SEAL in Charge

by Donna Michaels

  She shook her head. “They’re not allowed in here per protocol.”

  He muttered an oath, and appeared to be punching numbers in to his phone again. “Come on, come on. Pick up,” he growled, holding it to his ear.

  She eyed the console on the wall.

  “No, Sandy,” Archer said. “Don’t touch the equipment. It might drop our call. I’m calling building security now. You keep trying the door.”

  She rattled the handle a few times and pounded on the door again, but nothing happened. Then she heard a hiss in the corner by the trash can, and a pungent smell filled the air a second before a flash of fire appeared and flames shot out of the can.

  Dammit. Her pulse pounded in her ears, as she glanced up at the ceiling, willing the sprinkler system to kick in.

  It didn’t.

  If an accelerant was used, she didn’t think water would have much effect anyway. Trying to turn the can over to snuff it out was out of the question, because the flames were already melting the can.

  “...in a video conference room on the fourteenth floor.” Archer paced as he spoke into his phone. “I don’t care what your instruments say. There’s a fucking fire. I’m watching it now. Sandy Vickers is stuck in there. She can’t. The door is locked. Stop arguing with me and get upstairs and help her, goddammit.”

  Sandy had learned a long time ago not to wait around for help. She’d survived on her own. No one was going to help her now, either. Archer was doing all that he could, but he was too far away.

  Eyeing the door, she chewed her lip. Popping the pins on the hinges wouldn’t work. Access was triggered by—

  “The keypad,” Archer said. “Good girl. Estimate it on the other side, measure two palms down and bust the wall, Sandy.”

  With no hammer or anything like it available in the room, she knew it was either going to be her fist, elbow, knee, or foot. If the wall was steel reinforced, then her fist wasn’t a good option. Hell, none of them were. Self-defense classes had taught her that an elbow or knee had more impact than a fist, and two decades of tai chi had strengthened both.

  But before she could make up her mind, the power went out, taking the lights and her connection to Archer with it. The flames provided light, so with one hand holding her shirt over her nose and mouth, she used the other to steady herself and began to kick at the wall. Over and over she slammed her foot into the solid surface, glad she wore her sturdy black heels because they punctured the sheetrock.

  Letting go of her shirt, she dropped to her knees, grabbed the busted drywall and ripped pieces of it away. The air was hot and suffocating, and she could feel the flames getting closer. She had to get out...now. Holding her breath, she reached inside the hole, felt around until her fingers came in contact with wires then she yanked them hard. They broke free, and a second later, she heard the door click.

  Sandra scrambled to her feet and tugged on the handle, relief shooting through her when it opened. She stumbled into the hallway as security raced toward her.

  Then the fire alarms started to blare.

  Several men rushed into the burning conference room with fire extinguishers, while three others helped her to a chair in the reception area and shoved an oxygen mask on her. “Stay calm. The paramedics and fire department are on their way.”

  She hoped they put the fire out before it spread any further. Dave and Barbara exited a research room, and she watched them hurry down the hall toward the stairs with other workers, until Barb spotted her.

  “Oh my God, Sandra...are you okay?” Her friend rushed to her side.

  “What happened?” Dave asked, glancing from her to the commotion down the hall, his face paling. “Is there an actual fire?”

  She nodded. “Phone,” she croaked out, and removed the mask so they’d hear. “Call Archer.”

  The poor guy had to be going nuts. She knew she would’ve if the shoe had been on the other foot.

  “Keep that on, miss,” the security guy lectured, battling with her to put the mask back in place.

  “Archer,” she uttered again.

  Barb nodded and touched Dave’s arm. “She wants you to call Archer to let him know she’s okay.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Okay.” He dug his phone from his pocket and dialed. “Mr. Malone? It’s Dave. Sandy wanted me to call to tell you she’s okay.” He pulled the phone away from his ear and frowned at it. Then put it back and met her gaze. “I-I don’t understand. I wasn’t in there because you texted me beforehand and told me the conference was between you and Sandy. You didn’t need me in there.”

  More relief ripple through her. She knew there had to be an explanation. Then a shaft of anger pierced her chest. It still had to be someone from DHS to have access to that room. They had to have knowledge of equipment, too. Who the hell was manipulating them? She glanced around at the faces in front of her, knowing—with the exception of Barb and Dave—it could possibly be one of them. All she saw were concerned expressions.

  “Get these people out of here.” Another security guard came over and motioned toward the stairs. “Let’s go. Move her outside. The paramedics are waiting.”

  The next ten minutes were a blur as she was helped down fourteen flights of stairs to the sidewalk outside where she was met by a team of paramedics, who ushered her to the back of an open ambulance.

  As they checked her over and she answered their questions, as well as those from several firefighters who asked her about the firebomb, her mind started to work on the puzzle of who could’ve orchestrated today’s events...and why?

  And why was she so tired all of a sudden? And hallucinating? Had to be because a very familiar, broad, former Navy SEAL appeared out of the crowd and strode straight for her, determination, anger, and concern tightening his jaw.

  Only he wasn’t a hallucination. He was real. And warm. She knew this, because when she removed her oxygen mask, pushed off the back of the ambulance and stood—albeit haphazardly, with only one shoe—she was suddenly crushed against his wonderful...tangible...hard chest.

  “Sandy,” he muttered near her ear, his warm breath heating her neck. “Thank God.”

  Archer...

  Slipping her arms around his back, she relaxed against him and held on tight. “I’m okay,” she mumbled, shaking.

  Or was that him?

  Didn’t matter. Neither did remaining strong. Not with him. Sandy knew—with Archer—she could drop her armor for just a minute, let go of her control and allow someone else to be strong for her. Settling against him, she relished the feel of his strong arms banded around her, and the feel of his heart beating strong and sure...and damn, she needed this...hadn’t realized just how much she needed him to just hold her while she soaked up his warmth and strength.

  But only for a minute.

  Feeling better, she drew back, although not all the way out of his embrace, to stare into his face. “How’d you get here so fast? Has it been three hours?”

  She had no idea how much time had passed since that video screen had gone dark, but he was here now, in the flesh, all the way from the Jersey shore.

  Still holding her with one arm, he used his free hand to gently stroke her cheek. “It’s been an hour. I took a chopper. Two of our other team members are on their way, one is driving your SUV.”

  She nodded, curious to meet the others. She thought she’d heard one of them was another woman.

  He dipped down to peer straight into her eyes. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah.” She nodded again. “Although I broke two nails. And a shoe.”

  Chuckling, he kissed her forehead and banded his arms around her again. It was a little slice of heaven in her hellish morning, so she enjoyed it for a beat, smiling when she caught sight of Barb, still hovering nearby, giving her two thumbs up.

  “Can she go?” Archer asked the paramedics behind her.

  “Yes,” she answered for herself, having already refused transport to the hospital.

  He glanced from her back to the paramedi
cs and lifted a brow, apparently not willing to take her word for it.

  “Yes,” someone said behind her. “Just keep an eye on her. If she’s nauseated, coughing, dizzy, has chest pains, or blurry vision, call 911 immediately.”

  “Roger that,” Archer replied, his serious gaze boring into hers, as if waiting for her to acknowledge.

  She nodded and his gaze softened.

  “Let’s get you out of here,” he said, slipping an arm around her shoulders.

  She began to walk choppily because her other shoe was no doubt stuck in a piece of wall in that conference room. A frown pulled at her brow. She loved those shoes, dammit. An innocent casualty, along with everything else she’d left in there.

  Sandy stiffened and halted. “Wait. I can’t leave without my laptop and purse.” If either went missing, she had irreplaceable things inside them both. Some pertaining to this case...some personal. Either way... “I’m not leaving without them.”

  “Forget it,” he practically growled. “No way are you going back in that building.”

  She pulled him aside and leaned in close. “Look, I’m sure the fire consumed my notes and the photos I brought to the meeting, but I have them all saved on my computer. They, or something else we captured yesterday, must be the reason behind this incident. I’ll be damned if someone gets them, too.”

  His gaze narrowed a second before he nodded. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, then turned and disappeared into the crowd before she could ask how, since the fire department had the building on lockdown.

  Ten minutes later, Archer emerged through the crowd with her purple laptop bag in hand, the decidedly feminine floral print in no way diminishing his masculinity.

  Once again, he strode right to her, oblivious to the numerous female heads he turned, and an unguarded thrill shot down to her toes. “Here you go. I shoved your purse inside the bag, too.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled at him while taking the laptop bag from him. “How did you get inside?”

  Barb shook her head. “Don’t ask him that. If he tells you, he’ll have to kill you.”

  Amusement flickered through her as she shook her head at her friend. “Think that applies to assassins, Barb.” Although, he’d no doubt filled that roll a few times during his SEAL days. She turned her attention back to him. “Seriously, though, Archer. Thank you so much. How did you get these from my desk? It was locked.” The keys had been in her purse.

  “I know,” he replied, a slight twitch to his lips. “You may need a new desk. And a new door.”

  She snickered. Damn...she really liked this guy.

  A second later, he produced her missing shoe as if out of thin air, and her heart caught on the unexpected, thoughtful, sweet gesture.

  “How...?” she started to ask, then shut her mouth when he squatted down to slip it on her bare foot.

  His touch was gentle and warm and deliciously calloused, and liquid heat shot straight up her body mingling with a host of emotions the damn man was awakening in her.

  “Is everything okay now?” he asked, rising to stand in front of her, his gaze serious again. “Are we good to go?”

  Swallowing past a heated, swollen throat, she nodded and slung the strap of her laptop bag over her shoulder. Everything was so okay it was bad, and they were better than good, which was the problem.

  He slid an arm around her waist, nodded to Barb, then guided her to where Dave stood talking to his boss and several policemen and firemen. “You and I will be chatting at a later date,” he told her boss before walking with her toward a taxi waiting at the curb. “Before we go any further, we need to remove the batteries from our phones.”

  Good idea. Sandy dug her purse out of her laptop bag, then her cell from her purse and removed her battery. Her chest tightened at the thought of someone getting information off her phone. She didn’t care about her, but her son’s number and their texts were on it. She shoved the two pieces back in her purse and shook. “So help me, Archer, if someone uses any of this to get to Brian I’ll—”

  “Hey...” He turned her to face him. “It’s just a precaution. We don’t know if they’re compromised. There are several ways I could’ve received that false text from you this morning.”

  “And Dave from you,” she added.

  He blinked. Twice. “Possibly. I have an expert standing by to examine our phones. And if tampering is determined, we’ll handle it. I promise.”

  She clenched her jaw and nodded, feeling slightly less stressed.

  No one better threaten her son. No one.

  “Okay, momma bear. Let’s get you out of here,” he said, dimple appearing as he held the taxi door open for her, waiting until she got settled before sliding in next to her.

  As soon as he shut the door, the taxi pulled away, leading Sandy to conclude Archer had ordered this ride earlier. It’s the reason it was already at the curb and why the driver hadn’t waited for them to give him her address. It’d already been given.

  At least...she had assumed Archer was taking her home, but when the cab crossed the Williamsburg Bridge and headed south, she turned to the SEAL in charge next to her and frowned. “Where are we going?”

  He leaned close and spoke low, “Somewhere safe,” his gaze a mixture of contradictions—with concern and stubbornness vying for top position.

  “But—”

  He silenced her with a finger pressed softly to her lips. “It’s not up for debate.”

  Chapter Seven

  Not up for debate?

  Sandra raised a brow.

  It would be...when they were alone.

  She must look like she’d gone ten rounds with a fireplace...and lost. Dust or ash streaked her clothes, which smelled like smoke. She’d lay odds her face was streaked with the stuff too. And her bun felt lopsided. She needed a shower and change of clothes—and a drink...even if it was still technically morning.

  Right now, though, he could have this win. They weren’t alone, so she wasn’t going to argue about where they were going.

  She nodded, and the movement caused her mouth to brush his finger. Heat flashed in his eyes, deepening the gorgeous gray color to a delicious slate hue. His jaw worked a time or two before he removed his touch and straightened in his seat. She glanced out her window and watched the Brooklyn streets go by and absently wondered if she was sitting next to Captain America.

  A smile tugged her lips. She supposed Archer could be considered a more mature version of Chris Evans. Eying the stoic man sitting next to her, she didn’t know what was driving her crazier, the silence, or the chemistry zinging between them.

  Both were a problem. One was fixable. The silence was, because he didn’t want to be overheard. It made sense. She agreed. The other, though? The chemistry? That was the elephant in the...cab.

  According to the clock on the dash, they’d been in the taxi twenty-eight minutes. So, after enduring nearly that length of charged silence, Sandy was happy when the cab finally stopped at a local pizzeria. One of her favorites, actually.

  Augustine’s was a gem of a discovery from way back when she used to bring Brian down to play ball during the summers. The two of them had been coming back ever since. Now...it was just her, although, not as often.

  While Archer paid for the cab, she pushed her nostalgia aside, and got out. Exiting on his side hadn’t been an option. That would’ve ensured physical contact with the guy, and she was still a little too unstable to tempt fate. Ignoring his frown, she walked around the cab to the sidewalk, doing her best to brush off her clothes, tighten her bun, and hopefully, wipe off whatever soot was on her face.

  As for the smoky smell of her clothes? She was out of luck.

  God, she was tired. The aroma of marinara wafted around them, and her stomach promptly growled.

  Tired and hungry.

  Archer stepped close. “You missed a spot,” he said, lifting a hand to brush her jaw with his thumb.

  So much for avoiding physical contact. Awareness shot down to
her toes and bounced back up.

  That was new.

  She cleared her throat. “Thanks...So...since the cab is gone, and we no longer have wheels, I’m guessing that ‘someplace safe’ you mentioned is close?”

  “Almost,” he said.

  “So why are we here?”

  His dimples appeared. “For pizza.” He must’ve sensed her impatience, because he reached for her hand and squeezed. “Just hang in there a little longer. I promise we’ll talk.”

  When she nodded, he led them inside, and she noted the place was empty except for two elderly patrons sharing a corner table while enjoying a heated discussion about spring training.

  Archer led her to the counter where he released her hand to...pay for a pizza?

  When had he ordered that?

  His phone was battery-less like hers. She’d assumed they were coming inside to order a pie, not pick one up.

  “Archer, you old, frogman! I thought that was you! Come on back.” The elderly owner waved from the kitchen through the small pass-through window.

  He grabbed the pizza with one hand and her hand with his other and headed through a swinging door into the kitchen. It was vacant, except for the owner. “Hi, Gus.” Archer smiled, shaking the old man’s hand. “How’ve you been?”

  Her mind reeled. He knew Gus, too?

  The owner’s gaze fell on her, and he grinned. “Not as good as you if you’re here with Sandy.” He pushed Archer aside to pull her in for their ritual hug. The octogenarian always remembered her, no matter how many months passed between her visits.

  “You’re too sweet.” Smiling, she hugged him quickly, hoping he didn’t notice her eau de smoke scent.

  “Nonsense.” He shook his head and stepped back. “I’m honest. You’re a doll, and I can see he agrees with me, too.” Gus set a hand on Archer’s shoulder before meeting her gaze. “And you could never find a better man than a Malone. I served with his father. Was best man at his parent’s wedding. Was his brother’s godfather. Wept like a baby the day his father and brother died. Still do, every September.”

  Archer stiffened next to her. She automatically reached out to set a hand on his back.