Cover of Night

by Laura Griffin

  He pulled a bottle of water from one of his pockets and held it out to her, but she shook her head.

  “Was it useful? The information?”

  “Definitely.” He tipped the water back and guzzled it. “With this many civilians potentially in the middle of a firefight, accuracy is critical. We need every advantage we can get to strike hard and fast. Zero civilian casualties—that’s the only acceptable outcome.”

  He rummaged through his pockets some more as Karly digested his words. She pictured a whole platoon of SEALs geared up for battle, poring over a photograph or some other version of the diagram she’d drawn for them, memorizing doors and hallways and windows. What if she’d gotten something wrong? The weighty responsibility felt like a brick in her stomach.

  On the other hand, without her input, they’d have been relying on guesswork for a lot of things.

  Ethan was still kneeling beside her, but his hand was no longer on her shoulder. He dug a pouch from his vest and unzipped it.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “Now we wait.”

  Wait. Just the word made her cringe. All this waiting around was making her crazy.

  He pulled something from the pouch, and she smelled antiseptic again.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No, you are.” He took her face in his hands and wiped her cut again. He’d removed his gloves, and his fingers felt warm against her skin. “How’s the bump?”

  “Fine.”

  He touched it softly, and she jerked back.

  “Any dizziness? Double vision?”

  “No.”

  “Any nausea?”

  “No.” Not like he meant. She’d been nauseated when she’d first made it to land with a belly full of seawater. And then again when she’d stumbled over the body of one of the resort workers—the waiter from lunch. The man had been shot through the neck, and his throat had burst out and spewed all over the sidewalk. Karly had run into the woods to retch, and she’d stayed there, shaking uncontrollably and trying to get her courage back.

  She pushed the memory away as she looked at Ethan poking through his kit. “So . . . are you a medic?”

  “No, but I’ve had some training. Look up.”

  She did. He gently tipped her head back so he could see her injury in the moonlight.

  “You really banged it on something.”

  “A rock, I think.”

  “Coming ashore, you said?”

  “Yeah.” She bit her lip as he dabbed ointment over the cut.

  “Damn, you must have swum a long way. Maybe a mile.”

  “Maybe.”

  He took something from his kit, and she drew back again.

  “What’s that?”

  “Butterfly bandage. You should have sutures, but this is the best we can do right now.”

  His fingers felt good against her cheekbones. Not just the warmth of them but the way he touched her, as though he knew exactly what he was doing. As though providing first aid to hostages in the jungle was no big deal, something he did all the time.

  And maybe it was.

  She watched his face while he applied the bandage. His eyes, specifically. She felt slightly dizzy around him, but it had nothing to do with her injury. The touch of his hands threw her equilibrium off.

  How long since she’d been touched by a man this way? Way, way too long. Obviously. All her hormones were kicking into gear, and he was merely giving her first aid.

  She cleared her throat. “So, Ethan, the thing I don’t understand is, why are they waiting? Why don’t they assault now?”

  He eased back from her. He watched her for a moment and then zipped his pouch shut.

  “How much do you know about these terrorists?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure.” He kept calling them terrorists, which told her a lot. “Are they ACB?”

  He nodded. “Asian Crescent Brotherhood. They’ve been active throughout the region lately.”

  “They’re responsible for the nightclub bombing in Bangkok.” Karly’s stomach roiled as she recalled the carnage she’d seen on the news. Blood on the sidewalk. Shrapnel. Broken glass. She’d never dreamed she’d see their handiwork up close.

  “One of their leaders was arrested recently.”

  “In the Manila airport,” she said. “I saw that on the news.”

  “Right. We don’t know their demands yet. They’ve set up a phone call with the U.S. embassy in Bangkok in the morning. But the working assumption is that they want their leader back. America’s involved, so they think putting pressure on one of our diplomats is the way to go. It’s a flawed assumption. But the thing is, these guys are well trained and well funded, and they’re deadly serious. Rape, torture, murder . . . there’s nothing they won’t do.”

  Ethan’s easygoing voice had been replaced with a steely tone.

  “Worst-case scenario is a suicide bomb if we attempt to thwart their plan here. So we have to be very careful and very accurate when we strike tonight. We’re relying on the element of surprise, which depends on darkness, cloud cover, and sleepy guards, who won’t know we’re coming until it’s too late. That’s why oh-three-hundred is the optimal time.”

  Karly didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. Who was she to second-guess military tactics? But the prospect of waiting another two hours made her sick to her stomach. So much could happen in that time.

  Malai’s screams echoed in her mind. She closed her eyes and saw her panicked face as the boat captain crumpled in front of them. And then all that blood in the water, a cloud of red as Malai’s body sank like a stone.

  Could Karly have saved her? She would never know, because she hadn’t tried. Instead, she’d fled. Under a hail of bullets, she’d swum hard and fast, her arms and legs propelling her through the water, taking her farther and farther away from that beach. She’d pulled and kicked for all she was worth until her lungs felt like they’d explode, and then she’d kept going, paralleling the shore. Going, going, going, as far away from the resort as she could get.

  “Karly.”

  Ethan’s voice pulled her back. He was watching her carefully. He rested his hand on her shoulder again.

  “You all right?”

  “Fine.”

  She could tell he didn’t believe her, but he went back to zipping supplies into his vest.

  “So you’re a reporter, huh? What’s that like?” His voice had a casual tone now. He was trying to distract her, but she couldn’t think how to respond. “Is it pretty exciting?”

  She laughed. “Um, no. Not compared to being a SEAL. It’s pretty boring, actually.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Yeah, well . . . our magazine’s based in California, so I mostly write about actors and film types. I cover the celebrity beat.” She didn’t mention that she was known as one of the best interviewers in the business. She had a knack for getting people to talk to her, and she took pride in not writing gotcha pieces that ruined people’s lives for the sake of headlines. It was one reason people let down their guard with her.

  Ethan settled on the ground beside her, leaning back against the rock, and she tried not to think about how his closeness sent her pulse into overdrive.

  “Movie premieres and Oscar parties, huh?”

  “Sometimes. I also write straight news when they ask me to. This spring, for instance. There was this big bribery scandal up in Sacramento. It made national headlines.”

  “Must have missed it.” He looked at her. “We’re gone a lot.”

  “Right. Well . . . anyway, there were these state officials taking kickbacks. I was one of the reporters who broke the story, so I guess I’m proud of that.”

  “You should be.”

  “Doesn’t compare to saving people’s lives, though.”

  “You did a public service. It’s
a hell of a lot more than some people do.”

  She glanced at him, picking up on something in his tone. Some people . . . meaning journalists? Lots of people hated reporters. She’d learned to ignore their disdain. But for some reason, Ethan’s opinion mattered.

  “Do you have a problem with reporters?”

  “Not all of them,” he said, which just confirmed her suspicion.

  “Why?”

  Seconds ticked by, and he didn’t say anything. He must really have a beef with them, she thought.

  “Reporters—especially TV people—they can be a problem for us. We’re called silent professionals for a reason. What we do, it works best when people don’t see us coming. When they don’t know how we operate. When they don’t know our tactics. People go blabbing to the press after something happens, and then they come and put a spotlight on our ops? That’s never good.” He shifted beside her, resting his forearms on his knees. “I’d just as soon avoid the media. They can be a real pain in the ass. No offense.”

  She shrugged. “I’ve heard it before.” But it had never stung quite like it did coming from Ethan.

  “And it’s not just us affected—it’s the victims, too, the people we pull out of bad situations. I’ve seen more than a few lives messed up when people are suddenly thrust into the limelight. It can be brutal.”

  He was watching her now with those vivid blue eyes. She’d never known a man with eyes like that.

  “So what are you covering right now?” he asked.

  “The ambassador. He’s from Los Angeles, and I’m doing a cover feature about him. He has a degree in economics, and he’s actually a pretty serious guy. I was surprised. I’m sure our readers will be surprised, too.”

  “Why?”

  She smiled. “Have you seen Anthony Mancuso?”

  “Just his passport picture.”

  “Well, he’s . . .” She paused, trying to think of a way to phrase it that wouldn’t make her sound like a groupie. “He’s attractive. He was voted one of L.A.’s best-dressed men, which is saying a lot. And he’s got a reputation for being a playboy.”

  She hazarded a glance at Ethan. She couldn’t read the look on his face, but she felt ridiculous having this conversation. She was talking about fashion, and he was sitting beside her in his commando gear, armed to the teeth and covered in greasepaint.

  Everything about him got to her. The way he looked and talked. The way his muscles rippled whenever he moved. The manly way he smelled, like sweat and dirt. Beside him, she felt protected. Safe. Like no matter what had happened, no matter what horrors she’d witnessed, she actually had a shot at getting out of this, and all because he and his teammates were willing to risk their lives for her.

  A lump of fear rose in her throat. She swallowed it down.

  “This plan tonight,” she said.

  “What about it?”

  “I need to know what it is. The basics.”

  He just looked at her.

  “I do better when I can picture things.”

  He nodded. “I get that.”

  “So will you tell me?”

  He sighed, and she thought he was going to dodge the question.

  “It’s complicated. But basically, in about two hours, the rest of my platoon is going to meet up on the north side of the island.”

  “Are they coming by helicopter?”

  “Water. A helo’s too noisy. Remember what I said about surprise?”

  She nodded.

  “Our men will sneak ashore, completely invisible. We’ll surround the resort, neutralize the bad guys, and then get the hostages to the beach for an air evac. That’s the basic plan.”

  Neutralize the bad guys.

  “Somehow I think that sounds easier than it is,” she said. “What if you don’t manage to neutralize everyone?”

  “There’s always the chance of squirters, bad guys who flee out the back. We’ve got a plan for that, too.” He settled against the rock, brushing her shoulder with his, and she felt another rush of awareness. “The biggest challenge is timing. We have to come at them fast and hard and gain control of the situation before they realize we’re there. It’s about shock and awe. Otherwise, we could be looking at civilian casualties. Or someone detonates something. Both of those are unacceptable outcomes.”

  “Unacceptable outcomes. But not impossible.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “What are the odds everything will go as planned?”

  He didn’t respond. Karly put her hand on his knee, and he glanced down at it.

  “Be honest with me.”

  His gaze locked with hers, and for a long moment, he said nothing. And then, “Honestly, I’d give it one chance in ten.”

  Her blood turned cold. “Ten percent odds?”

  “That everything goes to plan,” he said. “But that’s okay. SEALs are trained to adapt, to improvise. Especially this crew. These guys are pros, I promise you. No matter what goes down on an op, you can count on our team to get the job done.”

  Karly bit her lip and looked away. He sounded so calm. So determined. As though every one of their lives didn’t hang in the balance.

  “Hey.”

  She turned to him.

  “You wanted honesty.”

  “I know.” She cleared her throat. “Thanks. I mean that.”

  They got quiet then, and the only sounds were those of the island around them—the distant crashing of waves against the beach, the palms rustling. She could hear her heart thudding inside her chest. His gaze held hers, and she wondered if he could hear it, too.

  A one-in-ten chance. She felt dizzy again. Her chest got tight, but she refused to think about crying or falling apart. She could do that later, when she made it home.

  If she made it home.

  She thought of Rachel. Had her sister heard about the attack on the news? It was just the two of them now that their parents were gone, and they tended to worry about each other. The thought of leaving Rachel alone in the world without any immediate family made Karly’s stomach hurt.

  And then she thought about Colin. Which was bizarre. Why was she thinking about her cheating ex at a time like this? He was a reporter himself and a news junkie, so there was a good chance he was following this story from the Washington bureau where he now worked.

  Ethan was still watching her. “Did I scare you?” he asked.

  “No.”

  He smiled slightly, as though he knew she was lying. Karly just looked at him. Focusing on his eyes steadied her. He seemed so confident they were going to get out of this. She’d never known anyone—man or woman—who exuded such confidence in the face of disaster. Just his presence beside her kept the hysteria away.

  “You’re going to have a scar.” He reached up and stroked his finger over her temple, and a shot of heat went through her.

  “You think?”

  “Yeah.”

  He had a scar. It bisected his left eyebrow, and she almost couldn’t see it under all the camo paint. He eased closer. Was he going to kiss her? Her stomach fluttered with nerves at the thought. And then his gaze drifted to her mouth, and her pulse sped up.

  Why was she doing this? Why was she thinking about kissing this man when she should be focused on survival? Maybe it was her brain’s way of distracting her from the paralyzing reality that she might not see another sunrise.

  “Ethan . . .”

  It was a whisper. Barely that. She leaned closer and looked at his mouth.

  And then he was on his feet, gun out, stance wide.

  Karly lurched sideways as a trio of men stepped through the trees.

  “Dunn, we need you.”

  Jake was one of them. He glanced down at Karly but didn’t bother with a greeting as he stepped into the brush, followed by Ethan and the others.

 
Karly got to her feet. Her heart was racing now for an entirely different reason. She watched the men huddle together. They were big. Enormous. They all wore vests like Ethan’s and had machine guns slung over their shoulders. The tallest one wore night-vision goggles and had a mean-looking knife strapped to his thigh. He carried a device in his hand that emitted a greenish glow.

  Together, they looked terrifying, but what alarmed Karly most was their body language. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the tension was ratcheted way up.

  Ethan broke away from the group and stepped over. He pulled her around the tree and looked down at her, his expression grim.

  “You said you wanted me to be honest. Can you handle it?”

  “Yes.”

  He rested his hand on her shoulder. “Okay, Karly, here’s the deal. We have a problem.”

  FOUR

  * * *

  Ethan stared through the night-vision binoculars, weighing the severity of the problem. The goatfuck factor, which had been manageable so far, had just shot into the stratosphere.

  A boat was now arriving at the east dock. That boat was filled with tangos. Sixteen new guys, bringing the total number of terrorists to thirty-two.

  But that wasn’t the worst news. There seemed to be a leader in this batch. Jake had pointed it out, and observing the tangos’ behavior now, Ethan had to agree. The man was taller than the rest, which didn’t necessarily mean anything. He wore all black, but instead of carrying an AK like everyone else, he had a hefty-looking pistol holstered at his hip. Ethan couldn’t see the weapon clearly, but it was probably a Makarov, Russian-made, same as the AKs. The man was giving orders, and everyone around him treated him with deference.

  “Looks like the chief showed up,” Lucas Ortiz said beside him.

  “Yep.”

  And that wasn’t even the worst news. This new group of men included a film crew. Ethan had seen them unloading a shoulder-mounted video camera. It was a serious piece of equipment, like a TV news team might use, and the instant Ethan spotted it, he knew these terrorists weren’t planning to pass the night milling around and biding time until their scheduled phone call with the American embassy at 0600. No, they had plans to film something. And if this organization’s history was any indication, it would be something horrific. Something shocking. Something they wouldn’t hesitate to blast into cyberspace for maximum exposure.