by Zoe Dawson
When the Green Beret’s main breacher didn’t show up to the main side of the street, Tank looked at Blue and shrugged. “Screw this. We’ll get this done.” Tank, Blue and their two Army team members blew and cleared several doors and rooms. Moving steadily into the city, there was little resistance, which only made Tank think something was up. There was no one on the bridge that connected the city across the river. They all filed together while Explosive Ordnance Disposal did their job of clearing mines, then fanned out on the other side, continuing with their breaching and clearing.
He didn’t like the eerie calm. Echo was agitated, and he only got that way when there were bad guys just beyond his senses. When something was up with his Malinois, Tank got even more alert. “Blue, Echo’s antsy. Watch your six.”
“Copy,” Blue said, his eyes always scanning. The calm he radiated never missed a beat.
Tank entered an open space that had already been cleared by EOD. He glanced down an alleyway and saw Wicked and Scarecrow with their Army buddies. Then there was a bright light and the deafening sound of an explosion. The ensuing dust cloud enveloped Tank’s team members and their Army partners.
Tank and Blue raced down the alleyway when Wicked broke radio silence. “We need a medic.” His stomach dropped. Don’t let it be Hollywood. But when they got to the scene, Wicked was kneeling over the two downed guys who’d each lost both their legs. Blue immediately went into action, calling for evac.
“Watch out!” Kid screamed into the comm. Everything slowed down. Echo was struggling against the leash and Tank pivoted toward the sound of Kid’s voice. A man stepped out into the center of the area, an RPG launcher grasped in his fist. The rebel raised it the same moment Tank released Echo. The dog sprinted across the open space between them and hit the bastard just as he engaged the device. He went down under sixty-five pounds of raging, snapping canine, and Tank watched the shell arc into the air. “Fuck! Take cover!” But his words had just come from his lips when the shell hit. The explosion blew them back.
And everything went dark.
Blue came to, dazed, confused, and disoriented. He could hear the most awful sound…it was an animal in distress. The high-pitched cries hit him in waves of sound, his head throbbing as if someone had punched him hard in the back of the head. People were shouting in the distance, bursts of gunfire, but it was all a blur of noise to him. He struggled up from bodies and blood, his hands slick, choking on dust and the metallic smell of blood mixed with gunpowder heavy in the air. He got to his feet and stumbled. Vaguely he registered that his helmet was gone, his comm hanging in a mangled mess against his chest like some thick, dark spider. He ripped it away and stumbled again, his gait uneven, falling to one knee. Someone needed him. He panted, the dust making it hard to breathe.
He lurched away, his mind telling him to find the animal, help him...help him. But he couldn’t get his bearings. He had to help—that was all he kept thinking. He shambled along for what seemed like a long time, the noise and shouting receding. He lost everything, motor movement, coordination, thoughts nothing but a jumbled mess in his brain.
He went to his knees and retched, then collapsed to the ground. He heard a shout in a language he recognized, but the words were gibberish to him. It was a woman and she was frantic, but he had no idea why. Then she was there, prodding and nagging him upright, walking him to something wooden beneath his hands. She shoved him up and he fell flat on his face, the lurch beneath him barely registering as everything faded to a silent and all-encompassing black.
4
Tank opened his eyes, his head ringing like a bell, his body feeling as if it’d turned to metal and someone had hit him with a hammer and everything was vibrating at the same time an electric shock had coursed through. He was flat on his back. His chest hurt, and for a moment he gasped for breath, his lungs feeling as if they were about to rip apart and his legs as unstable as jelly. The high-pitched whimpering and yelping made him sit upright. His head spun, then stabilized. Pain radiated from his shoulder down to his hand when he moved, but it wasn’t excruciating, so he ignored it. He was covered in blood, but most of it wasn’t his.
Echo!
Panic seized him, and he knew that was a precursor to losing control. He couldn’t lose it when Echo was in danger. Pushing everything into the back of his mind, he struggled to his knees, then to his feet. He looked across the expanse of the compound and saw Echo on his side, struggling to get up. The rebel was on his back and unmoving. Tank took off sprinting across the open ground until he reached Echo. He was horribly wounded…shrapnel had sliced across his shoulder, exposing muscle and bone, blood in his fur. His gut twisted in anger and fear. The rebel started to stir, and Tank noticed a device in his hand. A detonator. He stepped on the man’s wrist and reached for his weapon. Tank pulled his sidearm and shot him in head twice.
Holstering his weapon, his breathing raspy, he folded down to the ground, tucking the detonator in his pocket. “Easy, boy,” he said as Echo tried to get up again. He placed his hand on Echo’s side. “Stay,” he said, and Echo relaxed. He worked hard to keep his voice calm, to quiet Echo from his thrashing. Stabilizing him for transport was his number one priority. Tank went to work. Pulling out his muzzle, he gently covered Echo’s snout, noting how glassy his eyes were, an indication of shock. The yelping down to whimpering now that Tank was close by, he opened his kit and pulled out a hemorrhage bandage to stop the bleeding. Echo cried out, a high-pitched, abrupt yelp as he lifted the Malinois and applied the elastic bandage around the wound, trying to be both gentle and quick.
Men were arriving as gunfire bursts sounded close by but not in his immediate vicinity. First Kid materialized next to him, swore softly, then knelt down and took up a position to protect Tank, then Wicked and Hollywood, both covered in blood, nicks and cuts to their faces, did the same. Making a half circle around him and his injured dog.
“I’m a medic,” a guy said rushing over and kneeling down. As he moved closer to Echo, who growled in his delirium and pain, he glanced at Tank.
“It’s okay, Echo,” Tank said in a soothing tone, and Echo relaxed against him as the medic delved into Tank’s kit and started an IV. Then he used one of the provided injectors to administer pain medication. While he was working over Blue, Tank looked up at Ruckus. He pulled the detonator out of his pocket. “You might want to get the EOD guys on this. He was waiting for us.” He handed Ruckus the device. He moved off and started talking into his headset.
With Echo ready for transport, Tank covered him with the provided blanket and together, he and the medic lifted him onto the canine litter Tank provided.
All set to head to waiting choppers that had landed in the field just outside the city, Tank stumbled, and Hollywood caught him. His chest started hurting bad, his breathing labored. They worked at removing the body armor and Wicked said, “He’s bleeding!”
Tank collapsed down to his knees and Kid called out, “Blue!”
“Where is he?” Ruckus asked, and Tank looked to the area where Blue had been prior to the explosion.
“Over there,” Tank pointed, his stomach dropping. In all the commotion, he’d lost track of Blue. Where the hell was he?
One of the medics who had been working on the downed Green Beret guys came rushing over once Ruckus sprinted across the compound and tapped him on the shoulder. He frantically searched each of the bodies, then rose. Tank could see the grim expression on his face. His vision started graying on the fringes and he was really laboring to breathe.
“Pneumothorax,” the medic said, and Tank realized he wasn’t going to be able to go with Echo. He tried to rise, but they held him down as the medic began to work on him to re-inflate his lung. Blue was missing, and Echo was going to treatment without him. The severity of the wound hit home, Tank realizing that he might never see Echo again. He squeezed his eyes tightly closed, worry about Blue filling him with dread, and the pain of losing his beloved canine partner radiated and coalesced in his chest. H
e struggled with the tightness in his chest and the burning in his eyes. “Echo,” he said softly, then he grabbed the strap on Wicked’s body armor. “Find Blue,” he said fiercely.
After a busy morning at the base clinic, Alyssa traveled over to Old Town to her own clinic. She made a mental note to talk with her staff and tell them what a great job they were doing. Stepping inside, she smiled at Lisa at the desk who was checking in customers. She went into the back and grabbed a lab coat. Exiting into the hall, she stopped when she saw Jordan leaning against the wall, his face pale. He was shaking.
She rushed to him and the moment she touched him, his eyes popped open. “Jordan? What’s wrong?”
He smiled and said breezily. “Just an upset stomach,” but it was so clear to Alyssa that he was lying.
“We’re going to my office and you’re going to tell me what’s going on or do we need to take you to emergency?”
“No!” Jordan said abruptly, then in a softer voice, “No, that’s not necessary. I know what’s wrong.”
“Then we’re going to my office.” She assisted him down the hall, and once inside, she helped him to a chair and he folded down. She sat on the edge of her desk and let him catch his breath, noting the way he held onto the arm of the chair with one hand in a white-knuckled grip and the other arm across his midriff.
“Water,” he said, and she went over to the cooler and poured him some. He dug in his pocket and pulled out some pills. Popping them into his mouth he took the water and swallowed them.
She wasn’t one to jump to conclusions. As a medical professional she dealt with facts, but she couldn’t tamp down the worry that churned in her. “What is going on?”
He looked up at her and closed his eyes briefly. “I’m sick, Alyssa.”
“Oh, my God, Jordan. What is it? Have you been to see a doctor?”
“Yes, I’ve been.” His voice roughened, and he blinked rapidly, his eyes moist. “I had a test and it wasn’t good.”
She tried to stay calm, but the rush of affection for Tank’s brother overshadowed even her medical professional demeanor.
“What is it?”
I have elevated levels of tumor-associated antigens. They need to run more tests.”
She covered her mouth, tears welled up in her eyes, a hollow, sinking feeling settling in her abdomen. Cancer. Her expression drawn, she shook her head as if that could make the outcome change. “No.” She took a deep breath, then knelt down covering his hand. “Oh, Jordan. I’m so sorry.”
He nodded, his eyes, even with this news, not as bleak as she would have expected. He was so different from Tank. Unable to help herself, she hugged him, and he hugged her back. She held him for a few minutes. “I’ll be with you through this, Jordan.” Tears slipped down her cheeks.
When they separated, he gave her a wan smile.
“What’s the next step?”
“More tests and more tests.”
She absorbed that information, her throat tight. “What can I do?”
“You’re already doing it.”
She squeezed his hand.
“I hope they find out what the problem is before it’s metastasized. I really want to become a vet.”
“Oh, God, Jordan. That must hurt so much. I’m so, so sorry.” Reaching out, she squeezed his hand again. She hurt for him. He was not only one of the best assistants she’d ever had—competent, kind, so good with both the human and canine patients—she had no doubt he would make an amazing veterinarian. Would he get that chance?
“I’m feeling better. I should get back to work.” He went to rise, and his cell chimed. Pulling it out of his pocket, he answered. “This is he. How can I help you?” His face went from puzzled then to alarmed. “Is he all right?” There was another burst of conversation, then Jordan said, “Why can’t you tell me…all right, I’ll head there now. Thank you.”
“What is it?”
“Thorn, he’s wounded. He’s at the base hospital. I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.”
She leaned into the desk for support, swallowing against the awful feeling of vertigo that washed over her. Tank wounded. Oh, God. No. Please don’t let it be severe. Let him be okay. “I’m going with you,” Alyssa said, fighting to contain the nearly unbearable ache in her throat. “How badly wounded?”
“They wouldn’t say.”
They left the clinic with Alyssa driving. She worked at staying calm, trying to will away the awful panicked feeling that suddenly pressed down on her. Jordan was too wound up, and he was still getting over that terrible pain from his episode.
The thought of losing Jordan—damn, she felt the tears well up inside her again, hurt. He was more like a little brother to her than her employee. It was clear he had the same affection for her. She was still processing his health news, her emotions raw. Now Tank was hurt. How badly they didn’t know. How could she feel this way about him when she’d only met him just months ago? She couldn’t deny it. There was no way she could have gone on with her day after hearing about him being wounded. All she wanted to do was get to him, see for herself that he was all right.
They passed easily through the gate with her credentials and were soon at the hospital. Jordan inquired at the front desk, and they ran into his brother Dan once they exited the elevator.
“Dan! Did they tell you anything?”
“I just got here,” he said.
They went up to the main desk, and the nurse told them what room his brother was in. As they headed in that direction, Alyssa braced for seeing Tank.
She paused outside his door, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, trying to put on a composed front. Letting her breath go, she schooled her face into an even expression and entered. Her false calm lasted about thirty seconds. When they entered the room, he was upright, hooked up to an IV. His head turned at the sound and their eyes met; his softened, then shuttered, a rigid set to his jaw. In that moment, nothing mattered. Everything in her relaxed with relief, then ramped up at the sight of him. He looked good, so good, a warrior fresh from battle. Except for the cuts and bruises on his beautiful face and that stark pain in his eyes, he was whole.
“Thorn,” Jordan said rushing to the bed, and each of the brothers hugged him hard for several seconds. Tears pricked the back of her eyes, but she held them in check. It was clear that these guys were a tight, cohesive unit. She thirsted to hear their story, wanted to know everything about Tank and his past.
After the preliminary greetings were over, Alyssa felt awkward. This was really a family thing and she was being way too intrusive. She felt jittery after all that adrenaline shot into her system. But she hadn’t been able to control her worry when she’d heard Tank was injured. She stepped back, but Tank looked at her and said, “Alyssa.”
She stared at him for several seconds, caught in that intense gaze. She hadn’t really prepared herself to speak to him after what had happened at the ball. She had strategies for fending off men, ingrained for far too many years, but nothing for near-miss sexual encounters. She had no string of lovers in her past to draw experience from. Her ex-husband was the only man she had ever been seriously involved with, and while Stephen was a solid and intelligent, he wasn’t the kind of man Tank was.
His raw sexuality overwhelmed her. She seemed to never be in control—of him or the relationship or herself.
“I drove Jordan. He was worried about you and I didn’t think it was a good idea for him to drive himself.”
Jordan turned to look at her. “She’s great,” he murmured. “But this isn’t about me. How are you? What happened?”
“Things went south. Blue is missing in action.”
He glanced at her when she gasped. The memory of the sweet, smiling man who had only days ago been auctioned off to a roomful of eager women made her heart contract. But this was the life of a SEAL. He put himself in harm’s way every day. She didn’t want to accept that something terrible could have happened to the handsome man she knew and liked. “The other teammembers?�
�
“The rest of the guys are all fine. There was an explosion.” His deep voice caught, and it took a minute before he went on again. “Echo was severely wounded. I got a mild pneumothorax from the explosion and a gash from my collarbone to shoulder. Twelve stitches.
“Ah, just a small boo boo. It’s not even your worst,” Dan said with a smile.
“Exactly,” Tank said. “I’m only here for one more day and I’m out. They said my lung has fully inflated, but they still gave me leave for two weeks.”
He might look good and fine, but he wasn’t. Maybe his brothers didn’t pick up on it, but Tank was agitated. His mood seemed volatile—a tense stillness that hid a building storm. “It’s clear you don’t want leave,” Alyssa said.
“No, I want to find Blue,” he growled, his frustration clear. “If he was captured… We’ve just got to figure out what happened.”
It was clear to Alyssa that Tank was holding everything in. This was much more mentally damaging than he was revealing. Was it a macho attitude or his rigid control?
“Well, now that I know you’re okay, I’m on duty. I gotta get back to the firehouse. I’ll come and visit tonight.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m really fine. Stop by the house when you get off shift.”
“Will do.” Dan nodded to Jordan and then squeezed Alyssa’s shoulder as he passed. “Thanks for coming and for bringing Jordan.”
“I should get back to work, too.” Jordan glanced at her.
“I can take you back.” Alyssa moved back toward the door, but Tank spoke.
“No, I was wondering if you could stay, Doc. I need a favor.” He met her eyes and the fierceness of his request was reinforced. She moved closer to the bed, his expression lined with worry.
