Rescued by a Hot SEAL: Hot SEALs

by Cat Johnson

  That's where his duty would end. The FBI could have the honor of getting her back to the US safely.

  “They were kids," Jen said softly beneath him.

  There was a good chance she was just rambling. Delusional from the fever he'd felt when he touched her hot skin. But it would be good to keep her talking and alert, so Grant asked, “What kids, Jen?”

  “Some of the men who took me. They were children. Young, young boys pointing guns nearly as big as they were. I came here to help them. To teach children their age. But these boys . . . Their eyes—they were so empty. So cruel.”

  What could he say to that? That she shouldn’t think of the child soldiers in Somalia as children because drug addiction and violence had aged them well beyond their years?

  "It's okay. You did what you could." Could his words help relieve the betrayal she felt at the very people she’d come to help turning on her? He doubted it. So Grant wrapped one arm around her and squeezed.

  “I’m so sorry. I must really smell.” Her small apology, barely audible from beneath his bulk as he covered her, had Grant letting out a much needed laugh.

  “I’ve smelled much worse myself. Quite a few times. Trust me.”

  “I do . . . trust you.” Her words tightened his throat with emotion.

  Silently he vowed to live up to that blind trust she had in him even if he died doing it.

  Finally, the sound he had been waiting for hit his ears.

  “Helos," someone said.

  "About freaking time,” Brody's distinct southern drawl followed that announcement.

  Grant couldn’t agree more. He pushed off Jennifer. “Can you walk?”

  “If it means I’m getting out of here and going home I can run. Believe me.”

  Awed by her strength, her unbreakable spirit even after facing overwhelming obstacles, Grant grabbed her hand to help her stand.

  “We’re gonna get you home. Don't worry. Come on.”

  Chapter 6

  The ride out of Somalia in a helicopter with the doors wide open so men with guns could look out for threats, she supposed, would have been terrifying at any other time. But tonight to Jen it felt like a miracle as they lifted off the ground and soared high into the air.

  The noise, the vibration, the fact she had to press herself against the back wall and still felt as if she could fall out the open hatch in the side—none of it mattered because it was taking her away from the place where she had been sure she’d die.

  As fevered and exhausted as she was she couldn’t even guess how long the trip took. All Jen knew was one moment they were in the air and the next they were touching down on the ground.

  “Where are we?” she asked the man nearest her.

  With them all wearing similar equipment and tannish colored camouflage that matched the African dirt, it was hard to tell them apart.

  All she knew was it wasn’t the man who’d carried her to safety who said, “Camp Lemonnier.” When her blank stare greeted that answer, he added, “Djibouti, ma’am.”

  Being anywhere other than Somalia at the moment where the extended network of kidnappers could have attempted to grab her and Adam seemed like heaven. Being in a military camp surrounded by US soldiers felt even better.

  “We made it.” Adam engulfed her in a hug that had her tearing up once they'd ducked out of the helicopter.

  “Yeah. We did.” Jen squeezed him hard and finally let herself start to believe they were really going to make it home not only alive but fairly unscathed, considering what could have happened.

  Still clinging to her, Adam let out a laugh. “Thank you for being an American and taking this Dutchman with you when you got saved.”

  “My pleasure.” They were both sobbing and laughing by the time Adam released her to wipe his eyes.

  When she turned to thank one more time the American servicemen who had been their saviors they were gone.

  An empty sadness settled deep inside her that they’d gone without a word. They’d disappeared from her life as quickly and silently as they’d appeared.

  How could so many men, all weighed down with weapons and equipment, sneak away so fast? So silently?

  The answer was clear. They’d left the same way they’d crept into the camp where she’d been held. She’d be ever grateful that they had.

  It was a debt she could never repay.

  How did one put a value on being given their life back? She would owe them that debt for the rest of her life. Until the day she died. And she would remember what they’d done for her and Adam until that day when she breathed her last breath.

  “Sir, ma’am, I’m to take you both to the infirmary here to get checked out and stable before you fly out to Rota.” A man in a slightly different uniform from the men who’d rescued her took her arm and steered her toward a Jeep.

  Jen went where he led her. She didn’t seem to have the energy to not follow his instructions.

  As they moved at something slightly faster than a crawl, she did manage to ask, “Rota?”

  “Spain, ma’am.”

  “Oh.” She glanced around one more time. “Did you happen to see where the men who rescued us went? I wanted to thank them again but they disappeared.”

  The man snorted out a laugh. “Yeah, those guys tend to do that.”

  “But do you know their names? Maybe I could write—”

  His persistent shaking of his head stopped her mid sentence.

  Feeling alone, Jen turned to make sure Adam was still next to her. He smiled and squeezed her shoulder, leaving his hand there as they walked. She was glad he did. It reassured her.

  “After we stop in Spain, will I be going home?” Jen asked, hopeful.

  “You’ll be home soon.” Smiling, the serviceman helped her inside the vehicle. “You’re stopping over at the military hospital in Germany first.”

  “Germany?” Jen sighed.

  Wasn’t there a direct flight they could just put her on? She didn’t care how long the flight was, she just wanted to go home.

  Seriously, some water, some food, maybe a bottle of antibiotics to fight whatever infection was causing this fever and she’d be good to go.

  “I believe arrangements are already being made so your families can meet you in Germany.”

  Her family.

  That fact took her breath away and brought a fresh flood of tears that lasted until they reached their destination. Jen hadn’t cried half as much during her entire captivity as she had in the moments since her rescue now that she knew she was finally safe.

  A woman in camouflage scrubs met the vehicle as it came to a stop in front of a large structure. “Ms. Anderson, do you need a wheelchair?”

  Jen shook her head and grabbed the doorframe to climb out. “No, I’m good.”

  So many people, so concerned for her health and wellbeing. But Jen had a feeling that the physical things would be far easier to heal than the damage that had been inflicted to her on the inside.

  She feared those wounds might never completely heal.

  Chapter 7

  “You wanted to talk, so talk.” The woman Grant had once thought of as the most beautiful bride in the world directed an ugly scowl at him.

  Wow. He’d clearly underestimated Bethany’s level of hostility. It was clear now and directed right at him.

  Though lately every discussion with his wife had sounded pretty much like the current one.

  What had he done to make her so hateful?

  “I wanted to talk about these.” Grant pulled the folded papers out of his back pocket and slapped then down on the table in the diner where she’d insisted they meet rather than at the house.

  She said she didn’t think they should be alone. And why the hell was that?

  Was she genuinely afraid he’d do something to her?

  Hurt warred with anger inside him at that thought. The emotions fueled him to add, “And I wanted to ask how my dog is doing. Since you took him.”

  “Of course, I took t
he dog. I didn’t know when or if you were ever coming back. Somebody has to be home to take care of him. Besides, he’s as much my dog as yours. More. We were the ones left home alone every time you ran off to do whatever.” She flicked a wrist, dismissing his life’s work with a single careless gesture.

  The argument never changed.

  Grant sighed. “I know you don’t believe what I do is important, that it makes a difference, but it does.”

  He’d seen that himself first hand repeatedly. Most recently when he’d carried one shaking woman away from the site of the sixty-two day captivity that surely would have killed her eventually.

  Grant couldn’t stop his mind from returning to that moonless night and the frightened woman he’d shielded from danger beneath him. So weak but still concerned for her coworker. So grateful to them for simply doing their job. So concerned because she hadn’t been able to bathe or change clothes in months and she didn’t want to offend Grant if she smelled bad.

  So completely different from the woman he’d married.

  “Yes, Grant. I’m sure your job does matter. Because one more drone strike on one more expendable, replaceable terrorist really matters, right?”

  The waitress stepped up to the table just in time for the end of Bethany’s inappropriately timed tirade. The woman hesitated before she asked, “Do you need more time to decide?”

  “No. Coffee. Black.” Grant didn’t need to look at a menu. Nothing was going to sit well in his gut today.

  “Water, please. With lemon,” Bethany said.

  The waitress raised a brow at the order, which would bring the bill to barely a couple of dollars and her gratuity for her troubles to far less than that. “Coming right up.” She shoved the pad into her apron pocket and headed behind the counter.

  Grant would be sure to tip her well. He had a feeling he’d be eating here often since now, through no choice of his own, he was living alone.

  Bethany drew in a big breath, surely a harbinger of another rant. “So—”

  Grant saw a picture of Jennifer Anderson flash on the television screen on the wall behind his wife. It was the same picture every member of the team had been given to help identify her during the rescue, in case she hadn’t been able to confirm her identity herself.

  The others would likely have turned their copies in at the end of the op. He’d held on to his. He’d told himself he needed a reminder of why he did what he did. Why the risk and the sacrifices were worth it.

  And it was all worth it if him doing his job meant he could return an innocent like Jen, who’d fallen into deadly circumstances while trying to do good for others, to her family. To her normal life.

  He hadn’t had an update on her condition. Sad but true the television news provided as much, if not more information, as his command after an op was over. Sometimes more.

  “Hang on.” He held up one hand to silence his wife so he could concentrate on the news report. The diner had the sound muted, but he could read the headline.

  Teacher Returns Safely to US After 2 Months of Captivity in Somalia

  Bethany twisted in her seat to look at the screen behind her. She let out a snort. “That stupid woman deserved whatever happened to her.”

  “What?” He must have misunderstood.

  She pivoted back to him. “She shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”

  Had Bethany always been so cold? So uncaring? Grant supposed the bigger question was how had he not realized they were so completely wrong for each other?

  “She was in Somalia to teach children.”

  Another snort and an even colder eye roll was his only answer.

  By then the story had wrapped up and the reporter moved on to another topic, but not before Grant saw a video taken of Jen and an older couple, who had to be her parents. They looked so happy. So grateful to have their child back safely.

  “I was saying . . .” Bethany paused, no doubt for dramatic effect.

  The waitress planted his mug of coffee and Bethany's water on the table and cocked a brow. “Anything else?”

  “Not right now, thanks.” Grant raised the mug to his lips. He took his time swallowing a sip of the coffee that wasn’t horrible but could definitely have tasted better before he responded. “Yes, you were saying . . .”

  “That it’s obvious you’re not willing to leave the military, completely and for good in spite of my asking you to, so I don’t see how I can stay in this marriage.”

  “What about the counseling? We can come up with a compromise.”

  Mouth pressed into a tight line, Bethany shook her head. “The only compromise I would have accepted was for you to leave the Navy. You couldn’t do that, put me before your career, so . . .”

  As she lifted one shoulder, Grant felt his jaw tighten.

  That was her idea of a compromise? Him giving up everything and her giving nothing? She obviously didn’t understand how compromise worked.

  Clenching his back teeth tightly, he drew in a deep breath through his nose. She’d apparently already made up her mind and nothing he could say or do would change it.

  He shouldn’t be surprised. It was more and more apparent to him that there was an innate disconnect in their relationship and it had to do with far more than his being active duty military or his working classified jobs under DEVGRU.

  It wasn’t just the secrecy or the danger or the uncertain schedule that came with working spec ops for Naval Special Warfare standing between them.

  Their differences, the problems, ran much deeper than what he did for a living. The issues went all the way down to core values. It was becoming obvious that was something they didn’t share.

  He could work selling used cars and there would still be conflict. He felt that certainty to his bones.

  “So if you sign those now I can drop them off at my lawyer—”

  He pushed his chair back from the table. The sudden motion silenced the rest of her sentence.

  She was sure in a rush, and that made him mistrust her and the contents of the divorce papers.

  Feeling his blood pressure rise, Grant stood and dug into his pocket for his wallet. He had to get out of there before he let his suspicions get the better of him and he went off and said something to her he wouldn't be able to take back.

  “I’ll have to think about this.” Grant watched her eyes open wide, like she couldn’t believe he just wasn’t going to bow to her wishes immediately and without thought and sign the damn papers. Did she not know him at all? Apparently not. He added, “I’ll get back to you.”

  It wasn’t a lie. He did have a lot to think about and he sure as hell wasn’t going to do it here and now under the glare of the woman he used to love.

  Pulling out a five-dollar bill he tossed the money on the table next to his coffee mug, pocketed the wallet and turned for the door.

  Before he took a single step he realized he'd left the divorce papers on the table. He spun back and reached for them.

  Slapping them against his hand, he said, “Almost forgot your precious papers, didn’t I.”

  Nodding a goodbye, he didn’t miss seeing the glare she sent him.

  Had he shocked her? Good.

  He felt vindicated watching her get a feel of what it was like to be blindsided by the person you thought you knew. Though it was likely Bethany was not quite as shocked now as he had been when he first saw those divorce papers in his empty house upon returning from Vegas.

  Maybe he’d make her wait for his decision and for the damned divorce.

  Was he behaving as cold-hearted as she was?

  Grant tried not to let that thought worry him as he pushed through the door.

  He stepped outside and squinted into the glare of the sun before slipping his sunglasses on.

  That bright sun momentarily blinding him was a good reminder. The sun still rose each morning, traveled across the sky and set every night, no matter what else went on below it.

  So too would Grant.

 
Jeez, he’d gotten philosophical in his old age.

  Old age. Grant snorted at that. He sure felt old right now.

  Old and divorced at thirty-five. That hadn’t been in his life plan.

  Before sliding behind the wheel of his vehicle, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He was about to put it in the center console when he saw he’d missed a text from command.

  Crap. This situation with Bethany had him wound so tight it was interfering with his work.

  Shaking his head, Grant opened the text and found two words.

  Call me.

  No explanation. Just that cryptic order.

  Grant was nothing if not obedient—especially when it suited him, and a distraction suited him perfectly right now.

  He hit the cell’s screen to make the call.

  “Hey, you in the mood for a quick trip?” Rather than beating around the bush, his commanding officer got right to the point. Just how Grant liked it.

  “Yes, sir. Always ready to travel. What d'ya got for me? Some good action?” Grant could only hope.

  Blowing something up sounded pretty good to him right about now.

  “Sorry. This one is strictly ceremonial.”

  Grant drew in a breath and let it out. At least a trip meant he’d be getting out of town. Any excuse to not go home—or to what used to be a home and now was just a bunch of rooms—sounded good to him.

  “No apology necessary. It sounds good. What’re the details?”

  “I think you won’t be disappointed. You’ll be representing the extraction team from the Anderson op in DC.”

  “The Anderson op? Were there problems?” Would he be in the hot seat answering to the FBI or the Secretary of State about why the team had left two-dozen kidnappers dead in their wake?

  “No problems. POTUS wants to thank you personally. It’ll be a small private reception at the White House with Jennifer and her parents, you and the President.”

  Jen. The woman who seemed destined to keep popping into his life. Grant couldn’t say he was upset by that.

  “Jen’s the real hero. She’s tough. A real trooper. She made it easy for us to get her out. But I’ll accept the thanks on behalf of the entire team. When’s it scheduled for?”