Breaking Through (Book 2 of the SEAL TEAM Heartbreakers)

by Reasor, Teresa

  “Mom!”

  A shout came from the stairs and Brett half ran, half limped toward them. He held his side with one hand and the sun glinted off something in the other. The man pivoted and raised the rifle to his shoulder.

  Adrenaline shot through her veins. “No.” Clara lunged and, wrapping her arms around the man’s legs, she heaved forward and knocked him off balance. The gun discharged into the sky. The shooter staggered and jerked away, kicking her in the jaw. She cried out. He screamed something at her and thrust the gun’s stock down at her face. She rolled, and covered her head with her arm. The blow landed, brutal and numbing.

  CHAPTER 23

  The shooter broke into a full-out run. Brett, torn by the compulsion to give chase, slid to a stop on the dusty path, then rushed back to his mother. Blood welled between his fingers from the wound in his side. It dripped to the dry ground and onto her crop pants. He ignored it as he knelt next to her. With a violent movement, filled with frustration and anger, he thrust the knife he gripped into the ground.

  Agony ratcheted through him catching at his voice. “Mom?” He drew her arms away from her head and she cried out.

  “It’s just me, Brett.”

  With a sob, she reached for him. For a moment, just holding her seemed the best thing for them both. His arms shook and his heart thundered inside him. Nausea hit next, and he sat down, dragging her close against him. He braced a hand on the ground to remain sitting. Now that the adrenaline was leaching away, his side screamed for attention. And the smell of blood was making him nauseous.

  Sirens wailed in the distance and people rounded the edge of the path. Seeing them, they hesitated, then rushed forward.

  “Call 911 and ask for an ambulance,” he instructed one of the women.

  “You’re bleeding,” one woman pointed out.

  No shit. Brett accepted the towel she offered him and pressed it against his side.

  “We found this bag full of camera equipment on the path,” another woman said and sat it down close to the camera lying in the dirt.

  “Someone needs to go down the stairs and check if anyone else needs medical attention,” Brett suggested. Was Tess all right? Had the fucker tried to shoot her too? An image of her floating lifeless in the water rose up to tear at him. “Please hurry.”

  “I’ll do it,” the only man with the group answered.

  “He was going to kill you all,” Clara said, her voice barely a whisper. Her body shook with violent tremors. “I thought he’d shot you.”

  “You did good, Mom.” Jesus, she took on a killer. His eyes burnt with tears, and he held her tighter.

  Tess was suddenly there kneeling beside him, her face so pale her eyes looked almost black. “You’re losing a lot of blood, Brett. You need to lie down.” Her voice shook.

  Clara drew back and cried out when she saw the blood streaking her arm and clothing. “Oh my God. He did shoot you.” A bruise and knot were forming on her jaw and her eyes looked dull with shock. She wiggled out of his arms.

  When his mother pushed against his shoulder, he was more than happy to lie down. He was feeling a little light-headed.

  Tess bent to readjust the towel and put pressure on his side front and back. Brett bit back a groan of pain but sucked air through his teeth.

  Tears streaked down her cheeks. “I didn’t know you were hurt. I just saw you running for the stairs. Then I found your board floating in the surf and saw the hole.”

  “It’s okay, honey. I’m breathing well, and the pain is—” He circled the word, but his mind felt dull “It’s easing off.” His face and tongue felt numb.

  Tess’s tears flowed faster. He rested his hand on her thigh and wished he could feel her skin instead of the neoprene. “It’s going to be okay.”

  Sirens cut off abruptly. Four police officers ran in from the street, their guns drawn.

  When they established the shooter had left the area, the officers started pushing people back and securing the scene. A moment later, an ambulance halted on the street and a team of paramedics ran toward them, cases in hand.

  One policeman was talking to Clara while another interviewed Tess. Brett was grateful they left him out of the loop. It took every bit of his concentration to deal with the pain as they cut his wetsuit away.

  One paramedic started an IV while the other applied gauze pads over his wound, then rolled a tight dressing around him that kept constant pressure on it. Something his mother was saying penetrated the place he’d taken himself to deal with the unrelenting agony. “Mom?”

  “Yes.” She wiggled over to be closer to him.

  “What was it you just said?”

  “The man was screamed something at me.”

  “What was it he said?”

  “He said matter jinga or something like that.”

  “Maadar jendeh.”

  “Yes, that’s what he said.”

  Brett started to sit up, but the paramedic pushed him back down. His ears rang with the effort to remain calm. “Officer. My name is Brett Weaver. I’m a Navy SEAL. I need you to clear this area as quickly as possible. And I need you to contact NCIS right now.”

  The uniformed cop stared at him. “Why?”

  “Because the words maadar jendeh are Farsi, and they mean,” He glanced at Clara, “I’m sorry, Mom, mother whore.”

  “So?”

  Brett closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed back the urge to leap to his feet and grab the SOB by the throat.

  “I just got back from Iraq four months ago. That man knew,” he motioned toward his Mom. “that this woman is my mother. When you go down to the beach, you’re going to find a hole drilled though my surfboard by a second round that missed my head by less than an inch. And one that penetrated the sand about a hundred feet from the stairs. There’s probably another somewhere else down there.”

  “His gun went off when I fell on top of him. It shot over that way,” Clara said, pointing at an angle toward the road.

  Jesus. How long had she wrestled with the fucker?

  “The last round, number five, the last round in the clip, was shot into the sky when Mom tried to tackle the son-of-a-bitch and saved my life. He may be looking for a house to perch on to start shooting again.”

  “I’m getting the stretcher and we’re out of here,” one of the paramedics said, and, using his radio reported, “We’re doing a bag and drag. We’ll be in contact as soon as we’re in route.” He rushed to his feet and ran toward the ambulance.

  The paramedic’s actions convinced the cop, and he turned aside to use his radio. Within three minutes, Brett and Clara, her arm immobilized by a gauze wrap holding it across her chest, were loaded.

  ***

  Tess stood outside the ambulance with the camera bag and camera in hand. “What hospital are you taking them to?” she asked the paramedic.

  “Scripps Mercy. It’s the closest, and they have an excellent trauma department.” He slammed the door shut and went around to get into the driver’s seat. They tore away from the site with lights flashing and siren screaming.

  One of the policemen helped her load her board atop the car. They’d confiscated Brett’s as evidence. She set the camera bag in the front passenger seat and, spreading a towel over the leather seat, got into the driver’s side. She had to adjust the seat so she could reach the gas pedal and brake. Her hands shook so much she had trouble inserting the key into the ignition. For the first time, she noticed her hands and folded them in her lap. Despite the towels and wipes the paramedics had given her, Brett’s blood had stained her fingers where she’d put pressure on his wounds. He’d clutched her hand all the way to the ambulance. He’d looked so pale.

  Tears streamed down her face, but she brushed them away with the back of her hand. He wasn’t going to die. He was going to be fine. He was tough.

  The kisses they’d shared, their moments of connection came back to haunt her. She’d been wasting time when they could have been together. What was wrong with her?
Why was she living her life to please her father instead of herself? Why was she so set on looking for approval from a man who didn’t give a shit about her? Especially when she had one who wanted her enough to slog through her issues.

  She quashed the desire to beat her forehead against the steering wheel. She’d been a fool, but not anymore. She started the car.

  ***

  Russell was already in motion as he hung up the phone. Used to dealing with emergencies, he recognized the panicked racing of his heart, but could do nothing to control it. This was Clara. Concern spurred his steps as he left his office and jogged down the hall. Nurses and corpsmen sidestepped out of his way. He reached the elevator just as the door was opening and hit the proper button. He jerked his cell phone from his pocket and called his secretary to reschedule his appointments for tomorrow.

  Five minutes later he reached physical therapy. The buttercream walls of the rooms projected a positive, warm atmosphere, as did the staff. The place had a faint rubbery smell. He’d seen them work miracles with both severe injury and amputation patients.

  It took only a few moments to find Zoe. She stood before a young man missing the lower half of his left leg. He was performing an exercise on his prosthetic limb.

  “Zoe,” Russell spoke before he reached her and she looked up, the focused concentration of her expression changing to a smile.

  “Hey, Dr. Connelly.”

  He forced himself to take a deep breath. It wouldn’t do either of them any good if this panic he was experiencing spread to her. He had to pull it together. He’d been a doctor for over thirty years. He’d dealt with situations far worse than this. No, he hadn’t. This was Clara and Brett.

  “Tess Kelly called me a few minutes ago. She met your mother and brother at Sunset Cliffs today.”

  “Yeah. Mom said she might.” Zoe’s features stiffened. “What’s happened?”

  “There’s been an incident at the beach.” He grasped her arms. “There was a sniper. Brett’s been shot.”

  She flinched as though he’d struck her and blanched.

  “Also your mother has injured her arm. They’ve taken them to Scripps Mercy.”

  Her throat worked as she swallowed. “Is he alive?” Her eyes, so like Clara’s, looked glazed with shock and fear. Her body stiffened as though she sought to brace herself against a blow.

  “Yes, they had him stabilized before they put him in the ambulance. Your mother attacked the shooter, and he hit her with the butt of his rifle.”

  “Dear God.”

  “You need to get your things so we can go to Mercy.”

  She turned and motioned toward the patient she’d been working with.

  “I’m good. You need to go,” he said.

  Zoe broke into a limping run toward the door, the brace on her leg jingling.

  “I’ll get someone for you,” Russell said to the patient.

  “I’m good, Doc.” He stepped from between the metal parallel beams, and though he limped some, he seemed steady on his prosthesis.

  Zoe returned to the door with both her purse and a large African American man. Russell rushed forward.

  He heard her say to the man. “Seaman Roby is doing balance exercises to strengthen the muscles in his thigh, and he still has twenty minutes of work to do. Don’t let him wiggle out of it.”

  “I got this covered. You go do what you got to do.”

  “Thanks, Tank.” She touched the man’s arm.

  When he and Zoe were in the car, he realized how shaky he was, and reached for her hand.

  “Tess said Brett was awake and talking and your mother got into the ambulance under her own steam. They’re both going to come through this fine.”

  Zoe features blanked as she fought back tears. “Thank you, Dr. Connelly.”

  This was Clara’s daughter. He’d felt more of a connection to her when Brett was his patient than he did right at the moment. With Clara spending so much time with his son, why hadn’t he made more of an effort?

  “Russell. Please call me Russell.”

  ***

  The hallway was pitch black and the NVGs painted the walls, and the crates that lined them, florescent green. Keeping his steps measured, he approached the first door. He pressed his ear to the panel. Silence breathed behind the door and he shoved it open.

  Crates of AK-47s and ammo lined the room. He shrugged out of his pack and unbuckled the flap to get to the DET cord inside. He strung the cord around the boxes of rifles and knelt on the floor to plug in the timer. The next moment the butt of a rifle was coming at his face. He tried to move, but the action was so unexpected he seemed frozen in place.

  “You need to wake up, Mr. Weaver,” a female voice said from his right.

  Brett caught his breath and inhaled the medicinal burn of antiseptic lingering in the air. His mouth tasted like the bottom of a cesspit. And he was certain he’d been run over by a tank at least twice, maybe three times. Keeping his eyes closed he raised his head an inch off a pillow that crackled each time he moved. Pain shot through his side from just beneath his ribcage to the top of his thigh. He bit back an oath.

  “Would you like some ice chips?” The female voice asked from beside him

  “About a gallon of water and a toothbrush ought to do it.”

  She laughed. “A gallon might be overdoing it, but I can get you a cup of ice and a toothbrush later.”

  “Thanks.” He forced his eyes open and looked up into a smiling face. Her skin, the color of dark caramel, made her smile appear that much brighter, and he found himself grinning back.

  “Hey. My name is Pamela Farmer. I’ll be one of your nurses while you’re here.”

  “Thanks. My mother?” he asked as his mind cleared a little and worry bounced back, sharp and deep.

  “She’s fine. She and your sister have been here waiting for you to come up from recovery. I’ll go tell them you’re in your room and they can check on you now. Your fiancé is here, too.”

  All right. Hmm. His thoughts were working through parachute nylon, but he’d remember something as important as a fiancé. He smiled. “Slender redhead with beautiful brown eyes and a very faint sprinkle of freckles across her nose?” he asked.

  “That’s her. She’ll be thrilled you haven’t forgotten her.”

  “Not a chance.”

  She checked his blood pressure, his IV, cranked up his bed, filled a plastic pitcher with ice, and gave him a cup of ice chips. “Think you can hold that on your own?”

  Brett gave her a thumbs up, and she smiled again.

  “Once we make sure you can keep water down, I’ll see about getting you a real cup of water. Okay?” the nurse said.

  “Okay.”

  He was sucking on a piece of ice when Zoe and his mom came in. When his mother hugged him, he pushed down the emotion that welled up. He held her one armed and smoothed her hair. That fucker could have killed her. He’d tried to kill them both.

  “I’m good, Mom. Just groggy.”

  “You look like hell,” Zoe said, but smiled. She turned aside to brush away tears. She stood at the foot of the bed and rested a hand on his sheet-covered calf. “Tess is outside in the hall waiting to see you. And NCIS, the local cops, homeland security and the FBI are here.”

  “Jesus.” He fought to keep his eyes open. He felt so tired. His eyes closed, but when someone reached for the cup, he awoke again.

  Clara gripped his hand. “They’re looking at this like it’s a terrorist attack.”

  “I expected as much.” How could he protect his mom and Zoe if he was laid up in the hospital? The thought helped him shake free of some of the drugs. “ When’s Hawk due back, Zoe?”

  “He’s due back tomorrow.”

  “Good. I’d like for you and Mom to stay in a hotel until he gets home.”

  Zoe studied his face. “If that’s what you think we should do.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay.” Zoe moved forward to his other side and brushed his hair back, and
leaning down, pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I love you.” She pressed her cheek to his and her body shuddered with suppressed sobs.

  “I’m okay, Zo.”

  “I’m not,” she whispered. She straightened and brushed aside her tears. Her throat worked as she swallowed “Everyone’s waiting to speak to you, and we don’t want to tire you too much. You lost a lot of blood. If you get too tired, you need to say so. Tess wants to see you before the others come in.”

  He grasped her arm as his anxiety skyrocketed. “Promise me you’ll go to a hotel,” he said.

  “We promise,” Clara said. She kissed him. “We’re fine. You concentrate on you.”

  He nodded. “Is your boyfriend here?” he asked.

  “Russell?” Her eyebrows rose.

  “Do you have more than one?”

  She smacked his arm lightly. “Don’t be a smartass.” Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, he’s here.”

  “I’d like to speak to him, too.”

  Clara frowned. “The others are getting a little impatient.”

  “They can wait until I’ve spoken to him and Tess.”

  “Okay.”

  He raised a hand to brush it over his face. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m just—”

  “I know. We’re going to be fine, Brett. And you are, too.”

  He nodded, but he couldn’t brush aside the DEFCON six alarm that kept going off inside his head. That asshole had known she was his mother. Did he know he’d been seeing Tess? Did he know Zoe was his sister?

  Russell and Tess stepped into the room.

  “I need you to do something for me, Dr. Connelly.”

  Russell stepped close to the bed. “Your physician here seems to be doing an excellent job.”

  “It’s not that.” He drew a deep breath. “Tomorrow after Hawk gets back from Camp Billy Machen, I’d like you to ask my mother to move in with you for a while.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Tess waited for the door to close behind Russell, then approached the bed. Brett’s eyes looked swollen as though he’d slept too hard. The bandages that wrapped his torso looked snow white against the golden tan of his skin. She couldn’t allow herself to think about the horrible wound that had looked like a rip in his side instead of just a hole. Weren’t bullet wounds supposed to look like punctures?