by Zoe Dawson
The guys started to file in, and the atmosphere in the room ramped up as it always did when they knew they were preparing for battle.
“Hey,” Dodger said, and Pitbull nodded to him. Dragon came in and he took one look at Pitbull’s face.
“What happened?” He stood at the doorframe to Pitbull’s enclosure, leaning on the side and folding his arms.
“I met her fiancé, and she hadn’t told him, so I did.”
Dragon winced. “How did that go over?”
“Well, Mark was in the dark like I thought.”
“What prompted you to go over there today?”
“When it got hairy on the Moonbeam platform, all I could think about was how much I wanted Samantha to know I was her dad, how important it was for me to be a part of her life. I can’t bow out or make it easy for Helen. Samantha has a right to know.” He rose after tying his boots and said, in a lowered voice. “I don’t know how this is going to work out, but I’m forcing her to face up to the consequences from our actions. She was in the same bed I was in.”
The guys still didn’t know, and Pitbull wasn’t sure how he was going to tell them. He was still wrestling with his actions during Justin “Speed” Myerson’s capture. He wanted to unequivocally say that he had the man’s back. For the sake of his sanity and his oath to the brotherhood, he desperately wanted to believe that he would have put his life on the line for Speed. More importantly, he wanted them to believe he would have had his brother’s back. No, he needed them to believe it.
“You’re doing what your conscience dictates. I know I couldn’t walk away from Ceri, not for anything. Certainly not to save anyone’s feelings.”
“I’m glad you worked things out with Jo.”
“I never thought much about family with Asahi gone and my mom so far away, but now I couldn’t imagine doing without any of them being this close.
“How is Asahi adjusting?”
Dragon smiled. “Like we were never apart. He and Morgan are sweet on each other, I think.”
“When it rains, it pours,” Pitbull said.
“We play b-ball every week. You should join us. Give you an outlet until you get all this stuff resolved with Helen.”
“I’ll think about it,” Pitbull said. He was more interested in hitting the bag instead of risking injury on the basketball court. “We better get going before Fast Lane takes a chunk out of our hides.”
They walked to the ready room, and Dragon nudged Pitbull. “Hey, that’s the Director of NCIS.”
A ripple of awareness went through him at the mention of NCIS. His moment with Agent Littlestar five days ago sent fresh heat under his skin. He’d wanted to touch her, ease the pain of that darkening purple bruise on her cheekbone and eye. Wishing for just five minutes with Sean Leary. The woman was a badass through and through but as prickly as a cactus. He recognized her reluctance but also was quite aware of her interest. Adrenaline dropped into his gut. He hoped she was safe.
He took a seat next to Fast Lane, who acknowledged each of his men with a nod of his head.
Lieutenant Sanborn rose and walked to the front of the room. Pitbull noticed that their CIA liaison was there as well. International mission involving NCIS?
“Good afternoon. Thanks for getting in so quickly.”
“What’s the situation?” Fast Lane asked, his eyes moving to the director.
Sanborn stepped aside as the director made his way to the front of the room. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Steven Maine, Director of NCIS. There’s a situation that’s developed within the last eight hours. He clicked his remote and two pictures flashed up on the screen.
Pitbull sat up straighter as a murmur went through the assembled team.
“That’s Paige Wilder,” Dragon said, his voice only adding to the tension in the room. “Kid’s wife.”
“Yes, she’s Petty Officer Ashe Wilder’s wife,” Maine said.
“What’s going on?” Pitbull asked. “The other agent is Chris Vargas. I just talked to him a few days ago.”
“As of eight hours ago, Special Agents Wilder and Vargas have disappeared from the rental car lot in Brazil. The only communication we received was from Paige’s brother, Atticus Sinclair, who was on the phone with her right before her disappearance.”
“Have you received any demands?” Fast Lane asked.
“No. None as of yet.”
“What is our role in this?” Fast Lane asked.
“I’ve assigned two agents to handle the search and rescue, if necessary, of our people. They are en route to Foz do Iguaçu. Like you, we never leave a man or woman behind. I’ve requested your team to provide additional security for my agents during this dangerous undertaking.”
“Wheels up in eighteen hours. This could be an extended deployment, so get your lives in order,” Lieutenant Sanborn said.
“Thank you for your assistance on this. With your help, we will bring all of our agents home.”
Pitbull rose with the rest of his team. He had many things to handle before he had to get on the plane. Sadly, he didn’t want to rush his meeting with Helen. Reluctantly, he called her and let her know he was going out of the country but would be in touch when he returned. She wasn’t cold to him, just neutral, and he hoped that she would allow the discussion to finally happen.
He slept through most of the flight to Brazil, as did most of the team. Sleep was a luxury, and they’d learned to use their downtime wisely. When they disembarked from the plane at the Foz do Iguaçu International Airport, there were SUVs waiting for them on the tarmac. They were driven to an eight-story building not far from downtown where they were offered a large room with a lot of beds and told they would assemble in the command center in thirty minutes.
Foz do Iguaçu was situated in proximity to the Triple Frontier, the union of the borders of Brazil, Paraguay, and Argentina, along with easy access to Bolivia. Right across the Friendship Bridge that connected Brazil and Paraguay lay the busy city of Ciudad del Este. It was a corrupt, chaotic place and a hotbed for organized crime, smugglers, and terrorism.
He organized his rack and then went in search of the command center. There were wide stairs to the front of the building, and he walked down them to the fifth floor where they were to assemble. As he reached the level, he pulled open the door and bumped into someone. Reaching out, he steadied the person.
“Pitbull?” Makayla Littlestar said.
He looked down into her beautiful face, still mottled with the bruises. He was going to be bodyguarding her, but all he could think about was how much he wanted to explore everything Makayla Littlestar had to offer.
“In the flesh,” he murmured. “I missed you at the All In.”
“I got caught up at work, then Paige and Chris went missing.”
He felt like there was something she was hiding. Maybe she had no intention of giving in to their attraction. God knew he wasn’t always the best judge of female companionship, but when it came to Makayla, he wasn’t sure he could resist.
“I take it you’re our Special Forces guard dogs.”
“Yeah,” he said with a smile. “All of us are here to do rotating shifts if and when you need us.”
She nodded. “I’m certainly not against collaborating. All of you have good insights to targets and the region. Maybe you can help me—uh, us. Kai and me.”
“I’ll pass that on to LT, but I guess right now there’s a meet and greet.”
She nodded and started forward, a pensive look on her face.
“We’ll get them back,” he said, touching her arm.
She stopped and turned toward him with a determined set to her jaw. “I like your attitude, and damn straight, we will.”
“Hoo-yah,” he murmured, liking more than her attitude, and followed her down the hall.
5
Pitbull shadowed Mak as she pushed open a door into the room that was divided into two areas, one with a large conference table and the other tactical command with numerous
computers, desks, and chairs filled with Navy support personnel. The Brazilians had given over a government-owned building to be used exclusively for tracking down whoever had taken the two American agents.
A Brazilian flag, draped in green, yellow and blue, stood on a pole in one corner. The blinds were open to the daylight that streamed in; the sprawling city below moved to the fast beat of morning rush hour.
The Paraná River gleamed with ripples of white to the west of them. Not far from here, a popular tourist attraction drew thousands of tourists to Iguaçu Falls. Pitbull had been to Brazil before but hadn’t ever had the opportunity to see the magnificent natural area. He’d always been working, mostly training with the military police or their special op forces, the Comando de Operações Táticas or COT. COT was responsible for high-risk and multifaceted interventions.
Fast Lane was already speaking to what looked like a COT member. As soon as everyone was seated, they finished their conversation, and Fast Lane turned to the group. “Focus up,” he said as Lieutenant Sanborn stood up and started speaking.
“We all know why we’re here. It’s to get our people back as quickly, safely, and efficiently as possible. They simply vanished without a trace. No luggage, phone, or a scrap of evidence they were ever at that lot except for Agent Wilder’s statement to her brother that they were just unloading to catch their flight to San Diego. Joao Alves is here to assist us. He’s with COT. The FBI Evidence Response Team is also en route and will be here later today.”
“Still no ransom demand?”
“No, nothing. SECNAV has reached out to the CIA, and we’re waiting for intel from them, but as of now, Special Agent Littlestar will be taking point, and that begins with a look at the crime scene. Pitbull, Saint, and Max will accompany her. Civilian dress and sidearms. We’ll work under the radar for now. Any questions?”
“We’re authorized to use deadly force if she’s threatened?” Max asked.
“Affirmative. Protecting her and Special Agent Talbot are your top priorities…whatever that takes.”
The three of them walked back to the room to change. “We’re nothing but gunslingers in the wild, Wild West,” Max said, dipping down and petting Jugs. He was relegated to his kennel as they wouldn’t require him to go on this op. He whined softly. “I know, buddy, but maybe the next time.”
“We’re here to protect two agents, not to tame the West,” Pitbull said.
Max looked up and smirked. “That so, outlaw? Maybe you can do it with one shooting iron tied behind your back.”
That statement tightened Pitbull’s gut. Was Max accusing him of being a maverick?
Saint said softly, “Looks like them’s fighting words, Max.”
Pitbull rolled his shoulders. If it wasn’t for Jugs, he wouldn’t be able to handle the big man. He was often a dick. Dragon came in as Pitbull pulled off his shirt. Max went out of the room to change Jug’s water and Saint, who had changed quickly, left as well.
“What’s up, brother?”
“Just mission tension,” he replied curtly.
Dragon smirked. “Max again?”
“He’s such a dick. Half the time I want to punch him in the face—”
“And the other half of the time you want to punch him in the face.”
Against his will, Pitbull chuckled and shoved Dragon onto his bunk. Dragon recovered and sat on the end. “Did you ever think he’s such a dick because he feels your distance? He doesn’t have a clue what’s going on up here.” Dragon tapped his temple.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I think you’re projecting Speed’s shit onto our new team members. Losing him shook us up big time. You guys are still dealing with it.”
“And you’re not?”
“No. I reconciled myself with what happened and made my peace. Being with Jo and Ceri changed my perspective. Holding onto stuff causes a lot of problems mentally.” He stood and clapped him on the back. “I know we don’t talk about the head stuff, but it’s there, and it needs to be handled or you’re going to be punching Max in the face sooner or later. This team won’t survive fracturing even more, Pit. We both know it.”
“It’s…not the same.”
“It will never be the same. Change is inevitable and we didn’t sign up for comfortable. Did we?”
“The only easy day was yesterday,” he grumped.
The door opened, and Dodger poked his head in. “Bloody hell, mate. Call of Duty. C’mon.”
“I’m coming. Keep your shorts on.”
“I don’t wear shorts,” Dodger said with a grin, then opened his mouth. Pitbull could only guess it was to elaborate on his statement.
Dragon held up his hand. “Geez, TMI.” He turned back to Pitbull who shook his head with a slight grin. These guys. Dragon grinned back with the kind of camaraderie that they had been missing. “Just use your big brain to work it out. Tell me you’ll try for my own sanity, Max’s jaw, and Fast Lane’s patience.”
“Fast Lane has patience?”
Dragon chuckled and headed for the door. “I’d better go, or we’ll get more TMI from Dodger.”
“Nobody wants that.”
“Amen, brother.” The door closed behind Dragon, but soon opened when Max came back with the water dish.
He hunkered down and set it inside the kennel. “Jugs, you can go in the rec room with Dodger and Dragon, boy,” he said. He looked up at Pitbull. “You’re not changed yet.”
“I was talking to Dragon. It will only take me a minute,” he said, shucking off his BDU pants. He slipped into a pair of beige cargo pants, a white T-shirt under a dark gray short-sleeved shirt, and a brown ball cap embroidered with a white S and a gold D for the Padres. He sat on the edge of the bunk to tie up a pair of brown combat boots.
“We don’t want to keep that pretty agent waiting.”
Pitbull gritted his teeth. Max was observant, too nosy, and baited him often. He’d noticed Pitbull’s interest. Guys just knew when another guy was interested in a lady.
“I heard she’s some kind of badass.”
“So what?”
“A wildcat in the Wild West.”
“Max, you’re a dick.”
“Yeah? Maybe it takes one to know one.” He turned and called Jugs as he went out the door.
Pitbull stood and swore under his breath, grabbing his sidearm and holstering it behind his back. Damn Max for giving him something to chew on. With Dragon’s words, it made Pitbull want to hang on to his anger, but for the first time, he acknowledged that maybe he was taking it out on his new teammates. Maybe, just maybe, he was worried about getting close to them because he was not only afraid of the change, but he was so burned by Speed that close friends, other than the ones he already had, were a liability in the long run.
He headed for the stairs to take him down to the rear of the building where they were keeping the vehicles when a soft sound made him pause in front of a closed door. He recognized that unmistakable sound. He’d heard plenty of people who were in different degrees of pain. It was low and repressed, but it made him stop. He knocked softly and Mak said, “Come in,” with a distressed inhale.
He pushed it open, and she was standing near her bunk in a black bra, a sports bra that covered and supported her soft breasts, crisscrossing her sleekly muscled back. Not many women had that kind of muscle definition. Mak looked like she wasn’t a stranger to the gym. She was beautiful from the neck up, but she was kick-ass magnificent from the neck down. He noted the black and blue bruises on her torso, heavily on her ribcage, and he wanted to kick Sean Leary’s ass all over again. She was trying to maneuver a pressure bandage around her ribs.
She looked over her shoulder at him. “Don’t stand there gawking. Geez, testosterone. Help me.” She was luminous, her skin like satin, the curve of her nose bold, the angle of her high cheekbones and almond eyes drawing him in even further.
He closed the door and moved across the room. Stopping close to her, the scent of warm woman and
vanilla made his nostrils flare. Damn, she smelled good. He reached out, clasping her hands and catching the edge of the wrap that was making her twist and causing her pain. He pulled it and stretched it so that it was snug but not tight.
She looked up at him as his hands smoothed down the brace against her slim ribcage.
“You’ve had some experience with this,” she murmured.
Damn, had he thought of her eyes as brown? That was such a boring color. They were more whiskey-colored, a deep warm brown shot through with lighter streaks of amber, like sunlight glinting off a burnished weapon, lethal and dangerous.
“Once or twice,” he said with a grin. It seemed difficult to get a full breath, as if his ribcage was in a vice.
This was crazy. He was a SEAL on a mission, not some foolish teenaged boy governed by his hormones. But this woman had haunted him ever since he’d met her sassy mouth and take-charge attitude.
“Are you sure you’re up to being here? It could get rough.”
“My ribs aren’t broken, although it feels like it. Just cracked a tiny bit. I can take care of myself.” She smoothed her hand over the edge and bumped into his. “It’s secure,” she said, her voice sounding breathless for a moment. “You can let go.”
He hadn’t realized he was still holding onto her. He released her but couldn’t manage to step back. It was strange to see her half-naked, the black pants she wore cinching her tight waist and curving over that spectacular butt. She looked toward the button-down shirt on the bed.
He didn’t need her cue this time. He reached down and grabbed it. Holding it up for her to slip in her arm, he wrapped the fabric around that beautiful back for her to slip in her other arm.
“Paige was here because I was unavailable,” she said, reaching for the buttons. Her voice was subdued, filled with remorse. He knew what it was like for a buddy to get caught up in something he considered his job. Paige had taken her place, therefore, Mak was responsible for her fellow agent getting nabbed by God knew who.
“Yeah, shit happens,” he said, and her eyes flashed as she raised her head. “We’ve all been in your shoes. That crap will get into your head and fuck you up. You had to see a doctor, and Paige took your place. Let’s get her back, and it’s all a moot point.”
