SEALs of Summer 2: A Military Romance Superbundle

by S. M. Butler

  “Smart lass,” Irish whispered beneath his breath. But she wouldn’t be safe for long. Just because she’d crossed the border into another country didn’t mean squat to the rebels. They didn’t respect borders, going after whatever they wanted. If they were after Claire, they wouldn’t stop until they captured her.

  Irish ducked into a shop, paid a man for his headscarf, wrapped it around his head and neck and hurried outside again. Slipping a package of matches from his pocket. With all the attention at the border where the guards argued with the rebels, no one saw the man stuffing a wad of fabric into the gas tank of the rebels’ truck. If anyone did, they weren’t saying anything as Irish lit a match, catching the tail of the fabric wad on fire. When he was certain it would stay lit, he backed away, slipping into the crowd, detaching himself when he reached a building and hurried around it, between two more and emerged on the other side of the loosely guarded border. He was angling toward the trucks heading north when the explosion shook the ground beneath him.

  On the road, he spied the banana truck he and Claire had hitched a ride on and almost smiled. If he wasn’t mistaken, the woman with the bright turquoise shash glancing out the passenger window was none other than Claire Boyette, amazing doctor and adventurer.

  With all the attention on the burning vehicle on the Somali side of the border, no one made a sound when the man dressed in black leaped aboard the back of a banana truck and settled in for the long ride on a dusty road north to Djibouti City.

  He leaned back against the stems of bananas and watched the black smoke from the vehicle fire climb into the sky and dissipate. He’d gotten lucky. If a crowd hadn’t been at the border that day, he and Claire might not have made it across.

  As long as the rebels didn’t commandeer another vehicle, the banana truck and its occupants would make it safely to the city in less than forty minutes.

  Those forty minutes in the back of the banana truck dragged by. The sun traveling toward the western horizon was still hot enough to make him sweat, even with the air stirred up by the vehicle’s movement. Irish had plenty of time to think about what had happened. He prayed he’d find his team safe at the Joint Special Operations Command headquarters. Hopefully, the men of the downed helicopter had found their way back. He couldn’t wait to find out how they’d escaped the al-Shabaab rebels.

  When the truck finally pulled to a stop, Irish was happy to find himself at the entrance gate to Camp Lemonnier. He jumped from the back of the truck and hurried to the passenger door.

  Claire offering her thanks to the driver and turned to get down when she spied him. Her eyes rounded and her face lit. “How did you get here?”

  He held out his hands, caught her around the waist and pulled her against him. “The same way you did.” He let her body slide down his until her feet touched the ground.

  “I didn’t think you’d make it out of there so soon.”

  “I told you I’d catch up to you.”

  She glanced around the side of the truck as the driver shifted into drive and pulled away. “But how…”

  “I hung with a bunch of bananas.”

  Her smile widened and she chuckled. “And I worried about you for the past forty minutes.”

  Irish poked a thumb toward his chest. “Who me? I’m a SEAL. We have ways of making things happen.”

  “Especially when it involves blowing stuff up?” She winked and then glanced toward the buildings. “Do you think they’ll let me on base?”

  “They have to. You’re with me.” He took her hand in his and strode toward the gate guards.

  Irish didn’t even bother trying to argue his way onto the compound. He told the guard to call the commander of Joint Special Operations and tell them “Irish is waiting to be rescued at the gate.”

  The army military policeman stood with his rifle at the ready while his buddy entered the hut and placed the call. Five minutes later, a HUMMV arrived and four SEALs piled out. Tuck, Big Bird and Fish rushed through the gate and enveloped him in a bone-crushing group hug.

  His eyes stinging, Irish hugged them back.

  “Man, we thought you were a dead man,” Gator said, limping toward him, leaning on a single crutch.

  The guys backed away and let Gator in to pound Irish on the back.

  “Me? You were the one that ate a bullet.”

  Gator limped back a step. “Just a flesh wound. I’ll be runnin’ circles around you by morning.”

  “Yeah, right. Did they replace your leg with a bionic one because you can’t run circles around me without a bullet in your leg.”

  “Are we standing out in the hot sun, or are you coming in for a beer and a shower?” Tuck waved his hand in front of his nose. “You smell.”

  “Yeah, we want to hear how you found your way back home.” Big Bird wrapped an arm around his shoulder and aimed him for the guard shack.

  The grin left Irish’s face, and he stepped out of Big Bird’s arm. “About that. Nice of you to leave me there.”

  “Dude, we were lucky to get off the ground loaded to the gills in one helicopter. We staged a raid for the next night. Lo and behold, Umar’s camp had disbanded, picked up and left maybe minutes before we got there.”

  Irish snorted. “Yeah, we stirred up a hornet’s nest getting away. Which reminds me, I’d like you to meet the person responsible for my rescue, no thanks to you guys.” He reached out, snagged Claire’s arm and pulled her close to him.

  His buddies all turned toward her, brows rising as she pushed the scarf off her head.

  She held out her hand to Gator. “I’m Dr. Claire Boyette.”

  “I should have waited to have my leg looked at,” Gator said with a wink.

  Fish elbowed him. “You better not let Mitchell hear you talking like that.” He offered his hand to Claire. “Thanks for rescuing Irish’s ass. Don’t know what we’d do without his fake accent to keep it colorful around here.”

  Her brows arched. “He tells me it’s real.”

  Fish snorted. “Yeah, right.”

  “Trust Irish to find the pretty lady.” Tuck took her hand next. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  Big Bird’s cheeks reddened as he took Claire’s hand and muttered, “Nice to meet you.”

  By the time all four of his welcoming committee shook Claire’s hand, Irish was ready to jump in the middle and tell them to knock it off. She was his girl. Only she wasn’t. Claire didn’t belong to anyone and he’d better remember that. Just because they’d made love like a couple of teenagers in the back of the Land Rover didn’t mean she belonged to him.

  “Did I hear the mention of a shower?” Claire asked, hooking her hand through Irish’s arm.

  His chest swelled. She might not be his, but by taking his arm like she had, it sure felt like she was. “Come on, we’re bound to find both food and water.”

  Tuck slid into the driver’s seat, Gator rode shotgun, leaving the three men to sprawl across the backseat. Claire chewed on her bottom lip. “I can wait for the next vehicle.”

  “No way.” Irish patted his lap. “Come on. I don’t bite…much.”

  She gave him a sexy glance from beneath her lashes and slid onto his lap.

  Dusty and in need of a shower, Claire was still the sexiest female Irish had the pleasure of knowing. He wondered if they’d get time alone again, or if this would be the last close contact he’d have. With her sitting on his lap, her bottom rubbing against his crotch, the inevitable was bound to happen and his groin tightened. Damn. If the guys noticed his pants were tented and he was sporting a boner, he’d never hear the end of it.

  Claire wrapped her arm around his neck and held on as the HUMMV lurched forward, stirring up dust behind them. The short drive to the headquarters building was over too soon.

  Sliding across him one more time, Claire exited the vehicle and waited.

  Irish stood, adjusted his trousers and prayed the debriefing wouldn’t last long. He wanted to get Claire alone.

  Dusk was settling in as
Tuck ushered Irish and Claire through the door to the command center.

  An hour later, after telling all she knew about the al-Shabaab takeover of Samada and her work on Umar, Claire told them how Dr. Jamo had been loaded into a vehicle and driven away.

  She turned to Irish when she said, “And we need to notify the CDC and the World Health Organization about the village.”

  Irish told them of the entire village full of dead people and its approximate location.

  The commander, U.S. Army Colonel Mathis, shot a glance at his assistant. “Get the guys at Langley on it. Have them pull up the satellite images. They’ll notify the powers that be and have them investigate.”

  “What about Dr. Jamo? Can you have Langley do something about getting him out of al-Shabaab’s hands?”

  Colonel Mathis’s lips pressed together. “I’ll have Intel do some digging. If we can locate him, we’ll do our best to extract him.”

  Claire gave a wan smile. “Thank you.”

  “If that’s all you have, Dr. Boyette, Petty Officer Sjodin will escort you to billeting where you will be assigned quarters.

  Eyebrows raised, Claire glanced toward Irish.

  He nodded. “I’ll find you.”

  Big Bird escorted her out of the building.

  The commander waited until the door closed behind Claire and Big Bird before he started pacing. “So, our strike to take out Umar failed since the good doctor was forced to patch him up.”

  Irish shook his head. “At gun point.”

  “What are the chances of finding Dr. Jamo?”

  “I have no idea.” Irish knew finding her friend meant a lot to Claire. “The doctors were helping the native people. If it’s at all in our capabilities to find and extract him, I’d volunteer to go. Claire—Dr. Boyette—is no different than members of this team. She won’t give up on her colleague any more than we’d give up on one of our own.”

  “We’ll do the best we can.” Colonel Mathis gave him a steady stare. “I’m glad you made it back alive.”

  Irish left the command center and hurried toward the stacked containerized housing units, the huge, metal shipping containers that had been converted into air-conditioned living quarters. The team had been assigned rooms on the front end of the operation where Irish had left his gear what felt like a lifetime ago. In fact, only a few days had passed. So much had happened in that short time.

  He’d met an amazing woman. Who would have thought he’d find someone in the heart of Africa who could capture his attention as much as Claire had?

  All he knew was that he couldn’t wait to see her again. His first stop was the housing container Big Bird had been assigned.

  “Miss me already?” Big Bird asked from his position sprawled on a cot in the cool air.

  “Where is she?” Irish asked.

  Big Bird grinned and rattled off the number of the unit and the row he could find it in. “But she’s probably in the mess hall.” He wrinkled his nose. “Dude, you really should shower before you show up at her door.”

  Taking Big Bird’s advice, Irish grabbed clean pants, a T-shirt and a towel and headed for the shower facility. Ten minutes later, scrubbed free of three days of dust and grime, he finger-combed his damp hair and glanced at his face in the metal mirror, deciding it was worth the effort to scrape the three-day-old beard off his chin, nicking himself in his hurry to be done.

  By the time he entered the chow hall, it was past normal dinner hours and the place was fairly empty.

  Tuck and Dustman sat at a table on the far end, their backs to Irish. Not until he got closer did he see they were talking with Claire, and she was smiling at something they said.

  A stab of something raw and angry hit him square in the gut. Could he be jealous of his teammates? Both were in committed relationships with women back in the States. They shouldn’t be interested in Claire. But when her blue-gray eyes sparkled with laughter and her smile lit her face like sunshine on a cloudy day, how could anyone not fall in love with her?

  Love?

  Irish shook himself. He’d prided himself on playing the field, asserting he had no right to be exclusive with one woman when he could make so many more happy. Then why did all others fade from memory when he stared at Claire across the room?

  She glanced up, her gaze meeting his, and her smile widened.

  Irish’s heart skipped several beats and then raced on. He crossed the room without noting anything in his path, nearly tripping over a chair.

  Fuck. He had to get a grip. A woman should not have the power to derail him so completely.

  “Aren’t you getting something to eat?” Claire asked as he neared the table. She looked down at her empty tray. “I’m afraid I couldn’t wait.”

  “We told her you could be all night if the C.O. got long-winded,” Tuck said.

  “You don’t have to wait on me.”

  “No, I wanted to.” Claire’s face softened. “These gentlemen were just keeping me company until you arrived.”

  “And, now that you’re here, I’m sure we have something important to do.” Tuck rose and backhanded Dustman in the chest. “Don’t we?”

  Dustman frowned. “We do?”

  Tuck shook his head. “Give Irish time alone with the good doctor. I’m sure they have a lot to catch up on in the time they’ve been apart.”

  “She saw him an hour ago,” Dustman argued, a frown marring his expression.

  Tuck grabbed Dustman by the back of shirt and forced him to his feet. “Don’t you have someone to talk to back home?”

  Dustman grinned. “I sure do. I told Jenna I’d call at…” He glanced down at his watch, “Crap! Right now.” He leaped out of his seat. “Nice talking to you. I’ll have the medic check on that hangnail before it gets worse. Thanks for the advice.” Dustman left, Tuck following close behind.

  “Get some food,” Claire said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  His stomach grumbled, reminding him they hadn’t had much to eat in the past couple of days. “I’ll be right back.”

  Thankfully, the chow hall remained open twenty-four hours. With personnel operating in shifts, people were headed to work as others got off and lunch could be at sixteen hundred, midnight, two in the morning or noon—whatever time the individual had to eat chow.

  Loading his tray with two grilled chicken breasts, salad and vegetables, he figured he was eating pretty healthy until he passed the dessert section and couldn’t walk past the chocolate cake with rich fudge icing. Two glasses of ice water and a cup of coffee balanced on his tray, and he was on his way back to Claire.

  She smiled when she saw what he’d put on his tray. “I think I had the same—only one chicken breast. The chocolate cake was to die for.”

  Nodding, he shoveled several bites of food into his mouth and chewed. He wanted to know about Claire, things they didn’t have time to discuss on the road. Where was home when she wasn’t in Africa? Did she have family back in the states? What was her favorite color? Did she like dogs? Some of those things appeared unimportant but seemed to define a person.

  What he knew of Claire already impressed him—her dedication to the craft of healing, her bravery in the face of incredible danger, the fact she fought back when a man tried to rape her instead of breaking down and crying. She was smart, caring, passionate and had an amazing body. He couldn’t look up into her eyes at that moment, or she’d see how much he craved being with her again. Instead, he scooped up another forkful of food and enjoyed the act of chewing.

  “Now that we’re back in relative civilization, what are you doing from here?”

  Claire glanced down at the food on his fork. “I’m going to find Dr. Jamo.”

  Irish’s hand froze halfway to his mouth. “You’re doing what?”

  “Find Dr. Jamo.” She looked up, capturing his gaze with her clear steady blue-gray stare.

  Setting down his fork, his appetite squelched, Irish leaned forward. “Assuming you had the transportation and the firepower beh
ind you, how will you find him?”

  “I’ll go back to Samada and start asking questions there.”

  “If Umar discovers you, he’ll kill you.” Irish shook his head. “Worse. He’ll do heinous things to you as a lesson to others, and then kill you.”

  A shiver shook her body and she glanced away. Apparently, the attempted rape in the hut in Samada had made more of an impact on her than he’d thought. Still, Claire squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I’m going. The longer we wait to rescue him, the less chance we have of finding him alive.”

  “Umar would be stupid to kill him. There are few enough doctors in Somalia to waste one with a bullet.”

  “Then why would they kill me?” she asked, her voice firm, though she appeared less than confident.

  “You got away, and a couple of his men died in the process.”

  “I didn’t kill them.”

  “You escaped with one of the men who ruined his day and filled him with shrapnel.”

  “I pulled out the shrapnel,” she pointed out, though her voice trailed at the end. She reached for Irish’s hands. “Don’t you see? I can’t leave Dr. Jamo to those murderers.”

  Irish nodded. “I wouldn’t leave my team members to them. But wandering back into Samada won’t do much good. You heard my team. They went back. Umar bugged out.”

  “Someone had to have seen where they went.”

  “You can’t do it alone. Let the guys at Langley do their magic and find Umar using their fancy satellites. That way will be faster and not nearly as dangerous.”

  Claire scrubbed a hand over her face. “I hate the thought of them torturing Dr. Jamo. He’s a good man, concerned about the well-being of his people.”

  “I’m concerned about him, too, but going off half-cocked won’t help him.” He held her hands in his. “Give the brains time to look.”

  She sighed. “I don’t feel right being clean, fed and sleeping in comfort when he’s out there suffering.”

  “You have a big heart, Dr. Boyette.” He smiled and lifted his fork. His appetite might have waned, but he needed nourishment to sustain his body through whatever action might present itself. When he’d finished the cake, he stacked their two trays and carried them to the drop point.