SEAL Firsts

by Sharon Hamilton

  “I’ll need a ravine, Coop. Something flashy,” Kyle said.

  “Got just the spot.” Cooper started his RTV and took off. Kyle was glad his started right up because Cooper was already out of sight. He followed the filtered headlight he saw through the trees.

  Coop revved up the RTV and sent it over the edge with a small explosive charge on it. When it hit the creek bottom it burst into a fireball, sending a long fiery tail up into the dark sky.

  Kyle hopped on behind Cooper, and they hauled ass off toward the hauler.

  Time to get the fuck out of Dodge.

  Everything was quiet when they got back, except for the hauler’s purring motor. They could hear Mia, inside, talking to Fredo. She was fully awake, but seemed to be in pain.

  Cooper lowered the rear of his van and pulled the other RTV inside, then pushed the button to roll up the door. Kyle saw the look of appreciation on the farm boy’s face.

  “Thanks, boss. You let me have the red one.”

  “Sure hope it was the right choice.” Kyle laughed as they ran to the door.

  “Don’t matter,” Coop said as he resumed his driver duties. “It was a steal.”

  The hauler came to life, and they motored out of the forest without revving the engine. They had parked on a slight knoll, so they were able to slide down the hill quietly and drive away to safety.

  Kyle observed Mia’s skin began to peel and bubble from the bomb and heat of the fire.

  “Coop. I need you to look at her. She’s blistering and starting to shiver. I think it’s shock,” Kyle shouted up the aisle to Cooper. They switched places just before they hit the main road. To the right were some distant lights. Kyle donned his night vision goggles, killed the hauler’s headlights, and turned left, back toward the coast. With the goggles, he had no trouble following the road and saw every raccoon, deer, and possum along the way.

  A half hour later, they pulled up to San Diego General Hospital emergency room. Kyle ran inside, then returned, followed by two attendants with a gurney. Mia was carefully unloaded to the gurney and taken inside.

  “We gotta split. Can’t have us here like sitting ducks,” Kyle said. “I’ll call her mom and get her over here.”

  The horizon was beginning to glow, indicating sunrise was a couple of hours away, as the three Team guys drove toward Coronado. Kyle started to feel the weight of their nearly twenty-four-hour shift. But it was a momentary lull. He’d learned in his training he could stay up for as many as three or four days in a row with just a couple of catnaps in between. Trick was to push through the low-energy phase until he got his second wind back. And it would come back. It always did. He would need it today.

  Kyle dialed Mama Guzman on the phone while Coop drove the Babemobile to where Fredo’s car was parked along the strip. He’d left it in the two-hour parking in front of Jimmy’s Bar and Grill. Sure enough, Fredo had earned a ticket, just like they’d planned. Fredo and Kyle got into Fredo’s car and headed back to base, Cooper tight on their tail in the hauler. At the base, while Cooper waited in the van down the block, Fredo and Kyle drove Fredo’s car past the guard shack to check who was on duty.

  They were in luck. Carlisle wasn’t around anywhere. They checked through, drove to the parking area, and waited for Coop, who passed through the guard gate without incident and parked the van where he usually did, then secured it. He wore Fredo and Kyle’s duty bags on him as if he were hauling a couple of spare oars on his back. Behind the locked and guarded gate, local officials would have to maneuver through the minefield of the Navy’s paperwork to get permission to search the vehicle. And Timmons could perhaps run interference, delaying the process further.

  There wouldn’t be any evidence of foul play since Cooper had sent the bloody sheets with Mia to the emergency room. Kyle figured nothing else there would tie them to the firefight or rescue.

  They stopped near the beach at a breakfast café that catered to surfers and an occasional Team guy still up from a night of raising hell. The sunlight shining on the water hurt Kyle’s eyes. He wanted a shower. He wanted to be tucked in and warmed by Christy’s smooth flesh.

  God, it had been hours since he’d thought about Christy. And he couldn’t help it now. This was the quiet before a shit-kicking storm that was about to come down on all of them. But one look from her, one kiss, would sure feel nice. She was good for him. Just that he was bad news for her.

  And that was exactly why he needed to stay away.

  He dug into his Mickey Mouse pancakes, delivered with a smirk by the waitress named Dottie, who could have been their grandmother. Fredo and Coop took turns punching him in the arm.

  “Glad you’re back to your old self,” Cooper said. The cook had learned long ago Kyle loved pancakes with mouse ears and chocolate chips. And four extra mini pitchers of syrup. He ate lots of chocolate and sweets when he was stressed.

  Fredo was having huevos rancheros, while Cooper stuck with his usual: oatmeal and a bacon and egg scramble.

  The coffee was thick like oil, but it tasted good, and they knew the caffeine would keep them awake until noon. That and the sugar rush.

  “You gotta call Timmons, man,” Fredo said.

  “I intend to.”

  “He’s probably worn a hole in that floor by now.”

  Kyle nodded and considered Fredo’s statement. “Hope he hasn’t gotten any flack from upstairs. We aren’t the most popular team around, you know.”

  “Wonder how Gunny’s holding up,” Cooper said, hanging his jaw in a frown. He motioned toward the last pitcher of syrup which had been only half drained.

  Kyle nodded. “Best thing for him is to learn we made it out alive,” Kyle said.

  “I’ll do that,” Fredo eagerly volunteered.

  “Fredo, you and Gunny mind meld or something? Where the hell are you going to find him?”

  Fredo stretched and then rolled his head, setting off several loud cracks from the back of his neck. “I’m feeling the need for a workout, boys. They’ll know down at the gym.”

  “Without him, it’ll be closed.”

  “Nah, he’ll ask someone to open it for him. He won’t let the boys miss a day of PT. He lives for that shit.”

  Fredo signed the “loser” signal with his thumb and index finger attached to his forehead, then got up and left the café. Cooper was scooping the last of Kyle’s maple syrup into his yogurt with a knife.

  Cooper looked up at Kyle and said, “Can’t give you a lift anywhere, unless you want to ride with me on the scooter.”

  “No worries. I’m walking, not going far.”

  Kyle looked out at the water. He’d have liked to spend the day in the warm sand with Christy, holding hands and anything else he could get away with holding. Kissing her and making her blush, making her moan.

  He’d bring her here. Watch the wind in her hair and wipe the sleep out of her eyes. She’d look beautiful in that crazy-tired way. They’d have explored each other’s bodies all night and not tired of it. They’d feed each other as if they had a million golden days like this left. As if their pasts didn’t matter. As if everything was in the future.

  Cooper’s clicking fingers brought him back.

  “Fredo’s right, boss. You’re dreamin’ all the time now. She that special?”

  “Yeah, she is. More than I deserve.” Kyle took his last huge bite of pancake that dripped with syrup. It was almost too much to swallow at once. “And I treated her like shit.”

  Cooper’s blue eyes studied Kyle’s face. Kyle could feel the examination, the evaluation going on. Did he look like a fuckup now to this loyal Team member? Did Coop doubt Kyle had the stones to see this mission through? Now that he might have something else to live for?

  No. Cooper still believed in him. Probably more than he did.

  But now it was time for work. “I better call Timmons,” Kyle said.

  After Kyle’s buddies took off, he called his chief.

  “Kyle, I got incoming from all directions,” Tim
mons said. “They’ve got three fucking bodies and even the Feds screaming at me, telling me I got a rogue killer on my hands. Tell me something I’m not going to have to resign over.”

  “Only one body that I know of. He was killed by his own men. Who are the other two?”

  “Two shot in the head, out in the forest. One in the house, burned all to hell. Can’t make out ID yet.”

  So they offed their own gunmen. That would cost them some loyalty, if anyone left had any balls at all. Leaving a man behind was bad enough. Killing your own men to set someone else up, unthinkable in the SEAL community. A desperate act.

  “Timmons, there’s a dirty cop involved. You need to be very careful who you level with.”

  “Shit, Kyle. Don’t fuckin’ tell me who I can and can’t talk to. Where the hell is Armando?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Timmons swore, then Kyle heard a crash and shatter. Timmons probably had kicked the frog statue the Team had spent $300 for last year at Christmas.

  “Mia is safe, sir.”

  “Mia? Armando’s sister?”

  “The same. She was in the explosion. Not in real good shape. But we got her to the ER and I called her mom.”

  “Good work, son.”

  “Gunny’s been arrested.”

  “Fuck me. He’s on his own. Nothing I can do about that. How did that happen?”

  “We went in for Armando and left Gunny with the van. The ATF took him. Not that I like it, but I think he’s safe in their custody. Can you find out where he’s being held?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “The dead guys. Can you find out who they are, Timmons?” He gave his chief the license plate numbers from the Suburbans.

  There was silence on the other end of the line. “Have to be careful,” Timmons finally said. “You don’t want anything to get through to Carlisle, right?”

  “Carlisle? What’s he got to do with this?” Kyle couldn’t imagine the guard would be anywhere near anything dangerous. And this situation was fucking dangerous.

  “Got himself assigned to the local squad as the Navy liaison. I’m supposed to go through him, can you imagine it? That asshole? Fancies himself as a policeman some day. He’s making real nice with the County dudes.”

  “I’ll bet. Can just see him busting sailors’ chops and getting paid for it.”

  “I’d like to find him dirty, Kyle. He smells dirty. We could get him bounced. He has been a pain in my side for years. And for every one of my guys. Especially my guys.”

  “What’s the story?”

  “Not today. Someday I’ll tell you. So, what’s the plan?”

  “I gotta get back to my Hummer.” But then Kyle thought about the night before and of the man shot in the cabin. “The dirty cop’s name is Warren something. I’m thinking now he shot that dude with an MP5. I think these guys are hooked up with some ex-military. They’ve got equipment.”

  “This Warren shot the one in the fire?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How does Armando look?”

  “He’s messed up. They injected him with heroin, I think. And beat him pretty bad.”

  “Wonder what the hell they want.”

  “I’m guessing his cooperation. You know they’re recruiting from the Special Forces. Recruiting for gang members to help run drugs, train the bad guys, get the special equipment. With Armani’s history…”

  “Yes I thought about that. Last time he was busted for being drunk in public, it nearly cost him his position on the Teams.”

  “And I’m glad for my sake you went to bat for him.”

  “You think his past has caught up to him?”

  “Nope. I think it’s for Mia. Armando is solid as a rock. But he’d do anything for his family.”

  “That should worry you.”

  “It does, but he’d sacrifice rather than cave in to them. If he had a choice, I mean.”

  “Cocky as hell, right to the last, huh?”

  “I’m guessing these guys know him. Trying to turn him. Fredo told me a little about it in Afghanistan this last tour.”

  “Shit, Kyle. This is sounding worse by the minute.”

  “Just what they do, Chief. They hit guys in their weak spot.”

  “No way any Team guys would do that.”

  “They’re recruiting kids that have a beef with the military. Their way of getting even. Fredo says they don’t even care if the guys don’t speak Spanish. They want the military training.”

  “What kind of a fucking world is it coming to?”

  Kyle thought about the question and then answered Timmons. “I can’t stop them all. But we’re going to stop these bastards. No way they’re going to take Armando. He’d rather die than be used by those guys.”

  “Then you better hope they don’t tell him his sister’s safe.”

  Kyle knew either way would be bad news. It didn’t matter whether Mia was dead or safe. If Armando found out, he’d not worry one whit about his own safety and might do something stupid.

  Unless I can get there first.

  Chapter 17

  In bed, Christy opened her eyes and took stock of her room, of the sounds around her, and of the smells.

  No coffee.

  So the dreams about Kyle last night had been just that. Dreams. She’d gone to bed scared to death, but sleep came crawling, and with it the erotic dreams. Things they had done, things she wanted to do. Maybe if she fell back asleep, the dreams would all come back. She could be in his arms. He’d be kissing her.

  She rolled her naked body to her side and hugged the pillow he’d slept on, needing just a hint of the man she knew she craved. The man she probably loved. The man she might never see again.

  Fatal love. She knew it was a really bad idea to cling to something she could never have again.

  She closed her eyes and willed the sun to go back down. Willed the world to swing back and replay Wednesday night. Every glorious detail of it. Every kiss. Every stroke.

  Damn. Sleep was lost to her. Sunk to the bottom of the ocean like a lead anchor.

  Several times in the night she’d awaken, having heard some sound. She’d hoped he’d somehow returned and would slide that wonderful hard body of his against her backside and let her melt into his arms as they pulled her to him. She could feel his kisses on her neck and shoulders, could feel him roll her over and spread her legs for him, could feel him coax her sex to make love to his fingers while he watched, until she was close to a climax, until she wanted him so badly she could not stand another minute without his shaft ramming inside her to the hilt. In her fantasy she knew he wouldn’t do it just yet. While she was spiraling into oblivion, he’d bend down and lap her juices, kiss the pink lips of her sex, and beg her to give his tongue entry.

  And then he’d climb her and ride her hard, watching her, bending to kiss her neck and whisper in her ear, take the moans from her mouth with his own. He’d call her name, and she’d listen for the three little words he’d not said yet.

  I am your willing prisoner, Kyle. Give me those little words and I’d gladly give you my life too.

  She opened her eyes. Her wet fingers remained between her legs as she gently massaged herself there, and then stopped.

  I’m being stupid. I’m lost in some fantasy. Truth was, Kyle didn’t want anything more to do with her. She was a pit stop fuck on his highway to heroism. Why, she wondered, had she made an emotional investment with this man? Would it ruin her? Or would she recover?

  And she knew it didn’t matter. She was going for broke. Whatever it took. She had no way to stop it.

  Please come back to me. Give me another chance. I can handle it, handle whatever you can give me.

  The room didn’t answer. Sunlight was a stubborn friend, unrelenting, unforgiving, and invading everything about the place. There would be no going back to bed.

  Maybe he’ll show up this morning! The lingering worries from last night seemed like a distant memory. Things were much better, much safer in
the light of day. She’d been ridiculous. Her imagination had gotten the better of her, she decided.

  She bounded out of bed, ready to start a new mission, then ran naked down the hallway to the bathroom and turned on the hot steam shower. She shampooed, soaped, and shaved everywhere, working quickly as if he would arrive any minute. But she was thorough. She wouldn’t miss a hair or forget to wash a crevice or cave. The lavender conditioner sluiced down her skin, over her pert nipples, and made purple ribbons down her smooth legs and over those damned pink toes.

  When she stepped out of the shower, she thought she heard a tapping sound. She dabbed her face with the fluffy peach-colored towel and listened. She heard the sound again, so threw on her old terrycloth robe that hung at the bathroom door hook and stepped to the hallway, rubbing her wet hair with the towel, and listened. Someone was tapping on her door.

  Dashing to her bedroom, Christy put her pajama bottoms on and an oversized sweatshirt. Excitement brewed as she was sure it was Kyle. She wasn’t going to check the peephole, just open the door wide and kiss him to oblivion.

  Thank God. He’s come to apologize.

  “San Diego PD. Please open up.”

  Her heart raced, and her mouth became parched. This wasn’t a very good sign. What had happened? She was going to say something, but all she could do was wheeze.

  I’m having a panic attack!

  “Just a minute. I’m coming,” she managed to call out weakly.

  She opened the door to greet four officers—three men and a woman.

  “We need to come in, ma’am,” the eldest of the males commanded as he held up his badge.

  “Sure.” She stepped aside and the four burst into her condo hallway, and then began a casual visual search of her living room and kitchen area. Before closing her door, Christy took a quick peek out toward the elevators and saw her neighbors, an elderly African-American couple wearing their slippers, standing just outside their door two units down. The man was in a robe, holding a drink in one hand and the paper in the other.

  She waved to them both, having just met them a week ago. Mr. and Mrs. Jefferson. They didn’t move, but Mr. Jefferson shouted down to her, “They came here first.”