SEAL's Embrace

by Elle James

  “Seriously?” His heart sank into his shower shoes. His chances of seeing Erin narrowing, Caesar held onto the thought that at the very least, he’d catch Erin coming off her shift in the morning.

  “You might as well get some rest. Do you want me to give you something to ease your non-existent pain?” Reynolds asked. “I intend to have the doc kick your ass out of here and make room for patients who actually need medical attention.”

  Just what I need to hear. He winked. “You’d miss me if you did that.”

  “Careful, froggy. Your girlfriend might get jealous and think you’re flirting. Not that I mind, but she seemed pretty stuck on you and you’ve made yourself clear.”

  Whoa, what is this? He focused his gaze on the informative nurse. “You think she’s stuck on me?”

  “She’d be stupid if she wasn’t.”

  A shoulder lifted in a shrug, but hope had his pulse racing. “She’s a tough nut to crack.”

  “Yeah, but that kind is all soft and gooey on the inside when you do.” Lt. Reynolds tilted her head. “Got any more like you where you come from? I could use a hero to save me from slitting my wrists out of sheer boredom.”

  “Plenty more where I came from. Care to make a trip out to the sandbox?”

  “In a heartbeat.” She sighed. “I keep asking, but my commander says they need me on site.”

  “You’re doing a great service to the troops who have to come through here.”

  “I know. It’s a great job and the patients are amazing. Don’t mind my drool as I go back to work.” She nodded toward his room. “And you should head to bed. You don’t want to reinjure yourself.”

  With a sigh, he followed her back to his room.

  Lt. Reynolds checked his pulse and blood pressure and gave him his vitamin and pain medication. “Go on, take it. You told the doc you were still hurting. The pill will also help you sleep so that you’re rested when you go looking for your red-head in the morning.”

  “Fine.” He downed the pills, washing them away with the cup of water on the stand next to his bed. Since he couldn’t get into ICU to see Erin, he might as well sleep away the night. Tomorrow, he’d check on flights back to Bagram. If there was one, he was afraid Erin would have booked a seat. He wanted to be on it, as well, his thoughts going to his team. He hoped they were all right without him. Kicking backward with his arms behind his head, he counted the minutes until he’d see Erin again.

  Within half an hour, he was snoring.

  Caesar ran up a hill, the body on his back weighing him down, making his steps slower and slower, like when he’d slogged through knee-deep mud. The helicopter engines roared ahead, the blades turning faster and faster. He had to get there before they took off.

  Sting Ray, carrying a man on his back, sprinted past him, grinning like an idiot, reaching the helo in time to dump his load and climb aboard. No matter how hard he ran, Caesar got no closer. The helicopter hovered an inch off the ground, rising slowly.

  No! You can’t leave without me.

  Caesar stumbled and fell, his legs refusing to hold his weight. He tried to stand, but when he looked down, he had no legs. Horror filled his gut. No. This isn’t happening.

  He left the body he’d been carrying on the ground and clawed his way toward the helicopter. As it lifted off, he grasped the skid. The helo rose off the ground, but his arms were too weak to hold on. He fell back to the surface with a hard thud that shook him awake.

  Caesar jerked to a sitting position and stared around, heart pounding double time. The desert sand was gone. In its place were the clean white walls of a hospital room. Instead of hard ground beneath him, he lay on a soft mattress with clean sheets and blankets. Still wearing his sweats and T-shirt, he swung his legs over the side. A twinge of pain reminded him of the stitches in his back, buttocks and thighs. With more care, he slipped off the bed, thankful when his legs held his weight. The dream had been so vivid, he thought for sure his legs would give out.

  Too wound up and disturbed by his nightmare, he left his room, determined to walk off the residual adrenaline.

  At this hour, the hallways were empty of visitors and patients, only nurses and the occasional doctor passed him.

  One nurse stopped him and gripped his arm. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

  “Thank you, but I need to move.”

  She studied his face. “I can look at your chart and see if the doctor left instructions for sleep medication.”

  “No, thank you. I really just need to walk.”

  “Well, we don’t like patients to wander around. If you should fall…”

  “Fine. I’ll go back to bed.” He performed an about-face and walked back the way he’d come, ducking into a maintenance closet where disinfectants, mops and brooms were located. And spotted one slightly soiled hospital maintenance coverall.

  Caesar slipped into the coverall, thankful the previous wearer was a large man. He had room to zip up the top, when most shirts and jackets didn’t fit over his muscular frame. Acting the part, he pushed a mop and empty bucket out into the hallway and headed for building 3711.

  Twice, a nurse stopped him to clean up a spill. He did so, thankful they didn’t catch on that he was a patient and thus should be safely asleep in his bed. As he neared building 3711, he noted the number of people in the hallway had dwindled down to none.

  Had they cleared all personnel to safeguard their prisoner?

  Still pushing the mop bucket, Caesar proceeded quietly down the hallway, the silence eerie and unnerving. As he passed a room, he heard an agonized moan. He glanced at the ground where a dark smear led underneath the door.

  Though he wanted to proceed to the ICU and find out what the hell was going on, he couldn’t ignore the cry. Heart pounding, he pushed through a door and stared at a man in combat uniform wearing an MP armband. His face looked like hamburger meat, red, purple and raw, as if someone had bashed him several times with something heavy. Both his eyes were swollen nearly shut and blood ran freely from his nose. He’d been bound, gagged and dragged into the room.

  With his nose smashed, the man couldn’t get enough air and he struggled with each breath. Caesar yanked the gag out of his mouth and searched for something to break through his bindings. “What happened?” he asked.

  “Ambushed,” the MP croaked.

  “Who?”

  “Don’t know. They wore masks and black turbans. Headed for ICU. Where’s my partner, Rothe?” He coughed and spit out blood.

  “You’re the first person I came across. How many more MPs were there in the building?”

  The man stared up at him, his eyes narrowing.

  “Look, I’m one of the good guys. I’m Navy SEAL Caesar Sanchez.”

  The man’s frown eased. “Two MP’s on each floor of building 3711, and two at each entrance to the hospital.”

  Caesar tore at the knots binding the man’s wrists and ankles, afraid he was taking too long. If the attackers were headed for ICU…

  Dear God. Erin.

  As soon as he freed the MP, he stood, using the mop handle for support. “I’m headed to the ICU. Think you can get back down the hallway and sound a quiet alert?”

  The young MP squinted through his swollen eyes. “I think so.”

  “Tell them to come in quietly. No major alarms. We don’t want the terrorists randomly killing if they’re spooked.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Caesar helped the man to his feet and to the door. He peered out, verifying the hallway was clear. He pointed the man in the right direction. “Go.”

  Staggering, with his hand running along the wall, the MP hurried back the way Caesar had come.

  Turning the opposite direction, Caesar sprinted toward the ICU. On the first floor now, he had to get to the third floor. Whatever faction had staged the attack could have left guards along the way.

  Avoiding the elevator, Caesar found a stairwell. As he eased the door open, he nearly tripped over the body on the other side.

/>   Wearing the same uniform as the other MP, he sported a name tag with Rothe written across it.

  Fuck.

  Pressing two fingers to the carotid artery in Rothe’s neck, Caesar held his breath. After a moment, he felt the reassuring thump of a pulse. Though the guard was injured, he showed no signs of an open wound. Caesar searched him for a weapon. His holster was empty.

  Caesar left him, slipped out of his shower shoes and moved silently up the stairs to the second floor, easing around each turn, checking for enemy guards. When he arrived at the third floor, he peered through the window in the door, looking in both directions.

  Two men dressed in dark clothes, ski masks and black turbans held AK-47’s and stood guard at the door to the ICU. They waited, weapons at the ready, facing the elevator.

  Caesar eased away from the door, ran back down to the second floor, checked for signs of enemy and rushed to the elevator. He pushed the button, the doors opened and he stepped in, pressed the button for the third floor and stepped back into the hallway.

  Running back to the stairwell, he ignored the pain in his backside and took the stairs two at a time to the top and then paused, wincing at the pain in his backside.

  When the elevator dinged, the two men left their posts and hurried toward the door as it slid open, pointing their weapons at the elevator car.

  Caesar eased open the stairwell door and slipped through, closing it softly behind him. Moving with the stealth of a cat, he sneaked up behind the closest man, grabbed him from behind and shoved him hard into the other man, knocking them both into the door of the elevator. They landed half-in and half-out of the opening.

  Surprise was on his side. While the two men struggled to untangle themselves, Caesar ripped the rifle from the hands of the nearest man, slammed the butt of the weapon into his head and swung it upward to clip the second man in the chin. Neither man had the opportunity to use their weapons. The elevator door attempted to close, but wouldn’t with the two men blocking the track.

  Not knowing how much time he had before others might investigate the disturbance, Caesar dragged the men into the elevator and, using the straps on their weapons and their own turbans, he bound their arms and legs, quickly and effectively. After confiscating their guns and knives, he hit the button for the first floor and jumped back before the doors closed. Hopefully, the MP had made contact with the base security forces and they’d soon be on their way as backup.

  Noise from the other side of the ICU doors alerted him to imminent danger. Caesar slipped into a waiting room, holding the AK-47 against his chest and peered around the edge of the entrance.

  The door swung open and a litter was pushed through, the big wheels bumping against the door, jolting the patient and making the IV bags on either side of his body swing wildly.

  If Caesar wasn’t mistaken, the patient was Hassani and the men taking him away were either members of the local Taliban or men dressed to resemble the Taliban or Al-Qaeda. They turned in the other direction and headed for the elevator.

  Two more men emerged from the ICU, dragging a female hostage dressed in a dull green flight suit, kicking and fighting to the best of her ability.

  One of the attackers sank his fingers into dark red hair and yanked hard, tipping back her head to press a knife to her throat. “Shut up, or I kill you and go back to kill your friend.”

  Erin.

  Jaw clamped shut, Caesar’s heart sputtered and kicked into high gear. One man against six terrorists was bad enough. But terrorists holding a hostage made it exponentially worse. Especially when the hostage was Erin.

  Erin’s struggles ceased. “I’ll go with you. Just leave the other woman alone.”

  The man with the knife snorted and pushed her forward, still holding the knife to her neck, his arm clamped around both of hers.

  The lead man spoke to the others in Pashto.

  With his rough understanding of the language, Caesar gathered they wondered what had happened to their guards.

  The men glanced around and called out.

  Caesar eased back behind the doorway, swinging his weapon over his shoulder.

  A voice that sounded like the man who’d threatened Erin gave orders to search the rooms and find their men.

  Footsteps pounded against the polished flooring, headed his way.

  Forcing a calm breath, Caesar flattened himself against the wall just inside the waiting room.

  One of the men in black stepped through the door, his gun resting in his crooked elbow.

  When he’d gotten all the way inside and out of view of the others, Caesar jumped him, wrapped his arm around his neck and slit his throat.

  Their struggle drew the attention of the others, and a second man entered the room, his gun in the lead. One glance at the man on the floor and he whipped around, firing his weapon.

  Caesar dove, rolled behind some seats and fired back at the man, hitting him square in the chest.

  The attacker jerked backward and fell out into the hallway.

  Through the doorway poked the barrel of an AK-47.

  “Throw down your gun or I kill the woman,” the demand came in stilted English.

  “Turn her loose and I might consider it,” he responded through gritted teeth.

  “Don’t do it! They’ll kill you!” Erin cried out.

  The sound of a struggle and feminine grunts reached Caesar. Blocking out the cries, he had to make a plan. He’d counted six men, two of which were now dead. One of the four remaining held Erin hostage.

  The ping of an arriving elevator rang out, followed by the swoosh of doors opening.

  The man in charge gave an order that sounded like Kill him.

  Then the squeak of wheels, more female grunts and pounding against the walls of what sounded like the inside of the elevator and the whisper of sliding doors closing.

  Even before the swish of the elevator doors had finished, the barrel of an AK-47 poked around the doorframe of the waiting room. Caesar remained low, edged around an end table and aimed his weapon at the knees of the man who entered.

  He fired off several rounds.

  The man went down and another dropped down behind the first, levering him upward to use as a human shield.

  Caesar tucked his weapon close to his chest and rolled behind a vinyl chair. The shooter fired, the bullets thumping into the back of the furniture, a few hitting the wall over Caesar’s head.

  He didn’t have time to fool with the man. The terrorists were getting away with Hassani and would use Erin as their hostage to demand whatever they wanted. And if he didn’t beat them to the first floor, he feared the security forces might shoot first, not realizing Erin was with them.

  If he wanted to get to Erin, he had to eliminate the current threat. On the count of three. One…two…Caesar leaped from his position and dove to the left behind another couch, firing off a burst of bullets at the man lying behind the one he’d already felled.

  A cry alerted him to the fact he’d hit the guy. How badly was yet to be determined. He tossed a People magazine to the right, and rolled to the left as bullets tore through the fluttering pages.

  While the man aimed at the magazine, Caesar rose, aimed and pulled the trigger, hitting the man in the head. The room went silent except for the groans of the man whose knees he’d shot out and who now lay trapped beneath the deadweight of his comrade.

  Caesar grabbed their weapons, removed the bullets, bolt and magazines, then slung them to the far corner of the room.

  The live terrorist spit on him and cursed him in Pashto, dark eyes glaring.

  Caesar ignored him, yanking the clothing off his Taliban buddy. He dressed quickly in the dark pants and shirt and covered his head in the ski mask. He used the turban to bind the injured man and gag him. With little time to spare, he slung an AK-47 over his shoulder, tucked the spare magazines in his pocket and ran past the elevator, glancing upward. The light in the display window showed a glowing number two. Why would they have stopped at the seco
nd floor? To leave they’d have to go out on the first floor. Unless they were hunkering down and preparing to negotiate their release.

  Caesar raced for the stairs and ran down to the second floor. An echoing clang indicated the door being opened on the first floor. Dressed as one of the terrorists, he couldn’t afford to wait around for the MPs to find him in the stairwell. They’d shoot first and sift through bodies later. He glanced through the window of the stairwell door on the second floor. The hallway was empty. Pushing through the doorway, he eased it open and closed it softly behind him.

  The click of a door shutting to his left alerted him to movement.

  A woman screamed and was immediately quieted.

  Following the noise, Caesar tiptoed silently on bare feet toward a corner in the hallway. He glanced up, aware of the mirror positioned high on the wall to allow people from both directions to see if someone was coming around the corner. Before he got close enough to be seen, he could make out a black blur. Probably a guard left to monitor the hallway.

  Banking on his dark eyes and dark skin to aid his subterfuge, he stepped into view of the mirror and ran around the corner. Drawing on his elementary knowledge of Pashto, he said what he hoped was, “They come!” forcing urgency into his tone.

  The man standing outside a door shouted and pointed his weapon at Caesar.

  Caesar didn’t slow, holding his weapon in front of him as if he wasn’t afraid the Taliban man would shoot. When he got close enough, he stopped, and bent over, pretending to breathe hard from running, which wasn’t far from the truth.

  The man asked him something, but he didn’t quite catch the wording. When he asked again, Caesar jerked upright, slammed the butt of his weapon into the man’s face so hard, his nose broke. Grabbing his head, Caesar jerked his face down while bringing his knee up sharply.

  The man fell unconscious against Caesar.

  Catching him before he hit the floor, Caesar eased his body to the ground, dragging him down the hallway.

  Behind the door where he stood, a cry rang out. Three terrorists, that he knew of, were holed up in the room with Erin. Wiping the blood from his hands onto the clothing of the man he’d dropped, he straightened and pushed the door open.