The SEAL's Promise (Safehouse Security)

by Grace Alexander

  "No way. I think they figured they'd had a long day, and I'd take care of this. Bet you they've wrangled dinner and are waiting for us to mosey on back."

  "Well, let's go. I need to see Drake."

  "Yes, ma'am. Anything to see ole McKay wrapped around a girl's finger."

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Tessa peeled through thick bushes. Wide leaves obscured her view. Spiderwebs caught on her skin, netting her face. Insects used her as a landing zone before vaulting into the dark abyss. It had to be the dead of night, but it felt like the sun was high overhead. Cason marched them toward the shack, and with each step, she made a list of things she'd say to Drake. The list started with don't get hurt again and ended with hold me.

  One more step and Cason cleared the shrubbery, holding back a large branch for her. She slipped into the clearing. A massive beam of relief well in her chest. This horror story was over, and all she wanted to do was crawl into Drake's arms to sleep.

  Less than a dozen yards away, that simple shack stood, waiting for her return. But this time, she wouldn't be alone. Amber light shined between the slats and glowed at the front opening. Pure joy energized her faster than a red-eye latte. She'd seriously have to re-evaluate what made her happy when she was back on American soil. Flimsy shacks shouldn't make her so giddy. But a wounded warrior who liked to lounge with her? That'd be tops on her list of the super happy. Minus the wounded part.

  Angry, male complaints poured out of the shack. She picked up her pace, craning to see the problem.

  Drake careened out the door. He was backlit and illuminated, and he didn't see her or Cason ahead. He looked colossal. Perfect and heroic. She needed to be held in those arms and couldn't get to him fast enough.

  Behind him, Joseph cursed and shouted. "No one else falls for a woman. Never ever again."

  She slammed into Cason's backside. He was bent at the waist, laughing. His jungle suit hung off his torso, rifle dangling in one hand. He was always laughing, and she had no time for a roadblock. Tessa bounded around him, lunging out of the shadows for Drake.

  Torment and relief. His face played a quick variety of emotions that she could name, but she didn't want to play psychologist. She just wanted his arms wrapped tights around her. She wanted everything to be all right and would only believe it when he hugged her.

  "Hey there, doll." His voice cracked.

  "You're alive." She palmed his cheeks. "Don't ever scare me like that again—and no more getting hurt. Do you understand?"

  First thing on her list. Check. What was number two? She had no idea because all she wanted to say was kiss me.

  He didn't say okay, and he wasn't nodding.

  "Did you hear me, Drake? Don't leave me like that ever again."

  He hooked an arm around her waist, and she went on tiptoes. He swiped a wisp of hair and tucked it behind her ear. The pad of his thumb traced her cheek as he cupped his giant hand around her face. The world slowed down. A gentle buzz ran through the air. Electrical pulses quaked around them. If it hadn't been for the blood, the sweat, the violence, and the depravity, this might have been the most romantic moment in her entire existence.

  Cason cruised by them. "You're welcome, buddy. I'll let you know how you can repay this teensy favor later."

  Drake folded her into him, sighing and breathing against her ear. The sizzle of his breathy clasp shivered down her spine. Thousands of nerve pathways burst to life, crackling to her core. His forehead dipped and met hers, and the touch burned. They breathed in unison. No words. No explanations.

  She swayed against him, and he stifled the quietest of groans.

  "Oh, I forgot. You're hurt." Tessa struggled to detach herself, but his grip was firm, unwavering, cementing her against his broad chest. "Let me go, Drake. You shouldn't do that."

  "Just give me a sec." A heartbeat later, he ran his hands over her face, down her neck, and settled his grip on her shoulders. "You're beautiful. You deserve so much more than this."

  "Yeah, I deserve a candlelit dinner. Put it on your list of things to do. Come on. Let's go inside. You need to rest."

  "Just let me hold you. I need this. To know you're okay and safe. That's everything that I need."

  She stopped struggling and melted into his embrace. "I can't believe you worried about me. You were shot."

  He relaxed around her, caressed her cheeks again, and tilted her gaze to his.

  Her heart fluttered. "Drake?"

  His lips touched hers. Delicate and soft. Not at all how she thought he might kiss her right now. Nothing she'd expect after their awful adventures. He was sweet. Careful. Savoring.

  He stopped, but his lips still moved against hers. So quiet the words, she almost missed them. "I'll never forget."

  She'd never forget this either, but a sentimental Drake McKay was something altogether new to her. Another facet to the man. Every day, she learned more about him. And, thanks to him, about herself, too.

  "Tessa—"

  "Enough is enough. Get in here, right now," Joseph called from the shack, a short distance away.

  Drake smiled, straightened, then winced. She could tell he was in far more pain than he admitted.

  "You need to sleep and eat." She pulled back and gave him a wink and a smile. "They've got bug juice."

  "Bug juice, huh? What do you know about that?"

  "I know it tastes like the ugly step-brother to watered-down Kool-Aid mixed with day-old seltzer."

  "That's an accurate description."

  "And they've got edible plastic that looks like spaghetti."

  "MREs? Well, aren't you the seasoned field grunt?"

  "You know it."

  "McKay," Joseph shouted out the door. "Collect your woman and move in."

  "What do you say, woman? Ready to be collected?" He scooped her into his arms and tried to hide the flex of his jaw and the sawing of his teeth with a closed-lip smile.

  "You're insane."

  "Probably," he laughed.

  "Put me down. You're hurt. I'm not."

  "Tell me what to do because I'm hurt one more time, doll, and we're going to have a problem."

  Without waiting for a response, he limped them to the shack, brushed past Joseph, and set her down by the table, bracing a hand on it. He breathed heavy. Sweat sprouted fresh on his brow.

  "You okay, McKay?" Joseph eyed him, wary.

  "Yeah. Dehydrated."

  Joseph continued to study him. "You take something for the pain?"

  "Yeah. Something."

  Barrett, a few feet behind Drake, shook his head. Joseph noticed. Tessa noticed. Everyone but Drake noticed.

  He cracked his knuckles against the table and shifted his weight. "I just ripped out the bandages in my cuts and doused it with cauterizing powder. Hurts. Blazing pain. Not in the mood to dwell on it. That okay with you, boss?"

  Joseph didn't respond. The guys looked concerned, but whether it was because he challenged Joseph or his spectacular wound care decisions, she didn't know.

  Tessa broke the tension. "Well then, let's get you some water."

  "Bug juice," Joseph said.

  "Bug juice," she said more for Joseph than Drake. "Cason, you mind?"

  Cason tossed him the bottle. She realized this group of men loved to throw things. Why was that? They were an arm's length apart. It had to be some unwritten code.

  Drake opened the bottle and guzzled it quickly. "Got any Twizzlers in this shack?"

  Cason chuckled. "Nope. But we've got beef stew, beef bbq, beef—"

  "Cason." Tessa glared at him.

  "Learning their tricks, doll?" Drake asked, eyebrows raised.

  "Two of them, I have pegged." She pointed to Joseph, who grumbled, and Cason, who threw his hands up in innocence. "These other two, we'll see."

  "Pays to have a couch doctor around. She'll get into your brains." Drake pulled his shirt from his ripped stomach and mopped the sweat on his face. "How is it a million degrees here, but I'm freezing? I need to shake this off
."

  Joseph eyed him again. "That bug juice helping?"

  "Yeah, it might be." Drake grumbled under his breath.

  Not wanting to tread on Joseph's steel-toed boots, but not wanting Drake to topple over in a pile of rock-hard, shot-up muscle, Tessa said, "Why don't you get some rest? Lie down on that bed over there. I'll keep you company. That bed isn't so bad. Scratchy, but you won't even notice."

  He nodded and stumbled over. Cason and Barrett took an arm to help him down, then he shut his eyes, asleep almost instantly. She scooted by the guys and plopped beside him. His eyes pinched tight as if in tremendous pain. Sleep wasn't helping. His harsh, jagged snores couldn't find an even cadence.

  Tessa stood, found the packet of moist wipes, and went back to the mat. He didn't stir as she wiped off his face, starting at his forehead and working down to his chin. Fresh sweat bubbled up, creating a pathway of droplets from one side of his temple to the other. His scruff was now a full beard, and she tried to smooth it down.

  He looked like death warmed over and like his body revolted against the offered peace treaty of sleep. Sweat drenched his shirt. The pants, torn and shredded, clung to his huge thighs. One pant leg fell open at a tear, showing a very red, very raw, wound.

  "Joseph." She wavered, not wanting to interrupt the men now bent over the table, working on their extraction plans. No one heard her. She didn't want to do anything to slow down plans to get out of Colombia. But her gut said emergency, emergency.

  She approached cautiously. From the part she heard, a chopper would be there the day after next. It was running an unexpected extraction for another team. A few more days, she could handle it. Bug juice and MREs. One mat and a bunch of grumpy, stinking men who'd probably been awake going on thirty-six hours. And then there was the uncomfortable dilemma of communing with nature. They didn't seem to have a problem wandering off. She, on the other hand, did.

  Joseph hadn't been a fan of her interruptions when he ordered men around the shack. Tessa would've wagered that an interruption amid strategy planning was a worse offense.

  "Joseph." She cleared her throat. "Something's wrong with Drake."

  "Yeah, he's been shot, ran a marathon through the rainforest, and has to deal with you. He needs to sleep. He'll be fine."

  Deal with me? Joseph was a tool of the lowest order. But she was in the right, and he needed to at least check on Drake.

  "I wouldn't bother you if I didn't see a change."

  Joseph rolled his eyes. Did he do these things just to make her spitting angry?

  "Do you think that I want to slow our departure?" she asked. "That I like peeing in the woods, or sitting around with all you smelly men? No. Take a look at him because he's not doing well." Joseph brought out the worst in her. Had she ever yelled at one man so many times?

  Joseph tilted his head at Barrett. "Humor her."

  Tessa wanted to kick him, but it wouldn't help her argument. Instead, she glared at him and pursed her lips.

  Barrett, who was balancing on the back legs of a chair, let it fall and put down the map he had been reviewing. "Stubborn fool should have taken a pain pill."

  He pushed his hands off his knees and stood. Tessa wanted to grab him by his belt loops and drag him over to Drake, but Barrett didn't seem the type to be pushed around by anyone. Not that their off-putting grumbles brought her to a full stop before. Still, she was going to give him a hot second before she forced him into gear.

  Barrett ambled to the mat and dropped down to a knee. Tessa hovered over him, ignoring his annoyance. He put the back of his hand on Drake's forehead and took it away and took his pulse. He scowled and repeated the process.

  "Not good?" Joseph asked.

  With two fingers on Drake's neck again, Barrett waited. "Yeah, not good."

  What did that mean?

  Joseph's eyebrows knit. "Meaning?"

  "We've got a problem." Barrett's hands moved back to Drake's forehead.

  "He's got a high fever and a rapid pulse."

  Joseph stalked over. "What's going on, Barrett? I thought you gave him some heavy-hitting antibiotics strong enough to stop the plague."

  "I did. Something's wrong."

  Tessa felt tiny in the room of raging testosterone but spoke up anyway. "Well, yeah, he's been shot."

  "No, McKay gets shot all the time."

  Oh, of course he does. What on earth?

  Barrett must have seen something on her face and backpaddled. "Well, not all the time. But enough that he knows how to handle it. Let's see what our boy missed."

  Barrett pulled a knife out of his back pocket and flipped it open. Before she could wonder why, he cut Drake's pant legs straight to the waistline, sheathed the knife, and inspected his legs. Drake didn't stir.

  He took the knife out again and repeated the cut on the front of his shirt. It sprawled on each side of Drake, who trembled. His teeth chattered.

  Barrett motioned to Raid. "Help lean him over. I want to see his back."

  Raid stepped forward. Cason and Joseph followed, and then Raid and Cason braced Drake's shoulder, lifting him up and on his uninjured side. Drake didn't wake up. His limp body dropped forward.

  Barrett cut the remnants of Drake's shirt off. "This isn't good."

  Tessa tried to see around the men. Their muttering did little to explain what was happening.

  "What's the problem?" Joseph asked.

  "Shrapnel," Barrett said. "He probably couldn't feel the difference between the gunshot wound and where the shrapnel entered. He's had more blood loss than I'd originally estimated and a festering infection."

  "How much time do we have?" Joseph demanded.

  Barrett hummed. "It depends. The best-case scenario leans toward dehydration-aggravated infection."

  Joseph crossed his arms. "And the worst?"

  "Worst case would be septic shock."

  Tension ticked on Joseph's face. "What does your gut say?"

  Barrett quickly glanced at her and back to Joseph. "The worst is more likely. We need to get him to a medical facility ASAP."

  The analysis hurt deep in her chest. "And if we can't?" she asked.

  Barrett shook his head. "He needs a doctor, Tessa."

  Joseph grabbed the radio handset and strutted out the shack door.

  "He'll be fine," Tessa mumbled.

  Nobody responded with words of comfort and lies.

  She swallowed past a knot of despair. "Well, what are we supposed to do until Drake gets to a hospital? Anything?"

  "With what we have, not much we can do." Barrett moved to a backpack. "This is the last of the antibiotics. But we need to cool him down. I don't see anything to do that with. We need to keep watch."

  "Watch for what?"

  "To make sure he keeps breathing."

  Tears leaked. Her throat seized in pain. "And if he stops breathing?" The words barely passed her lips, and the prickle of cold sweat beaded on the nape of her neck.

  "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, Tessa."

  "I don't care what I said before." Joseph's bark streamed into the shack. "Get me that chopper now, or my man is good as dead."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  They landed at an airfield somewhere in Virginia. The last twenty-four hours was a hazy blur, and Tessa had yet to sleep any length of time.

  Whatever Joseph did to re-route a helicopter worked. She heard whispers that another team needed it as bad, and she hoped they survived. But it didn't keep her from thanking God they were choppered out of that jungle.

  Her fingers interlaced with Drake's limp, nonreactive fingers. He was in a coma after they'd taken a helicopter ride to a field clinic and then boarded a private jet back to the US.

  Drake was still out and scaring her. Barrett, who had some medical training, monitored him, but he wasn't a doctor and didn't have the equipment he wanted.

  Now, they were meeting a red medevac chopper. Tessa saw the medical flight crew waiting for Drake as they landed. The medical team boarde
d as quickly as they stopped, and with expert efficiency, unlocked his gurney and hooked him into their travel equipment.

  Then he was gone.

  Barrett disappeared with Drake and the medical team. Emotion choked Tessa, and she realized that this was where their crazy adventure stopped.

  A cough caught her attention, and she turned to see that one of the medical crew members remained with Joseph. He pointed at her. "This is Tessa. She goes where Drake goes. Tell whoever you need to."

  Tessa's mouth dropped and hung slack-jawed. Her thoughts of gratitude scrambled to form before she pulled it together to mouth, thank you. She didn't have the energy to do anything more.

  "Great." The MedTech nodded to Joseph. "I've got what I need." He gestured to Tessa. "Let's go."

  Joseph gave her a stern lift of his chin, but she could tell he wasn't unemotional.

  They said quick goodbyes, and she stayed with the medevac crew. Immediately, they were airborne again. Not flying high, but they moved forward like a hurricane blast.

  A crew member gave her headphones. It muffled the dull roar from the chopper blades. When the pilot talked to the hospital, it sounded so formal—their estimated time of arrival, Drake's condition, and his vitals.

  Tessa watched out the window, not wanting to hear his reality. The farther away they flew, the more the Safehouse team became tiny action figures trudging to their waiting trucks and SUVs. Just another day in the life of those guys. Parking their vehicles at a private airstrip to go battle evil, dodge bullets, and save the day.

  One truck remained—Drake's—and she focused on it until it was out of sight.

  What a crazy life. It should've scared her, but it didn't. He'd pull out of this. No problem. He'd be up, ready, and waiting for another chance to chase down the bad guys. She laughed. Tangle. He loved that word. He wanted to tangle with the bad guys. Always looking for the righteous fight. This was how he earned a well-paid living, doing right in the shadowy face of malice. His job was an intrinsic part of him, which made her proud. He was her body-armor-clad dark knight — a silent hero. The man wagered his life in high stakes combat games. He had the training, and she'd seen that in action. He was careful and deliberative, tough as he was smart.