HOT SEAL Rescue (HOT SEAL Team - Book 3)

by Lynn Raye Harris

  “How can we be sure, sir, that Conti won’t go with him?” This question came from a blond man who conjured up mental images from the movie Thor.

  Mendez’s expression was sober. “As of 0800 this morning, Conti is wanted by Kenyan authorities for human trafficking and weapons smuggling within their borders. He won’t set foot into Kenya.” He turned back to the screen. “You’ll have to enter Jorwani in groups of four and five. Due to the nature of Jorwani cultural beliefs, the women will need to be married when they enter the country.”

  Miranda glanced at Victoria since she was closest. A man sitting beside her laid his hand on her leg and squeezed. Well, okay then, not a problem for her. Probably not a problem for Lucky either. They knew these guys. She did not.

  She purposely didn’t look at Cody, though she couldn’t imagine pretending to be a couple with anyone but him. Still, it was probably better if she was paired with someone else. Someone who didn’t make her pulse—and other parts of her—throb.

  “Who’s pretending to be married to the CIA agent, sir?”

  It was Cody’s voice, and Miranda’s belly tightened on cue.

  Mendez raised a brow. “Whoever volunteers to do the job. Is that gonna be you, McCormick?”

  His silence was telling.

  “I’ll do it, sir,” a voice said. Miranda turned to see the SEAL who’d come to get her and Cody earlier. He was too pretty for words, but he didn’t make her pulse quicken the way Cody did.

  “Good luck,” Cody muttered, and disappointment crashed through her.

  “Then it’s settled. Cash is the lucky groom. Any other questions?” Mendez asked. No one said a word.

  He spoke for several more minutes, clicking through slides as he did so, but all Miranda could think about was the fact she was about to enter a dangerous country with a man at her side—and not the man she preferred.

  Dammit, when had her life gotten so complicated? Before she’d jabbed her gun into Cody’s side in the Venetian, she’d known exactly what she was doing and exactly what to expect. She’d wanted to get to the truth behind Mark’s death and take down Victor Conti. All she’d managed to do was get herself “killed” and watch Conti flee to Africa. She wasn’t any closer to what she wanted at all.

  And now she was wound tight and worrying over the fact that a man she’d slept with, a man who’d gotten through her defenses and made her feel something other than anger and pain, didn’t want to pretend to be her husband on a mission. Really?

  It was a low point in her life and career, that’s for sure.

  “That’s everything,” Mendez said, snapping her attention back to him. He looked at his watch. “It’s five hours to go time. You know what to do. Dismissed.”

  Cody folded himself into the van and put on his headphones. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. He didn’t know which van Miranda was in as they lurched forward, and he didn’t care. They were on their way to Joint Base Andrews where they would board a military transport headed for Germany. They had too much gear and too many people to get a commercial flight. But it was also faster because they could fly straight to Ramstein where they’d pick up another transport to the American base in Djibouti.

  It was also more private, which he preferred. They were taking a C-5 Galaxy, which meant jump seats anchored into the cargo bay. There were no windows. No flight attendants. No beverage cart or screaming kids. There were boxed meals and drinks, and it was pretty much self-service.

  There were also no assigned seats. That meant he could take a seat as far away from Miranda as possible. He didn’t want anything to do with her. Hell, if he thought about it hard enough, he could pretend that woman wasn’t Miranda Lockwood at all. Jane Wood had green eyes and shoulder-length red hair. Miranda had whiskey eyes and gold hair. Not the same woman.

  When they arrived at the flight line on Andrews, everyone piled from the vans and dragged out their duffels and the rest of the gear. The jet was already warming the engines as Miranda emerged from a van with Money, who’d wasted no time getting cozy with her. She smiled at him, her arms folded beneath her breasts.

  Cody saw red. Then she tilted her head back and laughed at something Money said—and a hot, possessive feeling blossomed in Cody’s soul. A feeling that said mine.

  What the fuck?

  He deliberately turned away and hefted an equipment bag, carrying it over to the pile waiting to be stowed on the plane. When he turned back, Money had leaned in to say something to Miranda. She laughed again, her head back, her throat exposed to the waning sunlight.

  Dammit, he’d kissed that throat. Heard words issue from it that tightened his balls and made him lose whatever control he’d had. Damn, but fucking her had been sweet. So sweet.

  He wanted to do it again. And again.

  No. No way in hell. She was bad news. She’d gotten to him with her talk of growing up with an alcoholic mother, leaving home, and leaving everyone behind. Stripping to stay alive and then being saved by a CIA agent who became her mentor and friend.

  Don’t forget he was her lover too.

  A lover she was still so wound up about that she’d risked her life to find the person who’d had him killed. Cody figured that if Mark Reed had still been alive, Miranda wouldn’t have kept any secrets from him. No, she’d have told him she was about to fake her death so she could disappear.

  Money did that thing where he pretended to tuck a stray lock of hair behind a woman’s ear. Before Cody knew what he was doing, he strode over to where Miranda smiled up at his teammate. She must have sensed him coming because she glanced in his direction—and her smile faded.

  “This is a serious mission, for fuck’s sake,” he growled when he reached the two of them. “Not a pickup bar.”

  Money gave him a look that said Oh yeah and What you gonna do about it, motherfucker?

  “I think you’ve overstepped your authority to tell me what to do—which is precisely none, by the way,” Miranda said, sniffing in his general direction.

  “It is if you’re going to act like a fucking teenager on a date,” Cody grated. “This is serious shit.”

  “Hey, that’s my wife you’re talking to,” Money said, brows drawing down like he was spoiling for a fight.

  Cody shook his head. Money wasn’t seriously pissed, and they both knew it. “Not yet, she’s not. Lay off until we get to Jorwani. You can get cuddly there.”

  Miranda crossed her arms and glared at him. Her eyes sparked fire.

  Money didn’t seem to notice. “If you don’t like the way I’m doing it, you shack up with her for the mission.”

  Cody stared hard at Miranda. She stared right back, never backing down for a second. And Jesus, his groin started to tighten, the familiar tingle at the base of his spine indicating where the blood was starting to go. A whirlwind of emotions gathered strength in his gut. If he let them out, if he faced them— No, not going there. He was pissed. Nothing more.

  And he didn’t care what she did. Or who she did it with.

  “Nope. She’s yours, man. Happy anniversary and all that shit.”

  He turned and strode away, back to the equipment they were starting to load on the massive plane. The nose assembly was up for cargo loading, and he grabbed two huge bags and walked up the ramp. He stowed them with the others and then went to find a seat, nodding at the loadmaster as he passed. There were several rows, five across, and seats also lined the walls. The center seats could be anchored in or taken out, depending on how many troops they were moving, and they faced rear, which was weird the first few times you did it. The load today was mostly cargo, with HOT and maybe a few Space-A fliers. There was another passenger compartment at the rear of the plane, but that one was much noisier than up here—colder too. If there were seats forward, then Cody always took them.

  His teammates piled in and found seats. The engines spooled up a little bit louder now, and Cody popped his headphones on again. He looked up as Money and Miranda walked by and sat in the row in front
of him. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but her scent stole to him, wrapped around his senses. She smelled fresh and clean, like a flowery shampoo. It wasn’t overpowering, but it was too close. He started to get up and move but stubbornly decided to stay right where he was. He wasn’t letting her chase him away.

  Cody opened his eyes as someone flopped down beside him. It was Remy Marchand.

  “Hey, man, you look pissed off.”

  “Just tired.”

  “No, pissed. And still a little bit hungover, yeah?”

  Cody tried not to think about the slight throb in his temples. “Nah, not too bad.”

  “You realize Money’s just trying to get your goat, dude.” He glanced around the room as if seeing who was close enough to listen and then back to Cody. “He doesn’t know it for sure—only Viking and I do—but I’m pretty sure he suspects she’s the girl you were helping in the desert based on your reactions to her. And we all know how fucked up everything got out there. You haven’t been the same since it happened. Money’s trying to shake you loose.”

  Cody wanted to growl. “What do you expect? A woman I promised to help got killed and I couldn’t stop it. Except she didn’t get killed. Here she fucking is—and she’s laughing at Money’s jokes like he’s goddamn Robin Williams reincarnated.”

  Cage’s mouth twisted into a grin. “Well, he can be pretty funny sometimes—but today he’s yanking your chain. Because you want to be the one sitting up there with her. You just don’t want to admit it.”

  A wave of anger swelled in his belly. Why did everyone think he gave two shits about Miranda Lockwood or Jane Wood or whoever the fuck she was pretending to be today? He was done caring. He knew what happened when he did, and it hadn’t been pretty.

  “No, I really fucking don’t.”

  Cage shrugged. The loadmaster stopped and instructed him to put on his seatbelt. “Yeah, sorry, got it,” Cage said, clipping it in place. He whipped out his phone and started punching buttons. “Did I show you the picture of Elvis serenading me and Christina at the wedding?”

  Cody sank deeper into his seat like a turtle trying to pull his head in. It was going to be a long-ass flight. “Yeah, I believe you did. Not to mention I was actually there for the wedding.”

  “Then look at this one of the honeymoon.”

  Cody frowned. “You sure about that, dude?”

  Cage rolled his eyes. “Not the actual honeymoon, you moron. The hotel. The food.”

  The engines began to whine, and the plane started its lumbering progress down the taxiway. Only a million more hours of being confined in this tin can and smelling Miranda’s shampoo. Yay.

  20

  By the time they reached Djibouti, Miranda was more than ready for a hot shower and some decent sleep. She’d tried to nap on the trip, and there had been plenty of seats to stretch out and do so, but it hadn’t been easy with the whine of the engines and the utter lack of heat. Flying in a military plane wasn’t like flying commercial. The temperature control was practically nonexistent, though they claimed to have heat. The blanket she’d been given hadn’t been enough to warm her up, and she’d spent much of each flight shivering.

  And now she was hot. Djibouti wasn’t exactly an alpine nation. With average daily temperatures between ninety and 106, this place was smoking. The terrain was flat, dusty and dirty and rocky, and the base was a combination of military tan, dirty white, and stacks of what looked like shipping containers but were really barracks or Containerized Housing Units. The base shared a runway with the Djibouti airport, so at least the trip wasn’t far from landing to lodging.

  They weren’t taken to the CHUs though. They were taken to a special compound much like the HOT headquarters back in DC where they had to pass through layers of security. Though not as sophisticated a facility, it was still heavily guarded. Lucky sidled up beside her as they walked down a hallway and told her this was a HOT facility. Then she smiled reassuringly and Miranda smiled in return.

  She wasn’t scared, but she wouldn’t turn down a gesture of friendliness from one of the women on this mission. She wondered about the other woman’s scars, but she knew better than to ask.

  “Have you been here before?”

  “Once or twice.”

  “I didn’t realize we had women in Special Ops.”

  Lucky shrugged. “Not enough of us, that’s for sure.” She stopped at a door and opened it. “This is us in here.”

  Miranda stepped into the small room. There were four bunks inside, a light, and a table. To say it didn’t even compare to the worst budget hotel in America was probably an understatement.

  Lucky slung her bag to the floor and sat down on one of the mattresses. “Jesus, I’m so tired I could sleep in my clothes. Hell, I just might.”

  Miranda set her bag down. “Is it just us in here?”

  Lucky opened an eye. “Victoria will be here as soon as she finishes copping a feel of her husband.”

  Miranda blinked. “Husband? She’s on a mission with her husband?”

  She thought of the big dude sitting next to Victoria in the briefing and the way he’d squeezed her leg.

  Lucky laughed. “We both are. Victoria’s married to Nick Brandon, Alpha Squad’s sniper. Kev MacDonald is my husband. Also Alpha Squad,” she added. “Kev’s the second-in-command.”

  “And you and Victoria are Alpha Squad too?”

  “We’re freelancers, so to speak. We go when needed.”

  “Isn’t that a little difficult? Working with your spouse, I mean?”

  “Sometimes. Mostly we just do our jobs.”

  The door opened and Victoria walked in, looking as cool as a cucumber even in this heat. Miranda wondered how she did it. Victoria threw her duffel on the floor and sat on the only other lower bunk.

  “I’ve just been telling Jane about our husbands,” Lucky said. “I think she’s a little stunned.”

  Victoria snorted. “I sometimes think they’re still a bit stunned too. Nick actually spent about an hour on the flight asking me if I didn’t want to hang out here while they went to Jorwani. I finally shut him down, but not before I threatened to cut him off for a month—or six.”

  Lucky laughed. “Oh yes, that would do it for Kev as well. He knows better than to even try these days.”

  Victoria turned and fixed her with a stare. “What about you, Jane? Got a man in your life?”

  Miranda wasn’t sure if the question was genuine or if everyone knew about her and Cody and this was simply Victoria’s way of digging at her. “Not at the moment.”

  “Looked like you were getting cozy with Cash. He’s a nice guy, but don’t let him fool you—he’s a horndog. Probably stuck that thing in half the waitresses back home. I’d think twice before I let him stick it in me.”

  “I really wasn’t planning on it,” Miranda said. “He’s nice enough, but…”

  “He’s no Cody McCormick,” Lucky finished.

  Miranda let herself look confused. “I’m sorry?”

  Lucky glanced at Victoria, who smirked. “We couldn’t help but notice the tension back at HQ and on the plane. Cody doesn’t appear to like you, which is surprising since he usually likes everyone. And then there was the private meeting you had with him before the briefing.” Her smile widened. “News travels in our circles.”

  “Clearly.” But how much news?

  “Now I don’t know for sure,” Lucky went on, “but I’m guessing you and the CIA agent Cody was with in the desert a few weeks ago are one and the same. He didn’t tell us the death was a fake, by the way.”

  Miranda felt like a balloon someone had pierced with a straight pin. Did she keep up the pretense or admit what these two women already knew? On the one hand, she was conditioned to keep everything close to the vest. Never let anyone see your hand.

  But at the same time, fuck it, what did it matter? They were all on the same side, she had no doubts about that at all, and she was tired of acting like nothing ever got under her skin when Cody
seemed to be the exception.

  “He didn’t know,” she admitted.

  Lucky sat up abruptly.

  Victoria’s brows drew down. “He didn’t know? You mean he thought you were dead for real?”

  Miranda sank onto the lone chair in the room. It was metal and not all that comfortable. “Yes. That’s why I met with him. To apologize.”

  Victoria whistled. “Lordy, lordy. No wonder he seemed so pissed off. Girl, that man is HOT through and through—they are the best of the best—and he’s not going to take it well that you kept the truth from him. These guys are tough and loyal to a fault. But you jerk one around—Jesus, it doesn’t go down well. And yes, I speak from experience.”

  Lucky raised a hand. “Me too. Though nothing so terrible as faking my own death. But I did jerk Kev around a bit, that’s for sure.”

  Miranda’s throat was tight. And she felt strangely relieved too. She had five sisters, but she never talked to them anymore—except for the next oldest to her, whom she talked to about once a year. She’d always felt like a substitute mother rather than a sister, especially to the younger girls, and she’d fled the first chance she got. To actually have women to talk to like they were friends?

  It was nice. Oh, she knew they weren’t really friends and this wasn’t the beginning of a lifetime of girl chats. But it worked for now.

  “I don’t know how to fix it,” she confessed, giving in for once to the little voice that urged her to share.

  “Do you want to? Or do you just want him to forgive you so you feel better?” Victoria was looking at her intently. “Because there is a difference. You want to fix it for him because you care that you hurt him, or you want to bury it under the rug and have his forgiveness so you don’t have to feel bad anymore.”

  “I care that I hurt him. If he hadn’t helped me in Vegas, I’d be dead for real. I owe him better.”