusing like a brain surgeon on the UUV switch earlier.
She regarded him through narrowed eyes. “If I recall correctly, aren’t you pretty high on the PLA most-wanted list? As in, shoot-him-on-sight high?”
He gave a bored wave. “And your point is?”
“My point is,” she said pointedly, “do not think for a single minute that you’ll be setting foot on that island.”
His brow hiked.
“What?” she said with a snort, “three guys shot up all to hell aren’t enough for you? Gotta make it four?”
He didn’t comment, but glanced from her to DeAnne and back again, looking vaguely amused. Which irritated her to no end.
This was good. Feed the anger.
Banish the despair.
She leaned over and got in his face. “Something you want to say, Lieutenant Commander?”
“I keep telling you people. I’m retired. Call me Clint. Or Walker. Or Wolf Walker, if you’re going to go all wendigo on me.”
She frowned, momentarily caught off guard. “What’s that?” Then she whipped up her hand. “Never mind! I know what you’re trying to do, Walker, and it won’t work.”
“And what would that be?”
She had to give it to him. He was probably an ace interrogator. Didn’t his file say he used to be in naval intelligence?”
“Say,” she said. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a job?”
He looked at her blankly, then his face broke and he gave a bark of laughter. He poked his finger at her. “You, Ms. Zimmerman, are very good.”
The corner of her lip curled. She could really get to like this guy. They spoke the same language. “Yes. I know that. But don’t think buttering me up will change my mind. You’re still not setting foot on that island.”
He exhaled through his nose. “Okay. I know when I’m beaten. I’ll stay on the yacht with Jaeger and let the two little girls go rescue the big, bad spec operators.”
Her lip-curl turned into a grin. “Who’re you calling little?” She was five-seven if she was an inch.
“I swear,” Walker said at the same time, “if you ask for red capes with hoods, I’m jumping overboard.”
She winked. “Only if they’ve got a big S emblazoned on them.”
DeAnne was staring at her and Walker as though they’d grown horns. “Our men are wounded and may be dying even as we speak,” she managed, her voice fraught with pent-up emotion. “How can you two joke at a time like this?”
Darcy softened her gaze and let her smile slip away. And told her the damn truth. “Oh, sweetie, it’s either laugh or cry. And there’s no crying in special ops.”
Naturally, that made DeAnne’s eyes well up. But she battled the tears, and Darcy’s admiration for her went way high when DeAnne actually succeeded in keeping them at bay. The woman was a fighter, that was for damn sure.
Forget Walker. She should offer DeAnne a job.
She reached down into her duffel bag of goodies, drew out a Mossberg 500 Persuader, and held it up. “Ever shoot one of these?”
DeAnne blanched. For a second, Darcy thought she might pass out. Then she took a deep breath, cleared her throat, and said, “No, I don’t . . . um . . . No, I never have.”
“Here.”
Hesitantly, the other woman reached out and gingerly took it. “I thought . . . Shouldn’t I be carrying a pistol?”
“Shotgun’s better. You don’t have to aim as accurately.” Darcy gestured a cone shape. “Broader kill zone.”
DeAnne winced at that last part. But to her credit, she didn’t protest. “Whatever we have to do to get our men out,” she said, her voice rough as gravel.
Yeah, thought Darcy, the chick definitely had guts. She was starting to feel a whole lot better about this little unplanned sortie.
Together, she and DeAnne were going to do just fine. They’d get the guys out, come hell or high water.
And she pitied the poor slob who tried to get in their way.
* * *
So much for using her words.
DeAnne regarded the big, black shotgun in her hands and knew without a doubt she’d use it on anyone who tried to hurt Kip.
It was kind of a shocking realization.
No, she didn’t want to do this. Yes, she was scared to death. This was the furthest away from “comfort zone” she’d ever been in her life.
But she was not about to let down the man she loved.
He’d do it for her. Hell, he had done it for her—and also done it her way . . . and that had made her respect him even more than if he’d killed a dozen men for her. Because that’s what she’d have expected from a Marine.
But Kip Llowell had surprised her at every turn.
The least she could do was return the favor. And show him that she respected his way, and could—and would—do whatever she had to, in order to keep him safe and with her.
Well. Safe, anyway.
She, Clint, and Darcy landed on an incredible private yacht where they found Rand Jaeger working furiously on his computers, talking on his satellite radio with STORM Command, trying to figure out some kind of angle or plan to get the operators out.
Jaeger wordlessly handed the sat phone to Darcy before she’d opened her mouth.
“Hey, baby,” she said after a few seconds. Her voice was heartbreakingly tender. “How are you doing?”
DeAnne couldn’t listen. It was like listening to someone making love.
She took the shotgun and walked over to the other side of the salon. The room was nearly as big as the entire submarine had been. Which was good, because if she had to listen to Darcy and Bobby Lee, she’d probably break down and cry and wouldn’t be able to stop.
There’s no crying in special ops.
Or in life. Not in DeAnne’s experience, anyway. Crying about life’s unfairness never did a bit of good. It just made you feel like shit and ruined your mascara.
It wasn’t Kip’s fault she’d fallen head over heels in love with him. Or couldn’t imagine a life without him in it. She desperately wanted to try a relationship with him. A real relationship.
Too bad that’s not what he wanted from her.
Whatever.
She’d get over it.
None of that self-pity stuff mattered now.
What mattered was getting him off that island in one piece, along with the others.
She lifted the shotgun and attempted to lay her cheek against it to sight down the barrel.
“Here. Let me show you,” Clint said from behind her, grasping the shotgun and adjusting it in her hands. “Set it here against your shoulder. Your cheek here. Finger here, never on the trigger. Not until you pull it.”
“Okay. That’s much better.” It felt almost natural in her grip.
How weird was that?
Her father would be so proud . . .
Clint showed her how to load it, and tucked a box of cartridges in her pocket. “Sure you want to do this?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Sure, you do. You could let me go instead.”
She smiled dryly. “And have your blood on my hands? No thanks.”
He made a face. “Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.”
She shook her head, her smile wobbling. “No. This is something I have to do myself.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. No one is expecting you to—”
“I am. It’s too easy to condemn a man’s life without walking a mile in his shoes. I need to take that walk, so I can make my judgments from a place of knowledge. Not from fear or prejudice. I’ve been doing that for too long.”
She wasn’t sure if she was talking about her father or Kip. She supposed it didn’t really matter. It was all about the same things.
Clint studied her for a long moment, then he slowly nodded. “Llowell’s a lucky guy, DeAnne. And if he doesn’t take care of you, I want to know about it. I’ll give him a little reminder.”
Okay, so maybe Kip.
Her smile dipped a little. “Thanks, Clint. But I doubt that’s going to happen. However, the same goes for you. I hope Samantha knows what an amazing guy she’s got in you.”
He smiled back, his eyes filled with love for his new wife. “Oh, she knows. I remind her every day.”
DeAnne managed a chuckle before she had to turn away or lose it, pretending to aim the shotgun at a porthole.
Why was everyone around her so darn much in love?
It made her feel as though there was something fundamentally wrong with her. Was she not worthy of a love like that?
Yes, she was.
And that’s what she was going to tell Kip as soon as it was her turn to talk on the sat phone.
“Ready?” Darcy asked, striding over, all business. The phone was back on Jaeger’s worktable.
Oh. Okay . . .
The minute Kip was off that damn island, then.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” DeAnne said, determined not to be hurt that Kip hadn’t asked to speak with her. My God. He was wounded and trapped behind enemy lines. Clearly, he had more important things on his mind.
“Oh,” Darcy said as an afterthought. “Sorry. Kip wanted to talk with you, but the connection got cut off. I figured it was better to get going and see him in
person.”
Her heart swelled. That was all she needed to hear.
“Come on,” said Darcy, heading up on deck to the small speedboat they were going to travel in to the island. “It’ll take us a good hour to get to the harbor. We’ll talk on the way.”
She nodded, and exchanged a glance with Clint. He sent her an encouraging smile. “Good luck, ladies. I’ll be here, just a call away if you need me.”
“Thanks,” Darcy said, threw him a mock salute, then slid down the ladder to the cigar boat.
“You’ll do great,” he told DeAnne when she hesitated at the rail. “Go bring them home safe.”
Yeah.
“We’ll do our best,” she said, and took a cleansing breath. She tossed the Mossberg down to Darcy, and followed her into the speedboat.
Good lord. It was official.
She had completely lost her mind.
38
DeAnne could tell the cigar boat had been specially outfitted for smuggling. It was full of secret compartments and hollow spaces. Not that she was noticing . . .
She and Darcy hid in a shallow hold while the driver steered the small craft into the crowded Sanya harbor. Customs officials weren’t looking for people being smuggled in to China, and because the small boat had a Hong Kong registry, it slid through with just a casual wave.
Even so, DeAnne was shaking in her sandals. How did these STORM operators do this dangerous stuff all the time? She’d be a nervous wreck. Heck, she was a nervous wreck.
And this was the easy part. The hard part would be getting the guys back to the boat. She didn’t even want to think about what would happen if the customs agents wanted to inspect the speed boat on the outbound trip.
Approaching the forest of docks, she and Darcy crept from their hiding place and straightened their clothing—just plain jeans and T-shirts, along with black wigs. They didn’t want to attract any kind of attention. Definitely saving the bikinis and light hair for the return trip.
The boat driver pulled into the marina where Julie had arranged for a car to be left for them in the parking lot.
“Wait for us here,” Darcy told him. “Be ready to rock and roll when we get back.”