by Zoe Dawson
Releasing his spent mag, he shoved in another one and started sighting in on the closest threats to LT and 2-Stroke. He took down several terrorists until the two SEALs could move on the bridge. Once they were freed, he turned to helping overwatch.
“Stinger!” Kid shouted, and Pitbull turned, recognizing the shrill whine of an incoming missile. The projectile was heading right for him.
Midnight Madness, Santa Barbara Channel
Mak lunged at the same time the walkie came to life with a male voice shouting to detonate. The SEALs must have breached the doors to the galley and made it through to the hostages. Her gun discharged but missed Leary by a hairsbreadth. She slammed into him as he lashed out at her, catching her with a stinging blow to her cheekbone, sending pain up into her eye socket and her nose. Her eyes watered as she endured the pain and held on tight, knocking the walkie into the ocean.
Leary swore viciously and grabbed her by her hair, his grip punishing, sending prickles of burning waves over her scalp. She stamped on his instep and elbowed him in the face, knocking him back. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the detonator into the sea after the walkie.
She spun toward Leary, but he was already overboard. Metal scraped and the engine of one of the jet skis revved and then motored away. She ran to the stern and jumped down onto the swim deck, barely catching a glimpse of Leary speeding away toward the beach. It took her precious seconds to release the second jet ski, but she finally got it uncoupled. She jumped on and started the engine and raced after Leary at full throttle.
The ocean had steadied, and the rain was tapering off, the night still pitch dark. It must be just after midnight. She kept her sight on the fleeing jet ski. There was no way this guy was getting away. NWO’s mission ended here, tonight.
Rain pelting her face, she jumped waves, holding onto the controls with an iron grip. The beach loomed ahead, shadowy, the sand dark gold against the black of the ocean rolling onto shore. She gained on him, and when she came abreast of him, she jumped off her jet ski onto his, knocking him off and into the water.
He grappled with her as she tried to subdue him, but he pushed her under and held her there as she clawed at him. She could hear the sound of the CG boat’s powerful engine as it motored toward them. Leary pushed violently away from her and started swimming for the beach. They were close. Rising to the surface, she took a gulp of air and took off after him, full out, overhead strokes, sucking air every third stroke.
The CG vessel couldn’t come in any farther or it would ground. She heard splashes but kept her eyes on Leary. He reached the breakers and stumbled as he started to run. She hit the sandy bottom and pushed ahead, gritting her teeth, the wetsuit streamlining the water off her as she gained on him. Digging deep, she surged ahead and caught him just at the shore, taking him down into a tackle.
He reared up and punched her in the face, the blow momentarily disorienting her as she tasted blood. She shook off the blow and rose, catching him again, hitting him in his back, knocking him to the ground. He whirled and caught her on the chin, and her head hit the sand, pain running through her neck and shoulders. He straddled her, his knee at her throat. Her eyesight blurred, her breathing labored, then she hit him hard in the nose with the flat of her hand.
He howled and she bumped her hips, then slipped out from under him. Reaching to her belt, she pulled out a set of cuffs. “Sean Leary, you’re under arrest for murder and terrorism.” She cuffed him as Chris and Paige, soaking wet, ran up the sand.
Leary’s attempt to kill her so he could get away, plan for something else heinous in the future, wasn’t going to happen.
Mak stumbled back and planted her butt in the sand, dropping her head between her knees, spitting blood, her face throbbing and her throat feeling raw.
“Are you all right?” Chris asked, setting his hand on her shoulder. “Fuck, woman, you are a menace.”
An explosion rocked the night, and Mak’s head jerked up. Out on the water, Moonbeam Horizon was on fire.
Moonbeam Horizon, off the Coast of Santa Barbara
The Stinger hit the derrick behind him. The sound of metal contorting under pressure made him twist and look. Orange-red fire erupted, the explosion peeling open the metal, sending chunks fifty feet into the sky. It was close enough that he felt the heat of the flames, the concussion of the blast. He turned away, protecting his face and upper body, his knees hitting the concrete, driving pain up his thighs.
Debris struck him in the back, hitting his vest and bouncing off. A trail of bullets chased toward his heels as he pushed to his feet. He looked up. The derrick swayed, fire engulfing not only the crane but also the escape down to the lower main deck.
He was trapped.
He keyed his comm. “LT, exfil is cut off.”
“Dammit!” His commander’s voice was deep and concerned. “Any way down? We’re mopping up here. The hostages are off the rig.”
He looked over the railing as Dragon and Kid took care of the rest of the terrorists. “You get off, LT. This crane is going to detach.”
He heard another snap of metal and looked up again. Damn, the arm was right over the bridge and helipad. If it broke off, his teammates wouldn’t have a chance. There was no decision to be made. He ran toward the spiral staircase.
“Pitbull! Sitrep!”
“I’ve got to move the crane. There’s no time,” he shouted.
He reached the structure and climbed as fast as he could until he got to the cockpit, bristling with controls. Eyeing the console, he found the button to start it up, and when the engine rumbled, he reached for the joystick to swing the huge metal arm away from the bridge and the helipad.
The machinery made a hell of a grinding noise but started to move slowly, the whole thing shaking.
He kept his hand on the controls.
“Pitbull…Errol, get out of there. That’s an order.”
Just a few more feet, then the arm would be safely over the ocean when it fell. It was the best he could do as he slipped out of the cockpit and started down the ladder. The groaning and scraping alerted him halfway down the spiral staircase that the crane had reached critical.
He increased his speed and got to the deck as bolts popped and the crane snapped with a series of rattles and clattering as bits and pieces of the metal pinged on the deck. Pitbull had to get off and get off now. He quickly and efficiently removed his Kevlar vest and anything else that would impede his return to the surface once he plummeted from the deck.
He ran toward the edge of the steel, and it seemed as if everything slowed down. With each step that brought him closer to the railing and the sheer drop to the ocean below, his only thoughts were about Samantha. She would never know he was her real father if he died here. Helen wouldn’t tell her. Protecting her secret meant everything to her.
His emotions crowded him, and in that split second before he leapt off the deck into midair, he knew he had to live so Samantha would know the truth.
His stomach dropped away like a long, fast ride on a rollercoaster, commitment thundering in his bones. Relinquishing all control to gravity, he was as all in as he could be in the SEALs. There was no brake, nothing to grab onto, no way to stop.
Total powerlessness and the white shriek of adrenaline.
There was always fear in what he did, in the combat, in the training, in the multitude of scrapes and up-close-and-personal situations. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel fear, but it was recognized as an invader, an enemy. Not even relevant to whether he should have climbed the burning, unstable crane or jumped or not.
Fear was the mind-killer.
He would probably never stop feeling it, but he never tried to suppress it. He let it shriek at him all it wanted, and he kept right on going.
The sensation of the ocean reaching up to fetch him and draw him down washed over him. He went deep, seeming to be a long, long trip. Below the surface it was quiet, so quiet. It was as if time stood still. Something swam past him, huge and hulking. He
caught the elongated snout, round black eye, the gaping mouth with the two rows of serrated teeth, the scrape of the rough scales like sandpaper and the dorsal fin before the sweep of the large vertical fin propelled him into the murk, disappearing into the distance.
The Great White wasn’t going to mess with a SEAL.
The ocean gurgled and rumbled around his ears. Then, as if the quiet bubble had burst, he rose, and though he seemed to be drifting upward forever, he finally broke the surface. The ocean undulated and although he couldn’t immediately see his LT, it was as if there was an exhalation of a sigh when he spotted him.
There was a huge roar, and he turned to find the black sub exploding to the surface.
“Hoo-yah,” Pitbull murmured. “The Navy is so damn cool.”
The sub emerged, leveled, and he saw lights on the bridge, figures moving in the dark. Men in dive gear crawled over the side of the sub, tossing a bulk into the water that instantly inflated. Men dropped into the rubber boat, the motor churning, and headed toward him.
In minutes, hands grabbed for him and he was hauled into the RIB, grinning. One of the sailors said, “Man, did you face down a Great White? We saw it on radar.”
“No,” Pitbull said. “He just swam past.”
“He was a huge mother.”
One of the guys handed him a headset.
“I’d give you a six point three,” Max said the moment he’d situated the mic.
“Damn that Russian judge is always a bitch,” Saint said with a chuckle.
“I give him an…eight point nine. His arms were bird flappy,” Kid said. “How about you, LT?”
“I give him a ten for creative badassery.”
When the SEALs were back on the sub, Kid came up to him. “Thanks for going above and beyond.”
“You bet, brother.”
The sailor who picked him up was still talking about the shark to anyone who would listen. All of his teammates looked his way, and Pitbull shrugged.
NWO Compound, outskirts of Pine Creek Wilderness, San Diego, California
Mak’s face throbbed as she, Chris, Kai, and Paige crouched on the outskirts of the remote base. Leary was on his way to federal lockup. The wounded NWO member had given up the location of the compound in exchange for immunity and the witness protection program. A clean slate after barely escaping with his life. There was no honor among terrorists.
“What are we waiting for?” Chris asked impatiently.
“Us,” came the answer from behind them in a deep, velvet voice she recognized right away. She pulled in a slow, even breath, telling herself to shake off her reaction to this man’s proximity.
Sure, he was attractive. And he had—a presence. But she wasn’t some teenage girl who would fall to pieces in a drop-dead gorgeous man’s presence. Not that gorgeous was a problem—it was all mixed up in dangerous, unnerving, and oh-God-what-am-I-getting-myself-into.
She wasn’t interested in him. She’d decided that quite definitely since she first met him. Of course that was an easy decision to make when he was out of her sight.
But either way, she should have more control than this. Apparently should and could were two very different things. And she couldn’t control her reaction to him. Her heart raced and her body tingled, both hot and cold in all the most inappropriate places.
She worked to recall when she’d last had human contact…male contact. Two months ago with her convenient Marine. Hard body, with an ego to match, but it made it easy to use him for sex. Shallow, she knew, but that’s where she was, the life of an NCIS special operator. Relationships brought questions. She didn’t like lying to someone she cared about, so she solved it by not getting involved.
She rose and turned to find eight SEALs, one she didn’t recognize, standing there looking tough and fresh from battle.
“Petty Officer Ballentine…Pitbull. What are you doing here?”
“We were up against these guys on Moonbeam Horizon. Thank you for the assist.”
“Pleasure. We caught a case that directly linked to yours, although we weren’t aware of it at the time.”
She stepped closer. The ambient light of the moon bathed his face and apparently hers, too, because he sucked in a breath.
“Wow,” he said, his voice rumbling right next to her, firing up the heat inside her. It was a shock since she’d been cold and dead for so long.
She cleared her throat, struggling to calm her body. He was reacting to the bruises on her face. Damn, she must look like hell.
“You should see the other guy,” she said. Don’t analyze, she told herself. It wouldn’t do any good.
A slight smile softened his sexy mouth, and he did such an unexpected thing, she was completely caught off guard. He reached out and tipped up her chin, then turned her face to get a better look.
“I hope he looks worse, the fucker.” His stunning eyes, she noticed, were bright with concern.
She didn’t miss that her colleagues were rigid with curiosity and interest.
“The fucker does,” Chris piped up. “She boarded his boat by herself, knocked the detonator and walkie into the drink, chased him on a jet ski, grappled with him in the ocean, then swam after him, knifing through swells like a boss. Then kicked his ass and broke his nose when she caught him on the beach. Made me crazy and tired just watching it all. We barely caught up to her.”
“We’ve got ourselves a viable female SEAL candidate, boys” Max said.
“Sounds like she would give us a run for our money,” LT said.
She pulled her chin out of Pitbull’s gentle grasp. “Chris…really,” she said, trying to get her heart to stop skipping, mainly because it was a rarity for her to see such genuine caring from a man when it came to her…outside of her stupid, big-mouthed colleague.
But allowing herself to need or rely on someone on an emotional level was something she avoided since…well, for a while. She wasn’t about to get sucked into those dreamy eyes. No way.
Pushing heat-generated unsettling thoughts aside, she said, “So we going to take this place apart or not?”
A roguish grin slid across his lips, giving her the distinct feeling that he saw right through her act. He looked a bit worse for wear himself. Still damp and smelling of sweat, fire, and salt. His face was abraded in places, but it only made her aware of how handsome he really was, even in the helmet with the night vision goggles pushed up.
Six feet of power and grace told her this man was not only a warrior, but a predator, one who moved, evolved, and changed with whatever mission he was assigned. His uniform fit him like it was tailored, bulging in all the right places. Incredible gray eyes—like fog over the mountains. And a face so strong, beautiful, the shadow of a beard across his lean jaw.
She glanced at her coworkers. Chris was already moving, pulling out this sidearm, but Kai was staring after Pitbull.
“Hey, babe,” one of the SEALs said to Paige, and Mak bristled.
“Cut it out,” she hissed. “She’s married.”
“She is,” the handsome devil said, then grinned and kissed her full on the mouth.
Mak stiffened, then Paige laughed. “This is my husband. I can’t believe you haven’t met yet. Ashe ‘Kid Chaos’ Wilder, meet Special Agent Makayla Littlestar.”
“Charmed,” Mak said with a wry grin. “Let’s get this ball rolling.”
Taking down the guards was child’s play with the SEALs along. They moved through the camp like ghosts. Mak and her colleagues followed behind, picking up any stragglers. Pitbull entered one of the ramshackle houses and ushered four men out of the structure. Mak spied someone stealthing around the corner, his gun drawn with a direct line of sight to Pitbull’s back.
She raised her weapon and pulled off a round. Other than his comrades on the rig, he was the only one of the terrorists to die tonight. The rest were rounded up and arrested, transported to lockup, and the night of terror was finally over.
Mak leaned against the SUV that had transported her here. Sh
e’d choppered in from Santa Barbara. Her military escorts were going to drive her back to San Diego. She was completely exhausted, barely able to stay upright.
“I wanted to thank you officially,” Fast Lane said in his deep rumbling voice. “What you did with Leary and saving our bacon can’t be measured. I’ll alert SECNAV to your part in the takedown.”
“No need.” She smiled at the huge, rough SEAL. “He’s already aware, as are my superiors, but I appreciate it.”
He reached out his hand and she clasped it. “Copy that.” He smiled, showing white teeth and transforming his brooding face. “Pleasure, Special Agent Littlestar. If we can ever return the favor.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” she said.
He moved off and as she waited, she almost slipped into la-la-land. Because of her fatigue, Pitbull caught her off guard once again.
“Special Agent Littlestar. Seems I owe you once again for covering my back. I don’t relish getting shot, even with Kevlar between me and the bullet. Leaves a hell of a painful bruise.” He winced, then said. “Sorry. Your face is swollen, lady. You really should get some ice on those bruises.”
“Thanks, Dr. Pitbull. I might only be able to get some painkillers into me before I pass out.”
She went to turn away. If her body wasn’t going to go along with her mind, then avoidance was clearly her best strategy. And she had done well with the tactic—although she told herself that wasn’t what she was doing.
She wasn’t quite sure how he did it without moving, but he got deeper into her personal space. “We’ve all had a bitch of a day. Saving the day has a way with tattering up your cape,” he said, not moving. Not even straightening away from the car. And her.
“You must be ready for rack time.” She flashed him a quick smile without really looking at him.
“Look at you talking like a sailor.”
She shivered a bit at the way his voice rumbled and wanted it closer to her ear. In spite of herself, she laughed.
