Navy SEAL Cop

by Cindy Dees

  “Wake up, Bass!”

  Perriman looked up at her as she bent down over Bass. “He’s unconscious. It’s best this way. He shouldn’t suffer.”

  “He’s. Not. Going. To. Die.”

  “I like the way you think, young lady. Keep thinking that way.”

  She nodded resolutely.

  Ford, monitoring a blood pressure cuff on Bass’s arm murmured, “His pressure’s starting to drop.”

  Perriman said tersely, “Now, Trina. Start the transfusion from Carrie to Bass. Keep the flow slow. We need to make this blood last as long as possible because it’s the only matching blood we’ve got until that helicopter gets here. Keep watching his vitals, Ford.”

  Carrie held her breath, praying like crazy. “C’mon, Bass,” she cried. “C’mon! Wake up!”

  Ford muttered, “Pressure’s stabilized. It’s low as hell, but he’s still with us.”

  Over the next several minutes, blood trickled from Carrie’s arm through a thin rubber tube into Bass’s.

  “That’s about a pint,” the woman called Trina announced.

  Carrie reached out fast to block her from removing the needle from her arm. “I can give him more,” she insisted.

  “A little. But we’re not bleeding you out to save Bass. He’d kill us if we let anything happen to you.” Trina leaned close to murmur, “He loves you, you know.”

  Carrie was starting to feel a little light-headed. Surely she hadn’t heard Trina correctly.

  In the distance, Carrie thought she heard the thwocking sound of a helicopter. Please, please, let her be hearing that correctly.

  The SEAL named Ford glanced at his watch. “Twenty minutes flat. Impressive. They must have firewalled the engines and oversped everything to get here this fast.”

  “Damn straight they did,” Perriman muttered. “Where’s Mick?”

  “He’s alive, dazed, but mostly unhurt,” Trina said. “I told him to lie down and rest while you guys worked on Bass’s wounds. Bass warned him in time to get out of the truck.”

  “Saved my life, he did,” an Australian-accented voice came out of the dark.

  “I want you on that helicopter, too,” Perriman ordered. “You were way close to that truck when it blew.”

  The Aussie protested, “I’m not the one hollering fit to wake the dead. Carrie needs the ride back to town more than I do. Besides, we’ve got a little cleanup to do around here.”

  And that was the first moment it had dawned on Carrie to wonder, “What happened to Lonnie?”

  The SEALs traded looks over her head. Perriman said evenly, “He won’t be a problem to you any longer.”

  “Is he dead?” she demanded. “He is, isn’t he?”

  “I can neither confirm nor deny that,” Perriman answered. “Ford, Trina, go feed the alligators.”

  It took her a moment. But then it hit her. They were going to dispose of Lonnie’s body where alligators would eliminate any evidence of what had happened tonight.

  “What about his men?” she asked.

  “We didn’t kill any of them. If they survived the blast, they’re welcome to find their way out of here. It’s not like they’ll go to the authorities to report us. And frankly, after tonight, I’m confident they’ll never want to tangle with any of us again.”

  That caused a chuckle all around.

  The thwocking sound was loud, even to her impaired hearing, and a violent blast of down-drafting air announced the arrival of the medevac copter. Paramedics rushed over to them, pushing a wheeled gurney with them.

  Everything happened quickly, then. Bass was lifted onto the gurney, an IV attached to the needle already taped in his vein from the first transfusion, and then she was being hustled alongside the running medics and shoved into the chopper. Hands strapped her into a seat, and then they were soaring skyward.

  The medics worked urgently over Bass, and she tried to take up as little space as possible, staying out of their way while they fought to save Bass’s life. They emptied three bags of blood into him during the ride. That couldn’t be good.

  The ride seemed to take forever, but eventually, the helicopter bumped onto a hard surface, and there was another rush of people and gurneys and running across a roof to an elevator.

  She was pulled away from Bass and pushed into an examining room while Bass was rushed on down the hallway into surgery.

  And then the waiting began.

  She barely paid attention when a doctor came in to examine her ears and declared her eardrums intact. He assured her that her hearing would return to normal shortly, warning her that she might experience some ringing in her ears for several days. The decision was made to admit her for observation to make sure she wasn’t suffering from a concussion. She could live with that.

  At some point, Cole Perriman poked his head into her room to tell her that Gary had also been admitted, suffering mainly from dehydration and a bit of malnourishment, but that he would be fine.

  “How’s Bass?” she asked urgently.

  “Still in surgery.”

  Ford, Trina and Mick joined Perriman, holding a silent vigil for Bass in her room. They didn’t speak much, they just sat in the shadows like patient ghosts, waiting in utter stillness.

  As for her, she couldn’t seem to be still. Nothing was ever going to be right again if Bass didn’t make it.

  How could she ever have considered leaving him? She’d seen him and his companions commit violence tonight. They’d rescued her uncle and saved her life. And frankly, she couldn’t work up a whole lot of dismay or even disapproval that they’d done it. They were, indeed, the good guys.

  Now, if only she got a chance to tell Bass that.

  And to tell him she loved him.

  Chapter 16

  Bass woke up slowly. He registered a nurse in surgical scrubs hovering over him, and then he drifted off. Sometime later he came to again, this time in a dimly lit hospital room. He was no stranger to those. After all, he’d been a SEAL for a long time. His right arm and shoulder were heavily bandaged and throbbed distantly. Wow. They had him on the good drugs.

  A small shadow moved in a chair by the window.

  “Carrie?” His voice came out a whispered croak.

  She was up and out of the chair instantly, rushing to his side. She perched on the edge of the bed beside him and he held out his good arm to her.

  She accepted the offer immediately and cuddled carefully against his side. “How do you feel?”

  “Good. Drugged.”

  He felt her smile against the side of his neck. “You gave us a bit of a scare last night.”

  “Last night?”

  “You were in surgery for six hours, and you slept all day today. It’s night again.”

  “My arm?”

  “They saved it. They had to do a complete reconstruction of your shoulder, though. They think you’ll regain full use of your hand over time.”

  He frowned, his brain still foggy. “Over time? How much time?”

  “They couldn’t say. Months. Maybe longer.”

  “Oh.” He turned that idea over in his brain. “Am I done as a SEAL?”

  “Commander Perriman says you can train SEALs as long as you can walk, talk, and, umm, use the restroom by yourself.”

  Bass grinned. Those would not have been Perriman’s exact words, but he got the gist. His smile faded. So. He was done in the field, but he could stay on board as a trainer only.

  A month ago, that would have been a gigantic tragedy to him. Maybe it was the painkillers, but he didn’t find himself overly concerned about it now. He still had his police work, and he could keep his toes in the SEAL world by training the next generation of SEALs.

  He looked down at Carrie, her head resting against his good shoulder. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

  “Me, t
oo.”

  “How’s your uncle?”

  “Resting comfortably downstairs. He was dehydrated, malnourished, and in need of some antibiotics to clear up a sinus infection he picked up, but he’s otherwise unharmed and charming the socks off his nurses.”

  Good. That was good. The details of the mission were starting to come back to him now. “Mick?”

  “Fine. Your warning allowed him to jump out of the truck and run before it blew.”

  “Grange?”

  “I believed the technical term for him is gator bait.”

  “Indeed?” He nodded, satisfied to hear that news. Then he grinned. “Look at you talking all southern-like.”

  She raised herself up to smile down at him.

  “Oh, I just remembered something!” he exclaimed. “It’s gonna make you happy.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Your friend, Shelly, and her mom? They’re not dead. They went into witness protection after they testified against Lonnie Grange. They’re alive.”

  Joy exploded across Carrie’s face, and his heart warmed to be the one to put that expression there. “Can I see them?”

  “Maybe. We’ll have to file a request through channels, and it’ll have to get passed to them, and then arrangements made for you to meet them without blowing their covers. But eventually, I expect you can see them both.”

  She stared down at him for a long time, relief and gratitude swimming in her gaze. At length, she murmured, “You did it, Bass. You kept your promise and took care of Lonnie for me. He’ll never bother me again.”

  He smiled up at her and used his left hand to push a stray lock of hair back from her face and tuck it behind her ear. “I’m glad. And you can stop running now...if you want.”

  She nodded soberly. “About that. I have a confession to make.”

  His heart clenched in trepidation. Here it came. She was going to dump him and be on her way, off to the next ghost story, the next anonymous town.

  “The night Lonnie called and made me go to him...” She paused, seeming to struggle for words. “I was running away. I was on my way out of town and never coming back.”

  Pain that had nothing to do with his recent surgery twisted in his gut. “Why?”

  “I was afraid. Afraid of Lonnie. Afraid I wasn’t strong enough to stand up to him. Afraid of you.”

  “Of me?”

  He struggled to sit up, but stabbing pain in his shoulder forced him back down to the pillows.

  Carrie looked him square in the eye. “Yes. I was afraid of you. Of how you make me feel. I’ve never felt like this about anybody before. You made me consider stopping running for the first time. And that terrified me.”

  “What about now, with Grange out of the picture?”

  Silence drew out between them as she searched his eyes, and he prayed she found what she was looking for.

  She answered slowly, “I’ll always run, Bass.”

  His heart plummeted to the floor. Just kill him now. He didn’t want to live without her. He couldn’t live without her. But neither would he force her to stay.

  She continued in a rush, “But not away. I’ll run to you. Every time. No matter how far away I go, I’ll always come back to you. You’re my anchor. The only home I’ll ever want or need.”

  His heart started to beat again, and hope burst to life inside him. “You’re sure?”

  “Positive. If you’ll have me.”

  A smile broke across his face. “If I’ll have you? Woman, I don’t want anyone but you!”

  “You’re sure?” she asked in a small voice.

  His smile widened. Filled his whole face. His whole being. “I’m positive. You just run right into these arms, and I’ll catch you every time.”

  Right then and there, Carrie leaned down and whispered in his ear the four words that made him know, without a shadow of a doubt, that this time she was here to stay. “I love you, Bass.”

  “And I love you, Carrie.”

  They stared at each other in wonder that, through all they’d been through, all the doubts and suspicions and obstacles, they’d found each other.

  “Marriage?” he asked.

  “Definitely.”

  “Kids?”

  “Lots.”

  “When?” he inquired.

  “Immediately.”

  “Done.”

  And with that, she climbed into his arms, exactly where she belonged.

  Forever.

  * * * * *

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  The Cowboy’s Deadly Mission

  by Addison Fox

  Chapter 1

  Midnight Pass, Texas, had exactly three things to recommend it: the finest pool hall in all the state; thick, rich, foamy beer brewed off the waters of the Rio Grande; and the Reynolds boys, who had grown into the finest-looking cowboys in the entire Southwest.

  Annabelle Granger was well aware she’d been born with the gift of keen observation and a tendency to exaggerate what she saw, but there was nothing exaggerated about the swagger that gripped Ace Reynolds’s hips when he walked. The firm grip of Hoyt Reynolds’s long, thick fingers on his Stetson. Or Tate Reynolds’s wicked smile that had removed the panties of more than a few lucky women.

  Belle, sadly, had been one of them.

  Tamping down on the old feelings that had no place in a criminal investigation, she ignored the cocky grin Tate shot her across the wide expanse of damaged fence she’d been sent out to investigate.

  “Thanks for coming, ma’am.”

  “It’s Detective.”

  “Of course.” He nodded. “Detective Ma’am.”

  Tate wasn’t remorseful—the infuriating man didn’t do contrite. And she was convinced he’d never used the word “sorry” in his life. Yet try as she might, she couldn’t quite work up the degree of anger required to squelch the demon bats that dive-bombed her stomach every time they got within thirty feet of each other.

  “‘Detective Granger’ will be just fine. Or have you managed to forget my name after thirteen years of school, one miserable year as biology lab partners and a rather ill
-advised date to the Sadie Hawkins dance senior year?”

  She avoided mentioning the six glorious weeks they’d been as wild and carefree as mustangs, falling into each other’s arms every moment they could.

  “I know your name.”

  She risked a stare straight into those vivid green eyes. “So you’re threatened by my authority, then?”

  “Yep. That’s it.”

  Belle ignored the sarcasm and dropped to her knee. It gave her a break from staring at those broad shoulders, lean hips and his thick brown hair streaked blond from the sun. The fence had been cut clean through, the work likely as swift and efficient as it looked. “You lose any of your cattle?”

  “No. I found the breach early enough to manage and the herd’s grazing on a different sector. This stretch hasn’t been tried before and I don’t have cameras out here.”

  Belle filed that information away, the likelihood this was a well-planned—illegal—use of private property increasing exponentially. “Notice anything or anyone suspicious lately?”

  “Other than a twenty-foot section of barbed wire cut clean through? No.”

  A few of Tate’s ranch hands worked in the distance, preparing the stretch of fence for repair by removing what was cut. Their hands were coated in thick gloves but even with the barrier, they worked quickly.

  “I’m here to help you.”

  The eyes that usually flashed with easygoing humor clouded, transforming into a hard, cold emerald. “You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t take comfort in that. You’re the third member of our esteemed police force out here in the past six months and no one seems able to fix the little intrusion problem I seem to have developed on my land. That fence isn’t cutting itself.”

  Belle chafed at the suggestion her department wasn’t doing enough, but she damn well knew problems along the border had grown nigh impossible to contain. Between drug trafficking and illegal immigration, the local cops had their hands as full as the Feds.

  And both problems were only growing worse.

  She got to her feet, her gaze roaming over the dry footprints that were barely visible in the scrub grass that surrounded the fence. They’d likely never even be visible if it hadn’t been for the spring rains that had softened up the land. “You put the patrol on like the chief asked you to?”