Heart Strike

by M. L. Buchman

  Melissa was…too vibrantly alive.

  He was left to wonder at that while the two women silently assessed one another. It took Richie a bit before it clicked.

  “You’re the one who tipped off Sinaloa about the fueling barge.” He pointed an accusing finger at Analie Sala.

  “Of course,” Melissa agreed smoothly as the others startled. “That much made perfect sense. If we couldn’t handle them, you would have been paid through back channels anyway and we’d be lost at sea.”

  Ms. Sala nodded silently.

  Richie noticed the reaction of the two guards who had also flown with them. They didn’t like the idea that they’d been deemed expendable. It’s the world you chose, guys, Richie thought at them.

  “Did you set us up on the beach as well?” Richie decided to play dumb to keep the suspicions away from the Delta team.

  “No,” Ms. Sala said slowly. Then she turned to the two men who’d flown with them. “Tell me.”

  The men spilled out their account. It was scattered and included only about a quarter of what had actually happened—though they did reasonably well for untrained observers. Delta training taught you to see more than anyone else and process it quickly and logically enough to eradicate aggressors before they tried to do the same to you. What her two men delivered to Ms. Sala was confused and included not one word about the sniper operating from farther down the beach.

  “Shot our plane too,” Richie remembered.

  “Show me.”

  It took a minute, but they found three holes, two in the wing and a long crease close above Melissa’s window. Had the shot been a foot lower, an infinitesimal amount on a wild shot at a distance, it would have punched the windshield and caught Melissa square in the face.

  Richie’s gut twisted. He’d taxied the plane to keep Melissa out of the line of fire. Instead he was the one who’d turned her into harm’s way. Lesson here, Richie: The woman can take care of herself. And she was doing a fine job of it at the moment. She was doing a good job of protecting them all at the moment.

  “Richie?” Kyle called over.

  “Huh? What?”

  “Could you and Chad check where those bullets went? Make sure we didn’t get anything structural.”

  “Roger that.”

  Then Kyle stepped up to the power position in close support of Melissa, and Carla and Duane took the opportunity to drop back a defensive step. Richie knew if Melissa was safe anywhere, it was beside Kyle.

  They went inside the hangar together and pulled out a ladder so that they could get up to the wing.

  “That is one cool lady,” Chad said as he scrabbled around in the toolbox.

  “Yeah, she’s amazing.” Richie was pleased that Chad was finally warming up to Melissa. “See. She’s okay despite what you—”

  “I was talking about Ms. Dark, Sleek, and Sexy Analie Sala. Woman’s name is even fun to say.”

  “You weren’t planning to…”

  “Depends on whether opportunity presents itself. And me, I’m a big fan of creating opportunity.” Then Chad’s voice darkened. “I still don’t trust your bitch.”

  Richie’s arm was back before he even knew it, and Chad had his hands up and was backpedaling.

  “Whoa there, little brother. Man, she’s got you in a twist.”

  Too far away for a punch, Richie simply dove at him.

  * * *

  There was a horrendous crash from inside the hangar. It sounded like their entire spare parts rack had just been dumped onto the concrete. The noise continued with huge crashes and bangs that made Melissa wince and tuck up her shoulders against the noise.

  Analie was safely in her air-conditioned SUV and the four thugs were gone with her. They were only about halfway up the hangar alley, so she tried to look casual as she hurried into the hangar. It took her sun-blasted eyes a moment to adjust to the shadowed darkness. The others were piling in behind her as they hit the same problem.

  It took her almost as long again to make sense of the scene as it did for her eyes to adjust. Richie and Chad were grappling on the floor, and Richie was playing for keeps. It was all Chad could do to defend himself, as it was clear he didn’t want to hurt Richie.

  Richie was a formidable fighter when he was roused. Whatever had set him off had been enough that Chad could barely manage a defensive battle.

  Even as she watched, Richie heaved Chad, who was twice his size, into the tool chest, knocking it to the floor with a massive crash that sent wrenches and screwdrivers scattering in every direction. Richie the true warrior was as awe-inspiring a fighter as he’d been a lover.

  Duane and Kyle tried wading in and were almost kneecapped by a viciously swung hammer.

  Melissa pulled out her sidearm. She considered shooting Chad, but instead aimed for the big wooden post in the corner of the hangar.

  The crash and boom of the big Colt M1911 shattered the air and reverberated off the steel roof and walls.

  Duane and Kyle did dive-and-rolls coming up with their sidearms aimed at her chest.

  Chad and Richie froze in place, Richie with a solid grip on one of Chad’s ears and Chad in midcurse as he tried to find a way to break Richie’s hold but still protect himself from Richie’s next blow. For two men who could kill with a single strike, they looked practically comical in the abruptly freeze-frame positions.

  Carla stood quietly beside Melissa with her arms crossed.

  She was the first to break the silence with, “Are you boys done?”

  Chad twisted his head enough to look at Melissa despite Richie’s firm hold on his ear.

  “Bitch!” His voice was low and nasty.

  Melissa decided shooting him would have been the right choice, but she’d already holstered her sidearm and Kyle and Duane hadn’t yet, so she left well enough alone.

  And that’s when Richie’s fist caught the point of Chad’s chin and sent him tumbling into the pile of rusted-out car parts that lined the back of the hangar.

  A part of Melissa wanted to shout, “One for the home team.” But most of her wanted to go back to OTC graduation and be assigned to join Mutt and Jeff on the Arabian Peninsula.

  * * *

  Richie saw Carla coming his way and knew he was in the shitter. But all she did was hold out a hand as an offer to help him get back to his feet.

  She wasn’t gentle as she grabbed his hand, which was throbbing from hitting Chad, crunching down on his fingers hard as she helped him up. Richie managed not to cry out, though Carla was Delta strong and proving it.

  Then she stepped over an interlaced pile of pry bars and chisels and grabbed Chad by the ear. Chad cried out, “Ow! Ow! Ow!”—which satisfied Richie no end while he massaged his bruised and now battered fingers—as she guided him to his feet. As soon as she let go, Chad clamped a protective hand over his ear and hissed in pain. Richie wished he’d ripped the damn thing off when he’d had the chance. It would serve him right.

  “Who’s going to start?”

  Richie ignored Carla and glared at Chad. “You try calling Melissa a bitch or whore again, and I’ll take you down permanently, Chad. And don’t think Q the nerd can’t do it. I went through the same fucking training you did.” Richie knew he’d never been so goddamn angry in his life. It was a tidal surge inside him that made him wish he’d clawed Chad’s eyes out.

  Chad gave him the evil eye in return. He was bleeding from a half dozen cuts where they’d slammed each other into anything they could find. Blood was dribbling out of his blond hair, coloring it dark red before it ran down his temple.

  “What? No scoff this time? No rubbing your chin and calling it a love tap?” Richie spit out the words and was surprised when he spit some blood along with it. When had that happened? He wasn’t feeling anything. Adrenal surge, some part of his training informed him. In a full-on adrenaline high he could l
ose a leg and not feel it. He glanced down but saw that he had two legs and both were still attached. He rubbed his hand along his own jaw but still felt nothing except for a couple of teeth that were wobbly.

  “Because of name-calling, Richie?” Carla looked up at him. “Really?”

  She shared a look with Melissa that Richie couldn’t catch before turning to Chad.

  “Care to explain?”

  Chad just glowered at her.

  Kyle stepped up behind Carla and rested his hands on her shoulders, anchoring her in place.

  “Well, Chad,” he said in that commanding voice—which at the moment made Richie want to turn on him as well, “we’ve heard Richie’s complaint, and we’ve also heard him swear for perhaps the first time in his life. Now you either explain yourself or you and I are going to have some issues.”

  * * *

  Melissa wasn’t sure if she’d ever truly understood Kyle’s role here until that moment. His adjustments had always been minor, his comments soft-spoken. Now he stood inside the dim hangar and all authority centered on him. He was judge, jury, and executioner, and there was no question about his ability to fulfill all three roles to their limit—he didn’t wield power; he was power.

  Watching him stand and wait out Chad’s sullen silence, she also finally understood what there was between Kyle and Carla. And she could see that it was deep. She wanted that. All of a sudden, she wanted it badly.

  When she couldn’t stand it any longer, Melissa finally broke Chad’s sullen silence. “He’s had it in for me since day one.”

  Kyle nodded. “We’re all aware of that. He—”

  “She went right after Richie!” Chad shouted, then spit out a mouthful of blood that splatted audibly on the concrete before continuing. “You saw it. She went right for him from that first moment.”

  “And I went for her,” Richie said evenly.

  Melissa was impressed. Richie still looked like the magnificent—if a little battered—fighter, yet he was speaking calmly. Was the nerd integrating with his inner warrior?

  “No, Little Brother. You don’t get it. I know her type. Hell, how do you think I get the women I do? She was just looking for the easiest way in on our team and saw you with your jaw dropped down, easy pickings.”

  Richie kicked aside some of the metal scrap scattered across the hangar floor, which hurt Melissa’s ears because it was so loud in the strained-to-the-limit tension. He moved up until he was right in Chad’s face.

  “And I went for her,” Richie repeated.

  “She’s just using you, bro. You’re just too naive to see it.”

  Richie’s fist went back all over again, but Duane caught it.

  She hadn’t noticed Duane moving into position, his silence extending beyond merely not speaking. But he was right where he was most needed. And Duane was at least as strong as Chad; Richie’s fist might as well have been trapped in concrete.

  Chad didn’t take advantage of it as Melissa expected.

  Instead he hung his head and rubbed his jaw as if it hurt like hell. Then he mumbled, “Someone had to look out for you.”

  “Say what?”

  Carla might not have heard it, but Melissa had, and it rooted her to the concrete as surely as Duane’s grasp had trapped Richie’s fist. No one had ever needed to “look out” for her since her brother. She’d never actually needed him to either; she’d always been the driven one in their family, but he’d liked saying it and she’d let him. Chad didn’t get such a pass.

  Melissa stepped around Kyle and Carla until she was right at the edge of Chad’s personal space, close enough to be an easy target, far enough away that she’d have time to react if he attacked.

  “You’ve given me all this shit to protect Richie?”

  Chad nodded and then winced as if his head was really hurting. Wouldn’t surprise her; Richie’s punch had landed square and true.

  “Did you ever think that just maybe Richie could protect himself?”

  Chad rubbed his ear thoughtfully. “Think I found that out. Doesn’t mean he was ready for your act. I’m just trying to protect the little shit.”

  Melissa stared into Chad’s bright blue eyes for the longest time, until she became aware of her own reflection there. Chad hadn’t been pissed because of his failure to sweep her off her feet. He’d been doing what he thought was right to protect his teammate.

  Then she heard Kyle grunt out an acknowledgment.

  Melissa turned to him. “What?”

  He side-glanced at Carla and then looked away quickly before his wife noticed. “Uh, Chad can be very demonstrative when his sense of loyalty is offended.” He swallowed hard as if at the memory of someone choking him. There was a story there that Melissa would bet Carla didn’t know, and would never find out.

  Chad might be dangerous, but he was also loyal—the self-proclaimed guardian of the team. Finally, his reactions to her made sense and, in that moment, became nonthreatening but also deeply disappointing. Far from being welcomed to the team, she was seen as a threat.

  And now that she knew Richie, the team’s reactions of surprise at Richie’s animation and ease toward her made sense. Richie wasn’t the sort to approach a woman on his own or speak out in her defense. And yet he had, repeatedly, surprising them all.

  For her.

  Melissa felt around inside. Her fear of Chad indeed was gone…as was any other feeling.

  “I am not,” she addressed him matter-of-factly, “some lobo, some she-wolf, who must be guarded against.”

  Then she turned to Richie.

  “Nor am I some weak femenino who needs protecting. I’m a god damn Delta operator and have spent enough sweat and blood to prove it.”

  Then she turned and walked to the hangar door.

  Behind her, she could hear Kyle’s start speaking, his tone was preemptory—the closest she’d heard to a tone of command since her arrival. His disapproval was thick in every word.

  “Analie Sala has invited us to shift our base of operations. We leave in four hours. I expect the plane to be serviced and all of this mess to be cleaned up and packed aboard along with your personal gear.”

  And Melissa stepped out into the late-morning sunshine and began walking off the field and toward the hotel.

  Chad had been against her for all of the wrong reasons.

  And Richie hadn’t trusted his own feelings except to pound his teammate to protect the weak female. His apology, that she’d thought was sufficient at the time, wasn’t. He was constantly overcompensating for the one thing that she knew was real—that she cared for him. That she… Melissa couldn’t bring herself to even think it. It was better if Richie never knew.

  She hadn’t said what had been in her heart, partly because she didn’t like the answer that was buried deep down inside her. Did either of you ever think that maybe how I feel about Richie was as real as it gets?

  No, she didn’t like that question at all.

  Chapter 15

  They worked in silence as they cleaned up the hangar. Richie caught sight of his reflection in one of the pickup truck’s mirrors. Black and blue was already spreading along the side of his face and a deep ache had formed behind it. His left shoulder hurt like mad every time he twisted to that side.

  Chad sported a black eye and a split lip. His distinct limp had worsened with the effort of cleaning up the hangar. Only Duane had stayed to help them. Kyle and Carla had taken the Forerunner to fetch their gear from the hotel.

  When they finally finished reorganizing the tools and spares and had loaded them on the plane, they took the beater pickup to fetch their own gear. He and Chad took the front; Duane sat in the back of the crew cab. The pressure of the silence built even though it was a short drive. Finally Richie couldn’t stand it anymore.

  “Chad?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  �
�We okay?”

  “Never weren’t.”

  That was a relief.

  “You and Melissa?” Duane’s question rumbled out of the back.

  Chad’s silence was long enough that they’d reached the hotel before he answered. He finally shrugged then cursed softly against some pain and rubbed his shoulder.

  “Up to her now.”

  Richie nodded. That was good.

  “Doesn’t strike me as the forgiving type though.”

  Richie thought about her final comment as she was leaving. He’d been protecting her from unjust accusations, just like he would any other team member, hadn’t he? Even as he thought it, he felt a pinch.

  Nope.

  Sure, he’d lay down his life for any one of his teammates. He’d rather take a bullet than see one of them take it. That was a given in a close-knit military unit—they’d even been lectured on it by Army psychologists at various stages of training. Being the guilty survivor sucked beyond imagining while your buddy lay there dying. He’d served more with the bridge-and-road crews of the 82nd’s Eagle Battalion than the explosive ordnance disposal guys, so he’d only lost a couple buddies when he was in theater. The attrition rate on the EOD teams was horrific.

  But with Melissa it was more than that. He’d lay down his life for her if she merely asked it of him.

  What was that? It wasn’t something that was in any of their training manuals.

  They pulled up as Kyle and Carla were pulling out of the parking lot. They paused and rolled down facing windows.

  “You seen Melissa?” Kyle’s question struck fear into Richie’s heart. What if she’d…gone?

  He could only shake his head no.

  Kyle looked worried. And beyond Kyle in the passenger seat, Carla’s look was fulminating. If Melissa had left, his ass was grass. They drove off.

  Richie raced inside to grab his gear and was about to rush back to the truck and the airport when he had an idea.