He went rock hard and throbbing in an instant.
Jesus, he was liable to be a walking, talking erection for the rest of his life if she kept that up.
Amused feminine laugher rang out in his mind.
Lips against her forehead, he smiled. It was a damn good thing SEALs were trained for stamina, because it looked like that training was going to come in handy.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mac frowned, straightening in his hospital bed as Beth Brown followed his LC into the private room. “Rawls will be here any minute.” Mac alternated his glare between Zane and the damn woman who’d trapped him. “I’m sure Miss Brown would like to spend some time with her friend.”
“We just came from Ginny’s room.” Ignoring the less than subtle hint, she shot him a serene smile and let Zane steer her toward the foot of the bed.
Mac’s jaw tightened. “We’ve got things to discuss that don’t concern you.”
Rather than retreating from his glare, she lifted her eyebrows and leaned back against Zane’s chest. “Considering I was kidnapped, and a friend of mine was killed—” A shadow slipped through her eyes. “I’d say this does concern me.”
With a snarl, Mac transferred his scowl to Zane, but from the shit-eating expression on his LC’s face, the damn fool wasn’t ready to see reason… yet.
Before he had a chance to blast the pair with exactly why this wasn’t any of her fucking business, the door swung open again. This time Rawls stepped through, followed by Trammell, Hollister and Russo—Delta and Echo Platoon’s leadership.
Three pairs of hard eyes zeroed in on Beth.
Mac’s scowl collapsed into a smirk. He settled back to enjoy the show.
He had to give the woman credit, though. She matched the suspicious stares without flinching, cool as you please. Zane looked on with amused calm.
Russo was the first to break the confrontation. After a hard look at Zane, he checked Beth out again—slowly, thoroughly. Finally he stepped forward, hand outstretched.
“Devlin Russo,” Zane’s counterpart from Echo Platoon told Beth as she accepted his hand.
Mac’s smirk vanished. Motherfucker. Did the damn woman have them all fooled? Apparently so; Hollister and Trammell offered hands and names as well.
“When the hell did you boys arrive?” he asked, knowing they hadn’t made the trip up from Coronado to check on him. Cosky’s absence in the room was an open, festering wound.
“Last night, while you were getting your beauty sleep,” Russo said. Dark eyes sharp with intelligence swept Mac’s face and dropped to his bandaged shoulder. “It didn’t help. You look like shit. Any news on Cos?”
Mac swiped a hand down his face and locked the grief behind a mask of control. “He’s still breathing.”
Hollister shook his head, propping his whip-lean body against the far wall. “He always was a stubborn cuss.”
A throbbing, aching silence fell.
And then six throats cleared.
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Exasperation coated Beth’s voice. “He’s your friend. It’s okay to express concern. You’re not going to turn all girly if you show a little emotion.”
Mac ignored her. “They found John Chastain’s body in a supply closet a couple of doors down from where he interviewed us.”
Zane frowned, straightening sharply. “How was he taken out?”
“A knife.” Since his shoulder was screaming like a motherfucker, Mac settled back against the pillows. “Which means whoever grabbed him is flat-ass crazy, or a fucking genius.”
“Or both,” Russo said thoughtfully. He rocked back on his heels, his black hair shining like obsidian beneath the fluorescent lights.
“Whoever killed him has some serious brass balls,” Zane explained after Beth glanced up at him, a small frown pleating her forehead. “They grabbed him in a high-traffic zone, killed him with a knife, which can be messy and loud, and escaped without catching anyone’s attention.”
“Which means not only does he know what he’s doing, he’s damn good at it,” Mac added grimly. “With both Branson and Chastain gone, it’s unlikely we’ll find out who the bastard is, or what the hell was going on.” He transferred his ire to Zane. “You just had to take the kill shot, didn’t you? You couldn’t clip him, leave him for questioning?”
Zane offered an unapologetic shrug. “The bastard had a gun to Beth’s head.”
“You have the two who were watching Ginny and Kyle,” Beth interjected, settling back against Zane’s chest again.
“Hired muscle. They won’t know a damn thing.” Mac turned his scowl on Beth.
Their lack of leads was her fault, anyway. If Zane hadn’t been so concerned about saving the damn woman’s life, he would have left his target alive enough to talk. “We don’t even know who Branson was, or what the fuck he was up to.”
He was still glaring when the door opened.
“Russ Branson was an alias, which makes him unidentifiable since his prints aren’t on file.”
Mac stiffened at Amy Chastain’s cool, feminine voice. In more than one place. Thank God for the blankets, and the fact everyone’s attention was turned toward the door. It gave him time to kick up his knee, which tented the bedding and hid the storm taking place under the sheets. Why the fuck did this woman rattle his libido like this? He’d convinced himself his earlier reaction had been adrenaline-based. Yet here he was, all revved up and raring to go—because of her voice.
Luckily, he had a secret weapon at his disposal when it came to dealing with this particular female. A plane ticket. A couple thousand miles between them ought to do the trick.
“I’m sorry about your husband,” he told her in a gruff voice, meeting hazel eyes so flat and controlled they looked more like glass than flesh and blood.
A slash of grief brightened the hazel, before they turned diamond-hard and shiny. She closed the door, and turned to stand in front of it—arms crossed, feet slightly spread, as though she were barricading everyone inside.
“I want to know why,” she said without preamble, her attention locked on Mac’s face. “Why that plane? Those passengers. What did he want John to do? I want to know why he did this. I want to know who he was.”
Mac frowned, her words sounded uncomfortably close to a demand for help, which would play hell with his intentions of a full-scale retreat. “The FBI and DHS will be launching an investigation.”
He’d been fielding calls from both agencies all morning.
“Their findings can’t be trusted,” she countered flatly. “John said his department was compromised. He had the same fears for DHS. That’s why he approached you.”
All true. But it didn’t change a damn thing. Perfectly still, Mac watched her, aware their little showdown held every eye in the room. “Look, I don’t know what the hell you’re asking, but the answer is no.”
She leaned back against the door and raised a russet eyebrow. “It benefits you, as much as me, to uncover what this operation was about.”
“How the hell do you figure that?” Mac raised his right hand to run it over his hair, remembered it was bandaged and put it down with a grimace.
“Because the only person who can collaborate your version of events is dead.” Her voice didn’t waver. “Whoever is behind this is already painting you and your team as out-of-control vigilantes who acted without authorization.”
Mac smiled grimly. No way in hell was she dragging him back into this mess. “We got the green light from Admiral McKay. He’ll testify the request came from your husband.”
Hollister’s lean body jackknifed up from its slouch against the wall. Shock flooded his face, and then narrowed his eyes. “Jesus. When was this?”
Frowning, Mac watched stunned glances pass between his Delta and Echo leadership. What the hell…? “Before we left for the fairgrounds.”
“Son of a bitch.” Russo ran a hand over his head. He turned, exchanged grim looks with Trammell and then Hollister. “This can’t be a coincid
ence.”
“No fuck.” Trammell’s agreement was clipped.
“Someone want to fill me in?” Mac asked between his teeth, splitting his glare between his Delta and Echo officers.
Russo scrubbed a hand down his face. He stood there for a moment, apparently thinking, and then dropped his arm. Squaring his shoulders, he turned to Mac. “McKay was targeted last night. Car bomb. NCIS locked the incident down pending investigation. We were gagged.”
A blast of shock ripped through Mac, followed by a hard kick of grief.
“He’s dead?” he asked, after he was certain his vocal cords wouldn’t cut out on him. “Why in the God Damn Fuck wasn’t I notified?”
He’d talked to Captain Gillomay that morning, reported on Cosky’s condition. Why the hell would Gillo kept silent about McKay’s death? A gag order? He was the fucking commander of ST7. The captain knew they’d been friends, if the platoons had been notified, he should have been too.
Another round of those grim, tense glances passed between Russo, Hollister and Trammell.
Ice prickled his spine. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Russo paced toward the bed, his dark eyes somber. “Gillomay doesn’t know you got the green light from McKay.”
Mac’s face tightened. “I went to Gillo first—when he hedged, I took it to McKay. He knows.” Rigid silence descended over the room. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Mac finally said. “The bastard’s cutting us off.”
Christ, it was unbelievable. Yeah, he and the captain had had their differences, but for the motherfucker to turn on his own team….
It was against Federal Law for United States military personnel to act within a law enforcement capacity. Acting under SAC John Chastain’s umbrella had been dicey enough, but without Chastain and McKay to back their story they were well and truly fucked.
He took a deep breath. Focused. Since the statute they’d be accused of breaking was a federal one, the FBI would investigate. And wasn’t that just fucking beautiful, since the FBI was compromised and covering their asses. Still, NCIS would investigate as well. He just had to prove he’d gone up the ladder and received approval. He just had to prove Gillomay was a lying, hypocritical prick.
“They have any idea who took McKay out?” Mac wasn’t surprised by the silent shake of Russo’s dark head.
He locked this newest grief behind a frown and glared down at his blankets. His boys were right. The timing of the Admiral’s hit was too much of a coincidence. Somehow McKay’s murder had to be connected to this mess with the FBI, and Gillomay’s fucking lie would swing the investigation in the wrong direction.
McKay deserved justice. Mac intended to make sure he got it. But that meant pointing NCIS toward the right debris field.
Mac’s gaze lifted, locked on the silent redheaded woman across the room. “What the fuck did your husband drag us into?”
Hazel eyes met and held his own. “To find that out, you’re going to have to help me. It looks like your CO’s hanging you out to dry. The FBI gets pretty pissy when officers within the United States military turn renegade.”
She was right. Rage heated his belly. Cosky was somewhere in the bowels of the hospital fighting for his life. Damn if he was going to let his team take the fall when the whitewashing commenced.
“Those bullets they pulled from us will corroborate our version of events.” He’d stuff those damn bullets down any bureaucratic naysayer’s throat if he had to. “You and Ginny Clancy can testify on our behalf.”
“About our kidnapping? Sure. The fact you rescued us? Sure.” She shrugged, and settled against the door. “First question will be why you didn’t contact the proper authorities and let them handle the extraction. Without John and McKay to verify your story, you and your team are screwed.”
“The detective who interviewed us yesterday raised these questions,” Zane said quietly. “We knew we were climbing out on a limb when we agreed to help. Chastain and the Admiral’s deaths chopped that limb down.”
Russo nodded in agreement and turned to stare at Mac. “We need to prove Chastain and McKay’s murders are linked, which means we need to prove Chastain asked for help because he had no alternative.”
Mac growled and thumped the back of his head against the pillow.
Motherfucking son of a bitch.
Gillomay had jammed his escape hatch.
Looking into the hijacking and subsequent murders was one thing, but something told him Amy Chastain wasn’t going to be content watching from the sidelines. Which meant he’d be spending far too much time getting up close and personal with his own case of Kryptonite.
* * *
Thank you for reading Forged in Fire.
Forged in Ice
(Book Two of the Forged Series)
Will be Cosky’s story
It has a tentative release date of summer of 2012
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Author updates can be found at www.trishmccallan.com
Coming Soon!
Yesterday’s Child
By
Trish McCallan
Nine years after the disappearance of Deborah's son, her baby comes home: wearing the same clothes he disappeared in, without aging a day and with no memory of where he's been. . . .
GALAXY GIRLS
BY
EDIE RAMER
Genetically created to be broodmares, Phyrne Galaxy and her mother, aunt and cousin don't need men, they need freedom. They escaped from the warring planet of Kergeron to Earth, where Phyrne’s aunt's vision of winning money in a New Jersey casino comes true. Too bad her aunt's precog didn't show the hoods waiting outside with guns. But Phyrne has her own weapon, more powerful than bullets. She's ovulating.
Phyrne turns up the heat, taking out more than the crooks in her wave of sexual torture. FBI Special Agent Hawk Higgens, running to protect the women, is brought to his knees, too. Caught in her procreative spell, Phyrne ravishes Hawk.
Being seduced by an alien and left half naked and unconscious in the back of a surveillance van changes Hawk's life. He joins the Foundation, a privately funded agency that hunts aliens. Six years later, the reason for his career change pops back on the radar in a tea shop in Kentucky. The woman whose face still haunts his dreams has an addition to her family – a five-year-four-month-old daughter.
At the same time, two Kergeron warriors are sent to Earth to bring the women back to their home planet. With an ex-FBI agent and two alien warriors on her trail, Phyrne's calm life running the Tea & Comfort shop is about to get shaken, stirred and screwed.
EXCERPT
Hawk had thought he could express the DNA sample, then stroll down the street, check out a few stores, plant a GPS tracker on the Galaxy’s car and glance at the Tea & Comfort from the sidewalk without going in. But he couldn’t. The need to see Phyrne’s face had eaten at him like a heroine addict’s need for a fix.
He stood in the tea-scented room, two feet away from her, close enough to feel her unease. It gave him a savage satisfaction. He flicked his gaze down her curvy body and back up again. Her mother and her cousin hovered on either side of her. The only one missing was Ki Galaxy. According to an earlier phone call by Nelson, Ki was grocery shopping.
It didn’t matter to Hawk whether Ki was here or not. Only Phyrne mattered to him. The others could zap away to another universe in a flying teapot, and he wouldn’t waggle his little finger to stop them.
As long as Phyrne stayed. Phyrne and her daughter.
He studied her, steeling himself not to reel forward like a fish flapping on a fishhook. Forcing himself to look for faults, he found them.
Her face was too wide to win beauty contests, her eyes too big, her nose too long, her complexion too golden, her eyes such a brilliant blue the color looked fake. Everything about her looked fake. With her golden skin and her statuesque body, she could have stepped fully clothed out of a centerfold.
But fake was the one thing he knew she wasn’t. She was more genuine and passionate than any woman he’d dated. But what they’d done hadn’t been close to dating. She’d enraptured him. Sucked the life out of him and left him passed out in the surveillance van.
Though she gazed back at him with her chin up, he saw apprehension in her eyes. The flicker of fear.
Good. He wanted her to be scared.
She blinked, then averted her gaze, glancing past him toward the door. He felt her yearning to walk out, away from him.
His tension spiraled. He didn’t want her so scared she would run away with her daughter. Reaching out, he grasped her upper arm. She jerked, then stilled. Something flared in her eyes. Not fear this time. Anger.
Before he could inhale, the other two women stepped up to him, their eyes wide and anxious, their mouths clenched and determined.
“Take your hand off my daughter,” Liss said in a low voice.
Deena stared at his face, not saying a word. A pressure built in his head. He released Phyrne’s arm and pressed his hand against the left side of his head.
He flicked his gaze to Liss. She didn’t look like anyone’s mother. Not unless the mother was the Goddess Aphrodite.
He shifted to peer at the younger woman, the cousin. Studying her, he sealed her in his memory. Her eyes narrowed but she didn’t blink. The pressure inside his head swelled, something foreign – something alien – spiraling into his brain.
Forged in Fire Page 33
