Forged in Fire

by Trish McCallan

  “Was Kyle on the video? Ginny?” Beth asked hoarsely. From her ashen face and the horror swimming in her eyes, she’d figured out what was on that tape too and was wondering whether her friend had suffered the same fate.

  “No.” Chastain’s voice smoothed as he pulled a shroud of composure into place.

  “You said the footage was taken this morning?” Zane glanced at Cosky. From the grimness in his teammate’s eyes, they’d arrived at the same conclusion.

  Chastain nodded. “Mid-morning.”

  Which meant it had been taken before the hijacking had been aborted. The timing made sense. The terrorists had wanted to deliver a reminder of what was at stake before the investigation hit Chastain’s desk, but the footage had been taken before the plane had been searched, before they’d lost four of their crew, before they’d killed Todd Clancy and started severing loose ends.

  At this point, they couldn’t be sure the hostages were still alive.

  “Show me the video,” Mac said.

  Without saying a word, Chastain headed for the door with Mac on his heels. Though nothing was said, everyone knew what they’d be watching. The knowledge permeated the room like a thick, ugly haze.

  A half-hour later Mac returned, face rigid and skin pale. His hands clenched into fists. Fury and livid disgust burning in his eyes.

  Chastain didn’t return with him.

  “Let’s roll. McKay’s given the green light.” Mac said. “I’ve got pictures of the kids and Chastain’s loaning us his car.”

  Zane frowned and glanced toward Beth. He wasn’t leaving her behind. There were two hijackers unaccounted for, and they had no idea who among the feds were compromised. She’d be safer with them at the carnival.

  Mac followed Zane’s gaze. “She waits here.”

  No way in hell. “She comes with us.”

  Mac’s jaw set. “She’s a civilian. She waits here.”

  In any other circumstances, he would have agreed. You didn’t bring civilians on missions. Period. But this was more recon, than a penetration, with no real danger attached. The kidnappers would be long gone by the time the team arrived at the fairgrounds.

  “She’s not safe here,” Zane said flatly.

  Beth stirred. “I can speak for myself and I’m going. I’ve got pictures of Kyle and Ginny in my wallet. I can show the pictures around, ask if anyone’s seen them, while you guys question the booth attendant.”

  Mac ignored her. “Chastain can keep an eye on her.”

  Beth rolled her eyes and split her glare between Zane and Mac. “I’m going,” she said loudly, finality ringing in her voice. “If I have to, I’ll get my car and head over on my own.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Mac’s face twisted into a snarl. He tried to intimidate her with a glare. When that didn’t work, he swung to Zane. “Fine, keep her out of the fucking way.”

  Turning on his heel, he stalked toward the door. It opened as his hand touched the knob and Chastain’s haggard form filled the doorway.

  “If you find anything,” he told them, “run it down. Don’t call in. Just follow it.”

  “And if we get a location?” Mac asked, his face still.

  “Move on it.” Chastain didn’t hesitate. “I’ll take full responsibility. Just nail those bastards.”

  Mac nodded his understanding, and waited for the fed to move out of the way. Zane rested his hand on the small of Beth’s back, the tightness in his chest easing as the warmth of her skin heated his hand.

  Chastain’s promise to cover them amounted to a whole lot of hot air.

  Once this mess hit the public’s eye, Chastain wouldn’t be able to protect himself—let alone ST7. The poor bastard would be well and truly fried. Regardless of the circumstances, he’d cooperated with terrorists. He’d be lucky to avoid time in the pen.

  At this point, they could only hope that when Chastain took the hit and fell, he didn’t drag them down with him.

  * * *

  Todd was dead.

  The words rolled through Beth’s mind, an endless litany. She felt trapped in a nightmare, one that grew more hazy and terrifying by the hour. First the damn dream, then Todd’s involvement, then Ginny and Kyle’s kidnapping, followed by Todd’s death and what had been done to John Chastain’s poor wife.

  Please… please… please… don’t let that have been done to Ginny.

  Staring out the window of the sedan, Beth watched the streets of Burien streak past. The blurred houses, cars and people deepened the sense of dreaming, the rift from reality, the feeling of being trapped in a bad case of déjà-vu.

  This couldn’t be happening. Please don’t let this be happening.

  Zane shifted beside her, his jeans rasping against the fabric upholstery, his heat simmering along her left side from shoulder to thigh, his scent a smoky musk in air stale with the remnants of peanuts and coffee.

  His warmth grounded her, anchored her—prevented her from splintering into a billion pieces. She turned her head, latched onto his presence with something akin to desperation, and tried to concentrate on the voices rising and falling in the cramped interior.

  “If anything comes from this,” Cosky said from the driver’s seat, flipping on his blinkers and glancing in the rear-view mirror. “We’ll need to arm up. My dad collected guns, so we’ve got a small arsenal at my mom’s place.”

  Mackenzie snorted. “The odds are better we’ll catch the Tooth Fairy than uncover a clue to find them.”

  Rawls, who was sitting to Zane’s left, glanced over to Beth and then Zane. “How ‘bout you, skipper? You picking anything up?”

  He meant psychically. Beth half twisted to look at Zane’s face. She wasn’t touching that soul mate nonsense, but the ESP bit…. “Is it true? Are you psychic?”

  Dead silence blanketed the car. Someone cleared their throat.

  “Sometimes,” Zane said calmly, green eyes steady on her face. “I get flashes of things to come. They’re quick. Never last longer than a few seconds.”

  Beth digested that in silence. She thought back to her full reveal in the closet and the glances flying back and forth between the three men. “You knew. You already knew something was going to happen on that plane. That’s why you believed me so quickly.”

  “I got a flash just before you arrived at the gate—saw Cos and Rawls dead.” His intense gaze held hers like a magnet. “But I didn’t see who did it or what caused it.”

  Suddenly she wanted to laugh. She choked the amusement back, suspecting it would have a hysterical edge, but she couldn’t stop the small snort that escaped. “I don’t believe this. Here I had the stupid dream, but you’re the psychic. So, how often do you get these…,” what had he called them? “… flashes?”

  Something about that question brought back the sense of déjà vu. It took her a second to pin the reason down. She’d been asked almost the exact same question, in the exact same tone, at least twice during the past few hours. Once by Cosky. Once by Mac.

  This time she couldn’t hold the laughter back, and yep—there was definitely a hysterical edge to it, judging by the concerned expression on Zane’s face. She let him cuddle her closer, and relaxed as he stroked her hair. The laughter sputtered and died.

  With each caress of his hand, the dream haze faded. By the time they arrived at the Puyallup fairgrounds, Beth had herself under control.

  They parked toward the front of the parking lot and everyone piled out.

  “Show these around.” Mac handed Zane and Cosky a couple of wallet-sized photos of two dark-haired boys. “Cosky and Rawls will start at the back of the grounds. You two start at the front. I’ll find the shooting booth.”

  Beth dug into her purse and dragged out her wallet. “Everyone take a picture of Kyle and Ginny too.” She quickly sorted through the plastic sheaths of photos.

  “She’s beautiful,” Rawls said, his gaze lingering on the photo Beth handed him.

  Yes, she was. Ginny was one of the most beautiful women Beth knew—inside and
out. As she stared at the photo in Rawls’ hand, her throat tightened and tears blurred the radiant image. With a deep breath, she forced the grief aside and concentrated on what needed to be done.

  Pictures in hand, everyone headed for the front gate, but the men’s longer legs quickly outpaced Beth. Zane held back, matching his stride to hers.

  “They’re more than friends, aren’t they?” Zane asked as they walked. “The only pictures you have in your wallet are of Ginny, Kyle and Todd.”

  That wasn’t true. She did have pictures of her mother, just not that many of them. And even fewer of them together.

  “They’re my family,” Beth admitted, her chest aching. “My dad left when I was a baby. Mom took extra shifts or second jobs to support us. She was rarely home, and when she was, she was so tired…. Ginny and her family lived next door. Her mom used to babysit me. They sort of unofficially adopted me. I spent far more time with them than I did with my own mother while growing up. And then Mom died when I was fifteen.” She shook her head slightly, shying away from the ugly memories. “Ginny’s family took me in.”

  Zane digested that in silence. “She’s more of a sister.”

  Ginny was her sister, in every sense that mattered. Beth tightened her grip on her purse strap and stared at the entrance to the fairgrounds. The last time she’d been here had been with Ginny and Kyle. Todd had skipped out on them in favor of some new project in his garage.

  A fresh burst of grief lit her chest.

  How was Ginny going to handle Todd’s death? He’d been her best friend. Her partner. They’d had the perfect marriage. Exactly the kind Beth wanted, where difficult decisions were made together and resources were pooled.

  From here on out, Ginny would be a single mother. Nor would she have the cushion of savings and investments since Todd had depleted their financial resources in the hopes of getting the two of them back.

  God, it was her mother all over again, which was so unfair. Ginny deserved better.

  Zane slowed even further. “You want to talk about it?”

  About what? The bomb the dream had dropped on her? The bomb the FBI had dropped on her? The bomb his commander had dropped on her? The way her world had been turned upside down and shaken—until the very foundations of her life felt warped and unstable?

  No. No. And no.

  “We should hurry,” she said instead, lengthening her stride. “Your friends are leaving us behind.”

  “Beth.” Raw frustration throbbed in his exhaled curse. He caught her elbow and swung her around. “Look….” His voice trailed off as his attention fixed on her lips.

  Oh, boy. She recognized the gleam flickering to life, sparking those green eyes until they glowed. This was not good. Not good at all. She tugged at her hand, but he just dragged her closer. The two hands he used to cradle her face were surprisingly tender.

  Warmth flared in her cheeks where his rough palms held her. Her blood heated and thickened, sweeping downward in a lazy wave, from cheeks to toes; warming everything in its path. Her legs lost strength as he bent his head.

  His lips were gentle, stroking carefully against hers as though she was delicate china capable of shattering at the slightest pressure.

  Except… she didn’t want gentleness. She didn’t want careful. She wanted intensity. A bonfire. Sparks so strong they’d gut the grief and this creeping sense of being lost in the fog.

  Going up on her toes, she wrapped her arms around the strong column of his neck and rubbed her breasts against his chest. Her nipples tightened. Her breasts ached. Her thighs quivered. Tingles coursed up and down her spine. It felt so good she did it again. With her second rub, fire coiled, flickered through her, whip-sharp and intense.

  He groaned as she opened her mouth to the taste of him. The heady dark chocolate of him. His smoky musk swirling around her, through her, the effect intensifying as his skin heated.

  His mouth hardened and his tongue surged forward, stroking, thrusting, rubbing—fanning the sparks. He groaned again, the sound filling her mouth, and her legs went rubbery. Her breath caught as he broke from her lips and nuzzled a path to the tender patch of skin below her ear, where he stopped to suckle and then nip before soothing the sting with butterfly kisses.

  With each press of his lips, or nibble of his teeth, or stroke of his tongue, the ache coiled tighter. The bonfire leapt higher.

  A whimper caught in her throat.

  “I’d kill to be inside you,” he groaned against her neck, his breath a hot, erotic blast against her ear.

  From the bulge pressing against her belly, he wasn’t talking about her mouth.

  “Get a room,” a young male voice jeered. A cacophony of laughter followed.

  Beth was vaguely aware of bodies sweeping past them, the sound of more laughter, of shoes crunching on gravel. She lowered her heels back to the ground and loosened the tight clasp of her arms.

  Zane took a deep breath and lifted his head, but kept his arms around her. A good thing, considering how shaky her legs were. She wasn’t sure they were capable of holding her up on her own.

  As the haze of desire dissipated, she got a good look at his face, and a chill of unease pushed the last of the hunger aside.

  He looked far too satisfied for a man whose erection still throbbed against her stomach, far too complacent for a man whose body had to be aching to the point of pain.

  Far too possessive for a man who hadn’t actually claimed her.

  Chapter Eleven

  If not for the circumstances, it would have been a perfect day.

  The sky shone brilliant and blue overhead. A gentle breeze teased Beth’s hair and swept the heat from the fairgrounds before the temperature climbed past warm. The scent of caramel candy, corn dogs, and funnel cakes hung thick and heavy in the air. In the distance, muted screams broke out as rides took to the skies. Clusters of children raced from booth to booth, thrusting wadded up bills or pockets full of change at the bored attendants.

  With Zane beside her, Beth got in line behind a young family of three at a food booth.

  “My brothers and I used to race each other like that,” Zane murmured, watching as a pack of young boys sprinted down the grass corridor between the carnival stands. “Had more fun racing around than the games themselves, I think. There’s nothing like a fair to wear a youngster out.”

  Beth followed his gaze, watching as the kids disappeared between two booths. What had he been like as a child? “You said you were raised on Navy bases. Your parents were in the service?”

  “My dad was. We spent time at Coronado, Virginia Beach, even Hawaii for a stint. But no matter where we landed, Mom always found a fair, or carnival. We’d go at least a couple of times every year.”

  She digested that, absently watching as the man in front of them hoisted a young boy onto his shoulders. Father and son, she deduced from the wiry brown hair sprouting from both their heads.

  “Your father was a SEAL?” She wasn’t surprised by his nod. “Did your brothers follow him into the service as well?”

  “Yeah, Dad’s retired now—they’re living down in San Diego—but we all took the trident.” Zane half-turned and scanned the grounds, before turning back to her. “Chance and Dane are stationed at Little Creek. Webb’s at Dam Neck—” He chuckled as she raised her eyebrows. “That’s the base, Dam Neck, Virginia. Gray’s down in Coronado with me.”

  A family of SEALs.

  That had to be an anomaly—all five sons? The SEAL teams were said to comprise the strongest, most lethal candidates. What were the odds all five brothers would have made it through training? Zane obviously came from an extraordinary family.

  And then there was the psychic ability Mac had spoken of, the one that supposedly ran through their bloodline. Knowing where the danger was coming from had to be handy when you were headed into battle.

  Which reminded her of what else they supposedly knew….

  She shied away from that thought.

  Zane squeezed her hand.
“You okay? You looked freaked all the sudden.”

  Beth glanced down at the strong, tanned hand holding her own. He hadn’t let go of her since the kiss. It felt good to hold hands like this. Right. As though they’d been walking hand in hand since the beginning of time, even though she’d only known him a day. Less than a day.

  The couple in front shuffled forward several paces, their young son’s voice rising excitedly above them. As the woman turned to smile at the child, Beth caught a glimpse of a tautly rounded belly.

  “When’s your baby due?” she asked.

  The woman shifted toward Beth. “Eight weeks. We wanted to give Jackie a special day before his sister arrives.” She smiled, serenity shining in her dark eyes. “While I’m still able to walk.”

  Beth smiled back, listening as the youngster chattered nonstop from atop his father’s shoulders. “Sounds like you’ve accomplished that.”

  “I hope so.” The woman looked up at her son, and the corners of her eyes crinkled. “It’s one of my favorite memories, going to the fair with my parents and sister. I hope he remembers his time with us as fondly.”

  A swelling pressure, one of regret, tightened Beth’s throat.

  Of all of the things she’d missed out on during her childhood, this one brought the most sorrow. The memories. She didn’t have any memories of time spent with her mother. Not just to the fair, but holidays, vacations, the movies, walks in the park. Her mother had been so busy surviving she hadn’t had time to live.

  That wasn’t to say she hadn’t gone to the movies, or been taken to the fair. She just hadn’t gone with her mother. So while she had memories of racing beside Ginny from booth to booth, they were tainted with the knowledge she’d been a fourth wheel, taken through kindness and charity. She hadn’t actually belonged.

  They weren’t her real family.