by Zoe Dawson
He was alive. He was going to recover. She wouldn’t think beyond that. Of course, he would be back at it. He would once again be in the field. But she knew what she signed up for and what made him feel alive. That was operating. They would go back to their normal lives.
Hemingway raised his head and looked at her, his eyes dark and smoky, such intense, unguarded emotion in the pools of green. She eased a deep, shaky breath, loving him so much she felt near to bursting with it.
“You are my anchor,” she whispered.
His chest expanded, and he reached out and caressed her face, then hugged her hard. “I love you, Shea.”
“I love you, too, Atty.” She ran her hand through his soft hair. “But I do have one really pressing concern.”
His eyes widened and he pushed up on his elbow. “What, babe?”
She gazed at him and softly challenged him. “If you’re going to have to sit around until you heal, there may be some question whether or not you’ll be able to get into those short shorts, mister.”
He stared at her for a second, then his expression softened, and the laugh lines around his eyes crinkled just a little. “What? Are you saying you won’t love me if I have a fat ass?”
“Mmhm. It just means you’ll have to find ways to work…it out.”
He smiled into her eyes, the sparkle intensifying. Then he lowered his head, brushing her mouth with a tantalizing kiss. “If that’s the case,” he murmured huskily, stroking her bottom lip with his, “we’ll have to see what comes up between us.”
She laughed against his mouth and tightened her arms around him. “Sounds like a plan, babe.” She nipped his bottom lip, urging him on with a small thrust of her hips. “I like a man with a plan.”
He laughed and hugged her hard. “Oh, be assured. I am a man with a great plan.”
Anna stood outside Dodger’s room waiting for the doctor, clutching the stuffed animal she had bought for him at the gift shop. Karasu had been here for about half an hour, but she left to go back to the states and her partner, Volk. The prognosis on him was good, he would survive and recover. She liked the woman, but there was something decidedly scary about her. Chry had also flown home to deliver the good news to 2-Stroke and put him out of his misery. He’d been calling Ruckus almost nonstop. Alek and his cousin were now safe and would never have to worry about death threats again.
Nevertheless, she had been instrumental in taking Zasha down, and there was nothing but satisfaction in Anna. She was glad that bitch was dead.
She braced her hand against the doorjamb as a man in a white coat headed toward her. When he reached her, he offered her his hand. “I’m Captain Shearer,” he said. “I have been on your husband’s medical team since he arrived.”
“How is he doing?”
“Very well. It was touch-and-go there for a while, but your husband had one fine medic in the field and his efforts saved his life.”
“Saint…Petty Officer Zach Bartholomew,” she said. She was going to give that man a kiss full on the mouth when she saw him.
“Well, he was a saint all right. Petty Officer Graham is one hell of a fighter. He survived the night, and I operated on him early this morning, repaired the damage the bullet did to his abdomen. He had some internal bleeding, but we were able to get that stopped. His liver will regenerate over time. He’s very healthy and young. His recovery should be swift once he heals up a bit. He was a lucky man. The bullet was a low-velocity impact. You can see him now.”
She nodded. She could only think she was the lucky one.
She entered the dim room and approached the bed, the silhouette of her man tucked up under the covers. They sure took good care of their patients here. There was a dimmed light beside the bed.
The sight of his face made her chest heave, her throat clogged with tears. His hair was a tousled golden-brown mess on the pillows, a little too long and starting to curl. Something new she discovered about him, and it was like finding buried treasure. She reached out and ran her fingers across his forehead, pushing the hair off his oh-so-handsome face. His thick lashes were heavy against his cheeks, resting against the dark circles under his eyes. He was unshaven, the stubble giving him a sexy, rugged look, but he was pale beneath his tan.
She covered her face and started to sob, the stuffed animal slipping from her arms, the emotion too intense to hold in, relief and something raw breaking from her.
Strong arms came around her, Max’s voice soft and husky, “I got you, Anna.” She turned and curled up against her brother and hung onto him with every ounce of strength she had. She couldn’t speak. It was just too overwhelming.
He rubbed her back. “Ah, Anna,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. She cried out all the tension, fear, and pain against her brother’s big chest, and he was so warm and comforting, she could allow herself to lose her control. When she raised her head, wiping at her eyes, Saint, Dragon, and Professor were standing by the door. Big, comforting warriors with as much heart off the battlefield as they had on it, who were here because they were Dodger’s brothers and they loved him almost as much as she did.
“Could you get me some tea?” she murmured. He nodded, then looked helplessly at Dodger in the bed. Saint stepped forward and nudged Max out of the way.
“Get your sister some tea. I’ve got this.”
Saint slipped his arms around her as she hugged him hard, then true to her word, she kissed him full on the mouth. “Thank you for saving him.”
“What the fuck? Get your hands off my wife, you fucking wanker.”
“What the hell, Saint. You took too long,” Dragon groused. “Now I don’t get my turn.”
“You wankers!”
Dodger turned to look at her, his eyes just a bit disoriented, his accent so thick. “Where the fuck am I?”
“Apparently, they gave him swear-like-a-sailor juice with his anesthesia,” Professor said, folding his arms. “Oh, what am I saying? He is a sailor.”
Anna walked to the bed. “You’re at Landstuhl. In the hospital. You were wounded trying to take down Zasha. Remember?”
He stared at her a moment, then his face contorted, and he closed his eyes. “How many?”
She turned to look hopelessly at Saint. “We lost five Afghanis, including…HM.”
“No,” Dodger said, his voice breaking. “Not the kid.” She went to him and clasped his hand. After a moment of absorbing that information, he looked at them, his voice gruff. “The guys?”
“Hemingway took shrapnel in his leg and down the left side of his body,” Professor said. “He probably saved my life.” He stepped closer so Dodger could see him better. “He’s going to make a full recovery.”
“And Pit?”
“Bruising, broken ribs, and a torn rotator cuff, but he’s also going to be okay.”
“LT?”
Max came back with her tea and handed the cup to her. She took a sip but held on to Dodger’s warm, solid hand. The hot beverage was refreshing.
“He got wounded in a helicopter crash when the Hawk the Nightstalker pilot Warrant Officer Solace Mitchell was flying was shot down. Mitchell was shot in the battle when we all took down Zasha. She’s here too. We’re not sure about her. We wanted to see you first.”
“The bitch is dead?”
“I made sure of it,” Anna said quietly
Dodger looked at her, his face still ravaged by the pain of the deaths. “I expect there’s a story there.”
“I’ll tell you later.” She set the tea down on the bedside table and retrieved the stuffed animal. She held it out to him as several of the guys started to snicker.
“Damn, Anna. I’m never going to live this down.” He reached for the stuffed goose, and true to Dodger form, cuddled it under his arm.
“At least this one won’t bite you on the ass,” Max said.
They all laughed, and it felt so good.
Later, after all of them left to check on Fast Lane and Solace Mitchell, Anna leaned down and kissed h
im on the mouth. “I was so scared, Oliver.”
“I know, and I’m sorry I put you through that.” His mouth tightened. “I was scared, too, Anna. So damned scared. And if I wasn’t so glad to see you, I’d be more than a little mad that you put yourself in such danger when I was laid up. I wouldn’t have been able to save you.”
She cradled his face in her hands, nodding her head, her tears welling again. “I love you, Oliver.”
“Not as much as I love you.”
“More,” she said.
He smiled. “C’mere, love. Lay with me.” Her throat cramped, and she climbed onto the bed carefully and snuggled up to him. “What are we going to name the goose? Does she lay golden eggs?”
She laughed and hugged him, feeling so thankful and so blessed.
When Fast Lane came out of the morphine, he was clean, his wound bandaged, his leg still a bit numb. As soon as he was able to move, he grabbed the nurse’s call button. Some starched and well-groomed woman came immediately. It said Lt. Brown on her uniform. “It’s good to see you awake, Lieutenant. Is there something I can get you?”
“I want to see Solace Mitchell,” he growled.
“Doctor’s orders are for you to remain on your back with your leg elevated. WO Mitchell is still in surgery.”
“Do you have any information about her?” Fast Lane gave her an impenetrable stare.
She gave him a level stare back. “It’s best if you—”
“I will damn well rest when I find out how she is!” He couldn’t control his need to know.
Her mouth firmed. “I see.” She was probably going to sedate him. He needed to calm down.
Fast Lane had to swallow twice before he could explain, and there was a pleading note in his voice. “She’s my ex-wife.”
“Oh…well, in that case, the bullet nicked her lung and did some muscle damage to her shoulder. The operation is to repair both injuries. Does that help?”
Feeling as if everything had let go inside him at once, Fast Lane rubbed his eyes. “No,” he said. “When do you think she’ll be out?”
“I’ll check for you. Now rest and stop trying to order everyone around.”
When she left, a debilitating weakness rushed through him. Fast Lane braced his elbow on the side of the bed and hunched over, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.
“LT?”
He looked up to find Dragon, Professor, Max, and Saint standing awkwardly in the doorway. He pulled himself together. “Come in, you knuckleheads. How is everyone doing?”
“Everyone is good.”
The nurse came back into the room and threaded through the tall men, looking up at them with a clear message to move. They shuffled around.
“She’s out of surgery now and in recovery.” He opened his mouth, and she held up her hand. “She won’t be taking visitors for at least two hours.” She turned to go. “Don’t you guys stay too long. He needs to rest.” She went out, muttering under her breath about Special Forces idiots.
“She’s a breath of fresh air,” Dragon said.
They chuckled, but Fast Lane couldn’t seem to muster up an ounce of amusement. They stayed for the two hours, and Fast Lane couldn’t stand it any longer. “One of you procure me a wheelchair, and one of you find out where Solace is being kept.”
“I don’t think she’s a prisoner, boss,” Saint said.
He gave them all a baleful look, and Max said, “Mission Wheelchair commencing.”
“I’ll go pretty talk one of the nurses with my beautiful blue eyes and amazing guns,” Dragon said. They stepped out of the room.
Finally, Max came back with a wheelchair, and he helped Fast Lane out of the bed. He winced as his thigh protested, but once he was seated it calmed down. Max wheeled him, and Saint pulled his IV along. Dragon got the room number, and he couldn’t wait to see her. He just wanted to touch her, see for himself that she was alive. Just watch her breathe.
They turned into her room. “We’ll be right outside if you need us, LT,” Saint whispered.
The interior of her room was softly lit from a dim light on the nightstand. He wheeled up to the bed, and she had her eyes closed. Her chest moved up and down. She had on an oxygen mask, heart monitor, and IV.
She was alive, breathing on her own, and he was getting her back in his life.
His insides were a terrible tangle of emotions as he sat there, the faint light falling across the bed. She was sleeping on her back, her face turned toward him. He watched her sleep, a thousand feelings piling up in his chest. Respect, admiration, awe, but—most of all—love.
Feeling suddenly shaky inside, his chest filled up with the kind of emotions he couldn’t even define. And suddenly his vision blurred. God, but he loved her.
His hand not quite steady, he gathered her hair back off her face and smoothed it down, the ache in his throat so intense it made his jaws ache. He didn’t know what he would do if she hadn’t made it.
Her eyes opened, and she stared at him, then a confused frown appeared. She reached up and displaced the mask. “Ford?”
He tried to smile as he stroked her cheek with his thumb. “You scared the hell out of me, babe,” he said, his voice gruff.
She stared at him for an instant longer, then she closed her eyes and reached up her hand to cover his, holding on to him with desperate strength. Closing his own eyes, Fast Lane brought their hands up to his face. Inhaling raggedly, he tightened his hold on her, an agony of relief rushing through him. She gave a soft sob and tried to pull him into bed beside her, but he held back. His thigh was protesting. Then, he decided, to hell with it.
He pushed himself out of the wheelchair and leaned over her, careful not to tangle either his IV or hers. Clenching his teeth against a powerful surge of sensation as he stretched out beside her, he turned, his face contorting with raw emotion as she turned her head and pressed her face against his. Grateful—God, so grateful—for her. “Ah, babe,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “You will never know how much I love you.”
Making a choked sound, she started to cry. He didn’t say anything, and he didn’t try to stop her. He just gave her all the comfort he could without disturbing a hair on her head.
“I thought I was dreaming,” she whispered brokenly. “But you did propose to me. Didn’t you?”
“Yes, with everything I am. I am yours, babe, body and soul.”
“I’m so sorry about everything. It’s just that my dad was such a control freak. He micromanaged both my mom and I to an obsessive level. When you told me I had to quit, it was a knee-jerk reaction. But now I realize, you were terrified of losing me.” She smoothed her hand over his face. “I love you so much, Ford, and I can’t wait to be your wife again. I just hope we don’t give your grandfather a heart attack.”
“He’s a tough old bastard. He will be thrilled for us.”
“I know.” She gave a soft, shaky laugh. “You’re probably not supposed to be here.”
“I don’t give a fuck. I’m not leaving until they make me.” He stroked her face, his throat growing tight. “I love you, babe. And I want you in my life no matter what. It’s about time I started showing it.”
Tears gathering in her lashes, she tightened her hold, pressing her face against his neck. “I never thought I would hear you say that again.”
“You’re probably going to get sick of hearing it.”
“I doubt that,” she whispered. “You better buckle up, mister. You know I love to have control of the joystick.”
“Ah, God, you’re killing me.” Fast Lane laughed and rested his forehead against hers. There wasn’t going to be a dull moment with Solace in his life, and he was looking forward to every moment of the ups, downs, ins, and outs. There was a reason SEALs never quit. If it didn’t at least build his character, he was persistent enough to make all his wishes and dreams come true. Solace was the truest of them all.
Iceman finished up his paperwork. The Pakistani compound was dark now, and everyone had turne
d in. It had been a hell of a crazy day, and he was completely exhausted. The door made a soft sound as someone entered.
He turned around to find Rose standing there. “Hey,” she said. “I saw the light and wondered who was dedicated enough to be up at this late hour.”
“And you were surprised as hell that it was me?”
She chuckled. “Well…”
“Ouch.”
“Just kidding.” She smiled and came into the room. She looked tired and beautiful. He wondered if she would even take the time she needed to rest. They were both off to different corners of the world tomorrow. When she reached him, she stood way too close. The attraction was there, he could feel it pulsing between them. But there was resistance inside of him that caught him totally off guard. She was offering. It was clear to him that she wanted him to go back with her to her room.
That was the frantic atmosphere of the military. There was never enough time.
But this resistance was odd. He wasn’t one to turn down an offer from a beautiful woman, especially one that came with no strings.
“You headed out tomorrow?”
“Yes, someplace classified.” He smiled.
She laughed and touched his arm, and a heaviness settled over him, making him feel more alive than he had in a long, long time. Her face tilted toward his, and his breath caught.
“It’s getting late,” he said, not understanding why he wasn’t taking advantage of the situation. The words sounded so lame to him.
She nodded and said, “Walk me back to my room?”
He knew this was going to be a disaster one way or another. Her skin had lost the icy paleness. She looked warm and alive.