by Zoe Dawson
He held her through the afterglow, then moved away, and she immediately missed his warmth and weight. She heard him moving around and splashing a bit in the water, then silence descended, except for the swish of cloth. It took her a few moments to recover enough to turn over to see what he was doing. He wasn’t far away, and that was a good thing. God, she wanted him all over again.
Saint crouched down to tie up his boots. His groin still pulsed, and he glanced over at Aella, remembering the white-hot sensation of her mouth jolting through him. It had been so intense, he had barely remembered to breathe.
The flimsy fabric covering her was light and gauzy, and he could see her bra, the tight, rosy nipples straining against her top. The wet fabric clung to her luscious breasts and outlined her curves like a second skin, and all he could think about was how soft and lush the rest of her body was beneath those clothes.
Amusement shimmered in her gaze, and a drop of water dripped from her cute nose. “Looks like I’m all wet…again.”
He groaned.
She grinned at him, her pink lips glistening from the rain. “If I’ve got to get wet, I’d rather it be with you.”
She was still teasing him, but there was a layer of meaning beneath her words. She truly appreciated being with him, no matter the cause or reason.
“You’re killing me, woman, but I agree. I’d rather it be me with you.”
He rose and gathered up the washed t-shirt, soap and towel. He walked over to her and offered his hand. She grasped it and he pulled her up right against his chest. “We should get back to the girls. Make sure they’re all right.” He also wanted to try to reach Fast Lane again now that the chopper’s jamming array was gone.
“They are. Really,” she said, sliding her hand along his jaw. “But you’ve got to be hungry.”
“I was.” It was his turn to grin as he bumped her hip.
“It wasn’t enough,” she said, her face going soft, her palm rubbing over his stubble as if she liked the scratchy feel of it against her palm.
“No. It wasn’t but it will have to do.” She shivered when his fingers tangled through the hair at the back of her neck as he gently tugged her head back, so their gazes met once more, and their lips were mere inches apart. There was something strangely exciting about being at this woman’s mercy. He wanted her with a fierce, powerful kind of need he’d never experienced since he’d met her.
With her mouth poised so close to his, she asked with a cautious tone, “Have to do?”
“For now,” he said gruffly, and took her mouth, then he broke the kiss and sent her toward the trail. “Get going, woman, before I lose my damn mind again.”
She gave him a look of retribution as he slapped her butt.
“Geez, you’re bossy.”
“Get going, sugar. No more sass.”
He reattached his headset and keyed his comm. “LT, what is your status?” he asked as she took off down the trail, and he started after her. He thought about racing her, but he hadn’t anticipated how drained he was from the unexpected and arousing climax she’d given him, and besides, he was enjoying the very stimulating view from right where he was.
“Good copy. Good to hear from you.”
The tension went out of his shoulders when he heard Fast Lane’s voice. “Bastards jammed my radio signal. We’re secure. Threat neutralized for the time being. What is your status?”
“We’ve discovered possible survivors from the airport attack.” Fast Lane’s breathing was strained from running. “Jugs is on the scent. Will keep you posted.”
“Copy that. We should hang tight?”
“Affirmative. For the time being. If you have to move, do so. If you don’t hear from us or something else goes FUBAR, bug out and we’ll rendezvous at the Baidoa military base.”
“Copy that,” Saint said as they followed the path back to the girls. Saint erased their passing with a broken branch. Omar’s son had to be getting pretty frustrated by now and that tended to make people reckless. They weren’t out of the woods yet.
He certainly hoped whoever his LT was chasing were still alive.
When they made camp, Yasmiin was there on guard with his gun. She lowered it as they entered, setting the safety. She beamed at the pile of food on a leaf palette.
“Food we gathered. It will help, yes?”
“Very much,” Aella said with a smile and a hug for each of the girls. “You guys did good.”
While Aella and the girls sat down to catalogue the food, Saint dug out his hook and fishing line and walked down to the river. He fished while he searched for the appropriate material he needed. He harvested a stock of bamboo and several clumps of dried grasses. With his knife he carved on the bamboo until he got the effect he wanted, then worked on several more wood pieces, until he had a string of fish and his creations. He then set the carvings into a bag he took from his ruck.
When he got back to the girls, Aella was getting them cleaned up and braiding their hair. Saint dropped the fish, and the girls eyed the catch then each other. Nomads around here didn’t usually care for fish, but it would be a good source of protein they would need once they started trekking to the girls’ home village or the military base.
He intended to make an oven out of the soil to cook the fish without the visible signs of a fire. He needed to start that process soon so any smoke would be obscured by the overcast day.
He knelt down next to Uba and pulled out what he had created for her. She squealed and reached for it with her small pudgy hands.
“My dolly! You made me a dolly!” Uba hugged the gift to her chest and looked at him, her eyes wide with awe, as if she’d just been handed the world. She launched herself at him, holding the doll in one hand as she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him hard. “Thank you.” She pulled away and gave him a soft kiss on his cheek, slightly moist, but completely wonderful.
“You deserved it, Uba. You’ve been so brave. What are you going to name her?”
“Gacaliso.” She beamed at him.
“It means sweetheart,” Yasmiin said with a big grin.
“That’s beautiful, Uba.” He met Aella’s eyes, her solemn expression altered, changing to a heart-stopping look that made Saint’s heart roll over.
Uba nodded and hugged the crude doll to her, the joy on her face infectious.
Saint pulled another carving out of the bag. It was fixed with braided grass to form a necklace. He slipped the carving over Yasmiin’s head.
“What is this?” Yasmiin asked as she fingered the wood.
“It’s a trident. It’s the SEALs’ pin, a symbol of our dedication to our country and duty as warriors.”
“A warrior’s emblem,” she said in a hushed voice. She looked up and stared at him with the unwavering intentness of a child, then her chest puffed out and her shoulders squared. “I’m honored.” She saluted him, and he pulled her into a hard embrace.
She hugged him back. He repeated the ritual with each of the other girls, giving them carved animal necklaces to reinforce them for the coming battle to get them all safely back to their village.
“Now let me show you how to skin fish and cook it.”
She wrinkled up her nose and the other girls gave him dubious looks, some making “eww” noises. He laughed softly. “It’ll be good. Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”
Several hours passed as he heated the rocks in a modest fire, doused it once they were red hot, then baked the fish.
He felt a soft touch on his shoulder, and he turned to see it was Aella. He rose from his crouched position near the hot mound.
“That smells really good,” she said. He nodded, loving the warm glimmer in her eyes. “You are a good man.” Cupping his jaw, she stretched up and kissed him. Drawing away, he released a long sigh and smoothed his hand across her hip. “Bolstering those girls with nothing but bamboo, wood and grasses…I don’t have the words to express how amazing you are.”
“It’s all in the meaning, babe.
”
She squeezed his nape, leaned over and kissed him, making him feel almost indestructible. He would get them all to safety or die trying.
10
Rose was leaning on Solace heavily and it was clear she was struggling. Sweat was pouring down her back inside her flight suit. She stopped and helped Rose to the side of the road and carefully lowered her down in the shade.
“How much farther?” Rose asked, looking up at her with far away eyes. Solace bit her lip.
“I’m not sure. I don’t think it’s close.” Solace was second guessing herself. What if they did get back to the airport and there was nothing there but rubble and death? What the hell would she do then? Rose needed a doctor and rest. It was clear she had a concussion.
Solace unzipped her flight suit down to her stomach and tied the long sleeves around her waist. Beneath the suit was an olive-green sleeveless t-shirt.
The soft breeze whispered over her, but it was enough for her to sigh in relief as the wind ruffled her loose hair, cooling her sweat-slicked skin. She pulled the canteen off her belt and took a swig. They were getting very low on water. Regardless, she had to do her best to keep them from complete dehydration. She crouched down and helped Rose take a few sips from the lip of the container.
Rose wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand and met Solace’s eyes. “You look worried.” Rose waved toward her forehead. “It looks worse than it is.”
“That’s a bunch of bullshit and you know it, lady,” Solace said, her eyes darting around the area. Now that the sun was up and they were out in the open, exposed and vulnerable, she had to remain vigilant. Anyone could see them coming.
Rose studied her for a moment, then tipped her head and smiled, an astute gleam in her eyes. “You’re one of those?”
Solace laughed. “One of those?”
“Those people who are very observant. I bet there’s nothing or no one you can’t handle.”
“For the most part.” Solace didn’t want to have to face men with guns and bullets were out of the question. She wasn’t superwoman. Those bullets would kill her as dead as Will. Her mouth tightened, guilty and remorseful from having to leave his body behind. He didn’t deserve that.
“Come on, we’d better push on,” Solace said as she reached down and grasped Rose’s arm and helped her up. “You doing all right?”
Rose reeled against her, her hand flinging out as she pressed her palm flat to the tree to steady herself. Solace worked at keeping her balance, her stance wide to take on the shift in weight. “Whoa, there.”
After a moment, Rose looked at her. “I’m so sorry, Solace. Maybe you should conceal me here and go for help?”
“No. No way. I can’t leave another person behind, Rose.” Her voice broke. “Don’t ask me to do that. We’ll get through this together.”
Rose digested that, then nodded, her mouth tightening, too. It didn’t take a genius to understand that Rose felt the same way. Solace’s right-minded conscience piled more guilt on her head. I’ll go to his family and tell them how brave and strong he’d been, niggled her conscience, then maybe I can sleep at night without seeing his face haunting me. She now felt terrible all over again.
Then she finally let herself think it. Let herself have a moment of sheer panic. Where was Fast Lane? How were he and his team faring when there was no exfil for them or the hostage? She had once been his wife, loved him beyond imagination. In this moment, she would give anything to know that he was all right and not a cold, still body somewhere in the brush of this godforsaken country.
She had been used to being without him even when they were married. Between their deployments, training, and duty, there had been little time to really enjoy each other. She just had gotten used to being completely without him, but he’d pushed too hard, tried to control who she was and what she did for a living out of his own failure to trust in her abilities.
Losing Fast Lane had just about killed her.
But dwelling on a life she hadn’t lived with him wasn’t going to get her out of this situation. She hoped like hell he was all right, along with his team and the mission they were on. Fear warring with her fight to stay calm and in control was a constant battle. No food, barely any water, exposed out here—they were in a bad situation.
When she heard voices, her gut clenched, adrenaline shooting into her system. She and Rose froze. They weren’t speaking Bosnian, so that was something. No, it was Somalis who were out there.
Her heart pounded and her legs felt a powerful urge to run but panicking now could mean the end for them. Rose was in no shape to run, and Solace wasn’t going to leave her behind.
She inched back into the undergrowth but stopped short when a gun barrel jammed against her back. In horror she turned to find a black man in the shadows of the trees, his eyes glittering with malice. He wore a red bandana around his head.
With a short jab, his face hard and impassive, his message was clear. Rose gasped as she and Solace were forced out of the cover and back onto the dusty road. Rose clutched at her, but five men materialized. One of them grabbed Rose, secured her hands behind her back, pulled a hood over her head and dragged her away. She saw that they were taking her toward a jeep that was parked not far from them. She and Rose must have stumbled into their camp without realizing they were here.
Their luck had run out.
The man who had forced her onto the road, Red Bandana, grabbed her by the hair and got into her face, his grip painful as her scalp burned.
“What is your name?” His breath was foul with booze, and he smelled rancid with sweat. It hurt, but she reeled back to get away from the stench.
She clamped her jaw closed and the man’s eyes narrowed.
“Is she the one or is it the other?” a man asked. He had a scar on his face.
“Omar wasn’t clear. He just said a white woman. We have two,” Red Bandana said.
“We will let him sort it out,” Scar Face said, then grinned, his teeth yellowed. “We’ll take whichever one he doesn’t want.” He tied her hands behind her back with a nylon rope.
Omar? Axmed Omar was after a white woman? Had Aella Mikos escaped? This information gave her hope that the SEALs had successfully freed the ATF agent.
“Let him know we have two white women, and we will meet him at the airport for the exchange. Make sure he does not forget the money.”
Scar Face pulled out a radio and talked for a few minutes. He nodded to Red Bandana, and he pulled a black hood out of a backpack. She backed up, but Scar Face grabbed her arm. It was the last thing he would ever do.
About two seconds later his brains exploded out of his temple.
As soon as they heard the gunfire, the jeep gunned its engine and fishtailed away, leaving the three remaining men and dead Scar Face.
Solace dropped to the ground as people shouted. Gunfire exploded and she didn’t have time to think about the ugly sound that bullet made leaving his skull, or the dampness on her arm. She rolled to her back and arched, working her bound hands under her butt, behind her knees, then her feet. Trying not to look at Scar Face’s blank eyes staring back at her, her stomach cramped with revulsion, and she swallowed back bile. She shut him out and, using her teeth, loosened the crude rope. Her palm cramped from bending her hand to reach the cord at her wrist, but it finally slipped free. Then she was up and running.
The remaining rebels fired toward the vegetation as she plowed through the forest, leaving everything behind her. Her heart twisted for Rose. But Solace couldn’t help her if she was dead, and escape was the only way. She swatted at vines, pushing faster. She was in top physical form, but the exertions of the last two days had sapped a lot of her energy.
Her breath strained, and her head swam.
Then a figure stepped out in front of her, and she stumbled back, falling on her rear. She looked up and went still. A man was silhouetted against the sun, the blinding brilliance radiating behind him in a fiery corona.
“Solace?” he s
aid, the tone of his voice flustering her, and she couldn’t speak, mostly from the relief and the sight of him as he moved forward out of the masking brightness of the direct sunlight. Everything about him registered with startling clarity.
He was tall, looming over her, radiating an aura of strength and masculinity. He was powerfully built with heavily muscled shoulders, but beneath his unquestionable virility, beneath his physical toughness, there was something…some indefinable quality that drew her. It shocked her to realize that she really didn’t know her ex-husband. He was fresh off the battlefield, dressed in fatigue pants and a blue cotton shirt that fit him like a second skin, no SEAL insignia in sight, but that made sense. He wore scuffed combat boots, and his automatic rifle was in his hands. His face was shadowed by the brim of his helmet, but nothing could conceal the strong jawline.
She stared at him, her mind numb while her throat cramped up and her vision blurred. Ford. He was here. Afraid she would break down, she said, “Ford! Thank God!” She worried that if he showed any concern at all, she wasn’t sure if she could keep it together. He and his team had taken out Scarface and the others. She had been rescued from a terrible fate.
She felt strangely breathless when he touched her. Catapulting her from the ground into his arms, he crushed her to him, holding her so tightly his embrace hampered her ability to draw air. She unabashedly clung to him, absorbing his strength, the feeling of fear and helplessness fading. Behind him was Dodger, Pitbull, Mad Max, Jugs and Hemingway. Her gut clenched. Where was Dragon, 2-Stroke and Saint?
Over Fast Lane’s shoulder, Solace saw Pitbull’s smile fade from his face at what must have been the raw panic on hers as her eyes darted around. Maybe she’d missed them?
“2-Stroke and Dragon are assigned to another mission. They’re fine.”
