Trace scrambled to the front of the building and saw the letters on a glass door, “Casa de Flora.” Inside, it looked like a clean little flower shop with refrigerators containing bunches of bouquets and flowers in white metal cones. He went back and reported to the others.
Armando returned from the other side, breathing heavily. “There’s a roll up door to the warehouse on the other side, and another side door about ten feet in front. No door on the rear. The rollup isn’t padlocked but the side door is locked.”
“Fredo, can you pick the front door lock first?” asked Coop.
“No tools, Coop. But wait a minute!” He hopped back into the dumpster and the sneezing began. He climbed out clutching a bundle of discarded florist’s wire. “I can use this, I think. Be right back.”
“Trace, you go let Gretchen know what’s happening. Tell her to stay inside the SUV again, but keep her head down.”
As Coop discussed several of their options, Trace tapped on the window and Gretchen leaned over the rear seat, opening the driver side rear door. “We’re about to breach the building. You stay put, and keep it locked. The keys are still in the ignition, okay?”
“Do we know it’s them?”
“I think so, sweetheart. The name of the flower shop matches the cell phone record Coop got from the NSA. So, we’re treating this as a go. We’ll split up. Anything goes wrong, you call 9-1-1 immediately, okay?”
“What about the detective?”
“Call him second. 9-1-1 gets the paramedics and a shitpile of others.”
She took in a deep breath. “Trace, thank you so much. I—”
His name was being whispered, so he had to cut her off with a swift kiss, pointed to the lock and joined Armando at the rollup. Coop headed up front to join Fredo, who had already entered the flower shop. Their watches had been set, and on the mark, Trace pulled back the latch as Armando threw his full weight into raising the metal accordion material. Trace immediately grabbed the other side and together they got the door fully raised in less than thirty seconds.
Prepared for firepower, they each rolled into the shadows, Armando on the right and Trace on the left. They heard the rattle of a semi-automatic of low caliber, sounding more like a child’s toy. Trace fell into some water and realized he’d encountered a shallow tray holding dozens of pot plants, each covered with large sacks of burlap. The distinctive skunky smell of growing marijuana made his nose itch.
Fredo and Coop joined him, but before could warn his buddy, Fredo erupted into a spasm of uncontrollable sneezes that nearly sent him to the ground. They could still hear voices on the other side of a partition built that spanned the two brick outer walls.
“Anyone have a match?” Armando whispered?
Between his convulsions, Fredo managed to find a set of waterproof matches in a pocket and handed them over.
“This fertilizer is highly flammable.” He’d removed the fist-sized rubber lid. “We gotta roll this closer.”
Trace helped him tip the barrel on its side, centering it on the door. Liquid fertilizer was leaking all over the room.
“Try not to get that on your clothes or you’ll catch fire, Trace. If you have to, dive into the trays.”
“Wait, what about Clover?” he asked, pointing to the doorway.
“She’d be against a wall, not a doorway. This gives us a way in.”
“Gotcha.”
“Take cover on the count of three. The explosion might take down part of the roof too, so watch your head.” Armando didn’t wait for Trace’s acknowledgement, struck the match and tossed it into the open mouth of the now leaking barrel and they both ran to opposite sides of the building as fast as they could.
The explosion did indeed take out the doorway. In fact, there was nothing left of it. The blast had extended to the ceiling and had ignited the cross bracing on the domed roof. They could hear screaming inside the space, as well as broken glass shattering all around them.
All four of the SEALs ran through the flames. Trace was glad his clothes had gotten soaked. They spread out. Several times Trace stepped over bodies, examining them carefully, hoping not to find Clover among them. He heard sounds of a struggle here and there as other members of his team immobilized several of the surprised and severely injured kidnappers. But the more seconds ticked by, the more worried he got. His eyes were stinging, and he recognized the signs he’d inhaled too much of the toxic smoke.
Finally he heard something that made his day.
“I said get your hands off me, you cretin!”
Clover had evidently delivered a blow to someone who had tried to handle her, and she’d managed to send him crashing to the ground with a groan.
“Mom? Mom are you there?”
Trace slammed into her. He wrapped his arms around her, though she struggled. She kneed his groin and tried to pick out his eyes with her fingers. He was so busy trying to drag her to safety, his throat so raw, that when he tried to tell her to stop, all that came out was a rasping squeak.
“Clover,” he finally managed to eek out.
But she continued to struggle. By the time he got her outside the roll up door and into fresh air, he was ready to pass out. Yet he held on as he fell to the ground, and wouldn’t let go.
Blackness crept into his vision. The sounds of the crackling fire subsided. Everything started looking like it was in slow motion. Echoes of his past, sounds of the waves on the beach, muffled screams of friends he’d lost in battle filled his ears.
So this is how it goes, then. You do see your past.
Someone’s hand was slapping the side of his face, but he still wouldn’t let go. The numbness was welcome. He was out of pain. The screaming continued but it sounded comical and he started to chuckle.
“I’m not letting you go, Clover. I promised. I promised.”
And then everything went to black.
CHAPTER 13
G retchen waited in the emergency room lobby for word on Trace. Clover had been treated for minor cuts and bruises, and some smoke inhalation. She’d broken two bones in her hand trying to get away from Trace’s relentless grip on her body, when she thought he was one of the bad guys intending to do her harm. But when the results of her chest x-ray came in, she was deemed well enough to be discharged at the end of the day after what was left of a night’s sleep.
Clover’s fingers were immobilized and she finally got a shower and a change of clothes she’d desperately wanted. Clean and warm, near the ones she loved, Clover’s pink cheeks returned and she began to express worry about her mother. Gretchen shrugged it off and tried not to let her concern for Trace show. There was time enough to have the “talk” with Clover, if and when that time was right. Tonight was about getting rest, and healing.
Gretchen had spent nearly an hour with her before she finally retired, holding her, helping her to call her sisters and her grandparents.
So when Trace was moved to a room, they allowed her to accompany him. She was exhausted, but was much more comfortable waiting for news in a hospital bed next to him, than in the waiting room filled with too many voices and activity. There were not enough beds in the ICU, which is where he belonged, the doctor told her, but he’d be treated the same, just without some of the equipment.
Trace had been taken to the hospital unconscious and when they last checked he was still unconscious. The specialists were worried about his lungs, although a portable chest x-ray didn’t reveal anything serious, problems were likely to develop later on.
His brothers had also been treated, and although it was recommended they stay in the hospital overnight, they weren’t having any of it. They sat with Gretchen and continued the vigil right with her every step of the way.
As the early morning hours turned into dawn, Gretchen awoke to the sounds of heavy snoring. Fredo had tried to sleep in the lounge chair usually reserved for nursing moms or senior citizens. His knees were pulled to his chest as he curled up around a pillow at his side.
Coop’s ankl
es and nearly half of his lower legs hung off the couch, which had been moved from the vacant waiting room. He was on his back and Gretchen had asked for and received a blanket to cover his chest up. Both his hands had been burned and due to their size, after the treatment resembled white boxing gloves.
Armando slept with his chest and arms draped over Trace’s bed, his head buried in the blanket to ward off the oncoming sunrise. He was seated in a chair, his upper torso bent at the waist.
Gretchen had slept in the bed in Patient #2’s slot, which finally had been offered after all the evening shift nurses were unsuccessful peeling the SEALs off the floor in order to give her a seat. She was grateful for the courtesy.
Trace had ointment on his eyes and a breathing mask along with an IV in his right arm. He hadn’t moved since they’d brought him. His clothes had been cut off, the pieces of the sooty fabric in a large blue hospital bag, hanging from the chair Armando was sitting in.
As she studied him, his quiet repose belied how sick he really was. The vision of his chest gently rising and falling with each breath got blurry when tears welled up and spilled over her cheeks. It wasn’t lost on her the story that Clover revealed, how Trace hung on to her no matter how hard she hit him. Her teen felt awful about it, but at the same time Gretchen knew the fact that he wouldn’t abandon her no matter if it cost him his life, made a huge impression on her oldest. Even if Trace would not go on to become a permanent fixture in their lives, that life lesson he bestowed on her daughter was worth the entire world in gold.
She’d be eternally grateful.
So she’d come to this juncture in her life, along a rocky pathway filled with disappointments, but every day living her life for her girls. Now she found she had someone else so precious, it was unimaginable that he would not be there in the coming days and months. She knew it was selfish to expect much, so she found herself just asking for his healing, to be restored to his particular brand of perfection with that quirky smile and the dark stubble on his cheeks and chin contrasted with his deep blue eyes. Once he was healthy, he’d be in a position to make some decisions and she would not obligate him, nor beg. It had to be something of his own choosing. She just prayed he be given the chance to have that choice, whatever it was.
She wiped her eyes with the sheet again, and when she looked back over at him he’d turned, opened his eyes and was staring right back at her. She wondered if he’d suffered brain injury, since he had no expression and didn’t try to talk or move a muscle.
He tried to say something but creases formed at the top of his nose as his raspiness looked like it hurt him. But it didn’t stop him. He tried again, and again all he could get was a small squeak, which was enough to awaken Armando.
“Holy fuck, you didn’t die after all.”
She could see Trace was trying not to laugh, and wasn’t looking at Armando, but remained staring back at her. Cooper and Fredo were at the bedside too, asking him questions. Coop was even checking his pulse, raising his eyelids and listening to his chest with a stethoscope left over the bedrail. But Trace didn’t take his eyes off Gretchen.
“You did good, you big dufus. Now if you irritate me, I’ll just punch you and it will be like a marshmallow punch,” Coop said, air-punching close to his face.
Gretchen watched a tear streak down into his pillow. Once more he tried to say something, and this time, she understood him.
“Clover,” He was asking.
Gretchen leaned on her side and gave him a big smile. “She’s going to be fine. She’s sleeping right now, which is what you should be doing.”
“Yes ma’am.” He whispered.
Coop, Fredo and Armando got the full import of the fact that Trace wasn’t in the least bit interested in them. He didn’t look at Coop’s boxing gloves. Fredo showed him the burn on his right forearm, and another angry scrape to his side. Armando had a bandage over his forehead from a glass cut during the explosion and several other bandages on his arms. But Trace didn’t react.
Finally Fredo had had enough. He jumped up and landed on Trace’s bed, causing him to bounce to near sitting position. That got his attention.
“Amigo. Join the living.”
“I am. I’m right here with you all. It’s just that,” he turned his face again to stare back at her, “I’ve just found the most beautiful view in the whole world, and it’s a shame she can’t see it.”
Gretchen touched her chest with her palm and just allowed her tears to flow.
“Come here,” Trace said. He kneed Fredo off the bed, flipped open his sheets and covers and showed her his bear legs underneath, scooting to the side to make room for her. He did all this sporting a huge boner.
“You are a mean motherfucker, Trace Bennett,” Fredo announced in mock offense.
“Yea but I sound like a pussy cat,” Trace whispered in return. All four of the SEALs laughed together. As the silence returned, Trace added one other request.
“Help her get over here so I can feel her naked beside me. That’s the best kind of medicine I need right now. And then get the fuck out of my room for, oh, say about three days, okay?”
They took turns messing with him, and then dutifully brought her over to his bedside. “Take that stupid hospital gown off her and close your eyes, dammit,” he continued to whisper.
Gretchen was beginning to giggle uncontrollably as one of them untied the gown and someone else pulled it away from her body and she stood in front of Trace completely naked.
“Now that’s more like it,” he whispered. “Now, get your butt in here and give me your medicine.”
If you enjoyed this story, look for the full-length novel, SEAL My Love, which will be released next year. Trace will have some choice words to say to Gretchen’s ex. He’ll also continue to demonstrate what it means to be a true father, as he becomes the husband Gretchen has always dreamed of having. Hope you’ll follow along with Trace and Gretchen’s journey then!
SHARON HAMILTON’S BOOK LIST
SEAL Brotherhood Series
SEAL Encounter (Prequel Novella)
Accidental SEAL (Book 1)
SEAL Endeavor (Novella)
Fallen SEAL Legacy (Book 2)
SEAL Under Covers (Book 3)
SEAL The Deal (Book 4)
Cruisin’ For A SEAL (Book 5)
SEAL My Destiny (Book 6)
SEAL Of My Heart (Book 7)
SEAL Brotherhood Box Set 1 (Accidental SEAL & Prequel)
SEAL Brotherhood Box Set 2 (Fallen SEAL & Prequel)
Ultimate SEAL Collection Vol. 1 (Books 1-4 + 2 Prequels)
Ultimate SEAL Collection Vol. 2 (Books 5-7)
* * *
Bad Boys of SEAL Team 3 Series
SEAL’s Promise (Book 1)
SEAL My Home (Book 2)
SEAL’s Code (Book 3)
Big Bad Boys Bundle (Books 1-3 of Bad Boys)
* * *
Band of Bachelors Series
Lucas (Book 1)
Alex (Book 2)
Jake (Book 3)
Jake 2 (Book 4)
True Blue SEALs Series
True Navy Blue (prequel to Zak)
Zak (Includes novella above)
* * *
Nashville SEAL Series
Nashville SEAL (Book 1)
Nashville SEAL: Jameson (Books 1 & 2 combined)
* * *
Fredo Series
Fredo’s Secret (novella) Book 1
Fredo’s Dream (Books 1 & 2 combined)
* * *
Standalone Novellas
SEAL You In My Dreams (Magnolias and Moonshine)
SEAL Of Time (Trident Legacy)
* * *
Kindle Worlds
SEAL’s Goal: The Beautiful Game
Love Me Tender, Love You Hard
* * *
Paradise Series
Paradise: In Search of Love
* * *
Sleeper SEALs: Bone Frog Brotherhood Series
Bachelor SEAL
* * *
Fall From Grace Series (Paranormal)
Gideon: Heavenly Fall
* * *
Golden Vampires of Tuscany Series (Paranormal)
Honeymoon Bite (Book 1)
Mortal Bite (Book 2)
* * *
The Guardians (Paranormal)
Heavenly Lover (Book 1)
Underworld Lover (Book 2)
Underworld Queen (Book 3)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
NYT and USA Today best-selling author Sharon Hamilton’s award-winning Navy SEAL Brotherhood series have been a fan favorite from the day the first one was released. They’ve earned her the coveted author ranking of #1 in Romantic Suspense, Military Romance and Contemporary Romance categories, as well as in Gothic Romance for her Vampires of Tuscany and Guardian Angels. Her characters follow a sometimes rocky road to redemption through passion and true love.
Her Golden Vampires of Tuscany are not like any vamps you’ve read about before, since they don’t go to ground and can walk around in the full light of the sun.
Her Guardian Angels struggle with the human charges they are sent to save, often escaping their vanilla world of Heaven for the brief human one. You won’t find any of these beings in any Sunday school class.
She lives in Sonoma County, California with her husband and two Dobermans. A lifelong organic gardener, when she’s not writing, she’s getting verra verra dirty in the mud, or wandering Farmers Markets looking for new Heirloom varieties of vegetables and flowers.
She loves hearing from her fans:
[email protected]
Her website is:
sharonhamiltonauthor.com
Find out more about Sharon, her upcoming releases, appearances and news from her newsletter:
sharonhamiltonauthor.com/contact/#mailing list
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