by S. M. Butler
“We have to get out of here,” Irish said.
“It might be too late.” Dr. Jamo coughed into his sleeve, his eyes glassy, his nose running. “The siren alerts everyone outside of the lab when the protocol has been breeched and the virus containment has been compromised. The laboratory is wired to self-destruct if the alarms are not reset within ten minutes. Everyone who is not in the lab is instructed to get out until the cause for the alert is contained.”
“How did you find out about all this?” Irish asked.
“Umar is very proud of what he and Prince Yohannis have accomplished with this facility.” Dr. Jamo snorted. “He liked bragging.”
“We have to get out of here.” Irish reached for Claire’s hand. “Come on.”
She avoided touching him and moved past him without breathing in his face.
Dr. Jamo nodded. “You must go first. If I do not make it out, it will not matter. I am a dead man.”
Claire stopped and faced her friend, tears welling in her eyes. “Dr. Jamo, you have to come with us. We’ll find a cure.”
“Not in time to save me.” He stood outside the door to his prison. “You must go. But be careful. If you have the virus, you could be spreading it to others.”
Holding a hand to her chest, Claire nodded. “You’re a good man and will be missed by your people.”
“Go. I will ensure others do not leave and spread the disease.”
“But the building will be destroyed.”
He nodded. “And the plague of death will be destroyed with it.”
“I can’t go.” Claire declared, walking toward Dr. Jamo. “I’m as contaminated as you are.”
“No. It’s spread by bodily fluids. You have not come in that close of contact.” Dr. Jamo waved toward Irish. “Take her away, quickly.”
Irish shouted to Swede and Big Bird who guarded the corridor into the laboratory. “Get out, now. This building is set to explode in less than ten minutes.” Then he advanced on Claire. “You heard the doctor. You might not even be infected.”
“We can’t risk it,” she said.
He didn’t give her the choice. Bending low, he plowed his shoulder into her waist, tossing her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Then he raced after Big Bird and Swede to the end of the corridor.
The two SEALs waited at the airlock door.
“Keep going,” Irish said. “Make sure the others extract. I’ll get Dr. Boyette out.”
“You might need help.”
“We’ll take our chances,” Irish said.
“Irish,” Tuck’s voice came through his headset. “Our target has been secured. What’s this about the building exploding?”
“If the alarms aren’t shut down in ten minutes, the entire complex is rigged to detonate.”
“Gotcha,” Tuck said. “Bugging out.”
“Irish, you’re insane. Put me down.” She squirmed within his hold.
“Not until we’re out of the building.” Irish climbed the stairs and headed for the rear exit.
“I can move on my own. You’re putting everyone else at risk.”
“I’m not leaving you inside,” he said, his hold tightening on her legs. Those beautiful sexy legs that had been wrapped around him a few short hours ago. He refused to let those legs, this woman, be buried in this hellhole.
“Put me down.” She pounded gently on his back.
He swatted her bottom, struggling to hold her as he reached the top of the stairs. “Shut up, woman. You’re not changing my mind.”
“Fine. You win. But let me help by carrying myself.”
Breathing hard, he set her on her feet, grabbed her hand and ran for the door. “We’re guessing D-minus two,” he heard in his headset. “Everyone better be on their way out now.”
Swede and Big Bird burst through the door first, clearing the perimeter.
Irish, several yards behind, hit the door, dragging Claire through. “We’re not safe until we’re well beyond the outer walls. Keep running,” he yelled.
Claire did her best to keep up.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed other SEALs pouring out of the front of the palace, racing for the gate.
Swede and Big Bird turned and leveled their weapons to provide cover.
Irish ran past the two men with Claire, determined to get her as far from the blast zone as possible. The high stone and concrete walls surrounding the compound would provide a good barrier, if they made it outside in time.
Irish didn’t feel they were safe until he passed through the gate and put as much distance between them and the palace. He dragged Claire another hundred yards farther before he slowed, his heart pounding, breathing hard.
A rumble started deep in the ground.
Tuck and the remaining members of the team streamed through the gate as the explosions breeched the thick walls of the underground laboratory. More explosions erupted from inside the palace. The walls shook and then burst outward. The heavy, domed roof at the center shuddered then collapsed inward.
Irish pushed Claire to the ground and covered her body with his as rubble spewed from the buildings. He lay for a long while on top of her as dust and debris showered down. When the ground stopped shaking and the world went quiet again, he heard voices in his headset.
One by one the members of his team sounded off. Every last one of them had made it out alive.
Irish rolled off Claire and lay on his back. “Are you okay?”
She rolled over, too, her hair covered in a layer of dust. “For now.” Claire turned to face him and glared. “You should have left me inside.”
He came up on his elbow and leaned over her. “Nope.”
“You could be infected with the virus. It kills.”
“Then we’ll die together.” He bent and claimed her lips in a long, soul-defining kiss he couldn’t have resisted had he tried. If this was the beginning of his end, he’d die a happy man, kissing the woman he knew in his heart he could love forever.
When he raised his head, he stared down into her eyes, illuminated by the moon struggling to shine through the cloud of dust hanging over the destroyed compound.
Claire raised a hand to his cheek. “You are insane.”
“I couldn’t leave behind the girl I want to date.”
“About that…” She trailed a finger along his dusty cheek.
“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t go out with me if I was the last man on earth.” He pressed a hand to his chest and heaved a big sigh. “Hearing that would completely crush me.”
She chuckled. “No, I was going to say…I’m thinking of contacting Fish’s girlfriend who has the floating doctor boat.”
Irish’s heart swelled. “Yeah?”
Claire smiled. “Assuming we make it out of Africa alive.”
“You know she docks near Virginia Beach when she’s not out doing her doctorly thing.”
“I know.” She stared up into his eyes. “There’s a certain SEAL I was hoping to see when I’m in port.”
“That SEAL better be me,” he said, making his voice into a low growl.
“Can’t think of one I’d love more.” She reached up, cupped the back of his head and pulled him down to kiss her.
In the desert of Africa, Irish had met the woman who completed him. A brave, intelligent, amazingly beautiful woman who wanted to be with him as much as he wanted to be with her.
“Uh…” Tuck’s voice crackled in his ear. “If you two are through playing kissy face, let’s get out of here.”
“Sorry,” Irish said. “You’ll have to send out the HAZMAT team. The doctor and I will need to be quarantined for fourteen days until we’re cleared. We could have been exposed to the virus.”
“Goddamn it, Irish. I give you one simple task and you fuck it up,” Tuck teased.
“Not from where I’m standing, or sitting, or lying down.” He bent and captured Claire’s lips again, kissing her, loving every dirty, sexy inch of her, virus and all.
Epilogue
>
‡
“Dinner’s ready!” Claire called out from the kitchen. “Ummm.” She turned and accepted a spoonful of seafood chowder from the chef. The explosion of flavors filled her mouth and made her want more.
Irish followed the delicious chowder with an equally delicious kiss.
“Where did you learn how to cook?” There were so many things Claire didn’t know about this man she’d been with for the past month. Every time she thought she knew all his abilities, he surprised her with something new. Especially in the bedroom.
“I learned from me darlin’ mum. The woman had a way with potatoes that could make a French chef cry.”
“Remind me to thank her.”
“You can thank her yourself. She’s coming to visit next week.”
“Next week?” Claire squeaked and stiffened. “I haven’t found an apartment yet. You can’t spring something like that on me.”
“Why do you need to find another apartment? Aren’t you comfortable here?”
Wide-eyed, she could only stare. “What will your mother think about you shacking up with a woman?”
“She’ll be glad I’ve settled down.” He handed her a set of oven mitts. “Some hungry men are waiting in there. If you’ll carry the bread, I’ll bring in the chowder.”
“But what about your mother?”
“She’s going to love you.” He kissed the tip of her nose and handed her the basket of bread. “Just like I love you.” Cupping the back of her head, he kissed her lips, his tongue sliding past her teeth to claim hers.
“Mmmm. Why did we invite your friends over when we could be enjoying this chowder all by ourselves?”
“Hey, I thought you two were feeding us.” Fish appeared in the doorway with Natalie pulled against his side. He stopped and snorted. “Sheesh. Leave a man and a woman together in quarantine for a couple of weeks and this is what you get. Mush, mush and more mush.”
Natalie laughed and took the breadbasket from Claire. “Where do we sign up for quarantine?”
Fish slid around Claire and Irish to collect the soup tureen. “Don’t mind us. We’ll just eat dinner while you two do your thing.”
Her hands free, Claire locked them behind Irish’s neck and returned his kiss, her leg sliding up the back of his, desire spiking in the tiny kitchen of the apartment they’d shared since they returned Stateside after they’d been cleared of any viral infection.
Although Africa had been her home all her life, she’d discovered home was where the heart was and her heart had been captured by a strong, sexy, incredibly handsome Navy SEAL. And she wouldn’t have it any other way.
The End
About the Author
ELLE JAMES also writing as MYLA JACKSON is a New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of books including cowboys, intrigues and paranormal adventures that keep her readers on the edges of their seats. With over eighty works in a variety of sub-genres and lengths she has published with Harlequin, Samhain, Ellora’s Cave, Kensington, Cleis Press, and Avon. When she’s not at her computer, she’s traveling, snow-skiing, boating, or riding her ATV, dreaming up new stories. Learn more about Elle James at www.ellejames.com
Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | GoodReads | Newsletter
Or visit her alter-ego Myla Jackson at mylajackson.com
Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Newsletter
Read other stories in the Take No Prisoners Series:
SEAL’s Honor (#1)
SEAL’s Desire (#2)
SEAL’s Embrace (#3)
SEAL’s Obsession (#4)
SEAL’s Proposal (#5)
SEAL’s Seduction (#6)
A SEAL’s Chance
Cora Seton
Website | Newsletter
About This Book
When Navy SEAL Ben Warren is sidelined by an injury, he thinks love is off the table until single mother Caitlyn Cross reminds him that a warrior fights for what he wants.
Chapter One
‡
When the chime sounded to let the passengers know it was safe to unbuckle their seatbelts, Ben Warren waited until everyone else had filed off the plane before he took a deep breath, stood up from his cramped seat and accepted the cane the flight attendant held out to him.
“Enjoy your stay in Chance Creek.” She flashed him the same flirtatious smile she’d been trying out on him ever since they lifted off in Florida, but Ben remained immune to her charms. He didn’t need sympathy from her or anyone else and there was no other reason such a pretty woman would flirt with him.
Not now.
“Thanks.” He did his best to keep his tone civil, but the anger that haunted him these days threatened to rear its head, so he made his way awkwardly down the aisle ahead of her, planting his cane and maneuvering his weight in the too-small space. His slow progress only increased his irritation and Ben knew he’d been smart not to go directly home from the naval medical center. He wasn’t fit company for anyone, let alone his extended family, now that his injury had ended his career in the SEALs. Ever since high school, becoming a SEAL had been the pinnacle of his ambitions. For the last eight years he’d been on the top of his game; so proud of what he’d accomplished and of the service he’d rendered his country.
Now he wasn’t good for much as far as he could tell. He’d come a long way from those first weeks when he required a wheelchair, but he still walked with a lopsided gait he’d keep for the rest of his life. Where once he could run, jump and maneuver with the best of them, now he couldn’t go anywhere without the tap of his cane announcing his presence long before he arrived.
His family had urged him to join them in Louisiana after his separation from the Navy, but he’d decided instead to accept a joint invitation from Mason Hall and Dan Hemmins—two SEALs he’d known during his service. Mason and his brothers owned a large ranch in Montana named Crescent Hall after the three story gothic mansion at the heart of the spread. Dan had opened an extreme training camp in one section of the ranch for people who wanted a taste of Navy SEAL life. They’d promised him a room of his own and a chance to catch his breath before returning to the civilian world.
Ben knew these fellow ex-SEALs understood his situation in a way few people could and he was grateful for the offer. He needed a chance for his anger to cool and to accept that from now on he could no longer rely on the strength and speed that had gotten him this far. Once he’d been a star athlete. Now he felt sure that Mason’s great aunt Heloise could outrun him. Just last year he’d laughed with his friend over the way the old woman had tried to take over Mason’s life. Now that it seemed like the whole world had the upper hand on him, such things weren’t funny anymore.
Each day presented new challenges, great and small. Like the stairs he now faced that led down from the tiny commuter plane he’d flown in on from Billings.
Ben paused at the top to catch his balance before he hung the cane over his wrist, gripped both rails of the stairway and started down. It was a slow process. The bullet that shattered his ankle hadn’t left enough for the joint to be rebuilt. Now that it was fused, he couldn’t bend or flex his foot, but at least he could walk.
He’d made it almost to the bottom when he slipped, crashed down the last two steps and landed hard on his ass on the pavement. The flight attendant dashed down the steps behind him, her high heels clattering on the metal treads. A member of the ground crew rushed up at the same time and tugged Ben to his feet.
“You okay, man?”
“Oh, my goodness, Mr. Warren. Are you all right?”
He brushed off their concerns brusquely. “I’m fine.”
“Do you want me to call for a wheelchair?”
“I don’t need a wheelchair.”
He limped over the tarmac as quickly as he could, wanting nothing more than to forget the whole incident. This was what he had to look forward to for the rest of his life—petty humiliations and sickly sweet sympathy. He gritted his teeth together to keep from hurling his cane as far as
it could go. Getting upset would do him no good.
“Ben! How are you?” Mason called out as soon as he entered the terminal.
“Good to see you, Ben,” Dan chimed in. Both men came to meet him.
Ben knew they had seen the whole debacle on the stairs and once again he had to push down a swirl of anger at his plight, but as they clapped him on the shoulder and expressed their happiness at his arrival, he knew he was being unfair. Mason and Dan were good friends.
He forced a smile. “I’m fine, except for the enormous bruise on my ego.”
Mason grinned. “I wasn’t going to mention that, but hey, most of our presidents have fallen down airplane stairs at one time or another. Why shouldn’t you?”
“That’s right, Ben, you think you’re something special?”
Ben relaxed. A little. Until Mason insisted on picking up his bag from the baggage carousel and carrying it outside to his truck and Dan slowed his pace to a crawl to match Ben’s. These were the things that drove him mad. He wanted to be the man he always had been. He wanted to pull his own weight and then some. Instead everyone treated him like an invalid.
Mason kept the conversation light on the way to the ranch. They wound along narrow, curving two lane country roads flanked by wide pastures, with farm houses in the distance. “You came at exactly the right time,” he said as they pulled up in front of Crescent Hall. Ben eyed its clapboard siding, wraparound porch and wide, circular tower. He could see why Mason loved it so much; the house had character. “The Harvest Festival kicks off this weekend. There’s a dance and everything.”
“Don’t think I’ll do much dancing anymore,” Ben said shortly.
“Hell, Warren. Don’t be like that,” Dan said. “Slow dancing’s the best part anyway. You can handle a slow dance.”
“Sure, if I had a woman willing to stand in place with me. What woman wants that?”
Mason got a gleam in his eye Ben didn’t like the look of. “Plenty.”
