Don't Let Go

by Marliss Melton

  “I think this calls for a surprise helo extract with gunship support,” Lieutenant Lindstrom said, opening the mission up for discussion.

  Everyone but Vinny agreed. He wanted to infiltrate via submarine and slip in to the embassy compound by foot. “What if they have RPGs?” he pointed out.

  Rocket-propelled grenades were a serious concern. “It takes a clear shot plus time to arm, aim, and fire a stinger,” retorted Harley. “Chances are they’d miss.”

  “We’re not taking chances,” Lieutenant Commander Montgomery interrupted. “We’ll stage a diversion.”

  “There’s an ammo dump on the northwest side of the city, not far from the airport,” Lieutenant Lindstrom reported. “A big enough explosion should persuade the enemy to pull some firepower out of the city. If we come in fast and low, suppressing whatever fire they direct at us, we should be fine.”

  “We get all the Americans in the embassy to gather in one place,” suggested the only African-American SEAL in the platoon, Teddy Brewbaker. “That way we’re in and out in under five minutes.”

  “We’ll need two Cobras or Blackhawk gunships for support and four MH-60s,” the lieutenant agreed.

  The men fell silent as they envisioned the high-risk mission. Solomon wiped moist palms on his pant legs and swallowed down the acid creeping up his throat.

  “You’re awfully quiet there, Senior Chief.” Commander Montgomery’s thoughtful gaze focused on Solomon.

  He didn’t know where to start; didn’t know if Lucy Donovan had managed to stow Jordan and Miguel safely in the embassy. Last he’d heard from her, she’d had them both at her apartment, but now the city was being besieged. “If there’s a woman at the embassy,” he said, measuring his words with care, “with a little native boy that she’s trying to adopt, I want both of them pulled out and brought stateside.”

  The commander narrowed his eyes. “Who’s this woman?” he asked.

  “Jordan Bliss. We extracted her from a mission in the jungle a few weeks back.”

  “Ah, the one you had to tranquilize,” said the CO, sitting back and crossing his arms. “Now you’re suggesting we evacuate a non–U.S. citizen?”

  “Jordan Bliss wouldn’t be in Venezuela right now if I’d let her bring the kid home with her.”

  Joe Montgomery narrowed his eyes. “Sounds like you’ve been beating yourself up, Senior Chief. You were following orders.”

  “To hell with orders. I want both of them brought home this time.”

  A startled and uneasy silence hovered over the round table. Something flickered in the CO’s eyes as he stared hard at Solomon. “The rest of you are dismissed,” he said, quietly.

  The legs of chairs scraped the floor as six men got up silently and headed for the door.

  “Sir,” murmured Gus Atwater as he passed the CO, “I need to speak to you when you get a second.”

  Joe Montgomery looked at Gus, seemed to remember something, and nodded. “Come to my office in ten minutes,” he suggested.

  “Aye, sir.”

  The room emptied in record time. Solomon swallowed hard. The CO could doom his career with the stroke of a pen. He probably hadn’t forgotten that Solomon had fondled his bride-to-be in his hot tub last November, either. But that was then. Having met Jordan, having made love to her, tasting both heaven and hell, it seemed like a lifetime ago.

  “Talk to me, Solomon,” invited the CO, surprising him. He put his elbows on the table and leaned in, signaling that he was all ears.

  Solomon cleared his throat. “It’s like this, sir. Jordan Bliss needs Miguel in her life like she needs air in her lungs. She’s taken all the right measures to adopt this kid, and she’s risking her life, again, to get him out of the country. Either we respect that effort, or I quit the teams.”

  The commander’s eyebrows shot up. He sat back into his chair. “Well, well,” he murmured, his lips twitching toward what appeared to be a smile. “You just surprised the hell out of me, Solomon,” he admitted.

  “How’s that, sir?” growled Solomon, chagrined by the level of passion he’d just exhibited, though he’d meant every word.

  The CO spread his fingers to suggest that it was obvious. “You’re in love,” he stated, his dark eyes dancing with private glee. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

  The word love shocked Solomon into silence.

  Impossible. He’d sworn he’d never love another woman in this lifetime. Love was an illusion, a well of misery and torment that took years to climb out of. He broke out in a panicky sweat just thinking about it.

  But hearing the CO say it, he had to admit there wasn’t any other word that described his feelings better. Jordan had caught him hook, line, and sinker. He was a doomed man.

  And now there was nothing left to do but protect his heart from inevitable despair, and the only way to do that was to protect Jordan herself. “Damn it,” he rasped.

  “Are you going to be able to do your job, Solomon?” the commander demanded, all hint of humor fleeing. “Love has a way of clouding a man’s judgment, you know.”

  Solomon marshaled his careening emotions. He met the CO’s gaze with a challenging glare. “Oh, I’ll do my job, sir,” he said quietly.

  The CO gave a grudging nod. “Glad to hear that. In answer to your question about the boy—by all means, bring him home if that’s what it’s going to take to keep you in the teams.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” Solomon growled, fighting to contain his relief.

  “You’re welcome,” said the CO with warmth creeping into his tone. “And you’re dismissed,” he added wryly.

  Solomon was already halfway out the door.

  Rafe awoke, alone as usual, in his impersonal, high-rise apartment to peach-hued sunrise filling the open window. Memories of the night before flooded warmly through his mind. He relived the feeling of Jillian’s soft hand straying toward his thigh, at her invitation to stay. His morning erection felt exquisitely sensitive as he stretched beneath the sheet.

  He felt so alive!

  The sensation was as disturbing as it was exhilarating, yet there was nothing sudden about it. The first stirring had begun two years ago, when he and Jillian first met. It had been as subtle then as the beating of a butterfly’s wings.

  This morning, there was nothing subtle about it. His heart pounded with the yearning to rise and to live, and yet he still lay in limbo, impaled by memories of the past.

  I think it’s time you forgave yourself for what happened to your family. Jillian’s soft suggestion replayed itself.

  He dared to look back, felt his horror take hold.

  Had he punished himself sufficiently for not protecting them? Eight years of solitary confinement was a long time.

  Not that he’d locked himself away in jail. But spiritually, emotionally, and sexually, yes. He’d been merciless in his punishment.

  Perhaps it was time to forgive, to let himself truly live again.

  With a cry of relief, Rafe threw back the sheet that covered him and leapt out of bed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The odor of horses, leather, manure, and grass mingled in an earthy bouquet as Rafe cut through the barn and out the rear doors to the riding ring. His gaze went straight to Jillian as she encouraged the amputated vet to ride a chestnut mare one more time around the ring. Sweat stains gave testament to the young man’s efforts to keep his seat. But Rafe’s concern was for Jillian, who held her belly as she hurried to keep pace with the horse and patient.

  As the riding session wound to a close, a burly aide assisted the veteran off the horse and into a wheelchair. They reconfirmed their next visit, and Rafe and Jillian were left alone.

  “Rafael,” she called, smiling her pleasure as she hurried over, sunlight sparkling in her hair.

  Her beauty dazzled him. He found himself reaching for her, loving the feel of her hands in his.

  “Why aren’t you at work?” she asked, her gaze delving his.

  “I took the day of
f. Where are the children?”

  “Grief camp, for children who’ve lost family members,” she explained. “It’s being hosted by the church down the road.”

  “Ah.” His pulse quickened at the realization that they were truly alone.

  “I had to threaten to take Graham’s computer from him in order to get him to go,” she admitted. “Of course, Agatha was delighted to be with other kids all day. My afternoon patient has canceled,” she added, the pink in her cheeks growing more distinct, “so you couldn’t have picked a better time to visit.”

  His heart beat faster. So, they were alone and they had time. There was no mistaking what she was telling him. But then he noticed the dark circles under her eyes and tendrils of moist hair that stuck to her neck. She looked to be exhausted already.

  He reluctantly set his yearnings on the back burner. What Jillian needed most was to rest.

  Ensconced in her bathtub, with her feet elevated and bubbles popping around her bulging midsection, Jillian felt like a beached whale. No wonder Rafael hadn’t pressed her for sex. Instead, he’d suggested a bath and even run the water for her himself. She could hear him in her room now, acquainting himself politely with her private sanctuary.

  At this rate, I’m going to have to seduce him, Jillian thought, questioning herself one last time. She felt admittedly nervous, having only ever been with Gary. She searched herself for guilt, for the least indication that her heart still belonged to her dead husband, and found none. What they’d had would always be theirs, but it belonged in the past.

  With her toes, she pulled the chain on the plug in the antique tub and let the water drain out of it. Then she heaved herself up on her aching feet, stepped out, and toweled herself dry.

  If she could only fit into one of her old nightgowns. But the terry-cloth robe was the only garment big enough to encircle her midsection. With a wry smile, she slipped it on and cracked the door to peek into her bedroom.

  She found Rafe plumping the pillows on her bed. Her lace curtains had been lowered, though they did little to filter the noontime sun. He turned his head, meeting her gaze with a cautious smile. “Come lie down,” he offered, patting the mattress. “I’ll massage your feet.”

  Jillian didn’t want a foot massage. With a shrug of her shoulders, she let the robe slide down her arms and crumple behind her. His stunned gaze took in the shapely fullness of her body as she rounded the bed and slowly approached him.

  Seduction, under the circumstances, wouldn’t be an easy feat.

  She lifted her arms to encircle his neck. Her bare belly touched the belt at his waist, but he didn’t seem to notice. His onyx eyes were riveted on her face. A hint of dull color highlighted his cheekbones. She stroked one hand into the crisp black waves of his hair and pulled his head down to kiss him.

  His lips felt and tasted exactly as she’d known they would. As their mouths merged and their tongues twined, she knew the exact moment that he surrendered his noble intentions. The tremor in his hands as he lifted them to caress the length of her spine told her plainly that he wanted all of her.

  As the kiss deepened and gained momentum, he gently cupped her full breasts, bent his head, and reverently kissed them. Jillian reached for the buttons of his dress shirt, undoing them with less and less efficiency as he continued to explore her body, stroking her hips, her thighs, with hands that were amazingly gentle.

  She craved his touch, wanting more, but his clothes and her belly remained between them. At last, he stepped back to unbutton the rest of his shirt, shaking it off impatiently. His crisp white T-shirt was quick to follow, disappearing in one fluid movement. Jillian tackled his belt, loving the way his flat abdomen clenched as she brushed his hot skin. He wriggled out of his jeans, the same pair he’d worn the other day. And then he was as naked as she was.

  Golden brown, from his shoulders to the tips of his toes, Jillian feasted her gaze on him.

  “Look in the mirror.” He encouraged her to turn toward her dressing table.

  Her gaze locked on their reflection. Backdropped by his darker, bigger frame, she looked surprisingly slim and fair, aside from fullness of her breasts and belly. With her bottom pressed to his hips, he nuzzled her neck and stroked a hand over her unborn baby, awakening a tenderness that brought moisture to her eyes.

  “You’re so lovely, Jillian,” he rasped in her ear. “I don’t want to hurt you. Please tell me if I do, and I’ll stop.”

  “You won’t,” she replied with certainty. She watched him touch her, lingeringly, sparking magical sensations between her thighs.

  It was a struggle to keep her eyes open. Reaching back, Jillian touched him in turn, marveling at his velvet texture, letting him know by her touch that she was ready for more.

  He sat on the edge of her bed and gently lowered her onto him. Jillian gripped the bedpost as he filled her. “Oh, God,” she breathed, enthralled with the view, with his tenderness, with the pleasure building inside of her.

  She felt him shudder as he thrust gently deeper. The hands stroking her breasts, her throat, her lips, trembled with the effort it took to restrain himself. She caught his fingers in her mouth and sucked them. The sweetness was too much to bear.

  She convulsed around him, drenching him in passion too long withheld. He muffled a cry against her shoulder, biting her gently as he pumped himself into her.

  A spell of dizziness assaulted Jillian. A ringing filled her ears. She felt herself tipping over, and he caught her, swinging her onto the bed to gaze down at her with real concern. “Jillian! What happened? Did you faint?”

  She offered him a weak smile. “I’m okay. All the blood rushed out of my head, that’s all.”

  “Don’t scare me like that.”

  He sounded truly shaken. She lifted a hand to his cheek. “I’m fine, Rafael. There’s a phrase in French for that phenomenon, La Petite Morte. You should be flattered that you had that effect on me.”

  He searched her face. Emotion, stark and unexpected transformed his features for a moment, making him look younger, more vulnerable. “I really couldn’t stand it if something happened to you,” he admitted, roughly.

  “Nothing’s going to happen,” she reassured him, touched by his fears, understanding the cause for them.

  He closed his eyes and dropped his face in the curve of her neck.

  “It’s going to be okay,” she murmured, stroking his short, crisp hair. With a dart of fear, she remembered her sister. “It’s all going to be okay,” she insisted.

  Despite the falling temperatures outside, the air in the Hummer was sticky and hot—more so with Miguel slumped against her, fast asleep. Jordan longed to lower a window, but Lucy had taken the car keys with her. She’d also instructed Jordan not to open any doors, for any reason, and Jordan wasn’t eager to test her luck.

  Skirting major roadways earlier and four-wheeling through the countryside, they’d left Caracas for the port-side city of Maiquetía, skirting Simón Bolívar International Airport. It looked like they were headed straight toward the source of the explosions that lit the darkening sky like a fireworks display, when Lucy pulled into an industrial area, past a warehouse, and into a yard of abandoned railcars.

  She’d parked the Hummer between two rusting shells. “Help yourself to the food in my rucksack,” she’d offered, checking her pistol and pulling the brim of her camouflaged hat over her eyes. “I should be back before daylight.”

  “You’ll be gone all night?”

  “Stay in the vehicle,” she’d continued, deaf to Jordan’s dismay. “If you have to go to the bathroom, stay close to the vehicle and shut the door quietly.”

  That had been hours ago. Jordan’s stomach rumbled. She was tired but not able to sleep as she puzzled over Lucy’s purpose here. Did she have to go skulking like this, with Jordan and Miguel’s future at stake, so close to the source of explosions that rent the nighttime quiet and shook the ground beneath the SUV’s tires?

  So far, Lucy had proved capable of keepi
ng them safe, but could she be relied upon to get them out of the country when her personal agenda was so obviously different from theirs?

  In the dark, stuffy car, in an alien location with strange creaking noises being emitted from the corpses of railcars, Jordan’s panic would not subside. Her stomach was empty. The enormous responsibility of Miguel’s safety weighted her down.

  She shouldn’t just sit here, relying on Lucy to get them out of the country. Perhaps she could try to contact Solomon.

  Fumbling in her backpack, Jordan pulled out her cell phone and eyed the black screen with dismay. She hadn’t remembered to charge it.

  Lucy had a cell phone. Had she taken it with her?

  Wriggling to the edge of her seat, Jordan found Lucy’s cell phone in the compartment between the seats, powered off.

  Turning it on, she located Solomon’s cell phone number, preprogrammed with the international prefix, in Lucy’s address book. Her heart hammered expectantly as she pressed the TALK button. Clicking sounds gave way to ringing. Her mouth went dry. She realized she would give anything to hear his voice right now. Only he didn’t answer. Disappointed, she was forced to leave a message.

  “Solomon? It’s me. If you get this message, please help me. We couldn’t get into the embassy in time.” Kaboom! An explosion rent the night air, rocking the SUV. “Lucy’s going to take us to the evacuation port,” she added, speaking louder, “but we’ve stopped at a warehouse near the airport. She’s doing something; I don’t know what.” Kaboom! “I’m scared, Solomon. And I’m sorry that I didn’t listen to you. You were right. It’s really not safe here. But at least I’ve got Miguel. He’s sleeping now—” The line went suddenly dead. She tried again and again, only to discover that the call would not go through.

  Loath to drain Lucy’s battery, Jordan powered the phone down. She put it back in the compartment, slid back in her seat, and adjusted Miguel’s head on her shoulder.

  Exhaustion claimed her briefly. But then a brisk knock on the door snatched her awake. With her adrenaline spiking, she detected male voices conferring. The beam of a penlight punctured the tinted window. A shadowed face was pressed against the glass as a man peered in.