*
Tara lay on the bed Price had made for them. She'd drunk two bottles of the electrolyte replacement fluids. While not feeling one hundred percent better, she was, at least, verging on seventy-five.
So far playing doctor had boiled down to Price manipulating her legs and arms. Since most of her body hurt, it was probably good that he stuck to real doctoring and not play doctoring. She didn't think she'd be up for much more than sleeping and coughing for a day or so. What she wouldn't give for a nice shot of straight oxygen.
Price gently manipulated her jaw. "How's that feel?"
"Ouch," she muttered, then coughed. "Fuck. Coughing hurts like a son of a bitch. He kicked my right side. I think he punched me in the stomach, too. Things were a little hazy at that point."
Price jerked and inhaled, his nostrils flaring. "Let me check. Hold still." He palpated her ribs, massaged her diaphragm. "Take a deep breath."
"Ouch." She grimaced. "It hurts, píítaa."
He muttered under his breath, something about finding the fucker's carcass and pounding it into dust.
Tara appreciated the sentiment; she'd want to do the same to anyone who hurt him.
"Price…" She waited for him to look at her. His blue eyes were dark with pain, as if he shared each hurt Miller had given her. "I can breathe, and it isn't a sharp pain. So bruised, maybe? I've had broken ribs. I know these aren't." She cupped his jaw and rubbed her thumb over the twitching muscle in his cheek. "I'm fine. We're fine. Plus, Miller's dead and probably ashes by now. It's over."
The muscle in his cheek still flexed, but he nodded. Then he brought tears to her eyes as he kissed each and every bruise on her face; delicate butterfly kisses that conveyed his feelings as much as or more than any other kiss he'd ever given her.
Price touched his forehead to hers. "I want to wrap those ribs, just in case. Then I'll treat the cuts on your chest. Then I'll dig out some ibuprofen. You can drink some more fluid and eat some of the nuts and dried fruit in my pack."
"Okay." Tara nodded. "At least we have lots of water and we can treat it. So, all in all, we're doing good."
"We're better than good." Price ran his hand over her hair. The look on his face was one she'd never seen before—fear.
"Price?" Tara wiped away moisture from his dirty cheek. "Tears. Why? We're okay."
"I thought you were dead." He inhaled and blinked the moisture from his lashes. "You were so still and so bruised…bloody." He turned his head to kiss the palm of her hand as she touched his cheek. "I don't want to live without you."
"You won't have to." She cupped his face and touched her lips to his, then winced. "Guess kissing is off the menu for a bit." She sighed. "I think I'd really like those meds now. Don't really feel like eating anything unless it's soft or through a straw until my jaw stops throbbing. And then…would you hold me? Just until our help arrives."
"Of course, sweetheart. You never have to ask." Price handed her the tablets and a bottle of water, then settled next to her on the makeshift bed before gently pulling her into his arms.
Sighing, she laid her head on his chest and listened to the steady, strong beat of his heart as he caressed her hair. Closing her eyes, she felt his love surrounding her, protecting her, and she fell asleep, a smile on her lips.
Epilogue
Saturday, July 25th
Tara looked around the Lodge and smiled. Scotty and Nancy, Scotty's girlfriend and DJ's mother, had gone all out to decorate the great room. Garlands of summer flowers entwined in greenery and bent twigs were draped around the fireplace, on the antler chandeliers, and over all the doorways. Pots of other flowering plants were placed about the room. On the large deck off the great room and the kitchen were long tables with pale green tablecloths and centerpieces of fat white candles in glass hurricane lanterns with flower wreaths around the base of the glass.
"How did they do this in a week?" she looked up at her husband of less than an hour. "People plan this kind of decor a year in advance. I've watched enough of that Bridezilla show to know that."
Price gently squeezed her waist. Miller had cracked her ribs. Her fiancé, now her husband—and just thinking of him in that way made her heart swell with happiness to the point of bursting—had been handling her as if she'd shatter into pieces for the last week. He'd made love to her orally, but had refused to "put his two hundred twenty pounds on top of her already beaten-to-shit body."
Well, that was gonna stop tonight. She needed him to make love to her on their wedding night. She'd beg him if she had to.
It had to be bad luck not to make love on a wedding night, right?
Even Fee had said he was overreacting, but then she added her big brother had always had an overwhelming sense of responsibility.
At least, he'd pushed to have the ceremony as soon as they could get their relatives all there. Well, most of their relatives.
"Did it really not bother you that your parents didn't come?" She squeezed his hand.
"Nope. I really like your parents." He lifted their joined hands and kissed her fingertips. "You lucked out in the parent category."
"You sure did." Fee smiled as she joined them. "And now I have another sister. And all those brother-in-laws by marriage. Woot! Our sisters sure like them. I think Aidan is blushing, but then Alanna has always been somewhat blunt about what she wants."
"Fee," Trey said, "she competes in a man's world. Of course she goes after what she wants. She didn't get to be CEO of a Fortune 500 pharmaceutical company by being shy and retiring."
"Yeah." Fee sighed. "Neither she nor Regan are shy or retiring, that's for sure." She turned to Price and handed him a folded piece of paper. "Here, read this before you head home. Call me if you have questions. Come on, Trey, let's rescue Aidan from Alanna's clutches before he runs from the room in fear for his life. I swear my older sisters will never catch a man like our brother if they don't back off a bit. Sheesh."
Trey pulled Fee against his side and sent a laughing look at Tara and Price. "Fee has had two glasses of champagne. I can't wait to hear the lecture she gives Alanna and Regan. I'll clue you both in later."
"Trey!" Fee slapped her husband's butt. "Shh. You're supposed to be on my side and keep my secrets."
"Little doc, they aren't secrets if you shout them all over the room." Trey picked Fee up and kissed her soundly on the mouth. "Behave. No more champagne for you." He carried his wife away, toward Tweeter and DJ and nowhere near Alanna or Regan or Tara's brothers.
Tara snickered. "Fee is barking up the wrong tree. I know Aidan and he likes your sister being all bossy. She's beautiful. So is Regan."
"Uh-huh." Price then laughed and handed her the note.
It was on a prescription pad with Fee's name and the clinic address and her Idaho Medical License number pre-printed on the top. It read: Take one new bride to bed and make love to her. No restrictions. Repeat as needed.
Tara searched for Fee who was watching them with a big grin on her face. She sent her friend a big kiss, then turned to her tall, handsome, wonderful husband. "Well?"
"Want to play doctor?" he asked.
"Yeah. Because your love is the best medicine in the world."
Price swung her up into his arms and carried her out of the room to the shouts and laughter of their very happy wedding guests.
All in all, it was the happiest day of her life—to that point. But she was certain as the sun rose in the east and set in the west, that there would be many more happy days in the years ahead.
The End
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All caught up on Security Specialists International Series? For more Monette Michaels, try her Prime Chronicles Series, starting with Prime Obsession!
See where it all began – Eye of the Storm, Book 1, in the SSI series
“The tough, protective heroes you’ve been waiting for. Fans of Maya Banks’ KGI, Susan Stoker, and Lexi Blake will love Monette Michaels’ Security Specialists International series.” — Cherise Sinclair, NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Author.
“With memorable moments of humor and a mystery to solve, this was an engrossing read.” – Night Owl Reviews.
Blurb
She’s never met a problem she couldn’t handle.
Keely Walsh has three doctorates, five older brothers and has never met a situation she couldn’t manage. While consulting with the NSA, she discovers sensitive government information indicating her brother, a private security operative, is in danger. Keely travels to the dangerous Triple Frontier in South America to warn him and his colleagues and finds the last thing she expects–a man who sends icy shivers down her spine even as he lights every one of her fires.
His job is to keep everyone safe.
Ren Maddox, co-owner of Security Specialists International, a security firm that works for large corporations and governments, is on an intelligence-gathering mission for the US government when a petite strawberry blonde armed with a Bren Ten and an attitude ten feet tall pops out of the Argentine jungle with a warning of imminent danger. The fact she is one hundred percent correct shocks him to his socks. The fact she is Tweeter Walsh’s baby sister and can fight like the fiercest Marine is beside the point. No one who looks like Keely should ever be in danger. And once he gets her out of the current situation, he’ll make it his life’s work to protect the feisty, sexy, little woman from any and all danger.
One alpha male. One determined and independent female. One hot, tumultuous relationship on a wild ride from Argentina to snow swept Idaho.
“A keeper that begs to be reread often …” –– A Recommended Read from Joyfully Reviewed
Excerpt
Chapter 1
Iguazu River, Argentina, the Triple Frontier
Keely Walsh stopped to rest. Even with the shade from the rain forest canopy, the heat was oppressive. Tipping back her broad-brimmed hat, she wiped the sweat out of her eyes, then took a deep drink of water from the canteen she carried. So far, according to her portable GPS, she'd traveled two klicks from her landing site. If her coordinates were correct, and they always were, she should see the village in less than another kilometer. Right now all she could see were trees, low-growing foliage, and more trees.
After she'd landed the chopper in a small, elevated clearing, she’d followed a faint path leading down and away from the landing site. She surmised the path had been cleared a day or so ago, then just as quickly overgrown. It led in the general direction of the village. She'd seen marijuana growing in the clearing, so it made sense the locals would need a path to get to their cash crop.
Shrugging her backpack off, she let it slip to the ground. She knelt and pulled out the white cotton shirt she'd worn on the plane, then put it on over her tank top. It was way too hot and humid for any covering, but she couldn't have her brother go nuts if he saw the bruises on her shoulders and upper chest. Time enough for explanations later, after they were safe in the hotel suite she'd booked in the Iguazu National Park before securing transportation and her weapons. She sighed, imagining how good the air conditioning would feel after this steam-bath hike. The hotel had a pool and a pool bar. She could almost taste a large Pepsi with ice as she dangled her legs in the cool water.
God, she hated heat, humidity, insects and snakes, all of which jungles had in abundance. Only for her favorite brother, Stuart "Tweeter" Walsh, would she do this—plus there had been no one else. Her father, Marine Corps Colonel Kennard Walsh, was on a training mission. The call to her other four brothers had not produced the instant response needed. The twins, Loren and Paul, were on a SEAL mission and the other two, Devin and Andy, were Marines searching Afghanistan’s caves for terrorists. By the time their emergency leave was approved, Tweeter would be dead. And she couldn't trust anyone else but her mother Molly—and her Dad would kill her if she involved her mama in this mess.
She was it—the only person who could warn her brother about the trap. She couldn't stay safely in Massachusetts while Tweeter was in danger. He'd protected her over the years, and she could do no less for him.
She let the shirt tails hang over her baggy khakis. She slid the knife she'd bought from a wizened little man named Bazon in Puerto Iguazu into its sheath, then clipped it and the holster holding the Bren Ten she'd purchased onto the belt at the small of her back. Nothing like a Bren to make your point. She’d taken the finding of the rare gun as a sign that her mission would be a success. There'd only been fifteen hundred made and the odds were astronomical against her finding the gun she was most comfortable handling. Her dad had taught her to shoot with a Bren. It was highly accurate and had hitting power. She checked the magazine and found it fully loaded with all ten .45 caliber rounds. She locked the hammer back to the “condition one” setting; a flick of the safety and she would be good to go for single shot or automatic fire.
Satisfied she was as ready as she could be, she headed once more in the direction of the village where Tweeter, along with his Security Specialist International team, were allegedly meeting an informant.
SSI was a security firm specializing in international troubleshooting for private corporations and governments who would rather not use their own intelligence personnel. Ren and Trey Maddox, both ex-special forces, had established their headquarters and training facility in Sanctuary, Idaho, a SSI-owned town at the edge of the Nez Perce National Forest. SSI's current mission had been arranged through the U.S. Department of Defense and the National Clandestine Service or NCS; the classified report she’d come across while working on a project for the government had outlined the mission as an information-gathering on a reputed al Qaeda organization operating out of the Argentinian section of the Triple Frontier.
What it really was? A specially designed trap for Ren Maddox and anyone who accompanied him.
If the trap hadn't been sprung by the time she made it to the meeting place, they'd hoof it out and head for the helicopter she'd also rented from Bazon. In the Triple Frontier, it was easy to find weapons and drugs—and to rent military-equipped helicopters. She hadn't asked the old man where he'd gotten the Kamov KA-60, kitted out with belly guns and air-to-ground missiles. She never looked gift battle-ready helicopters in the mouth.
Bazon even had ordnance for the belly guns. For double the rental price, she'd had him load the ordnance, checking his work as he did it. She might not be able to lift the ammunition, but she knew how it should be loaded.
She'd been surprised when the man hadn't tried to gyp her. When she'd asked him about it, he'd given her a mostly toothless smile and said, "For you, pequena muchacha de oro, it is a pleasure." Then Bazon had winked at her, and his flirtatious manner had her choking back laughter. The Argentinian had to be old enough to be her grandfather.
It probably hadn't hurt that she'd paid him five thousand USD in traveler's checks. Say what you want about the economy and international relations, the almighty dollar was still the currency of choice in the world’s hellholes.
Now, if the trap had been sprung—well, she'd cross that bridge when she got to it.
To this point, her trek had been merely hot and sweaty, but not dangerous. She'd seen no one other than monkeys, toucans, butterflies and other inhabitants of this particular subtropical rainforest. Nothing, not even the local four-legged predators, had bothered her. She was more worried about chancing across the two-legged variety before she reached the village. As her father had drilled into her and the boys, “always expect perimeter guards when approaching a danger zone”. Since her fat
her had survived some of the hairiest conflicts on the planet and taught thousands of other Marines to pull through in some of the worst places in the world, he knew of what he spoke.
Keely's gaze now moved continuously, watching for anything out of place. She attempted to differentiate the background noises, hoping she'd sense a change when peril approached. The jungle fauna were nature's version of an early-warning system.
When danger did appear, it was on the path. Or, more explicitly, lying across it. She stopped, her steel-toed hiking boots just inches away from a trip wire strung across the path. Was the trap for those stupid enough to steal the villagers' marijuana crop? Or, had it been placed there more recently by the mercs hired to take out the SSI team?
She knelt and examined the wire. She snorted. It went nowhere and was attached to nothing. A red herring. Somewhere around here was the real trap.
She lifted her head and swept the area around the path and a few feet ahead. Ahh, there it was. A disturbed area, no new vegetation had grown, so the digging was recent. After the wary traveler stepped over the more obvious wire, the poor unsuspecting sap would then step onto a pressure plate and die before he or she even finished congratulating themselves on a narrow escape.
Keely couldn't leave the trap for some hapless villager or for her and the guys to stumble over on the return trip to the chopper. Looking around, she spied a pile of rocks. Stepping off the path, she carefully picked her way toward the outcropping, which looked to be the remnants of a small building. She edged around the rubble, picked up a rock, then lobbed it with an underhanded toss. It hit the plate just as she ducked for cover. The explosion was loud, startling birds and other animals into heading for shelter higher in the rain forest canopy. The sound of detritus hitting the broken-down hovel told her it had been a fragmentation mine.
Firestorm Page 32
