Special Forces_Operation Alpha_Handling Haven_A Deimos/Trident Security/Delta Team Crossover

by Samantha Cole

  Hollywood instantly awoke and stood, scrubbing the sleep from his face, while Sawyer remained in his seat and held out a hand. “Ghost, I wish I could say it was nice to see you again.”

  The Delta Team leader snorted as he shook the other man’s hand. “Same here, Sawyer. We sent your teams back with ours; they should be over the Atlantic by now. Your brothers said to say, and I quote, ‘fuck you’ for sending your jet to meet you in Bahrain. They’re sitting in the back of a cargo plane and not too happy about it.”

  The other man scoffed. “Too fucking bad. Nick’s name isn’t on the letterhead, yet, and until it is, he’s shit out of luck. And Dev’s been getting too soft with his wife and kid. The trip will toughen him up again.”

  “Ian, how’s Haven?” The exotic-looking woman’s voice drew Frisco’s attention. Her features had him thinking she was of South American descent, but he couldn’t zero in on a specific country. With long, black hair pulled back into a ponytail, she stood about five foot eight on two-inch-heeled western boots. Her jean-clad legs seemed to go on for miles while her torso was covered by a long-sleeved, baby blue, V-neck T-shirt. She was physically fit, and Frisco had a feeling she wasn’t a woman to be underestimated. Her companion, who had his arm possessively around her waist, was a tall, muscular but lean man, with dirty blond hair that fell unrestrained just below his shoulders. He was similarly dressed in jeans, a casual tee, and black biker boots and had that deadly aura about him those not in the special ops community might easily miss. This was a man not to be fucked with.

  Sawyer shook his head. “Don’t know. She’s been unconscious since we loaded her onto the bird. She got hit in the middle of her back, really close to her spine. One of the nurses came out about twenty minutes ago and said they were wrapping things up. The surgeon’s supposed to come out soon to talk to us. By the way, Taint-waffle, this is Jackass and Sweetheart. Hollywood has already had the pleasure.”

  Frisco rolled his eyes as he held out his hand. “Everyone else calls me Frisco.”

  The woman smiled as she shook his hand. “Everyone else calls me Jordyn, and this is Carter.”

  “Nice to meet you. Wish it was under better circumstances.”

  As Carter also gave him a handshake, Jordyn strode over to where the others were still watching the news. Reardon’s attention had been so focused on the TV, he hadn’t even noticed when she and the others had come in. When Jordyn put her hand on his arm, he startled, then stood and walked into her embrace. It was then the man finally broke down, having remained stoic all this time. His shoulders shook as he silently cried on her shoulder. From what Frisco had figured out earlier, Reardon was very protective of both female spies, like they were his older sisters or something. He’d spoken of both of them fondly over the past few hours to Babs, who’d tried to keep him engaged in conversation while they waited for news.

  Giving the other two some privacy, Skipper and Babs walked over and joined the rest of them. After watching Jordyn and Reardon for a few moments, Sawyer stood and stretched. “Any news on the buyer?”

  Carter crossed his arms over his sculpted chest. “No. We’ve narrowed him down to five possibles—one of whom is dead in the rubble. He was the one who shot Haven from the window of the library. Reverend took him out and, thankfully, didn’t make it a head shot, so I was able to get a few photos from different angles before the authorities arrived and gained control of the place. We’re running his face through the recognition program. No hits yet, but it could be hours before we get one.”

  Footsteps sounded again and, this time, a harried-looking man in scrubs strode in. He eyed the newcomers as Jordyn and Reardon hurried over.

  “It’s okay, Doc, they’re family,” Sawyer reassured him.

  The older man nodded and took off his glasses. “I’m sure I don’t want to know what kind of family it is. I have my orders that this case doesn’t exist.” He took in a deep breath and blew it back out. “She’s being moved to recovery. The bullet nicked the spinal cord at L1 and 2, then lodged in the spleen, which we had to remove. The trauma around the spine has caused swelling and bruising. As a result, she’s got cord shock. She can’t feel anything below the injury right now, but I’m pretty sure it’s temporary. Because of the muscles around the spleen, there may come a point where the pain and paresthesia will be more pronounced on her left side, but, again, that depends on her recovery.”

  “So she’s going to be all right?” Reardon asked, hopefully.

  The doctor shook his head. “I wish I could say that, but I can’t. We won’t know more until the cord heals to see if she’ll regain full function. Will she be able to run again? I highly doubt it. Will she be able to walk with or without the assistance of crutches and braces? I think that’s up to her and how her recovery goes. I’ve seen people regain full or limited use of their legs and lower abdominal organs, while others have given into depression or guilt or whatever’s holding them back, and they’re in a wheelchair for the rest of their lives. She’s going to need a lot of rehab. It could be two months before she starts to regain feeling in her legs, it could be as long as two years. I wish I could give you more than that, but recovering from this type of injury is different for every patient.”

  The group was quiet for a moment while they digested the diagnosis, as vague as it was, then Jordyn spoke up. “When can we see her, Doctor?”

  “Give the nurses a few minutes to get her settled in recovery. I can let two people in to see her for only a moment. After that, you’ll have to wait ʼtil morning.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Actually, since it’s 0200, late morning. We’re going to keep her heavily sedated for the next eighteen to twenty-four hours, until she’s stable enough to be medevaced to Bahrain and board a flight to Landstuhl. They’ll ease her out of the drug-induced coma in Germany. That will ensure she doesn’t move around at all.”

  Carter glanced at everyone else to see if they had any more questions, then turned back to the surgeon. “Thanks, Doc. Jordyn and I will be staying with Haven until she can be transported. The officer of the deck said he’s got a couple of bunks for us; I’ll make sure your staff knows where to find us.”

  “Good. Get some sleep. If anything changes, we’ll let you know.”

  After the doctor left, a tense and remorse-filled silence filled the air, before Carter turned to Sawyer. “I spoke to McDaniel—he’s in Washington, handling the backlash of this clusterfuck. As soon as Haven can handle the trip, we’ll get her back to the States. Do me a favor and take Reardon with you. Someone from Deimos will meet you in Tampa and escort him back to California.”

  “No!”

  Frisco wasn’t the only one startled by Reardon’s venomous shout. His face reddened as he continued. “I’m staying with Haven. She’s my responsibility. She was protecting me, and it’s because of me she’s hurt. I’m not leaving.”

  Before Carter could answer, Jordyn stepped between the two men, facing the one who was near tears again, this time in anger as well as grief. She placed her hands on his shoulders and made sure she had his attention, before speaking in a calming tone as if she were dealing with a young child. “Kenny, no.” He shook his head, but she persisted. “Listen to me. Listen. I promise you, we’ll take good care of her, but we don’t know who’s looking for ‘Preston Ward’ right now. Your face ended up on several videos that were taken by cell phones. The ones we’ve seen on the internet are blurry, but we can’t take the chance someone knows what you look like. Haven would tell you exactly what I’m telling you—you have to go back to the States in protective custody. Once you’re at headquarters, and Haven’s awake, I’ll get the two of you on the phone so you can talk to her, but you can’t stay with her—it’s not safe. I swear, as soon as we can, we’ll bring her home.”

  Reardon had tried to interrupt several times, but the woman hadn’t let him get a word in. They all saw the moment he surrendered. His shoulders sagged as he, reluctantly, accepted the fact he had to leave. Frisco felt the same
way even though he barely knew Haven, and she didn’t even know his name. He wanted to stay with her until she woke up, to see with his own eyes she was okay, but it wasn’t an option.

  A few moments later, a surgical nurse came in. Carter gestured for Jordyn and Reardon to go see Haven. Once they were gone, Sawyer picked up the plastic bag his camos were in. Their weapons and equipment they’d had on them were still in the Blackhawk, which was sitting on one of the ship’s helipads. Babs would fly Reardon and the Trident and Delta team members to Bahrain where Sawyer’s luxury jet was apparently waiting for them. For once, Frisco, Ghost, Fletch, and Hollywood would be flying even better than first class.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Sawyer announced. “Carter, send the dweeb up to the chopper when he’s done and call us if you need anything.”

  “Will do.”

  As the others said goodbye to the Deimos spy and then moved toward the door, Frisco held back a moment. Carter raised an eyebrow at him.

  He cleared his throat. “Listen . . . um . . . I don’t know if you can, and I understand if you can’t, but I’d appreciate it if you . . . uh . . . if you could let me know how she’s doing.”

  The other man cocked his head to the side and stared at him for a few seconds. Frisco refused to back down from the intense scrutiny. Finally, Carter nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Thanks.” Without another word, he walked out the door. For some unknown reason, though, he felt like he was leaving a part of himself behind.

  Five

  A n incessant beeping penetrated Haven’s mind, annoying her as she floated amidst pure darkness. When she tried to push it away, it was replaced by something else . . . something that had her wanting to scream. Pain . . . white, hot, searing pain. She was either still alive or had been borne through the gates of Hell, and didn’t know which was worse. Where am I?

  Searching the darkness, she tried to find a clue to where she was and how to get out of there. But the agony was so excruciating, she couldn’t move. Her legs wouldn’t obey her mind and felt like they were submerged in a vat of lava. This was it. Her Hell. The one she deserved after all this time. Or was it?

  There had to be a way out. A way to redeem herself. Before it was too late.

  Her eyelids were being held down by five-pound weights, and it took all her energy to pry them open. Wherever she was, it was dark, but not as bad as the abyss she’d been in. She could move her arms, but her legs were restrained. Haven blinked, and her head and stomach swirled in nauseating circles, causing her to slam her eyes shut again.

  I’m drunk. I have to be. All the signs are there. Nausea, dry mouth, pounding headache. But she never got drunk—at least, not since college. And why did the rest of her feel like it was on fire—her back and stomach were just as bad as her legs. Had she been in an accident? Oh, God! Was she in the hands of one of her enemies? Was she being tortured? If that was the case, she didn’t want to wake up.

  Wait. No. It hadn’t been an accident. Screams. Gunshots. Run, Kenny. Before it’s too late. Hurry. Kenny, where are you? I’m his bodyguard. Where is he? If anything happened to that sweet kid, I’ll never forgive myself. Yes, he was a part of her world, but only on the periphery. He spent his time cocooned in the communications center at headquarters. His engagements with the enemies of the United States were done from behind a computer screen. He’d never killed someone in cold blood because the alternative was Americans dying at some bastard’s hands. Kenny. Damn it. Where are you?

  The beeping grew louder. Faster. She had to get out of here. Had to find Kenny.

  Haven. Wake up, honey. You’re going to be okay. I’m right here. Wake up. That’s an order, Haven.

  She knew that deep, rumbling voice. She knew him. He was a friend. She was safe with him. The knowledge calmed her, easing her panic. She forced her eyelids upward again and, this time, she managed to keep them open and not throw up. Her eyes focused and found the man sitting next to the bed she was laying on.

  “Hey, it’s about time you woke up.”

  Carter. His blue eyes were filled with a combination of concern and relief. Haven scanned the room. She was in a hospital, so she must have been right—she’d been in an accident. Opening her mouth, she tried to speak, but her tongue and lips were so dry, she began to cough, and that sent shards of pain shooting through her body again. That damn beeping of the monitor over her left shoulder increased too.

  “Hey, easy, sweetheart. Here. Take a sip of water.” He held a straw to her lips, and Haven closed them around it, drinking the cool liquid greedily. “That’s it. Not too much.”

  Letting go of the straw, she swallowed several times. “Wh-What happened? Where am I?”

  Before he had a chance to answer her, the private room’s door quietly swung open, and Jordyn walked in on silent feet. Her face lit up when she noticed Haven. “Oh, thank God.” Hurrying over, she handed her lover a brown, paper, deli bag as he stood and let her sit in the chair. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I got hit by a Mac truck. I’m in pain from head to toe. What happened?”

  For some reason, her words startled the other woman, which she knew from experience was hard to do. Before Haven could analyze Jordyn’s surprised expression, it morphed into something akin to empathy. Placing the bag on a window shelf, Carter stepped over to the device attached to an IV pole next to the bed. He handed her a cable with a small box on the end. “Push the blue button if you’re in pain.”

  Haven took it from him, but despite feeling like crap at the moment, she wanted a clear head while she found out what was going on. “What happened?” she repeated. “Where are we?”

  “Landstuhl Medical Center. You’ve been out of it for two days.” Reaching over the bed railing, Jordyn laid her hand on her arm. “What do you remember?”

  Her brow furrowed as she tried to think past the pain. “We were . . . we were at the wedding. Kenny . . .” Her eyes went wide. “Oh, my God, is he okay? Where is he?”

  “He’s fine. He’s already back in California.”

  A sigh of relief escaped her. “Okay. Good.” She settled back down and concentrated. “Um . . . we were walking around.” The memories started pouring in. “There was an explosion. Then men with guns came in. I shot one of them. Kenny and I jumped out the window, and we were running . . . I . . .” She shook her head slightly, but the nausea returning stopped her. “I don’t remember anything after that. What happened?”

  Jordyn bit her lip and then glanced at Carter. He leaned over and took Haven’s hand. “You were shot in the back, sweetheart. Ian and a few others came running and got you and Reardon out of there on the Blackhawk. They flew you straight to Kearsage where you had surgery, before being transported here.” He paused, and Haven got a sick feeling in her stomach. “The bullet nicked your spinal cord, which caused swelling and bruising, but the doctors said the damage will heal in time.”

  Unable to fully comprehend what he was telling her, the only words that stood out were “spinal cord” and “damage.” Her mouth dropped in horror. “Wh-What do you mean damage? What kind of damage?”

  “Sh. Listen to me. Calm down. You’re going to be all right.” He squeezed her hand. “The doctors are calling it cord shock. It means that until the swelling goes down, and the tissue heals, you’re going to have limited use of your legs for a while.”

  “Limited?” Her gaze went back and forth between the two of them as she tried to understand what he was saying. “You-you mean I’m . . . I’m paralyzed? But I can feel my legs . . . I can . . .” Staring at her covered legs, she tried to move them, but they just lay there. She shook her head so hard in disbelief it should have gone flying off her neck, and her nausea returned. “No . . . no . . . but I can feel them. They hurt. I . . . oh, God, they hurt! Why can’t I move them?”

  Panic was setting in again. Ignoring her friends, who were now both trying to calm her down with words that were no longer making sense to her, she ripped her hand from Jordyn’s gr
asp and threw the covers off her legs. She gaped at them, willing them to move, but they didn’t even twitch. A sob rose within her as tears rolled down her cheeks. This can’t be happening! They’re wrong! Oh, God!

  Six

  Two Months Later . . .

  “Y ou wanted to see me, Captain?”

  Ghost looked up from the pile of paperwork on his desk. “Yeah, Frisco. Come in and close the door. Have a seat.”

  Relaxing at the use of his nickname and not his rank, Frisco did as ordered and sat on one of the two gray, utility chairs across from the other man. He’d been a little surprised when his own captain had told him to report to Bryson’s office. While they were in the same squadron and troop, Frisco was on a different team. However, they often trained together and went on the same missions depending on the number of Deltas needed. In fact, twenty minutes ago, he’d been in the base’s gym where a bunch of guys from both teams had been working out. He’d just come out of the shower and thrown on a pair of tan, BDUs—Battle Dress Uniform, the military’s version of cargo pants—and a green “ARMY” T-shirt when his captain had told him to get his ass over here. Now, he waited patiently for the reason why.

  Leaning back in his rolling desk chair, Ghost stared at him. “I got a call a little while ago that I thought you might be interested in.”

  “From whom?” He wracked his brains trying to think of anything he might be in trouble over, but he drew a blank. Plus the captain didn’t appear pissed . . . more like bothered.

  “A man with one name.”

  Carter. On the flight back to the States in the Trident Security jet, Frisco had learned a little bit more about T. Carter. Not much, but enough to know nobody knew what the T stood for, except maybe his woman, and he had a knack for being in the right place at the right time when people he cared about were in trouble. Frisco had also found out that as far as anyone not on the mission was concerned, the man didn’t even exist. Being on Delta, Frisco knew all about not being able to tell anyone who he was and what he and his teammates did for their country. The only time he’d ever be able to tell anyone he was on Delta Force was if he had a wife, and even then, he wouldn’t be able to tell her much past that—not that he was getting married anytime soon. Hell, he wasn’t even dating anyone. And ever since that clusterfuck in India, he’d had a hard time thinking about any woman other than Haven. It’d been two months, and the only thing he’d been told was that after two weeks in the Landstuhl Medical Center, she’d been transported back somewhere in the US and was recovering. What that entailed, he had no idea.