Final Siege

by Scarlett Cole

  Everything he was now, no matter how patient, and helpful, and kind he was now … it was all synonymous with who he was then. The two parts of him inseparable.

  She watched Mac place several shopping bags at the foot of the bed and begin to pull things out. With military precision, he folded a hoodie that looked as soft as the thick blanket she kept on the sofa at home. He pulled out pajamas next and handed them to her.

  “I know you prefer to sleep naked … well, at least you used to,” he said gruffly. “But I figured you might want something to sleep in that isn’t the same size as my camping tent.”

  She did, desperately. The hospital gown had the mobility of stiff cardboard and gaped when she walked to the bathroom. Gingerly, she made her way to the edge of the bed. The pain was a little worse today, but only because she’d begun to refuse the painkillers. They muddled her head, and she need to clear it to get through this. She stood, and her vision spun a little. She reached out to hold onto the bed until it settled.

  “Let me help you, Buttons,” he said, using the nickname he’d given her the first night they slept together, after it had taken him an age to undo all the buttons that had run down the back of her dress.

  “I got this,” she said, letting go in the hope that her legs would be more stable than they had been that morning. Carefully, she reached behind her to undo the ties, but her ribs ached as if someone had their foot on them.

  “For heaven’s sake,” Mac said, marching to her, holding a multipack of underwear in his hands, “I’ve seen you naked already.” He ripped the pack open roughly and pulled out a pair of simple cotton panties. “I know you like thongs, but this was all I could find in your size, and I figured they may be more comfortable. You know, cotton and all.” Mac dropped to his knees. “Put your hand on my shoulder and put one of your legs through.”

  Embarrassment filled her from her toes to the flaming heat in her cheeks. But she did as he asked, willing to admit that bending forward to do it herself would probably bring on an epic case of the spins. And because he’d brought her cotton, not lace. She tried to ignore the way his hands slid up her thighs and the way that even though she hated him, her body still remembered him. It came alive as he tugged the panties gently over her hips.

  “Never thought that if I got to see you again, it’d involve putting clothes on,” he said, and looked up at her instead of at what he was doing, saving them both from further embarrassment.

  She wanted to tell him that the familiarity was just making it harder to be around him. But she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t find the words to explain to herself, let alone to Mac, why his actions where overwhelming her. And she was pragmatic enough to know she couldn’t have gotten changed alone. Not right now.

  He grabbed the pajama bottoms off the bed and repeated the steps he’d already taken with the underwear.

  Damn. His warm fingers brushed against her spine as he pulled the ties open. She wasn’t ready for him to see her. It was too intimate. As if sensing her discomfort, he eased the T-shirt over her head from his position behind her, and she quickly shucked the hospital gown and placed her arms through the openings. The soft fabric dropped over her breasts as his hands came to rest on her shoulders.

  “Delaney. Let me help you. Please.”

  He had always been an overwhelming presence. Larger than life, physically and in spirit. So had Brock.

  That was what made it hurt so much more. The memories of Brock and Mac being practically inseparable. Teammates on the school swim team, they’d done everything together. Hell, Mac had even dragged Brock’s lifeless body to the shore, swimming against the tide. She began to shake, and the memories just kept crashing in.

  Mac slid his arms around her, but all she wanted to do was run, get somewhere quiet where she would be safe. She didn’t need Mac, she could stand on her own two feet. Be strong enough, brave enough to get through this.

  “Delaney, sweetheart. You’re safe. It’s okay.”

  But she wasn’t. Her thoughts bounced faster than she could keep up with them, from the abduction, to Brock, to the story, to Mac and the way he felt so strong and capable behind her, like all she needed to do was lean back and trust him to catch her.

  She breathed harder and faster, yet she felt breathless. Just as her knees gave out from beneath her, Mac scooped her into his arms, sat down on the bed, and pulled her close.

  “It’s panic. Adrenaline. Shock,” Mac said. “Focus on us. Focus on being here now. Look around the room, find five items and name them out loud to me.”

  “Window,” she said, her voice trembling. Why couldn’t she control how she was feeling? Mac pulled her closer, his body offering her the warmth she sought desperately. “Chair … clothes … coffee cup.” Some things hadn’t changed. Mac still drank too much caffeine.

  “One more,” Mac reminded her.

  Her breath was steadying, she felt less … fearful. Which was stupid to feel in the first place because she knew she was safe in the hospital. A military hospital at that. One she really wanted to leave. She looked down at his hands, taking in the charcoal gray Luminox on his wrist. He’d upgraded from the blue Swatch she’d bought him with her weekend job money. “Watch,” she said sadly. She’d been the one who’d wanted to move on. Who’d needed to.

  She put her hands on his wrists and pushed them apart. As reassuring as his body felt against hers, she needed to shake off whatever had just happened. Climbing off his knee, she suddenly felt a pang of disloyalty to her brother.

  “I have some calls to make this afternoon,” she said. She owed her boss, Benjamin Streep, a call.

  Mac stood from the bed and went back to the bags of items he’d bought for her. “Don’t let me stop you,” he said, pulling out a hairbrush and some elastics.

  She hadn’t asked him for those items, but he’d bought them for her anyway. “In private,” she said, folding her arms in front of her chest. It probably sounded snippy. She’d be showing gratitude to anyone else who tried to assist her. But it was Mac, and she couldn’t let him win her over. It had taken two years to even begin to get over him the last time. She didn’t think she’d survive if she had to go through it again.

  Mac looked at her pointedly for a moment and then nodded. “I’ll be outside,” he said, unplugging his phone from the charger and handing it to her.

  She watched his wide shoulders as he walked out into the corridor and bit down an irrational fit of jealousy as he struck up a conversation with one of the young nurses. He wasn’t hers—and she didn’t want him—so it shouldn’t matter who he spoke to.

  Delaney grabbed the little notebook Mac had bought her and a pen he’d loaned her and dialed her boss. It wasn’t lost on her that despite her telling Mac she could do all this on her own, so far she wasn’t. She’d had to borrow his phone yesterday too, to text her boss at Honedia, an online news outlet that focused on “pure news.” A mash-up of the words “honest” and “media,” the name of the company had been her idea, as had the idea it become a not-for-profit organization. Ultimately, though, she wanted to be its editorial director. Which meant following this story that was big enough to get her a Pulitzer. Definitely not something Mac would approve of.

  Which was why she didn’t want him around while she tried to figure out how to get from Germany back to Kunduz.

  * * *

  “Please, let me help you get comfortable,” Mac urged, hurting for Delaney as she winced again. For all his medic training, he felt ill-equipped to ease her pain. “This was a really bad idea. We should have waited a little while and flown out in a couple of days.”

  Their first flight, from Germany to New York, had been a little easier on her. The plane hadn’t been full, and they’d shared three seats between the two of them. Plus, she’d taken enough pills to knock herself out.

  But shortly after takeoff for flight number two, which had been delayed for four hours thanks to a freezing March New York snowstorm and was packed to capacity, the pilot had announce
d it was going to be a bumpy ride as they battled the conditions. As turbulence shook the plane, Delaney sat by the window, her forehead rested on the glass, her arms clutched around her ribs.

  “I’m not your responsibility,” she said through gritted teeth, a slight sheen of sweat on her brow. “I could have gotten home on my own, you know.” She’d been frustrated since the boss of her news company had ordered her to head straight back to the U.S. He’d been frustrated because she wouldn’t tell him exactly what she’d been working on.

  “I’m sure you could have, Buttons, but you’d be more comfortable if you rested on me.” He began to lift the arm of the seat, but she placed her hand on it and grimaced.

  “I’m fine,” she said, but he knew she didn’t mean it. They still had three hours left on the flight. She popped two more pills from the strip of painkillers and flipped the lid off her water.

  Mac watched as she knocked them back. When had Delaney become so stubborn? There had been a time when she’d been more … what, easygoing? Now she was impossible. Independent. And not his responsibility.

  She’d been saying so ever since he’d been handed her empty purse. She’d repeated it as he’d dealt with emergency travel papers, and when she’d needed a credit card to pay for a flight, and when she’d needed a phone to call home.

  She’d said it when she’d decided to check herself out of the hospital against doctor’s advice. And said it endlessly when she’d needed help putting on the clothes he’d bought for her.

  But what bothered him more than the stubborn need to do it all by herself was how she refused to look him in the eye and wouldn’t let him in one inch. It had been physically difficult for her to accept his help, even though he was standing right in front of her willing to give it.

  Even though she was in pain, she’d spared a smile for everyone at the hospital and now did the same for everyone from the airline who’d accommodated their need for extra legroom for the ankle boot she needed to wear. She’d thanked the doctors who’d cared for her, thanked the cabdriver, and had even thanked the gate agent who’d allowed them to preboard.

  But to him …

  “Tell me again what your colleague in … what was it called again? Goddamn, these meds are making me loopy. I can’t focus,” Delaney snapped.

  Mac overlooked her irritated tone. “The United States Naval Special Warfare Development Group. It’s a mouthful, so we call it DEVGRU.”

  “DEVGRU. That’s it. Tell me what your colleague said.”

  Her voice hitched at the end, that slight catch that told him she was in pain. When she wasn’t busy being polite, when she let the mask drop, he could see real frustration beneath it. He’d seen it clearly for the first time two days ago after she’d called her boss. Whatever he or she had said to Delaney, she’d been like a bear with a sore head ever since. He’d tried to eavesdrop on the call from the hallway, but that nurse, Sara, had gotten between him and the doorway and refused to take a hint. On a different day in a different situation, he might have been on board with a hot young nurse hitting on him, but now that he had Delaney in his line of sight, no woman could ever be hot enough, smart enough, or funny enough to take him away from his mission. He’d stayed by her side at the hospital until they’d threatened to call security to kick him out at the end of each day.

  When he hadn’t been with her, he’d been calling in favors from friends to understand where exactly she’d been found.

  “They said that you’d been lucky there were still special ops teams based in the Middle East Theatre working on solidifying the Afghan military’s position in Kunduz against a credible intelligence threat. Since they’d been watching all the routes in and out, you’d been in their sights from the moment you were taken.”

  Delaney shook her head. “I know I should be grateful, and I am, but how come it took so damn long for them to come get me?”

  It was a fair question, and a difficult one to answer for someone not military who didn’t understand the politics the military were constrained by. Negotiations over military action every time. Permissions required to use lethal force. Scoping, planning, and executing hostage retrievals took time.

  “These things always take time, Delaney. It’s not as simple as showing up and knocking on the door.”

  Plus, when his contact told him that she’d been taken by a new splinter group who had not yet declared their name, a cold sweat had formed on his skin. Those unknown groups were the worst, as their affiliations, numbers, and access to weapons were complete unknowns.

  After he’d learned who she’d been up against, he’d researched the organization Delaney worked for. He’d wanted some kind of confirmation that they would have the funds required to protect her when she returned to the U.S., even if it was temporary until the risk had been properly assessed. But he’d been disappointed. Honedia was not the wealthy company of some oligarch. While he’d not found the reassurance he’d needed, it had come as no surprise that Delaney was held in high regard at her job.

  Delaney pulled her shoulders back in a stretch, and he tried not to fixate on how her T-shirt pulled across her breasts. Thinking about how she’d matured as a woman had been keeping him awake at night. She’d captivated him since the summer they’d gone camping when she was sixteen and he was eighteen. He’d tried not to look at her tight body packed into a neon pink two-piece—she was his friend’s sister, after all. Plus, the age difference had made him feel skeevy. As they’d sat around the campfire at night, listening to Six play his guitar—badly—he’d been drawn to listening to her talk about books. She had a melodic voice and a funny way of interpreting what she’d read. Plus, she wasn’t reading chick shit. She told him about biographies of great world leaders and documentaries on migration … things he found interesting. Just when he had himself convinced she was mature enough for him as he listened to her explain how English Prime Minister Winston Churchill had won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1953, though, Cabe had thrown him a pointed look of warning. That fucker always did see everything.

  Now, he could look at her. And did. He took in how her pretty pink lips had filled out into a plum-colored pout. She’d always been slim, but she’d curved out in all the places he loved. Clearly, she was still athletic and adventurous. She’d always been up for hikes and early-morning surfs. And he couldn’t get enough of those eyes. Too dark to be amber, too spectacular to be brown, they were a shade that was impossible to describe. Sometimes, drinking a glass of cognac, he was reminded of them, but only fleetingly. In the cold light of day, it didn’t compare.

  Honey brown. That’s how he’d often thought of them. Sweet and warm.

  They studied him now with emotions he couldn’t separate. Pain, for sure. Hate, because of Brock. And occasionally a flicker of what he used to see there, something that told him they could still set each other’s worlds on fire.

  They were also glistening with the tears she refused to cry.

  Mac turned in his seat to face her. “You might be able to take this,” he said carefully. “But I can’t. Watching you is hurting me. Let me help you get comfortable for these last few hours. I know you could do this alone, I don’t doubt that for a second. But please don’t make me watch you do it.”

  Delaney sighed and swallowed deeply. “Fine. But don’t read anything into this.”

  She’d been saying that a lot too. But how couldn’t he? How could he read nothing into the fact she’d asked for him? And how could she ignore the fact that he’d boarded a plane with a moment’s notice and jetted halfway around the world to look after her?

  Mac got busy rearranging their space so she’d be more comfortable. He hadn’t mentioned that he’d trained as a medic but he applied his knowledge to make sure she was properly supported. When he’d said something about the SEALs in passing, she’d shut him down immediately—and he’d realized why. The SEALs had been Brock’s dream. It was why they’d all enlisted after his death. But it was also why they’d been on the cliff that day. Bro
ck had wanted Mac’s help. He’d had never been good with heights, and he’d known he’d need to overcome that fear to be a SEAL.

  He shook his head to clear the memory of that day, lifted the seat handle between the two of them, and helped her sit close to him before encouraging her to turn slightly to face the window. Delaney groaned as she leaned against him and the seat, and he felt the tension dissipate from her body. With his arm around her and her hair teasing his cheek, it was hard to remember where he was. They’d never had their own place, but on the occasions they’d had the opportunity to sleep together—on a road trip or when she’d come to visit him in college—she’d always fallen asleep in his arms. He hadn’t wanted to spoon with any woman since. It reminded him too much of her.

  “I’m not sure I can be here, with you, like this,” she said so quietly he almost missed it.

  “Just rest, Delaney.” Out of age-old habit, he pressed his lips to the top of her head. “I know there’s a lot going on in that head of yours. But I’m here. Be angry at me when we land. Go back to hating me if you need to. But get some rest.”

  The words hung between the two of them, and he could have sworn she’d closed her eyes.

  “Thank you, Mac,” she said quietly.

  He smiled into her hair at the whispered words. “You’re welcome, Delaney. Now just sleep.”

  He could tell the moment she did as he asked. His arms burned as he held her steady, but he wouldn’t let her go for the world. He’d lost her once, and even if he wasn’t destined to get her back ever again, he needed to help her. He needed to show her he was still the man she could depend on. Perhaps helping her through this would go some way toward helping him with his own demons.

  As he settled as best he could in a middle seat made for a man half his size, he decided he’d do what he did best. Plan.