Protected by a Hero

by Susan Stoker, Cristin Harber, Cora Seton, Lynn Raye Harris, Kaylea Cross, Katie Reus, Tessa Layne

  Tex was a man who knew everyone and he was a former SEAL himself, so it was only natural that Wolf and his team relied on him for intelligence and information. Tex had been wounded on a mission and had medically retired from the Navy, but it seemed he was just as active today, if not more so, as when he’d been on the teams.

  Ghost had greeted Wolf warmly. “Good to see you, Wolf.”

  “You too, Ghost. Let’s get a move on, we can debrief onboard.”

  Ghost and his team usually flew commercial to try to stay under the radar, but for this mission, time was of the essence, and it was more important to get over to Cairo and help rescue the remaining hostages than it was to try to be stealthy. As far as anyone knew, they were a part of the SEAL team, not Delta Force.

  After the thirteen men got settled on the plane and they were in the air, as the highest-ranking soldier, Ghost started the debriefing and didn’t beat around the bush.

  “Okay, here’s what we know…which isn’t a lot. Reports are sketchy coming out of Cairo, more so because no one seems to know exactly what’s going on inside the building. There’s no definite number of militants and no real count of how many hostages there might be.”

  “So we’ve got a whole lot of who-the-hell-knows-what,” Wolf bit out, obviously pissed off.

  “That about covers it,” Ghost agreed.

  “As much as it sucks, we’re gonna need to take a day or two for reconnaissance,” Fletch stated. “We can’t make a move until we know where those hostages are being held.”

  “Agreed,” Abe, one of the SEALs, stated. “The last thing we want is to go in balls to the wall and get innocents killed.”

  All the men hated the delay, but it was a necessary one.

  “All right. Let’s discuss Plan A. Then we’ll figure out a Plan B, C, and D. If all else fails, get the fuck out of there and to safety with as many hostages as you can find,” Ghost ordered, smoothing the map out on the table in front of them.

  Mozart, another of the SEALs, groaned. “Easier said than done.”

  “No shit,” Beatle agreed.

  “Okay, here’s the plan…”

  The men strategized, argued, and discussed various plans of action all the way across the ocean. Finally, hours after they’d taken off, the military plane landed. All thirteen men on board were locked and loaded—ready to take out as many bad guys as possible, and bring home as many hostages as they could get their hands on.

  * * *

  Rayne bit back the moan of fright that threatened to come out of her throat. They’d been stuck inside the locked room for what seemed like hours, but when they were finally freed, the situation wasn’t anything they had imagined it would be.

  A gruff-looking Egyptian man had opened the door and been followed in by three others. All four men were holding automatic rifles and they’d immediately started ordering them to do something in Egyptian.

  It was Michael—of course it was Michael—who was stupid enough to complain to the men that he didn’t understand what they wanted. He was rifle-butted in the face for his insolence. Afterwards, Michael hadn’t complained again.

  They were herded into another room, which held about twenty other tourists, and another five or so men and boys with loaded weapons. Rayne and Sarah huddled close together, not wanting to get separated. The other couples had done the same thing, and Rayne couldn’t help but get a lump in her throat at watching how Leon, Eduardo, and Steve put themselves between the men with rifles and their wives. Finally, after another hour or so, their entire group was moved into another room, this one again with no windows. The doors were shut once more and they were all locked in.

  The thirty or so of them spent the next day confused, hungry, and terrified out of their minds. Rayne felt disgusting in her T-shirt and jeans and, as inappropriate as it was, wished she could wash the sweat and fear off with a scalding-hot shower.

  A couple of times some of the men banged and kicked at the doors, with no luck. Finally, after they were all frightened beyond belief and beyond the need to rebel, the group was led once again to another room. This one looked as if it had been a ballroom at one time.

  There were ornate carvings and paintings on the walls, and red tapestries hung as curtains from the windows. The incongruence between the opulence of their surroundings and the way they felt—beaten down, smelly, hungry, and scared—was jarring. Overall, there were probably around sixty or so hostages in the large room. Rayne couldn’t tell what country everyone was from, except not everyone was speaking English. There was what sounded like French, German, Spanish, and some Slavic language thrown in as well. But at the moment they were allies, thrown into this awful situation by fate, and nationality didn’t matter.

  Sarah and Rayne immediately went to the back of the room, away from the windows and doors, and sat down against the wall. Rayne whispered urgently to Sarah, wiping sweat from her brow from the warm room and the stress. “Don’t do anything to call attention to yourself. Nothing, you hear me? Don’t get hysterical, if no one else is. Try not to throw up. Don’t yell at anyone, don’t get in any arguments. If you call attention to yourself, you’re making yourself a target, and that’s the last thing you want to do in a situation like this. Blend in or die, Sarah. I’m not kidding.”

  “How in the world do you know these things? I don’t remember them teaching that to us in flight attendant school,” Sarah questioned in wonder.

  “My brother is in the Army. Counterterrorism. He taught me.”

  The women were quiet for a while as they watched what was happening around them. Rayne wasn’t surprised when Michael tried to make himself the leader of the large group. Rayne could’ve told him it was the wrong thing to do, but he wouldn’t have listened to her anyway.

  For the first day or two in the ballroom, their captors ignored them for the most part. They brought in slabs of some kind of meat and cheese, and buckets of water for them all to share, but that was about it. After they’d emptied one of the buckets, it was put in a far corner for use as a bathroom.

  When Michael started getting mouthy with the guards and demanding to be let go, Rayne could tell they were losing their temper.

  On the third day of their captivity—Rayne didn’t know why they were being held captive or by who, but supposed it was a moot point anyway—the guards apparently had had enough of Michael and some of the other more demanding hostages.

  The entire group was ordered to line up. Women in one line and men in another. Rayne watched sadly as Diana and Eduardo, Leon and Paula, and Tracy and Steve said tearful goodbyes. No one had any idea what in the world was going on, and being separated from each other suddenly seemed like a death sentence.

  Becky and Michael flatly refused to do as their captors said. Michael stood next to his wife with his arm around her shoulders and declared, “No. You can’t separate us. This is my wife and she is very delicate. We aren’t going anywhere; you need to let us go. You’re all gonna die anyway, so you might as well give up now!”

  Rayne couldn’t believe how stupid Michael was. She had no idea what he thought his little speech was going to accomplish, but it was evident that it irritated the man who was trying to get everyone in order.

  He pulled out his rifle and shot Michael in the head, and when Becky started screeching, put two bullets into her without a word of warning.

  The room was silent as their bodies fell to the ground with a thud. No one dared scream. No one wanted to piss off the unstable man who’d just murdered two people in front of them without seeming to think twice about it.

  “Anyone else want to complain about your treatment? Anyone else want to be set free?”

  No one said a word.

  The man, apparently still pissed off, turned and shot the man in line closest to him, then killed the closest woman as well. He gave no explanation, simply turned and walked out of the room, saying something to the other captors in Egyptian before he left.

  “You men, yes, you four in line. Pick up bo
dies and throw out window, there,” another captor ordered. His English was broken, but more than understandable.

  Rayne watched, trembling and weak from fear and hunger, as the men did as they were told. Michael and Becky’s bodies were dragged to the window and tipped out. Next came the other man and woman, who’d done nothing except stand too close to Michael.

  Everyone was silent as the women were herded out one door and the men were led away through a door on the opposite side of the big room. Everyone had thought, or was deluding themselves into thinking that the situation would end nonviolently up until that point. Now they all knew they were expendable. There was no telling when their captors would get sick of them and decide it was easier to throw their dead bodies out a window than feed them, give them water, or deal with them in any way.

  For the first time since they’d been locked in that first room, Rayne thought there was a higher-than-average chance she wouldn’t live through whatever was going on. She’d never see her brother and sister again. Would never go dancing with Mary. And would never, ever have the opportunity to see Ghost again.

  Why that last thought was the one that made her the saddest was beyond her, but a lone tear made its way down her cheek as Rayne meekly followed behind Sarah to wherever and whatever the militants had planned for them.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Fletch kept his binoculars trained on the building in front of him as he spoke to Ghost. “The curtains are pulled back in this room. Looks like three in the top-right room. Armed with AK-47s, probably around thirteen, mid-twenties and mid-forties.”

  “Any hostages?” Ghost asked in a quiet voice.

  “Not that I can see, but I’m guessing they’re there. The men are holding their weapons as if they’re guarding someone, or some people. In the rooms where there haven’t been any hostages or curtains, the weapons are slung across their backs. They’re probably sitting.”

  “Any chance we can move to do a head count?”

  “Doubtful. We’d have to get up pretty high to see down into that room, and there aren’t any buildings around here that’ll work for that.”

  “Dammit,” Ghost swore. “It’s not good that they separated the men from the women.”

  Fletch lowered the binoculars and looked over at his friend and teammate. “It’s not. But this isn’t anything new. What’s up with you, Ghost?”

  Ghost sighed but remained silent.

  “Does it have anything to do with that new tattoo on your leg?” Fletch pushed.

  “I told you before, I’m not talking about it,” Ghost ground out between clenched teeth. Even though he was close friends with Fletch, it didn’t feel right sharing what had happened between him and Rayne all those months ago. And his tattoo was special. Sacred. Not something to be gossiped about as if they were giggling pre-teens.

  Fletch sighed. “Look, I’m not an idiot. None of us are. We know that something happened on your layover in London earlier this year. Not talking about it isn’t helping you. You know better than to let shit stay bottled up inside. It festers. You’ve got a hair trigger and you seem to be letting things like this situation bother you more than you used to. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, but you can’t let this get to you. And you are, much more than you ever did before.”

  “It’s not festering, and I’m not fucking talking about it.”

  Fletch went on as if his friend hadn’t just shut him down. “If I had to guess, I’d say this was over a woman. You met someone and had a great time…and now you regret sleeping with her, which isn’t like you, but whatever. Was she fat? Ugly? Will she not leave you alone? Is that the problem?” Fletch knew it wasn’t any of those things, but he kept pushing to see if he could get a rise out of his friend. Any reaction was better than the blank look on Ghost’s face when he refused to talk about whatever it was that went down.

  “Let me guess, she was a shitty lay. No, I have it—did she give you VD? Is that the issue? Because if it is, you can go to the doctor and—”

  “For fuck’s sake, Fletch, she didn’t give me VD. Christ.”

  “So there was a woman.”

  Ghost ran his hand over his face wearily. Fletch had been on him for weeks, trying to goad him into letting something slip, and it looked as though he’d finally gotten his way. But Fletch was a good friend, someone Ghost trusted. And Lord knew he needed to talk to someone about this shit. Guess they were going to gossip as if they were pre-teens after all.

  “Yeah. She was…awesome.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  Ghost turned to his friend. “We’re Delta.”

  “And?”

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  Fletch shook his head. “Look, I’m not saying any relationship would be easy, but you know it can work.”

  “I lied to her, Fletch. Every fucking thing out of my mouth was a lie.”

  “You tell her you wanted to be her boyfriend?”

  “No.”

  “You tell her you loved her?”

  “Fuck no.”

  “That you’d call her? Write? Send her gushy love letters?”

  “Dammit, Fletch. No.”

  “Then I don’t see the issue.”

  “I liked her. She was…feisty. Sweet. Down-to-earth. Loyal.”

  “Wow,” Fletch breathed. “I never thought I’d see the day that horndog Ghost fell head-over-heels for a woman.”

  “I’m not head-over-fucking-heels, asshole.”

  “I’d say you are. Look at you, man. You went and got a tattoo that not only blows your cover as Army—the huge fucking Army logo did that, if nothing else—but you got a fairy wand tattooed on your body as well. And not once in your description of this woman did you say anything about what she looks like.”

  “So?”

  “So?” Fletch shook his head. “Buddy, every time you’ve ever described one of the women you’ve slept with, you started with her tits. Or her ass, how beautiful she was, how short, how tall, how curvy…something about her body. This woman? Not one damn thing.”

  Ghost stared long and hard at his friend. He was right. Oh, Rayne was beautiful, but he wasn’t about to discuss her with his friends. She was his. “Fuck, man, I didn’t even give her my real name.”

  “So what?” Fletch returned immediately.

  “She thinks I’m John Benbrook.”

  “You didn’t give her your nick?”

  “I did.”

  “So she knows the real you.”

  “Ghost isn’t the real me.”

  “Bullshit. Ghost is you, and you know it. The name fits you better than any nickname I’ve ever heard of before. You’re light on your feet and can get in and out of places undetected in a way none of the rest of us can. You’re spooky how you know when we’re in deep shit and have to get the hell out. If this woman was calling you Ghost, then she knows the real you.”

  “I lied about everything else too. I made up a girlfriend for my fifteen-year-old self. I made up where I was from. I lied about being held up once. Jesus, Fletch, I fucking lied to her about everything.”

  “What about the sex? Were you faking it then too?”

  Ghost had no idea the lines in his face smoothed out and a look of contentment stole over him as he spoke. “No. Not one thing was faked when we were in bed together.”

  “When we get back, you have to find her, Ghost.” Fletch held up a hand to stop the argument he knew his friend was going to make. “If I ever meet a woman who makes me look like you do right now, you can bet I’d never let her go.”

  When Ghost didn’t respond, Fletch continued. “You lied. I get it; that sucks. She’s gonna be pissed. But you’re Delta, man. Top secret. You were on the way home from a mission. There are a thousand reasons why you lied, but you didn’t lie about the most important thing, Ghost. The way you felt when you were with her. That speaks a thousand times louder than any of that other shit.”

  “Jesus, I feel as if I’m on Dr. Phil or something,” Ghost griped
.

  Fletch smiled. “I might not be the smartest man on the block, but if I had a sweet, feisty woman waiting for me at home, who could take my cock night after night and leave me with the memories you obviously have until the next time I could get home, I’d do anything in my power to hold on to her.”

  Ghost nodded. Fletch had always been the more introspective one of their group. He was closed off and secretive, and didn’t trust easily, but once you got past all that, he was steadfast in his loyalty.

  A large blast sounded in the building across the square and both men immediately turned their attention back to their job. The binoculars were back in front of Fletch’s eyes and Ghost tried to ascertain where the blast came from.

  “Northwest corner of the complex. Smoke,” Ghost told Fletch.

  “Oh shit,” was his response.

  “What? Shit what?” Ghost asked urgently, looking down at his friend and seeing he hadn’t swung his gaze to the northwest corner, but was still looking at the room they’d last discussed.

  “There are definitely hostages in that room. No tangos in there with them anymore, but there’s a group of women pounding on the door with all they’ve got. Oh shit, it’s—”

  His words were cut off when the entire corner of the building, right where the room full of hostages had been, disappeared from their view under a fiery blast and a column of smoke.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “We can’t just sit here and do nothing,” Sarah exclaimed, obviously at the end of her rope.

  “What do you want to do? Demand to be released like that guy who got shot?” one of the other women being held with them jeered caustically.

  Rayne didn’t blame Sarah for being antsy. They’d been moved around several times since they’d been separated from the men. Diana, Paula, and Tracy weren’t dealing very well with wondering if their men were all right. Rayne would’ve felt the same way if she’d been with Ghost and he’d been separated from her. Fighting amongst themselves wasn’t going to help anything.

  She glanced over at the three men, actually two men and one boy, who were guarding them at the moment. The guards had been switching out, but it was obvious they were a ragtag bunch who didn’t really know what was going on day to day, they were just following orders.