by Zoe Dawson
“You, too, Jules.”
She turned and walked away, and God help him, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her or rein in his emotions where she was concerned. Then, he chuckled wryly. God would know all about it. He’d claimed Julia long before Milo had developed a crush on her.
She was His. She’d pledged herself to a convent not long after high school.
Julia Whitley was an aid worker, a nurse, and a nun.
As the early morning wore on, Professor paced on the tarmac. Sometimes bureaucracy wasn’t nearly as painful as getting a helicopter repaired. He had no idea what was taking so long, but Rock was on the phone, and he didn’t have his pretty face on.
“Look, you have us standing around with our thumbs up our asses. When is this show getting on the road? There are SEALs out there without backup.”
Gator stepped into Professor’s path, halting his movement. “You’re going to wear yourself out, mon ami,” he said, his smoky voice rising and falling in a distinctly Cajun rhythm, a touch of southern and a touch of French. His look softened, and a grin tugged across his wide mouth as he gave Professor a nudge.
Rock sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. “Then get me another chopper. People are going to die!”
“LT is doing all he can,” Professor responded, “but that still leaves Hemingway and his team out in the open, taking on a country that is in a full-blown coup. We all know what happens to Americans in Mogadishu.”
“We all walk the mile whenever we set foot downrange in that theater,” Gator drawled. “But I trust our LT. He’s never let us down.”
His team was well aware how close Professor’s bond was to Hemingway. They were swim buddies in BUD/S and had trained and gotten their tridents together. Rock had trained alongside them, and he was just as concerned as Professor. That fact didn’t diminish his team’s commitment to come to their aid or rescue. But Rock was still a LTJG, and his pull wasn’t as strong as others with a track record and more contacts. That fact didn’t diminish his team’s commitment to come to their aid or rescue.
“I trust him, too. I’m just chafing because of Hemingway. We all know why.”
“We do. All of us went through BUD/S, all of us have had swim buddies. You’re mine now, so we stick together from here on out.”
Professor set his hand over his heart and said, “Aw, Gator, I didn’t know you cared.”
“Va te faire foutre.”
“You must be pissing Gator off for him to say, ‘Fuck you, asshole,’ this early in the morning,” Rock said as he stalked across the tarmac. Then turned to them as he passed, walking backward. “What are you waiting for? Grab your gear. I got us another chopper. It’s incoming. Move it.”
Finally, they were going to get to do what they did best—direct action on anyone who came between his buddies and their mission.
The blood curdling scream cut into their camp, and Saint was up and immediately running toward the sound. When he reached the water’s edge, he was met with a horrifying sight. Uba was wrestling a large crocodile for her dolly.
The toy was clamped in his teeth so tight, there was no way a six-year-old was going to get it free, but the stubborn child held on. He dragged her toward the water, but she continued to scream and jerk against the croc’s punishing hold, her young face ravaged with despair and wet with her tears.
“Uba! Let go!” he yelled, but she either didn’t hear him or refused.
He sprinted toward the river’s edge, pelting through the brush and trees, his boots digging into the dirt, sending it flying behind him. Aella and Yasmiin were hot on his heels.
He was almost to her when the croc had enough of the screaming. He pulled hard, backing into the water. Uba was jerked in with a splash and she went under.
“Uba, no!” he shouted, then he was ripping at his laces, kicking off his boots. He ran to where Uba disappeared into the river, praying that croc took her doll and left her alone.
He drew deep, pulled air into his lungs, then held his breath as he leapt from the bank into the water. He paused, looking around with as much calm as he could muster. Panicking would kill them both. A croc would be twisting the doll in a death spiral. He would take the toy, and Uba deep to drown his prey. Little did he know it was nothing but a crude six-year-old’s toy.
He caught a glimpse of cloth and dark hair in the murky water. He dove, his arms and legs pumping, his training kicking in. There was a reason SEALs went through drown-proofing. But Uba was six with much tinier lungs. She could easily get lost and not be able to find her way to the surface. He pushed away his fear for the little girl.
He saw her, trying to swim in the right direction. He got to her with quick, powerful strokes. He had no idea how many crocs were in the river looking for a meal. He was determined he and Uba wouldn’t be on the menu.
He grabbed the girl with his left hand, and she clutched onto him frantically. She was out of air. He swam hard until something hit him in the chest from out of the murk. The snout of another croc got a hold of his vest and started to pull him down.
Saint grabbed for the knife in his vest and stuck it right into the croc’s eye. The beast let go of his vest, and he sheathed the knife, swimming for all he was worth to the light, the last few feet without air. Uba was now dead weight.
He broke the surface, sucking in a lungful and swam toward shore where Aella and the five kids were frantically searching the water. Yasmiin called out and pointed when she saw him.
As soon as his feet hit the sandy bottom, he was pushing out of the water, Uba in his arms. The water rushed across his thighs, then shins, then finally his ankles until he was free. She wasn’t moving. He immediately went to his knees on the bank and started CPR. There was utter silence except for his breathing.
“Come on, baby,” he said, water streaming off him. “Come on, Uba. Breathe,” he pleaded, sending oxygen into her lungs, forcing her heart to beat again.
Come on!
“Saint,” Aella said, her voice breaking. “No.”
“Hang on,” he whispered, breathing for her, mentally ticking off a full minute since she’d moved last. She’s not gone. She’s going to make it.
He checked her pulse. It was weak, but there was still one there, yet she still wasn’t breathing. He turned her to her side and hit the middle of her back. She made a sound. It grew louder and he choked with her, held her on her side. Water spilled and he heard her hard intake of air. Then another. Aella was there, hovering, calling to her to open her eyes. Uba’s head lolled, and Saint gathered her against him, propping her up as she coughed and struggled for fresh air. He caught her face.
“Uba?”
Uba opened her eyes, let out a long, slow breath. “If there’s any justice, that croc will either become a suitcase or shoes,” Aella said.
Saint laughed, holding Uba tight and, over her head, looked at the woman and girls around her. Aella swiped at her eyes, hugged Yasmiin. All the kids were relieved.
“He took my dolly,” she cried, fat baby tears. “Stupid croc.”
He snuggled her tighter, a sudden rush of feelings for this little tiger making his chest hurt. He said, his tone soft, “I’ll make you another one, sweetstuff. I promise.”
“Can I still call her Gacaliso?” Uba asked, her bottom lip extended and quivering.
“You can call her whatever you want. Just don’t go wrestling another croc, Uba, and I’ll make you back up dollies. Okay?” Saint knew he had to instill some rules into the small girl otherwise they would all go crazy by the time they got this little firecracker back to her family.
She smiled at him, and it was one of the best things he’d ever seen. “Okay, Saint.” She looked at the water as Aella picked her up. She lifted a tiny, mutinous chin. “I don’t like swimming or taking a bath.” She made a face, then set her head on Aella’s shoulder, looking a little sleepy.
They all chuckled, then he realized his radio was gone. “Damn,” he swore under his breath.
“What is it
?” Aella asked, pausing with the child.
“My comm is gone. We won’t be able to talk to the team.”
“Oh, no. What do you want to do?” Her arms folded tightly over Uba. Even with the exhaustion etched on her face, her voice was strong, resilient. She wouldn’t give up.
“Let’s get back to camp and we’ll discuss it.”
All the way up the trail, the girls kept talking over each other, filled with both admiration and fear for their little friend and her defiance toward the crocodile. They were still going a mile a minute when they reached the camp.
He and Aella exchanged amused looks. “She’s more courageous than you.”
Pulling the towel out of his pack, he snagged Uba and dried her off.
“Should I make her an honorary SEAL, like you?” He had nothing but skads of admiration for this woman. People could say all they wanted about heroics and courage, but as far as he was concerned, this woman’s ability to battle her way out of capture told him more about heroics and courage than anyone could.
“Me? I’m an honorary SEAL, huh?”
“I gave you my trident in the hospital before I left, didn’t I? Fast Lane jumped at the chance to come here to rescue you. That speaks volumes even though he doesn’t.”
“I guess it does. I already have a cool nickname.”
He chuckled. “You sure do.”
After that, she waded into the five girls as Uba curled against him and fell asleep. It was funny how they were all on the run but being here with them gave him a new perspective on life—as if he had a whole new focus. Humor creasing his mouth, he decided it was like living in a constant state of alert, making him see that Aella would make a great mother, regardless of what she did for a living. Maybe his narrow-minded way of thinking was just that, too…restricted.
Maybe he had been thinking about this perfect imaginary woman who would handle everything in his life, and maybe that was also a skewed mindset. When he had kids—and after all this, he wanted them even more—they would be his responsibility as much as the woman he married.
Jarred by that renegade thought, Saint hardened his expression and looked away. What kind of mental slip was that? Aella was dedicated to her job, and she was thousands of miles away from San Diego.
Was he erecting roadblocks to keep from putting his heart on the line here? To force some type of reckoning? Would she choose her job over him? Was he tough enough to handle it? Would he choose his job over her? He had once. She had too.
She had given the girls some chores to do in preparation for leaving. She was currently sitting at the edge of the forest, her arms wrapped around her knees. He settled Uba comfortably on the ground and walked over to her.
“We need to talk,” he said.
“We’ve got to make for their village and get them safely back to their parents,” she said.
He nodded. “Without comms, we are on our own. We need to get to the military base. Fast Lane has some idea where we’re going. Omar isn’t going to wait forever to come at us again. Once this coup is over and the palace falls, they will take over.”
“And hunt us down.” She turned to look at him. That stark look was back in her eyes and her face was so pale it was scary. Obviously struggling, she clasped her hands between her legs and opened her mouth to speak. “I won’t go back there. I’d rather die. These children don’t deserve this.”
“You’re not going back there. We’re moving forward. We’re getting these girls where they need to go.” She looked down, the bones of her shoulders pronounced under the cotton fabric of her shirt. Her hair was mostly out of the braid, and she looked so forlorn.
She never took her eyes off him, and his gut clenched when he realized she was trembling. He could almost feel her internal battle—her pride and independence struggling to fortify her.
He gave her a wry smile, his gaze fixed on her. “It’s a good plan, babe,” he said softly. “I’ll carry you all if I have to.”
Finally, she dropped her head and looked at him, a tiny glimmer of humor in her eyes. “It’s a good plan. Lucky you, saddled with a broken-down ATF agent and six, sweet little monsters. Combat sounds easier.”
Liking her spunk, he said, “I can deal with a bunch of macho bastards, tread through mud and muck, freezing cold, my life on the line. Yeah, combat is easier.” He cupped her chin. “You’re not a broken-down anything. You’re an amazon.”
Her eyes filled with tears, and she bit her lip to keep it still. Then she closed her eyes and swallowed hard, two tears spilling out. “I don’t think I would have survived if you hadn’t shown up,” she whispered brokenly.
He massaged the back of her neck. “Who are you kidding? You would have kicked Omar’s ass, then rescued those girls yourself. You’re just tired, mentally and physically.” She was fighting her battles, and he respected her for that. And he knew it just wasn’t in her to go down without a struggle.
“Don’t you ever get tired of being so big, smug and virile?”
He chuckled. “No. As you’ve reminded me, I rescued your beautiful ass, didn’t I?”
“Oh, stuff it,” she said with a smile.
Grinning at her sass, he slipped his arm around her shoulders.
“Zach?” She turned to him, a hollow look back in her eyes. She took a deep breath, as if fortifying herself.
Oh no, she called him Zach. This was serious.
“You ever think about having children?” she asked, her tone husky.
His gut knotted and he found it suddenly hard to breathe. It was as if she’d just reached inside his chest and grabbed his heart, and he had a hard time keeping it together. “What? I don’t even have a wife yet. From what I hear, you need one of those.”
Aella released a huff of uneven laughter and clasped her head. “Don’t start with the charm to defuse the situation. Cute isn’t going to distract me.”
A twitch of amusement surfaced as he watched her try to recover, not giving her an inch. “Of course, I could contact a stork. Isn’t that where babies come from?”
Her dirty look was priceless.
Clearly struggling with a whole bunch of emotions, she tipped her head back, wrestling with herself. Saint watched her, his gut in a knot, waiting for what she wanted to say, his deflection at an end. She looked at him a moment, her gaze unwavering, then she said, taking the air out of his sails, “You’d be a really good dad.” She kissed him on his cheek and rose. “I’d better get them wrangled.”
Saint sat there, his fists clenching. He hadn’t expected that. Feeling like he was standing on a high, narrow ledge, he stared without seeing anything.
“Aella,” he said, stopping her in her tracks and turning to meet her eyes. “You’d make a damn fine momma.”
Her expression softened. She had the same quiet tone in her voice when she said, “Thank you. That means a lot.”
He knew then that he loved her and thought of all the reasons why, but that directness of hers, that honesty, which was a fundamental part of her, was one of the things he admired the most.
And it made his chest hurt even more.
He had a job to do and was floored as hell that he’d find out that he loved a woman while he was in the thick of it.
He rose abruptly and took the two steps to her. Taking her arm, she was already turning toward him. He lifted his hand to her face, his thumb brushing across the softness of her cheek. She lifted her face, her eyes meeting his, her expression still soft and warm. The scent of her was in him as if it had always been there, just like the sudden rise of heat in her skin, the shallowness of her breath. Aella knew how he felt. He wasn’t exactly being stoic about it.
She melted into him, and it felt too good, tasted too good, of softness and sex, the memories of them making him crazy. The sigh of her breath into his mouth was sweet and welcome, going all the way to his groin. Caught for a moment, he lingered, letting himself fall deeper into the pleasure of her kiss, the wonder of her mouth, its silkiness, and the intimacy of t
racing her teeth with his tongue. Then it was time to break away, and he almost made it—but not quite.
She opened her mouth wider, and he slid in even deeper, and so it would have been his downfall, tumbling into the sweet darkness of desire, down to the sharp, bare edge of need cutting through him. He wanted her.
He pressed against her, pulled her closer, felt the pressure of her body up against his, but there was duty, honor, mission, brotherhood. There was a battle coming between Zasha and Darko and his team. He had to get these kids to safety.
He dragged his mouth away from hers, then kissed her once more, hard and fast.
“Adulting sucks,” she whispered.
He laughed and together they went to break camp.
12
“I’m going to scout ahead,” he said.
Her gaze flew over his face. It was a telling moment for her. They’d managed this far with soulless men on their tail, but the thought of splitting from him felt uncomfortable. Aella was out of her league with Omar’s thugs and their semi-automatics. Hell, she’d been trained as an ATF agent, not a killer, not an operative. She was here to get justice and the men who hunted her didn’t know the meaning of the word.
Sometimes at night, she remembered every detail of Axmed’s hands all over her, the reality of her imminent rape, her helplessness. He’d stolen something from her in that dirty, dingy room. She wanted it back but couldn’t seem to latch onto it. She didn’t want him to win, to carry that memory, that legacy with her for the rest of her life.
But none of her thoughts or feelings had to do with evading the enemy. She was scared for Saint but that was unreasonable. He was a Navy SEAL. Yet so many things could go wrong and that little voice in her head wouldn’t shut up and let her hope it would go right.
“Saint…” She clutched at his vest. “Be careful.”
Saint gave her a comforting smile as he cupped the back of her head, drawing her close. She went willingly. His mouth covered hers, a fleeting, hot press of lips and tongue that caused a hard, restless need, and she clung to him, forgetting the danger and drinking in his kiss, the feel of him pressed against her. She wanted the chance to be with him again without guns flashing around them. He drew back, met her gaze, then kissed her again so tenderly it made her throat tighten.
