2-Stroke (SEAL Team Alpha Book 14)

by Zoe Dawson

  “No, he was an asset.” Her tone was impersonal, cold. “I turned him into one. I did what was necessary to save our lives.”

  “It feels wrong.”

  Her expression grew more somber. He knew what the knot in his gut was all about. It was a feeling he was well acquainted with. It was recognizing the fact that he’d probably just made a mistake. No matter how unbelievable it would be with her, it was no quick fix.

  He saw the struggle on her face. She worked at catching her balance, her lips as colorless as her face. “I know it sucks, Neo. Do you think I didn’t have sleepless nights about it? It wasn’t something I wanted to do. I wanted to refuse his help. I wish we’d had the luxury of saying no.”

  Chry stared at him, then she abruptly looked away. With her hair under that hat, the long line of her throat was exposed, but some tendrils had slipped loose and now curled around her face and the back of her neck. With her body buried in all those layers of material, she looked isolated and oddly vulnerable, like she was miles away.

  A kind of sad detachment settled on her. “We could have traded our lives for his. Don’t you think I know that?” she whispered unevenly. Something flickered in her eyes—a kind of stricken look, and some of his anger toward her drained.

  There was a soft, muffled sound, and his heart jammed up in his chest, then started to pound with a different rhythm. Her head bent down, and her shoulders stiffened. She worked at getting her control back. Something twisted loose in his chest.

  “It does suck,” he said. Trying to stay detached from the emotions roiling inside him, he gave in to the urge to touch her. He cupped her face.

  She went still, and she wiped her face on her sleeve. Drawing a quivering breath, she looked up at him, her lashes matted with tears. He drew her toward him. “It’s going to be all right,” he murmured gruffly.

  She resisted for a moment, then relented, her arms sliding around him. “I did what I had to do,” she said, sniffling against his neck.

  “I know you did,” he whispered. Cupping the back of her head, he held her in a tight embrace, absorbing the feel of her against him. It had been a long time since he’d felt this kind of regret. Shifting so she was flat against him, he shut his eyes, the rush of sensation so intense that he had to grit his teeth against it. His heart hammered in his chest, his breathing constricted. She moved, sending a shockwave of heat through him, the feel of her almost too much to handle.

  He’d never seen her come apart like this, like there was so much pain inside her that she had to get it out. The thought of her sitting in that cell alone, going through all her guilt and doubts, sobered him like little else could, and he cradled her head against him, a dozen regrets settling in his chest.

  She pressed her cheek to his, then rotated her head, her mouth suddenly hot and urgent against his, their breath steaming the air. The bolt of pure, raw sensation knocked the wind right out of him. 2-Stroke trembled and widened his mouth against hers, feeding on the desperation that moved between them. She made a soft sound, her kiss tasting of regret and a request for forgiveness when he should apologize for being such a hard-ass and compounding her already guilty conscience with his own anger. Truth was, she’d made the tough call. He would have to deal with it, but now wasn’t the time to hash it out.

  He reluctantly dragged his mouth away from hers. There was so much old familiarity between them, so much need, and it would be so easy to get lost, but they couldn’t. He couldn’t deny he loved the feel of her against him, his body responding after so much inactivity, fear, and torture. Just to be together in this simple way was almost overwhelming.

  “We better get going,” she said, and they mounted once again, urging their horses at a quick pace. They stayed away from the roads and made a beeline straight for the river in the distance.

  Once dawn broke, they continued moving, gaining on any pursuit. Alek’s plan seemed to have worked perfectly. They stopped to eat at midday, and that’s when they saw a sleek black chopper flying back toward Darko’s camp.

  “He must have tapped someone in Banja Luka. They’re going to be on the lookout for us,” 2-Stroke said.

  Chry nodded. “Our course is set. We will have to go as fast as we can.” She reached out and he clasped her hand. They finished up their meal and were back in the saddle.

  At this point, all they could hope for was to outrun Darko’s pursuit.

  6

  Chry looked behind her at the sky, but there still hadn’t been any more helicopter sightings. Maybe they had been mistaken. All she knew was that the horses were fatigued and now at the end of the day, they would have to rest. She spied a small opening in the dense forest that was beside a small stream. They could water the horses, and there was enough forage on the stream for them to crop to their heart’s content. It would also be a good place to stop for the night.

  She nudged her mare and the tired animal responded. Chry patted her neck. “You are a tough girl, aren’t you?” Her body ached like hell, but she gritted her teeth. Getting away was more important, and she could relax and heal once they were safe.

  She and Neo hadn’t spoken much except for snippets of conversation here and there about where to go or logistical stuff. Their captivity, weeks of it, had taken its toll on their bodies and minds. She could tell by the stiff lines of his body he was still angry with her…or was it just that he was angry?

  2-Stroke was the type of man who did the protecting, not the other way around. She knew that firsthand. She could almost feel his frustration at leaving Alek behind. But there seemed to be something else eating at him. They had been so close until his freshman year in high school, then something had changed. Even after he’d come to live with them, he had maintained his distance.

  She pulled up, and he reined in his horse and turned to look at her. “We need to rest the animals and catch a quick nap. That clearing looks good.”

  2-Stroke gave her an unreadable look, then reached out and patted his horse’s neck.

  A shot of apprehension made her stomach drop. She took a breath and asked, “What?”

  Not sure what to make of his silence, her horse stamped impatiently as he shot her another quick look.

  By his expression, she wasn’t sure if he was amused or ticked off at her. She gave him a taunting look. “Really, what is the problem, Teller? Cat got your tongue.”

  That made his eyes lighten up, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Should I address you as Commander Steele? You sure know how to give orders.” He leaned on the saddle, his body close to hers. “Am I just one of your…troops?”

  The tone of his voice made her think about how wonderful it would be to show him who was boss. “I don’t know. Are you any good at following them?”

  2-Stroke’s hands stilled on the reins, and his eyes narrowed dangerously, a glint of reprisal appearing. He continued to watch her with that dark, heavy-lidded look. Then the husky timbre of his voice broke the silence. “Why don’t you give me some orders and see how I perform.”

  Her stomach dropped again for entirely different reasons, her mouth going dry and a giddy weakness sizzling through her. For an instant, she thought she might slide right out of the saddle. Hot and cold and decidedly light-headed, she dredged up a mildly rebuking look and kicked her horse into motion. “Try to keep up, Teller.”

  She caught the flash of color out of the corner of her eye, and she heard the squeak of the saddle as he came alongside again. She glanced over, laughter bubbling up in her, and he gave her a bad-boy grin that was going to get her into trouble.

  Okay, more trouble. The heart kind of trouble.

  She hadn’t forgotten what he said in the SUV before that psycho bitch had rammed them. But that seemed like light-years in the past.

  “I can keep up as long as you don’t catch the wind like you used to.”

  She shook her head.

  “What? You used to fly like the wind, like a dancing kite playing with the sunshine. Nothing’s changed.”<
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  She shook her head. “Maybe when I was young, but now, not so much,” she whispered. She had grounded herself, weighted herself down with a sense of duty, with feelings of accountability, with uncertainty—and she had simply ceased to fly. She wondered when it had happened, when she had lost the wind. 2-Stroke’s mount moved against hers, and she looked up, and got a jolt of realization. She had lost the wind when she had lost him.

  2-Stroke was watching her with an odd, contemplative look in his eyes. He reached out and caught her by the back of the neck, giving her a little shake. “Maybe we’ve both lost the wind.”

  She stared at him, suddenly dangerously close to tears. She remembered how close they had been and how hard it had been to lose him piece by piece. It seemed as if he decided that going it alone somehow made everything more manageable.

  But she remembered how alone she’d felt in that cell, hoping and praying that he was alive. They would forever be bound by what happened to them when they were children, teenagers, and now as young adults. They shared a common experience here in the wilds of Croatia and Bosnia. Torture, fear, holding onto her last shred of herself, fighting against the insanity that screamed at her to let go, let her mind break and maybe somewhere in the madness she could find some peace.

  Maybe if they talked to each other, shared everything, they could find some peace together. His solid presence went a long way to shore up the holes in her.

  “Let me tell you something about wind, Neo. It’s always blowing even if we can’t see it.”

  He smiled at that and moved his hand from her neck, but his palm trailed like fire along her skin until he released her. “We’re losing the light,” he said, looking up. “It gets awful dark, awful fast out here.”

  She urged her horse toward the clearing, dismounting and pulling off the saddlebags. She opened them to find a blanket and several sandwiches. With another silent prayer, she hoped the boy was all right. She unsaddled her horse, removing the bit and clipping on a lead rope. Drawing her to the stream, Chry let her drink her fill. When she was finished, the mare started cropping grass, and Chry staked her by tying the rope around a solid log near the edge of the stream. 2-Stroke did the same, using the log as well.

  She headed back toward the cover of trees wishing for a fire but knowing that was impossible. Something hot to drink would be a nice boost. As the sun started to set, the temperature would drop. She shivered in the warm coat.

  She went to her saddlebags and stopped, peering at the side of a hill. That looked like…a cave. If they had a cave, they could have a fire. She dropped the bags and headed toward the outline in the twilight. She pushed away vines and some brush, and sure enough, it was a small cave only big enough for two people.

  She used the flashlight Alek had thoughtfully added to the pack and shined the beam inside. The walls were rock, the floor dirt, and no wild animals. Maybe it had once been a wolf mama’s den, but she and the cubs were long gone.

  “Hey. What did you find?”

  She turned toward 2-Stroke’s voice. “A cave. We can have a small fire and warm up some water so we can have tea. If we cover the entrance with brush, they won’t be able to see it from the air when they come searching for us.

  And they would. It was just a matter of time. “Bring the saddlebags and blankets,” she called.

  “Aye, aye, Commander,” he said with a salute.

  “Very funny.”

  She cleared more brush as the light continued to fade. “It looks like it’s going to rain in the near future,” he murmured from behind her. She jumped. He’d been so quiet she hadn’t heard him. SEALs and their stealthing abilities.

  She turned, the last of the light lining that beautiful, strong, bristly jaw of his. Against the jagged outline of the mountains, the water-laden thunderclouds rolled up against the peaks in dark banks, trapped against the rocky barrier, unable to move east to the dry land. And to the north, she could hear thunder rolling across the heavens. There would be no rain tonight.

  But tomorrow. Maybe.

  She took the saddlebags from him.

  “I’ll search for wood and get some water. Why don’t you settle in and make us a bed for the night?”

  She stilled as she passed the kettle to him. Their eyes met and held. He watched her with a steady, unnerving look, and her stomach did a funny little lurch.

  She felt oddly hot, her skin beneath the layers of her clothes sensitive, her nipples tightening against the thermal shirt, almost painful. It was all she could do to keep from fidgeting. “Could you bring the horses closer to the cave, so they’re sheltered by the trees as well?” she asked, her voice a little wobbly.

  There was an awkward silence, and suddenly the companionship they had shared only moments ago seemed like a distant memory. For one heart-stopping instant, they stared at each other, invisibly linked by an acute awareness, then 2-Stroke’s expression altered dramatically. Looking suddenly gaunt, he turned away.

  “Sure. Got you covered, boss,” he said gruffly. Chry felt as though he were severing a vital link as she watched him walk away. He had barricaded his feelings behind an unyielding will, and both of them, unfortunately, were going to have to live with his decision.

  Trying to block out the ache that had settled in her chest, she ducked inside the cave and started to clear out anything not useful, her mood bouncing from resignation to misery. But mostly, she felt like all the lightness had been drained from her, leaving behind a leaden heaviness.

  She found some moss not far from the opening and laid it out on the floor with the blankets to cushion the hard ground. When she was finished, it smelled good inside the small opening, like green growing things.

  When she was done with that, she grabbed up a small pot she found in the bags and went and scooped water out of the stream. When she got back to the cave, 2-Stroke was setting up some stones in a small circle and was laying in kindling.

  “Okay, let’s see how good you were at being a Boy Scout,” she said.

  His blue eyes glinted in the glow of the flashlight.

  He smiled and shook his head. “I can start a fire in my sleep,” he murmured. He picked up two sticks. Using a knife, he notched out one of the twigs, then set the end of the second twig against the notch.

  “Could you hold the base for me?”

  She set down the pan of water next to the full kettle and knelt next to him. “In your sleep, huh?” she teased.

  2-Stroke shot her an amused look, the half-smile deepening into something warm and disarming, something sensual and oddly intimate—something that was enough to make her heart pound.

  “Believe it or not, Dean taught me how to do this. It wasn’t something I learned in BUD/S or SEAL training.”

  “No kidding?”

  He nudged her shoulder, and that half-smile widened. “Yeah, he was such a Boy Scout.”

  Chry watched him, the wild flutter expanding, her breath suddenly jammed up in her chest. God, that smile, that sexy smile of his could make every pulse point in her whole body throb. She nudged him back. “More like a big brother.”

  She gripped the base tightly while he started working the twig between his hands faster and faster.

  Easing in a deep, shaky breath, she tried to stifle the nearly unbearable longing. She wanted him to hold her…do much more than just smile at her. God, she couldn’t remember wanting something as badly as she wanted that.

  He bent down and blew as the friction from the sticks ignited the moss he’d packed around the kindling. She gasped in a breath as the feel of his warm breath slid across her hands. When it ignited, she laughed. “Yeah, Boy Scout, indeed.”

  He laughed too. “See, I told you so.”

  “You did. Maybe you should be barking out orders from now on.” She turned toward him, and their close proximity ignited the air between them. It was clear from the way his pupils dilated that he was feeling it too. His eyes focused on her lips and she drew in a soft breath. Time stretched and wavered as they sta
red at each other, the molecules heating from their dual attraction. His head dipped toward hers and she noticed how the flame was going out.

  “Neo, the fire.”

  He snapped out of it. He started feeding sticks into the tiny blaze until the flames licked at the dry wood and started to crackle and burn until he added more wood and finally had a decent fire going. He reached past her and grabbed the pot and set it on to boil. “I assume that’s washing water.”

  She nodded. He rose and stepped away from her, glancing at the blankets and the bed she’d made. “Looks…good,” he murmured. “Springy.”

  “Moss,” she said.

  He nodded and started to undo his jacket as the water heated. It was actually cozy in the cave. A perfect place to hide out with the top open to the sky, providing a way to vent the smoke, which was minimal, and the outside walls protecting them from hunters who might detect the small fire.

  He slipped off the coat, revealing the flannel shirt beneath. With one smooth move, he reached back and pulled both the shirt and thermal undershirt off.

  As soon as the material was removed, his back revealed, Chry gasped. His skin was full of mottled bruises. There were so many different colors. It was just masses of what looked like painful patches on his sleek, thick muscles. He stilled at the sound and turned to look over his shoulder at her.

  Clutching her hands against her breastbone, Chry’s vision blurred, so many emotions breaking loose inside her she couldn’t distinguish one from the other.

  “Oh…Neo,” she whispered. He stared at her for a moment, then dropped his gaze. She felt as if there were something hard pressing on her lungs. She took a fortifying breath as the water started to simmer. She bent down and took it off the heat using some rags she’d found in the saddlebags.

  She took one of the rags and dipped it in the water, then stood and approached him. He held out his hand, but she was already reaching for his back. When she touched his skin, he stilled, his muscles rock hard.