by Cindy Dees
The silent runner ran up behind Number Four and clocked him over the head. Hard. The Russian dropped like a rock.
Help. It was help!
He spun left, facing the two Russians that way. Griffin felt the third Russian turn away to face this new threat, backing up against Griffin.
Mistake. Griffin flung his right elbow backward as hard as he could, aiming kidney high. Number Three cried out and went down to his knees as Griffin ducked a wild swing from Number Two. Unfortunately, that moved Griffin right into a vicious kick from Number One that glanced off his forearm and caught him on the chin.
Pain exploded in his face, and involuntary tears of stinging pain leaked out of his eyes.
Must stay on his feet. To go down was to die.
From behind him, a female voice grunted, “Four Russians. With orders not to kill you.”
Sherri.
Alive.
And here.
Fuckin’ A.
He’d already figured out the “four Russians” part. But they couldn’t kill him? Sweet. He could go full offensive. He did so, uppercutting the Russian on the right with his fist, while he snapped out a fast, lethal kick at Number One’s groin. Both shots connected.
He heard Sherri grunt in pain behind him, and a whole new level of fury flashed through him. He spun, grabbed Number Three by the throat, and whipped him around just in time to catch a vicious chop from Number One.
Sherri leaped to his right, defending his open side, holding off Number Two.
Number Three, struggling in his grasp, mule-kicked backward, and Griffin used the momentum of the guy’s one-footedness to kick the standing leg out from under the bastard, who went down hard. Instead of jumping back, Griffin took the aggressive tack and jumped forward over the prone man, who anticipated wrong and rolled toward where Griffin had just been standing.
Griffin stomped down with all his strength on the prone guy’s outstretched hand and felt bones crunch under his boot. He lunged up at Number One, slamming him into Number Three, which threw Number Three to one side.
The third Russian screamed and went down clutching his throat.
Sherri swung toward Number One and slammed whatever she was holding into the guy’s temple. He staggered. Griffin clocked him in the junk with the steel-toed tip of his boot, and the bastard went down to the ground in the fetal position.
Number Four was just rousing when Sherri lifted what looked like some sort of makeshift shiv. The guy put his hands behind the back of his head. Good call. She was vicious with that thing.
The sound of engines roared into range. The Hummers.
They screeched to a halt about twenty feet away, and SEALs poured out of both vehicles.
Number Four grunted, “Ohkonchatelnyui variahnt.”
“No!” Griffin shouted, grabbing at Number One’s jaw.
Too late. The guy bit down hard and glared up at him. “Govnyuk,” the Russian snarled as foam began to emerge from his mouth.
“Same to you,” Griffin snapped.
“What did he call you?” Sherri panted from behind him.
“Let’s just say I’m not his favorite person.”
“What the hell?” she squawked, stepping back and bumping into Griffin.
The other Russians also commenced foaming at the mouth and went still on the ground.
“Cyanide capsules. Standard Spetsnaz Ops. No capture.”
“Do SEALs do that?”
“No. We don’t get caught. Or if we do, we don’t talk.”
“Are you okay?” she asked urgently.
“Are you?”
She stepped toward him, and he turned toward her, sweeping her off the ground in a mighty hug. She clung to him just as hard, burying her face in his neck.
“I thought you were going to die,” she gasped.
“I thought you had died. God, I’ve never been so glad to see anyone charge into battle like that.”
“I love you,” she whispered.
Fireworks exploded inside his head, and his heart felt like it was going to bust right out of his chest. He opened his mouth to tell her he loved her too, but just then the SEALs swarmed around them, and he set her down quickly, stepping back to a respectable distance.
* * *
As the crowd of big bodies surrounded them protectively, Sherri stared at Griffin, trying to make out his expression in the dark. Even though it was only a few feet, the space between them felt huge. She felt the loss of his arms around her like a physical blow. She needed him right now. Needed the reassurance that she was safe. That he would always come for her like this.
She’d just told him she loved him, and he hadn’t said a single thing in response. He’d set her away from him, for crying out loud. Even worse, he shook his head at her a little when she started to reach for him again. Her hands fell back to her sides.
Griffin looked away and then stepped away as Ray Peevy approached.
“Are you injured, Tate?” Peevy asked briskly.
“I’m dehydrated. Hungry. Frankly, I hurt all over.”
Especially in her heart. She’d just gone through the scare of her life, believing that Griffin was going to die. She’d charged into battle armed with a piece of bed frame against men who’d stated their intent to kill her. And he was looking at her with no more interest than if she’d been a bug crawling across his boot.
Peevy nodded. “It’s not often someone gets to do Hell Week twice in a row. Let’s get you to the medics, Tate. They’ll fix you right up.”
She heard Cal order the SEALs to fan out and search for any more hostiles.
Sherri turned and called back to Kettering, “There were just the four Russians. The evolution is secured.”
A relieved laugh went up as Peevy led her away from the bodies and away from the man she loved—who didn’t love her back.
* * *
Ultimately, it was decided to load the Russian corpses into their truck and drive it back to Coronado. A forensics team would try to identify the dead men, and the FBI and CIA would try to track down whoever they worked for. Not that it was any great mystery to Sherri. These had to be Haddad’s men.
Kettering didn’t seem surprised when she told him she’d heard the men say Haddad wanted Griffin alive. She gathered from the icy cold enveloping him that he and the Reapers had distinct ideas about what should happen to Haddad in the near future. He also didn’t act surprised when she relayed hearing the Russians talk about having a man on the inside of BUD/S. His jaw just got a little tighter and a little harder than it already was.
Sherri noted that Griffin ended up riding back to base in the other Hummer. Was that intentional? Had she completely freaked him out with her whispered declaration?
The answer to that was painfully obvious.
Man, she’d been a fool. She’d spent all of Hell Week imagining them together, him making some grand declaration of his feelings, and her reciprocating. She had romanticized him beyond all reasonable expectations. Which was her fault. She’d completely forgotten the kind of man she was dealing with. His love, his life was the SEALs. He had no room in his heart for anything or anyone else.
It was nearly dawn by the time the caravan of vehicles pulled into the SEAL training area. She started to climb out of the Hummer, but uncharacteristically stumbled. And pitched right into Griffin, who had apparently come over to check on her.
How obvious was it to physically throw herself at the poor guy? Her face on fire, she pushed away from him quickly, mumbling an apology.
“Got your balance, now?” he asked lightly.
Sure. She was totally balanced and in control of herself. Not. She’d just realized that everything she thought she knew about him had been a lie. Or worse, it had been a fantasy she’d cooked up in her head to deal with the stress of her situation. How lame was that? She was pathe
tic.
Vidmeyer piled out of the Hummer behind her and commented, “Not bad, Tate. Not bad at all…for a girl.”
She retorted, “One of these days, you’ll learn to call me a woman. Then maybe you’ll have a shot at me liking you.”
The instructors milling around her hooted. Ray Peevy clasped her shoulder lightly. “Good to have you back, Tate.”
At least some of the SEALs were glad to have her. But she couldn’t take any joy in having won over the others when she’d lost Griffin. Mission accomplished, but at what price?
The crowd of SEAL instructors parted in front of her abruptly, and she gulped as Admiral Duquesne strode forward. His expression was unreadable.
“Welcome back, Lieutenant Tate.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Later today, at thirteen hundred hours, I’m convening a review board to determine your status going forward.”
She frowned, confused. What had she done wrong?
He said briskly, “You didn’t complete Hell Week and have missed a number of training days hence. That necessitates a training review.”
He turned and strode away, leaving her staring at his back in shock. The men around her went silent. Maybe they were as stunned as she was.
“So that’s it,” she said heavily. “The Navy has found its loophole to get rid of me after all.” She looked around at the suddenly grim-faced SEAL instructors who’d come to her rescue without hesitation when she’d needed them. “Thank you for saving my life, gentlemen. It has been an honor knowing you all.”
* * *
Griffin was so angry at Admiral Duquesne that he didn’t trust himself not to physically harm the man. It was a travesty to subject Sherri to a review board for missing training. It certainly hadn’t been her fault she’d missed the last few kilometers of the night run, nor that she’d been running for her life while her teammates did push-ups on the freaking beach.
He gathered himself to follow the admiral and give the old man a serious piece of his mind when a hard hand closed around his arm.
Ray Peevy.
He scowled thunderously at his teammate. “It’s crap. She’s earned a right to continue her training. Duquesne has no business tossing her—”
“We have something else to take care of first, my brother,” Peevy said soberly. “Someone else.”
Right. The mole inside BUD/S. Back in the valley, Sherri had relayed having heard the Russians talk about their inside man being certain Griffin would trade himself for her.
“Any idea who the inside guy is?” Griffin asked.
“I have my suspicions. How about you?” Ray responded cautiously.
“Same.”
“Who are you thinking?” Ray asked.
“Grundy,” Griffin muttered under his breath.
“Grundy,” Ray confirmed. “Shall we go have a small conversation with him?”
Griffin and Peevy traded dark looks. Neither of them was going to come out and accuse anyone of committing treason without concrete proof, or at least a confession of some kind. But if Grundy was guilty, they would see him taken down if it was the last thing they both did.
Peevy asked one of the milling instructors, “Where are the BUD/S trainees now?”
“Chow,” someone replied.
Griffin and Peevy pivoted and fell into step, striding grimly toward the mess hall.
* * *
Feeling immeasurably refreshed by a quick shower and drinking about a gallon of water, Sherri stepped inside the cafeteria where her remaining teammates were currently eating breakfast. She had one more piece of business to take care of before she got booted out of here. When she stepped inside, a shout of welcome went up. The Smurfs rushed forward to hug her.
Smitty demanded, “What the hell happened to you, Tate?”
“Long story.”
Someone else blurted out, “We heard you were kidnapped and then some bastards tried to trade you for Caldwell.”
She smiled ruefully. “There are no secrets among SEALs, are there?”
“Nah.”
Therein lay the problem. She and Griffin were never going to be able to keep their relationship secret. It was a foolish pipe dream to think she could both be a SEAL and have him.
Glancing over the heads of her boatmates, she spotted the guy she’d come here to have words with. She marched across the room toward Grundy, sitting at a table with several of his boatmates. He stood up, scowling, as she stalked toward him. “Made it back finally, I see,” he sneered.
“No thanks to you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Nope. Not going to apologize to her. Not going to acknowledge he’d pushed her into that pit, leaving her helpless and alone for the kidnappers to grab. Well, she’d given him a chance. Which meant she didn’t have any compunction about this.
She drew back her right hand, made a proper fist the way Griffin had shown her a thousand years ago, and punched Grundy as hard as she could.
He doubled over, hands over his broken nose, blood pouring from between his fingers. His boatmates surged up out of their chairs, and Sherri’s boatmates surged forward to surround her.
“What the hell, Tate!” Grundy howled.
A half-dozen SEAL instructors leaped forward, separating the bristling groups of trainees. Two more instructors strode forward into the fray. Griffin and Ray Peevy.
“What was that for, Tate?” Ray Peevy growled.
She glared at Grundy. “Are you going to be a man and tell them, or shall I?”
“Fuck off, Tate,” Grundy shouted.
All the instructors turned questioning looks at her. She registered varying degrees of shock in their stares. She wasn’t sure if she should be complimented or insulted by their surprise over her capacity for violence. Did they think she was going to sit around crocheting doilies once she became a SEAL?
She spoke tightly. “The last night of Hell Week on the desert run, there was a pit across the trail. I found a length of wood and pole-vaulted it. Then Grundy ran up behind me. I helped him cross the obstacle.” She glared at Grundy, finishing with “Then he pushed me in the pit and took off. I was knocked out by the fall to the bottom. And Grundy left me there for the kidnappers to find and take.”
The instructors all seemed to grow a few inches in stature and breadth as they pivoted to stare expectantly at Grundy. Peevy spoke for all of them. “This true, Grundy?”
“Fuck no.”
“You gonna add lying to your long list of character flaws?” Peevy asked quietly.
“It’s my word against hers!” Grundy exploded.
Peevy nodded solemnly. “That is true. Thing is, she’s the one who was kidnapped, escaped, trekked through the Mojave Desert evading Spetsnaz operators, and capped it off by diving into a fight against said operators to help out Caldwell. That gives her word a certain weight that yours lacks.”
Griffin spoke up. His voice was so cold it sent shivers down Sherri’s spine. “Lieutenant Tate overheard her kidnappers talking about their inside man here at BUD/S. If we have our research people dig into your life, Grundy, are we gonna find some funny money in a bank account, maybe a gambling problem or some blackmail pictures of you lying around? Are you the one who threw me and Tate under the bus? Did Abu Haddad’s guys get to you?”
The bluster went out of Grundy all at once. His shoulders drooped, and his entire body seemed to fold in on itself.
Ray Peevy stepped forward and wrenched Grundy’s arms behind his back. Someone handed Ray a zip tie, which he secured around Grundy’s wrists. “You’re under arrest, Grundy. Do not say anything until the military police arrive and can properly inform you of your rights.”
“What’s gonna happen to him?” one of the trainees in the back of the crowd asked.
Peevy replied, “We’re going to
get a full written confession from him, and there are some intelligence analysts who will want to speak with him before he ships out for Fort Leavenworth.”
Sherri winced. Leavenworth was the military’s federal prison.
She glanced around and realized that every single man in the mess hall—trainee or SEAL—was staring at Grundy with silently damning eyes.
Peevy took a long look around the assemblage and then locked stares with Grundy. “Look around, my friend. You’ve been judged and found lacking. You’re not one of us.”
“This is your fault, Tate—” Grundy started.
Griffin snarled, “Ray told you not to talk. If you value your life, Grundy, take the man’s advice.”
The SEALs nearest to her subtly shifted positions until they formed a solid wall of protective bodies around her.
A pair of military police came in and took custody of Grundy, reading him his rights as they marched him out of the chow hall. Sherri watched them load Grundy in the back of a squad car and pull away.
In the wake of his exit, Sherri joined in with the collective exhale of relief around her. SEALs were violent people who lived in a violent world, but they were also honorable to the core. A criminal betrayal by someone who had come close to becoming one of them seemed to shake everyone in the room.
Good. She wasn’t alone in being appalled.
The Smurfs burst out cheering and pounding Sherri on the back enthusiastically as the wall of SEALs around her broke up and people headed back to their breakfasts.
Grimacing in discomfort, she begged, “Easy, guys. My Hell Week only just ended. I’m gonna need a few days to recover. In the meantime, I’m a wee bit sore.”
Her teammates laughed and herded her over to a table, insisting she sit down while they fetched breakfast for her.
She spied a familiar profile heading for the exit beside Ray Peevy. Griffin pointedly didn’t look over at her as he passed by her table.
She got the message loud and clear. When push came to shove, and any other SEALs were present, he wasn’t about to be caught showing her any feelings. He would step back from her every time, setting her away from him the way he had in that valley.
Right. As long as she was in the SEAL pipeline, her love for him was futile. And doomed.
