No Surrender: The Devlin Group, Book 3

by Shannon Stacey

  She wanted to grab the nurse by the throat and shake answers out of her. Was there anything else on the news? Any reports of Americans being arrested or killed? Any unrecognizable bodies lying around out there?

  She’d dragged his sorry carcass through the jungle to get him out, and he’d gone back in.

  By the time Gallagher strolled in, sixteen hours after his last visit and with a plain brown bag in his hand, Carmen had worked herself into a decent state of pissed off.

  “Hey, babe,” he said, leaning over to kiss her.

  She didn’t turn her face away, but she didn’t throw a lot of enthusiasm behind it, either. Of course he didn’t notice.

  “Interesting gossip going around the nurse’s station this morning,” she said in a tone that he did notice.

  “I must have missed it. Donovan and I went for a little drive.”

  “You barely got medical clearance to leave the hospital grounds, so I don’t think—”

  His face changed, the relaxed guy morphing in the space of a heartbeat into warrior guy. “It’s done.”

  “Did you stop and think what it would have done to me if Rossi came in here and told me you were dead? That after…after all that, you went back and let them kill you after all?”

  “I couldn’t handle him being on the planet, Carmen. He owed us too much, and wanting to collect that debt would have eaten me up.”

  She was running out of steam. What he’d done was stupid and reckless and if she was stronger she’d have slapped him upside the head, but the decision he’d made was a part of who he was.

  “Hey, babe, you’re not trying to roll me up in bubble wrap, are you?” he teased as the charming guy slipped back to the surface, and she laughed.

  Le Roux was dead. Some other greedy, bloodthirsty monster would no doubt step up and take his place, but if the Matunisian government had either brains or balls, they’d strike now and strike hard.

  The most important thing was that the Devlin Group’s work there was over.

  “You’ll be getting sprung soon,” Gallagher said, as if he’d read her mind, “and we can all head home. Got any plans for next week?”

  “I’m going to hole up in my apartment with my Netflix pile, some baked goods, and too much coffee.” Would he invite himself over? Or was he going to head off solo into the sunset?

  “How about you take a little detour with me first?”

  “Do I look like I’m up for traveling?”

  “Come spend a weekend in San Diego with me and—”

  “Oh, hell no! I’m not playing meet the parents.” Just the idea of it made her want to pull the blanket up over her head.

  “Even if I brought you a present?”

  The excited jump in her belly made her scowl. She was an adult, for God’s sake. He wanted to sleep with her again, so of course he brought her a present. Probably something skimpy and easily removed.

  From the paper bag, he pulled a beautifully—and no doubt professionally—wrapped box and set it on her lap.

  He had to help her take the ribbons off and he cursed himself the entire time. “I can’t believe I was so stupid. I should have thought of your hands.”

  “Shut up. I’ve never had pretty ribbons on a present, so don’t ruin it for me.”

  He slit the tape for her, too, and she gingerly peeled back the paper, not wanting to tear it. A plain white box dragged the anticipation out until she felt like a little girl on Christmas morning.

  Finally she managed to open the lid and pull out the tissue paper. Inside was a bottle of scented lotion—mandarin.

  “They didn’t have a big selection at the gift shop,” he said, talking too fast as though he was nervous. As if he didn’t know he’d just given her the best present of her life. “So I made O’Brien drive me down the street to the…whatever you call it. The smelly lotion place. The girl said lavender was a soothing scent, but you said you don’t like flowery shit. Oh, and O’Brien and I almost came to blows over whether vanilla’s a flower or a fruit. We still don’t know.”

  He didn’t seem to notice she hadn’t said anything. That she couldn’t say anything because her throat was clogged with emotion.

  “They had grapefruit, but she said that was energizing, which would suck when you’re stuck in the hospital. And they had peach, but horny’s probably not so good, either. So we kept trying them out until we both smelled like a fucking fruit salad. I picked mandarin because the woman said it promotes serenity and tranquility, so—”

  “I love you.”

  “—I bought that one. What?”

  “I love you.” And then, to her horror, a tear trickled down her cheek.

  She’d hadn’t said those words since her mother died, and the emotional rush of putting them out there seemed to break through the dam and more tears followed.

  “Oh shit. Carmen?” He grabbed four or five tissues from the box on her bedside table and shoved them at her. “Please don’t cry, babe. Shit. I’m sorry.”

  Unfortunately, his utter helplessness in the face of her tears made her laugh, which killed her bruised ribs, limiting her to a weird wheezing, hiccupping sound.

  “Jeez, Carm.” He screwed the lid off the lotion and waved it under her nose. “Here, be serene. Tranquil, whatever.”

  It took the nurse and the threat of Gallagher being expelled from her room to calm things down.

  “Are you serious?” He recapped the lotion and set it down so he could touch her. “Because I’ve risked my life for you, and gone through hell for you. I’ve taken bullets for you, and now I buy you some fruity cream shit and you love me?”

  “Yes, I love you because you bought me fruity cream shit. And yes, I’m serious.”

  She’d never been more sure of anything, even if she couldn’t explain it. Of all the things in the world he could have given her, Gallagher had guessed she missed her lotions. And he’d remembered she didn’t like flower-based scents. What kind of man did that?

  The kind of man she could trust her heart to. A man who would treasure the love she gave him.

  “I know I told you this once already,” Gallagher said, “but you were in a coma at the time, so…I love you, Carmen.”

  “I’ve never baked a ham.”

  “All I want is to come home to you—to wake up next to you every morning. I can live without baked ham, without children, without whatever you don’t want to have, but I can’t live without you…darling.”

  She laughed again, pressing her arm across her torso when her ribs protested. “Darling?”

  “Too much? How ’bout sweetie? Honeybuns?”

  Overcome by a case of the giggles, she could only shake her head.

  Then he stroked the side of her face, his gaze growing intense and serious. “I can’t live without you, babe. You’re it for me.”

  She kissed the palm of his hand. “You’re it for me, too. Go tell Rossi to sign me out of here so we can go home.”

  Epilogue

  She’d been right. Gallagher’s family home was surrounded by a white picket fence. She’d been wrong about the dog, though. It was a black lab, not a retriever, and it launched itself at Gallagher the second they stepped through the gate.

  Stiff as he was, he managed to give the dog a good tussle before two women she assumed were his mother and sister managed to get through the doorway at the same time.

  “Johnny!” In stereo.

  The girl got there first, running and yelling, “Houston, am I cleared for landing?”

  “Negative, flight.”

  She pulled up short and wrapped her brother in a delicate hug, letting him shield his wounds, and then his mother did the same.

  Right behind them was a distinguished, older version of Gallagher. Not bad, Carmen thought, if that’s what she had to look forward to.

  “You must be Carmen!” Gallagher’s mother found her way around the sling and bandages and wrapped her in a maternal hug that smelled like citrus and mint. “It looks like you both found some troub
le. Are you healing up okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Johnny, you should have told us you were bringing Carmen home.”

  “She’s a surprise.”

  “I don’t want to put you out, Mrs. McLaine. I’ll stay at a motel and—”

  “No you won’t. Call me Paulie, and we have a guest room. I just wish I’d made a nicer dinner. I always just bake a ham on Sundays.”

  Carmen laughed. “Did he tell you to say that?”

  “She’s afraid now that we’ll be living in sin, I’ll expect her to bake me a ham every Sunday.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Paulie said. “You only do that when you’re married.”

  Carmen was introduced to Gallagher’s sixteen-year-old sister, Stephanie, and his father, Joe, before they went into the house. Sheba, the lab, ran in crazy circles around their feet, unable to contain her joy.

  The house was clean, cozy and comfortable—the kind of home where you could kick back and put your feet up. Gallagher and Joe did exactly that in front of the television, leaving Carmen to assume that because she had breasts, she should follow Paulie and Stephanie into the kitchen.

  “So, Johnny tells me you’re one of the best agents he’s ever worked with,” Paulie remarked as she distributed salad fixings to be sliced and diced. Carmen was given light duty—shredding lettuce—either because of her injuries or her status as guest.

  The praise definitely made her feel warm and fuzzy, but she wasn’t comfortable in the spotlight. “He tells you about his work?”

  “In very broad strokes, yes. He takes every precaution to keep us removed from it, but he likes us to be careful—to be aware of anything out of the ordinary and to know who to call if there’s a problem.”

  “We worry about him when he’s gone,” Stephanie added, “but he always comes home.”

  Carmen smiled when the girl rapped her knuckles on the butcher block counter. “He’s the best at what he does.”

  “And surrounded by the best.” Paulie winked and dumped diced tomatoes into the bowl. “I made a peach cobbler for dessert, Carmen. Do you like peaches?”

  Two hours later, Carmen curled up next to Gallagher on the front porch swing and rested her head on his shoulder. “I am so full.”

  “Mom knows how to set a spread.”

  “I know why you brought me here and had your mother stuff me with peach cobbler.”

  “Ah, the diabolical cobbler plan. It was supposed to be a little more covert.”

  “You want me to be so enamored with your family I’ll be dying for my own and start popping out Gallagher Juniors every fourteen months.”

  He laughed at her, loudly enough to make Sheba sit up and bark. “Sorry. I’m just trying to picture you chasing six little versions of me around the house.”

  “I’m never having sex again.” Even now her biological clock didn’t offer up even a half-hearted tick.

  “Listen, babe. I brought you here because I wanted my family to meet you. Because they’re a big part of my life and I just wanted you to come here with me.”

  “I’m glad you did. Really. I like your family a lot.”

  “I’ll be honest, though. I’m a pretty old-fashioned guy and eventually I’m going to want to call you my wife. I’ll behave as long as I can, but eventually I’m going to propose.”

  She lifted her head from his shoulder so she could see his face. He looked back at her, his gaze steady and warm and loving. This guy wouldn’t ever quit on her. “I was thinking on the way home we could make a quick stop in Vegas?”

  A squeal from beyond the window behind them proved Gallagher wasn’t the only McLaine with the stealth gene, and they both laughed.

  “We’ve got less than a minute before my mom comes flying out that door, so do you really mean that?”

  She did. “Yes. I want to marry you. And I don’t want all that crap Charlotte’s doing, so let’s just do it.”

  He kissed her until his family couldn’t contain themselves anymore and spilled out the door. Many hugs, tears and smiles later, Gallagher put his arm around Carmen and whispered in her ear.

  “What the hell are we going to call you? Mrs. Gallagher or Mrs. McLaine?”

  She turned her face for a kiss, whispering against his lips, “You can call me babe.”

  About the Author

  Shannon Stacey married her Prince Charming in 1993 and is the proud mother of a future Nobel Prize for Science-winning bookworm and an adrenaline junkie with a flair for drama. She lives in New England, where her two favorite activities are trying to stay warm and writing stories of happily ever after.

  You can contact Shannon through her website: www.shannonstacey.com

  Look for these titles from Shannon Stacey

  Now Available:

  Forever Again

  Talons: Kiss Me Deadly

  In the Spirit

  On the Edge

  Taming Eliza Jane

  The Devlin Group: Adrenaline

  Becoming Miss Becky

  When past and present meet, secrets lie beneath the surface.

  Beneath the Surface

  © 2009 M.J. Fredrick

  In retrospect, perhaps archaeologist Mallory Reeves shouldn’t have delivered the divorce papers to her estranged husband mere weeks before her marriage to another man. She knew seeing Adrian again would stir up memories, but she didn’t expect so many of them to be good, not after the mess they both made three years ago.

  She also didn’t expect to want to stay at the dig site on the Yucatan Peninsula. But the lure of the ancient ship and, yes, her sexy ex provide more of a draw than the white picket fence she thought she wanted.

  Marine archaeologist Adrian Reeves has good reason to trust no one. His former partner—and former best friend—made off with his last archaeological find. And his wife left him, frustrated by his obsession for professional revenge.

  Now both Mallory and his nemesis have returned, and it can’t be an accident that they’ve turned up in the middle of the most important excavation of his career. Seeing her again unearths old pain—and rekindles never-forgotten desire. Now he has to decide if he can trust Mallory again. More importantly, if he can trust himself with her.

  Warning: Smokin’ hot archaeologists, painful memories, breathtaking underwater scenes and a passion that won’t die.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Beneath the Surface:

  Something was off, something was wrong. Adrian realized it the minute the ship came into view the following day. It wasn’t covered, for one thing. Had the currents shifted in the past twenty-four hours, had they pushed the rubber sheet off the ship? He scanned the site and saw the tarp flipped back, not rolled as if it had been pushed by water.

  As a result of being uncovered, much of the ancient wood had dissolved into the water. His stomach clenched. The more wood he lost, the more the integrity of the site was compromised. He couldn’t afford that.

  He finned over to a curved shape rising out of the ocean floor. That hadn’t been there yesterday, had it? Or in their excitement over finding the figurehead, had they missed it? His heart rate picked up when he realized it was an amphora, and he reached for it.

  A slender shape shot out of the mouth of the amphora. Shock blended with the sharp pain in his arm and he dropped the amphora as he jolted backwards.

  Shit. Shit. Fucking moray eel had made its home in the ceramic vase. Adrian had been too distracted to notice. Hell and damn.

  Before he could turn to inspect the damage, Mallory was beside him, squeezing the wound closed. His blood drifted into the water in a dark cloud. Mallory’s brow furrowed in concern as she realized they were in danger.

  Sharks.

  With his free arm, he motioned to Toney and Jacob, then to Mallory, and pointed up. They needed to get out of the water in case a nosy shark came to investigate. Mallory looked at him a moment before she took his other hand and clamped it over the wound on his triceps. He didn’t dare look to see how bad the damage was;
he couldn’t risk letting more blood into the water.

  Mallory swam to the others, signaled what had happened and motioned them to go up. The two men exchanged a glance, then nodded before ascending to the first decompression stop.

  And Mallory swam to him. What the hell was she doing? He gave her his worst scowl, but she merely pushed his hand away and covered the wound with her own. So she squeezed a little harder than she should have—her way of getting revenge?

  She gave him a questioning look and mimed swimming. He nodded. With her hand firmly on his arm, they swam up to where Toney and Jacob dangled near the decompression line. Mallory scanned the water, before looking at him again. He made a half-assed okay sign and her frown deepened.

  He hated to admit he was getting weaker. His arms felt like lead and he could barely keep his eyes open. But whether it was from loss of blood or the poison moray eels were said to have, he didn’t know. He did know that Mallory’s grip kept him focused.

  She tugged and they swam up the line to the next stop. He shook his head, as if that would erase the effects of the bite. Mallory hung on, scanning the water. The good thing about the Caribbean at this depth—clear as a bell. They could see sharks coming from a long way off.

  He lost his grip on the line. She caught him with her legs, wrapping them around his, holding him to her. He tried to give her a leering grin as his hips nestled intimately against hers, but couldn’t manage an effective one with his regulator in his mouth and the muscles in his face refusing to obey his command.

  Finally they reached the barge. The three of them worked together to haul Adrian up on the platform. Mallory shed her gear with amazing efficiency before she tugged at his torn sleeve to see the damage.

  Her face paled above her bloodied nose, and he turned to look. The skin over his triceps was shredded. Blood oozed down his arm, coating his skin.

  “He took quite the chunk out of me, yeah?” he asked and blacked out.