Hemingway (SEAL Team Alpha Book 11)

by Zoe Dawson

  Dodger started to swear, and Saint surged forward, but Max grabbed onto his tack vest and held him back.

  “Stay calm,” Fast Lane ordered. “I know. This is sacred ground to us, but we’re not going to lose anyone over a bell and helmets. They’re symbols, and symbols cannot be destroyed. Pull it together.” His teammates visibly reined themselves in. “Max, send in Jugs. Then follow on his heels and take those bastards out.”

  He released Jugs and the dog took off. The SEALs started to move just as 2-Stroke said, “Front of the building is secure, two terrorists down inside and two outside. Dragon’s using his bolt cutters on the door. We can get some of them out a broken window outside though.”

  “Do it!” Fast Lane said. “Pitbull, go help him.”

  “Copy that, LT,” Pitbull said as he disappeared.

  They had taken down three of the terrorists out on the grinder. “That leaves three more, LT,” Max said.

  “Copy.”

  Max could hear the growling and screaming before he came around the corner and saw that one of the terrorists was down. The dog was keeping his weapon neutralized, but another terrorist was taking a bead on Jugs. Max pulled off two shots and the guy went down. The third one started running, but Dodger was already on him, tackling him to the ground.

  “Bolt cutters,” Fast Lane called as he headed for the chained door. Saint pulled his out and handed them to LT. He cut the chains on the door. They pried off the plywood and cut the ones on the inside and opened it.

  “Everyone out!” he shouted into the room as they filed out the door.

  Dodger stood there funneling people out of the room until Hemingway, supporting Cheezer, came out. “Mate! You had me worried.”

  Hemingway grinned. “Aw, I’m touched.” He coughed as Dodger shouldered the burden on the other side of Cheezer, and they limped down the hall. As he passed, Max clapped his shoulder and Hemingway nodded.

  “Wilson and his flunkies are inside. We secured them with our shoelaces.”

  “The candidates?”

  “Lane rallied us, and we almost got the fire out.”

  “No. He’s asking if everyone is all right,” Fast Lane growled.

  “Oh. Ha! Yeah, everyone is fine. We all made it.”

  “Good work. You look like hell. Get some medical attention.”

  “Hoo-yah,” Hemingway said, and Cheezer, half-conscious, mumbled the saying, “A SEAL is never out of the fight.”

  “Hemingway!” Shea barreled toward him, and Max could see what the two of them probably wouldn’t acknowledge. Shea wrapped her arms around his neck as he gave over the full burden of Cheezer to Dodger. She supported him as the two of them disappeared down the hall.

  “We’re going to draft that kid, right?” Max turned to look at Fast Lane.

  He released a soft laugh. “Why don’t we see if he makes it through the rest of the way,” Fast Lane said with a twinkle in his eye.

  He’ll make it. Max crouched down and rubbed Jugs’s ears. “Looks like we have ourselves a fucking new guy.”

  Shea didn’t want to let him go, but when they got to the ambulance, she had to so he could get treatment. They gave him oxygen and checked him over. She waited patiently for him to be done as Mak, Kai and Griff marched the surviving NWO to waiting ambulances in cuffs. Wilson’s face was a mess and the other two had been wounded. Looked like Manning also survived and the third guy was Douglas Iverson. He’d DOR’d early, but like the others, he’d lost someone during 9/11. His uncle had been killed in the Pentagon. She was surprised to see someone with such a military influence in his family turning on the armed services.

  Maybe it was an angle she could use during the interrogations.

  Hemingway slipped off the back of the ambulance and came up to her. “Hi, babe. They wanted to admit me because I looked like hell, but I told them that I look like hell because I’d just been through Hell Week. I promised them I would sleep and drink plenty of fluids.”

  “Are you going to stay here? I’ve got to go.”

  “I understand. Yeah, Fast Lane’s team is going to patrol and watch over us. I might be asleep for a long time.”

  “That’s okay. You deserve the rest. You’ve got to be back at it on Monday. We’ll talk when you wake up. Sleep well.”

  She caught him at his nape and kissed him softly.

  “I’ll take it from here, ma’am,” a deep voice interrupted them.

  “This is Oliver “Artful Dodger” Graham,” Hemingway said with a grin.

  “At your service, ma’am,” he said with a British accent. “Rest assured we will protect the candidates with our lives.”

  “Stop being so dramatic.”

  “No,” she said, giving Hemingway a tender look. “I expect nothing less, Mr. Graham.”

  “Call me Dodger, ma’am. I’ll take good care of him.” He slipped his shoulder under Hemingway’s arm and walked him toward the BUD/S barracks.

  As soon as the prisoners were tended to, they were taken to the Woodshed. Shea arrived shortly after they did. Inside they had been separated into three different small rooms.

  “Wilson is mine,” Shea said.

  Mak caught her arm. “Take it easy. We know how you feel but kicking his ass won’t make him talk.”

  “Might make me feel better,” Shea said.

  “Oh, I like her,” Griff said.

  “You go with her and try to keep her from hurting him too badly,” Mak said with a grin. “Behave.”

  “If you insist,” Griff said.

  As soon as she stepped in the door, Wilson’s normal scowl set firmly in place. His face was battered, several butterflies hastily applied on some of the gashes.

  “The photographer lady. What the hell is this?”

  “I’m not a photographer. I’m an NCIS agent, and I was undercover. We found your secret base and took out whoever was left. Your NWO rebellion is over.”

  “You know nothing.”

  She marched up to him. “I know this.” She leaned down and got into his face. “You chose to strike at them when they were at their lowest, most spent moment. You didn’t expect them to fight back but fight back they did. I know that you’re all cowards, and you’re going to prison for a very long time.”

  “You were the one who saved them.”

  She slammed her hand down on the table, and he jerked back. “Damn right I did. It didn’t occur to me why so many of your hardcore terrorist friends were DORing like wimps.” His scowl deepened. “Then it dawned on me. You needed your guys fresh when the trainees were barely holding on.”

  “It would have worked. We would have killed them all, burned their compound just like you decimated ours, trashed their lame bell and helmets.”

  She shoved the palm of her hand into his chest and then flipped the chair onto its back. The oof sound he made was more than satisfying.

  “Whoa, wildcat,” Griff said, steering her to the seat across from Wilson.

  “If it wasn’t for you catching on, there would have been no fucking graduating class!” he yelled. Griff helped him to stand and righted his chair, forcing him back into it as he tried to throw Griff off. “You better watch your back, bitch.”

  Mak buzzed in her ear. “You’re not going to believe this, but after accessing Manning’s phone, we found a video of Hennessey’s death. You were right. Wilson was there. The hubris is overwhelming.”

  “I’m not worried about you or your friends. You’re not going to see the light of day for some time, Mr. Wilson. We have you and Mr. Manning for the murder of Craig Hennessey. On top of that, you have broken so many laws that we’re going to need many pages to list them all.”

  “I want a lawyer.”

  “You’re going to need one,” she said as she rose and left the room.

  She headed for Iverson’s room. Opening the door, she saw that he was nervously plucking at his sleeve where his blood had seeped from taking a graze from one of the SEALs weapons.

  Mak looked up as she came i
n and nodded. “Well, Doug. I asked you a question. It’s a deal that we’re going to only give you once.”

  “You want me to be a rat,” he said sullenly.

  “You want a reduced sentence? Or do you want to spend the rest of your life at Gitmo.”

  “Gitmo?”

  “Yeah, that’s where we send all our terrorist scum.”

  “What was the question again?”

  “This is a list of all your known associates. Are there any others who are still in the candidate pool at BUD/S?”

  He looked dully down at the list. “No, looks like everyone is accounted for. You win.”

  “That’s right. We do, and it pays to be a winner.”

  His mouth twisted with the irony.

  “Pack your bags. You’re headed for Guantanamo Bay.”

  “What? You said—”

  “I lied. Isn’t that what you and your friends did? Took an oath and reneged. Have a good trip.”

  “Wait,” he said, panic in his voice, but Mak didn’t turn around, and Shea followed her out.

  Back in Mak’s office, she jerked open her bottom drawer and pulled out a bottle of scotch.

  “Ah, the good stuff,” Griff said as he and Kai grabbed glasses.

  Mak poured two fingers into each glass and then a clean mug for Shea. “You saved the SEAL legacy, Shea. They owe you a deep debt of gratitude.”

  “Maybe they’ll make me an honorary SEAL. I’ll get my own trident.”

  Mak smiled. “I’ll be damn jealous if they do. Cheers!”

  “This means you’re freed up for another assignment. I think they’ll want you in Egypt.”

  Shea couldn’t go back to her condo. She was much too restless to sleep. Instead she found herself on base and back at the BUD/S barracks. As she approached, Jugs barked, and Max said in a low voice. “Let her pass.”

  She went into the building. The faint scent of smoke lingered in the air. Slipping into Hemingway’s room, Shea noted that Professor and William Brown were sound asleep. It was clear as she tiptoed over to Hemingway’s bunk that he was profoundly asleep, his breathing even and deep. She got a chair from the corner and put it near the bed and sat down. Setting her phone on vibrate, she watched him sleep.

  She took a heavy breath. Her assignment was over, and she would get the call soon to summon her to a brief for the meeting. There wasn’t much at the condo; she usually traveled light. But this time it was going to hurt. She didn’t want to wake him to say goodbye. He was exhausted, and his future was already set. Come Monday morning, he would begin the rest of his journey to becoming a SEAL. It never crossed her mind to stand in his way. She didn’t have that right.

  That hollow feeling she had been experiencing before she’d met him was back. Her future was always set, and it didn’t include a beautiful, strong warrior.

  Her sister’s face floated in her mind. Her throat burned, and she braced her elbows on her knees, then gripped her head. Shea had encouraged Maddy to follow her sense of justice and her hunches, and she would shoulder the blame for that, even though she couldn’t have anticipated her sister’s murder.

  Shea leaned back in the chair. Her sister’s murder changed everything. There was no eternity in prison for the man behind it. Eliminating the bastard was her only choice.

  She hunted the worst, criminals with no conscience, no moral center. Those monsters were the reason she kept herself guarded. Being around Hemingway had lifted that barrier, but it was temporary. She needed her armor for the hunt.

  Especially with the death of her sister, she most definitely needed the shield.

  She looked down at him, recognizing the strength in him. Hell Week had only tempered what was already there, she thought, and without realizing it, she reached, swiping her hand over his bristly cheek. The dim light caught the blond in his hair, a sparkle of gold. His eyes opened slowly, and he held her gaze for a long moment. Then suddenly he reached for her.

  “Babe,” he blinked several times. “Am I dreaming?” he said sleepily, pulling her onto his rack.

  Shea didn’t bother fighting it and went willingly, needing his arms around her. He shifted to make room for her in the narrow bunk, bringing her against him, his body curling around hers. She settled with a measured breath. Gritting her teeth against the slow fall into heartache, tears welled and burned.

  “I think we were both dreaming,” she whispered. He kissed her temple and snuggled warmly, yet as she drifted on the edge of that beautiful dream, she wished she didn’t have to go, that Maddy was alive. She wished the terrible burden of her sister’s death hadn’t fallen to her. But it had and she was the only one who could make it right, since she’d been the one to encourage Morgan to follow the secret investigation to the end.

  Any other alternative, and she wouldn’t be able to live with herself.

  She turned off her thoughts and snuggled deep against Hemingway, his closeness smothering the loneliness she could never escape.

  She was going to leave. She had to, and she’d never been under the illusion that she wasn’t going to walk away.

  Her phone vibrated, and reluctantly, she pulled herself away from him as he slept on. She put the chair back where it belonged and slipped out the door, more tears pooling without any relief. She pulled out her phone with every expectation it would be Rebecca’s number on her phone, but instead it was a voice mail.

  Her heart almost stopped when she played the message.

  “Ma’am, this is Staff Sergeant Randall Debarge, the aide for Colonel Brett Johnson. I regret to inform you that your brother Corporal Jason Palmer has gone missing. Please call my office back for the particulars. We would be interested in talking to you about his disappearance. Thank you. Goodbye.”

  14

  Glasses clinked and conversation buzzed softly in the room. All the toasts were over, and people were mingling and getting acquainted. Anna, dressed in the pretty, icy-blue lace bridesmaid dress, hadn’t taken her eyes off Dodger since he arrived Friday night for the wedding rehearsal and dinner. Max’s teammate was looking way too fit and together in the dark blue tux with white shirt, gray tie, and vest. Max pulled at his own tie, realizing that he was being an ass, but Dodger getting involved with Anna was a no go. Being with a Navy SEAL was too much for his sweet Anna to handle. It would be nothing but heartache.

  Speaking of heartache.

  He spied Hemingway when he walked in…alone. Shea had left two weeks ago to deal with her brother’s disappearance, and then she was heading off to Egypt. The kid was hurting, but he wouldn’t admit it. Tough as they came. In addition to finishing up First Phase and recovering from Hell Week, Hemingway’s plate had been full.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Anna lean over to Rhonda and whisper something. Her sister, taking her eyes off her new husband, looked across the room and smiled. He was glad to see her so happy and the wedding had gone off without a hitch. Partly due to—fuck—Dodger. When the vintage doors that they had ordered didn’t arrive, Dodger had gotten them in record time, set up and ready to go at the outdoor wedding venue.

  Max’s mom waylaid his teammate, and he smiled at her as they conversed. The guy was smooth and suave like James Bond and his accent was considered dreamy among his sisters and his mom. Dodger had charmed his whole damn family. Even his dad for fuck’s sake. His grumpy-old-man dad.

  When even his mom couldn’t talk the old man into a suit, Rhonda in tears, Gina getting sassy, and the rest of them adding in their two cents—in other words, the usual pandemonium—Dodger had talked to him in low tones, and Bob’s your uncle, as Dodger said often, his dad was wearing the damn suit.

  2-Stroke’s voice broke into his thoughts. “If looks could kill. Dodge would be cold stone, double-tapped dead, my friend.”

  “Anna.” The best man got up and called for the dad and daughter dance. Max watched his dad, looking great in the suit Dodger talked him into, dancing with his slim sister in her gorgeous lace and pearl dress. His throat got a bit tight.<
br />
  “Yeah, too bad your sisters are all so damn beautiful. What happened with you?”

  Max found himself nodding and then just realized what 2-Stroke had said. He turned his glare to him.

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  2-Stroke laughed softly.

  “You’re going to be the death of me. My sisters already think you’re a stud.”

  His dad turned Rhonda over to her husband, and they danced close. Anyone could see how in love they were. Max had to wonder if he was missing out by keeping all his relationships shallow.

  “It’s all that SEAL hype and my leather jacket. Probably the motorcycle.”

  “No, they’re right. You’re a stud. So, knock it off.”

  “Can’t. We’re honed, lean, mean fighting machines, man. Gotta keep the body strong.”

  “Just keep that strong body away from my sisters,” he said as Anna approached Dodger, conversed briefly, then led him out to the dance floor. Max gritted his teeth. Dodger knew the score. Max didn’t want him to be rude to her or cold and hurt her feelings. He tried to loosen up his shoulders.

  “You look like you’re trying to remember if you loaded up your trunk with lime and a shovel, instead of enjoying a wedding. Loosen up, big man,” Hemingway said, setting a beer into Max’s hand. “You’d be lost without Dodger.”

  Max took a swig. It was just a dance. Dodger did know the score. Teammates didn’t mess with sisters, girlfriends, and wives. He’d have to console himself with the SEAL code.

  “How are you holding up?”

  “Training is going well. I’ve mostly healed from my cuts and bruises, just in time to get more.”

  Max chuckled and clinked bottles with him. “Hoo-yah,” he said. “I was actually referring to Shea being gone. That must be tough.”

  Hemingway shrugged. He was really good at concealing his emotions, but Max caught the bleak look before he hid it. “She’s got her job, and I’ve got mine. We both knew that going in.”

  “It’s okay to say you miss her. I miss her. She is a pistol.”

  Hemingway smiled. “She sure is, and I do miss her.”