Forged in Smoke (A Red-Hot SEALs Novel Book 3) (16 page)

“I’ve got him,” the older boy said, his voice as calm and adult as his mother’s had been.

Mac turned the corner and entered the staging area to find the older boy dogging his younger brother while Amy shoved pistols and equipment into a duffle bag. She turned her head long enough to scan Mac as he crossed the threshold, and then turned back to the shelf.

“How many?” she asked, as she shoved boxes of ammo and bottles of water into the bag.

After a quick glance at the two boys, he shrugged. “Nothing that we can’t handle,” he said in an easy voice. No sense in alarming the youngsters.

Although any handling, and/or mop-up, would have to wait until after they stashed the civilians someplace safe. Too fucking bad the bastards hadn’t attacked later in the day, after they’d loaded the women and children onto the helicopter and removed them from harm’s way.

He punched the access code into a second keypad—the one that allowed access into the tunnel system itself. After a loud click, a hiss of escaping air sounded and the door eased open. He shoved it the rest of the way, revealing the concrete tunnel.

“Here.” Amy handed him a flashlight. As she passed it to him, she leaned forward and dropped her voice to a whisper. “How many are out there?”

Chills shot from his scalp down to his ass when her warm, toothpaste-spiked breath brushed his ear. He jerked hard, forced down his instinctive urge to retreat, and stayed put.

“Unknown.” Something sweet and clean teased him. He drew in a deep breath before realizing the scent was drifting from the bright red strands of hair almost brushing his cheek. He locked down the impulse to lean in closer and fill his lungs with the fragrant scent again.

Her hair? He wanted to smell her hair? Jesus Christ, he was pathetic.

Grimacing, he accepted the NVD she handed him. “Rawls estimated twenty-five, but he took down three.”

Amy shot him a surprised look. “Rawls?”

“Yeah. He stumbled across them this morning.” He shrugged at her questioning look and took a casual step back. “He slept out there last night.”

And damned if that decision, which he’d been so disgusted about twelve hours earlier, hadn’t saved their collective asses.

“You ready?” He turned the flashlight on and aimed it into the gaping black maw of the tunnel before waving her boys over. “I’ll lead, you bring up our six.”

He waited for her to turn on her own flashlight and guide her youngest into the steady beam of silver before stepping inside the mouth of the tunnel and dragging the door shut behind him. It sealed with a heavy click and the hiss of escaping air as the lock engaged.

A thick, claustrophobic pressure cinched around them.

It didn’t occur to him, until he turned around, that he’d made one hell of a mistake.

The tunnel was six feet tall, which meant he had to hunch slightly to avoid scraping his scalp. No big deal there. But widthwise, there was only room for one adult at a time. He’d have to squeeze past Amy and her children to take the lead. The kids? Piece of cake. But the woman
. . .
hell
. . .
he’d be rubbing against places he had no business rubbing. Tantalizing places.

He shut that line of thought down fast and scrambled for a distraction. Luckily there were plenty of questions on hand. Like why hadn’t Wolf’s perimeter alarms sounded once their camp had been breached? Wolf had run through the exterior alarm system at the same time he’d shown him the catacombs and given him the access codes. The alarm systems were state of the art. All the bells and whistles. And a perfect example of why it was never wise to depend on someone else for one’s personal safety.

As he started the excruciating process of sliding past Amy’s petite, sturdy frame, which involved far too much rubbing of chests and thighs, his concentration fractured.

Christ
. . .
she felt good. Too good. All taut, toned muscle and warm flesh. And then there was that clean fresh scent he’d noticed earlier. It reared up to fog his mind and mess with his reason. He held his breath, sucked in his gut, and pressed harder against the concrete wall. Even so, he couldn’t avoid physical contact. Hell, while the brush of his bare arms against hers was light, more skim than caress, the contact was enough to send sparks cascading through his blood and launch an electrical sizzle in his belly.

He happened to catch her eyes as he squeezed past her, his chest rubbing across hers, and he saw something in the hazel depths he didn’t want to see. Something hot. Something sensual. A molten shimmer that told him clear as hell that she was feeling the same charged attraction he was feeling.

Son of a bitch . . .

It was the very
last
thing he wanted to know. It was hard enough keeping his own lust in check. But to know she shared it—fuck. That’s what he was—fucked.

Frustration surged as he wrestled his mind back in line. They needed a major distraction, and he had just the topic. It was sure to spark a reaction and send her backpedaling all the way down the mountain.

“You do realize that your boys are tagged, right?” he told her. His voice emerging rougher and more confrontational than he’d intended. He frowned and tried to modify his tone. “The camp’s been secure for days. We bring your boys in and, boom, twelve hours later security’s been compromised. Your boys were followed. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Amy waited until he’d squeezed past before responding. “They changed clothes completely. Right down to their skin. There was nothing that could have been chipped. The timing’s a coincidence.”

But her voice lacked confidence. She didn’t sound like she believed it herself.

“Then it’s a hell of a coincidence,” Mac countered. “And too damn convenient if you ask me. If they shucked everything, then the tracking device has to be beneath their clothes.”

Hell, it was common practice to insert identification chips in pets, how much harder would it be to insert a tracking chip beneath someone’s skin? Not difficult, for damn sure. But if that were the case—then they had a huge problem on their hands.

If the device was still transmitting their location—and why wouldn’t it be?—then they were leading their assailants directly to the rendezvous site, thereby jeopardizing everyone.

Chapter Ten

Y
AWNING
, F
AITH LEANED
against the kitchen counter and watched the coffee level creep up the glass decanter. Dawn barely brushed the sky, but her camp mates were early risers and big coffee drinkers. As morning rolled into afternoon, she’d be measuring coffee grounds and filling the machine with water at least three, possibly four more times. The only two people in camp who didn’t overdose on coffee every day were her and Rawls. But then, her hot beverage of choice had always been tea. As for Rawls, he was rarely in the kitchen, and when he was, it wasn’t to eat or drink.

Turning, she stared out the window, scanning the lightening landscape. Where was he? From eavesdropping on Zane and Mac the night before, she knew he’d abandoned camp to bed down in the woods.

Why? Was it because of her? Because of what had happened between them? She glanced at the kitchen table. He’d held her on his lap over there, stroked her hair, and caressed her back. Even kissed her.

Of course, he’d rejected her there too.

Surprisingly, the rejection didn’t sting. Maybe because it had been so strange. Plus, it had been obvious that he was interested in her. He couldn’t hide the bulge pressing against her bottom, clear evidence that he’d been as aroused as she’d been. She hadn’t been wrapped in that fog of sensuality by herself. He’d been caught in the spell right alongside her.

And she was almost certain she hadn’t been the one to drive him away. Something else had done that. Apparently it had driven him from his friends as well—clear out of camp as a matter of fact.

When the teapot whistled, she lifted it from the stove and poured boiling water into the cup on the counter. As the tea steamed, she turned off the burner and absently dunked the tea bag—chamomile, to calm her nerves—into the hot water.

Too bad Rawls wasn’t here so she could force some of the chamomile tea down his throat. If anyone’s nerves needed soothing, it was his. Which was so odd, considering his career choice. Navy SEALs were rumored to have nerves of steel.

What was equally odd was that she was worrying about him. She was even considering searching the woods in the hopes of tracking him down and verifying for herself that he was okay.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Seth Rawlings is not your problem. His problems are not your problems. Let it go. Let him go. You have enough problems of your own without taking on his.

With luck, her immediate problem would be resolved today when Wolf arrived with the refill on her meds. Of course, that still left her newest problem unresolved. While she’d only experienced the one attack, it made her nervous not knowing what she was dealing with, or when it might strike again. Not that there was anything she could do about the situation. At least not until she identified what the episode had been. Her best hope at the moment was remaining calm as she tracked down the new symptoms so her old nemesis tachycardia didn’t swoop back in to wreak havoc.

Hence the tea, and the soothing ritual of cooking—breakfast this time.

The loud thud of boots on the front steps leading up to the lodge provided a welcome distraction. She turned to face the command center’s entrance as the door flew open. Rawls entered the building at a dead run, the door banging shut behind him. He slowed to a jog. Intense blue eyes swept the room and fixed on her face. Surprise locking her in place, she simply stared back. Apparently he was bringing his problems to her
. . .

Barely breaking stride, he headed for the desk tucked in the corner of the main room and snatched up the satellite phone, tucking it beneath his waistband at the small of his back. “You get Mac’s message?”

“What message?” she asked.

His face was hard, tight, yet somehow seething with tension. She didn’t realize she’d taken a step back until she felt the edge of the kitchen counter against her back.

“On the radio.”

He swept her frame as he strode toward her, as though he were looking for the walkie-talkie, which he wouldn’t find since it was sitting on the dresser in her bedroom.

“I’ll explain on the way.” He beckoned her forward, the motion urgent.

“On the way? On the way where?” As she pushed slowly off the counter, her gaze was drawn down to a series of ruddy smears glistening on his shirt and jeans.

Glistening as in wet . . . and ruddy as in . . .

“Is that blood?” Her voice rose as her pace picked up. “Are you injured?”

His face tightened even more. “We have a situation. I’ll explain on the way.”

“On the way where?” she asked cautiously, slowing her pace to a crawl.

He didn’t sound like he was in pain. He sounded impatient. And urgent. She studied the ruddy smears again. They hadn’t gotten any bigger or wetter, so he must not be bleeding. In which case the blood must be someone else’s
. . .

Whose?

Her feet screeched to a stop. “Uh, Rawls, whose—”

He was on her before she finished the question. A huge hand clamped over her mouth. She was too stunned to struggle as his mouth dipped toward her neck. The quiver that shook her as his warm breath tickled her ear had little to do with fear. At least until his words registered.

“The camp’s surrounded. We need to get into the tunnels
now
. No questions. We may have unwelcome ears listenin’ in.”

They were surrounded? By whom?

Stupid, stupid question, Faith.

She nodded her understanding and he released his grip on her mouth, transferring it to her arm. He towed her forward, along the outside of the kitchen counter, heading toward the hall at the back of the lodge. As the log walls flashed past, she glanced at the ruddy smears streaking his chest.

It had been pretty clear for days that something was misfiring in Rawls’s brain. Something like hallucinations, if his teammates’ hunches were correct. She wanted to discount his urgency now, discount his insistence that the camp was surrounded, convince herself that he’d imagined whatever he’d seen
. . .
except.

Except he was smeared with blood—blood that didn’t appear to be his own.

Which meant something must have happened out there.

Her heart skipped a beat and then made up for it with a few seconds of double time. She groaned beneath her breath and worked to calm her breathing and nerves. She only had one Cordarone tablet left. If the camp really was surrounded and Wolf couldn’t land, that one tablet might have to last her for a long time. She’d best save it for when her heart rate got completely out of whack. As her heart settled back into its normal, strong rhythm, she breathed a sigh of relief and glanced at Rawls, relaxing even further to find his attention fixed on the far end of the hall. At least her momentary health scare hadn’t distracted him.

He drew her to a stop in front of the last door on the right, its security panel glowing red. She’d been given the grand tour of the lodge as well as the cabin she and Amy shared when they’d first arrived—so she knew about the tunnel system beyond this door and how to gain entrance to it. While each of the individual cabins had its own entry into the tunnels, the access panels shared the same security codes. On the other hand, while each cabin had its own stash of weapons in case of an emergency, the only building with access to the main weapons locker was the main lodge. From the weapons locker, one could enter the tunnel system.

Wolf had given her the code to the security system within hours of their landing, even made her recite the encryption repeatedly until he was satisfied that she’d remember it during an emergency. She repeated the numbers silently as Rawls punched them into the panel. As soon as the click sounded, indicating the lock had released, Rawls dragged the door open and propelled her inside. The door swung shut again, sealing behind them with another slight tick.

Bright light from the fixture above their heads spilled down a steep staircase. Rawls headed down the steps at breakneck speed. Luckily, the space was too cramped for the two of them to travel abreast, so he had to drop her arm, which allowed her to descend more cautiously. He’d already punched the access code into the second steel door that guarded the weapons locker and had it propped open by the time she reached the bottom.

After a quick glance at his face, which hadn’t lost any of its earlier tension, she silently preceded him into the concrete, steel-shelved room. But as soon as the door swung shut behind them, she turned to face him. With two steel, impenetrable doors between them and their would-be captors—or killers—they should be safe enough for a quick discussion.

“Is any of that blood yours?” she asked as Rawls pulled a canvas bag off the bottom rung of the steel shelving to her right.

“No.” He shot her an indecipherable look before unzipping the duffle bag and dropping the satellite phone inside. “The camp’s surrounded. I had to neutralize a few of our uninvited guests on my way back in.”

Neutralize?

Faith flinched and avoided examining that description too closely.

“Mac called for a rendezvous.” He straightened with the bag in hand and started filling it with guns and ammo from the shelves above. “Which you would have known, if you’d had your radio.” The glance he shot her was full of admonishment.

Faith grimaced. He was right. She should have brought the radio. If Rawls hadn’t come back for her, she wouldn’t have known she was in danger. She would have been merrily cooking away while a band of killers swarmed the compound.

The other women wouldn’t have been as ill prepared. But then, they had their own personal SEALs to provide protection. Or at least Kait and Beth and Marion did. Amy, on the other hand, was in the same predicament as Faith—only worse, since she had her kids to worry about as well. And from the micro amount of time Faith had spent with the family the night before, it was clear Amy’s youngest child was a handful.

“Amy’s going to need help getting her kids into and through the tunnels,” Faith said, watching Rawls add more guns and boxes of ammo to the canvas bag. They certainly weren’t going to run out of weapons or ammunition anytime soon.

“Mac was headed toward her last I saw.” Rawls stretched up on his toes to drag down an oblong black plastic box with a huge red X stretching from corner to corner across the plastic top.

“Mackenzie?” Her voice rose with incredulity. The bad-tempered, woman-hating, chain-cursing commander had raced over to help Amy and her boys? And under his own volition? Wow
. . .
just wow.

With a snort, Rawls shoved the black box into the duffle bag, added several devices that were similar to binoculars but mounted on plastic headpieces, and then zipped the bag up. “Mac’s not nearly as surly as y’all are convinced. Push comes to shove—he’s the first to jump between a civilian and a bullet. That goes a hundredfold for women and rug rats.”

Faith raised her eyebrows. “I find that hard to believe.”

With a light chuckle, Rawls lifted the duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder. “I’m not sayin’ he doesn’t make misjudgin’ him downright easy. But actions speak louder than words, and he’s over there protectin’ Amy and her rug rats right now.”

They’d have to agree to disagree on that particular cliché. In her opinion, words carried as much weight as action, and she had plenty of empirical data proving that Mackenzie’s loud and often nasty vocalizations marked him as a misogynistic jackass. Not that they had time for such an argument.

“I can carry something,” she offered, deliberately changing the subject.

“You sure can.” He handed her a heavy-duty metal flashlight and picked up a second one for himself. “I’ve grabbed some NVDs in case we need them, but the flashlights will do us for now.”

“NVDs?”

“Night vision devices. They’ll give our vision back if the torches go dark.” He paused to scan her frame, his gaze lingering on her face. “How you holdin’ up? That ticker of yours behavin’?”

She schooled her face into sincerity, held his gaze, and nodded. “It’s ticking away just fine.”

Which wasn’t a complete lie. At the moment it was beating normally. And he hadn’t asked about earlier incidents
. . .

Instead of easing, the tension on his face intensified. He frowned. “How much Cordarone you got left?”

The pill count wasn’t something she could exaggerate. Not when he needed to know where the pill was in case her heart flatlined and she lost consciousness or couldn’t get to the tablet herself.

“I’ve got one left. It’s in my right pocket.” She offered him a tight smile. “I guess we can’t count on Wolf making a medicine drop under the circumstances.”

A moment of concern touched his face, but he quickly buried it. His blond hair flashed beneath the overhead lights as he shook his head.

“Not the original drop. But we’ve got the sat phone. After we rendezvous with the others in the hub, we’ll call him. Fill him in.” He offered her a reassuring smile. “Hell, knowin’ Kait’s big bad friend, he’ll
probably grab the closest chopper and mount a rescue.”

It was doubtful the phone would work in the tunnels, let alone the
hub—where the various tunnels intersected. The hub was a natural stone cavern seven hundred feet or so from where they currently stood. The rock would block the satellite signal, making the phone ineffectual.

But she swallowed her reservations and tried to project confidence. There was nothing they could do about their lack of outside communication at the moment. At least they had the phone on them. Worst case, someone could sneak outside and send off an SOS.

“Flashlights on,” Rawls said, lifting the duffle bag from his shoulder and easing the strap over his head until it hung from his upper back. “Stay on my six. Yell if I go too fast.”

He didn’t wait for her confirmation, just turned toward the steel shelf beside them and pressed a lever on the inside of the top rung. He stepped back as the metal unit jerked and slid out from the wall, revealing a thick, black hole. Once it stopped moving, he dragged it back another foot.