Forged in Smoke (Red-Hot SEALs #3)(17)

“Please, make them stop, Will. Make them stop.”

He flinched at the memory. Forced it down into that pit of shame that never quite scabbed over.

Sure, headquarters had known his full name, but they’d been as eager to bury his story as Rawls had been. He could just imagine the headlines if some enterprising reporter ferreted out the ugly details—Southern socialite rescued by US Special Forces, turns Special Forces himself. Of course SEALs weren’t Special Forces, but none of the original articles had gotten that little detail correct anyway.

“Your brothers joinin’ your father at the camp?” Rawls asked, recognizing the irony in the question as soon as it hit the air.

He knew everything about Zane—from his four brothers, right down to his quest for his life-mate, which he’d found in Beth. Zane on the other hand? Hell, his best friend didn’t even know Rawls had once had a sister.

“Dane, Chance, and Webb are out on rotation, but Gray’s going to meet the bird and haul everyone out to Dad. God knows how long he’ll be able to stay.”

Rawls simply nodded. Zane stared at him for a couple heartbeats too many, as if he was waiting for him to come clean, waiting for him to step back beneath the umbrella of team life and team camaraderie. When Rawls remained stoically silent, Zane swore beneath his breath and turned, heading for the door.

“You know they have eyes on Amy’s kids. They’ll be waitin’ for her to pick those boys up. Y’all will be walkin’ into a trap,” Rawls said, raising his voice as Zane approached the door.

“That’s the consensus,” Zane acknowledged, stopping with his back to Rawls.

While he understood Amy’s urgency to collect her kids and get them to safety, moving too early gutted their most effective snatch-and-run strategy. The biggest advantage a SEAL team had was strike hard, strike fast, strike while the enemy was unprepared and unaware. Zero dark whenever was their closest ally.

This mission, on the other hand, was going down in broad daylight with plenty of prior warning. A blueprint for casualties.

All of which Mac, Zane, and Cos knew, but it never hurt to issue a reminder. “Why can’t this wait until midnight? Under cover of darkness.”

“Because there’s too many damn civilians in the mix. Amy’s parents, her kids, her brother. And two of those civilians will be armed.” Frustration sharpened Zane’s voice. “Since we can’t shoot on sight, it leaves us and everyone in that house vulnerable.”

Nor could they warn Amy’s family that they’d be coming. In all likelihood there were ears on that house.

Rawls nodded his understanding, his unease increasing. “What about those handy-dandy premonitions of yours? You gettin’ anything?”

Zane shook his head. “But hell, the visions don’t always kick in when I need them.”

True. Zane’s psychic warning system was glitchy at best. Nothing you wanted to count on to cover your ass. “You’ll need the med kit. I—”

“Wolf’s second has medical training. He’s bringing his kit,” Zane interrupted. “You know damn well we can’t bring you in on this. Not with your head in its current scramble.” He waited, one beat . . . three beats . . . five, and then rolled his shoulders. “When you’re ready to tell us what the f*ck’s going on, you know where to find us.” Without looking back, Zane walked out the door.

Dead silence blanketed the room. After a moment, Rawls turned back to the amber bottle sunning itself on the windowsill.

“I’m no expert on you boys,” Pachico said, his voice a cross between dry and smug. “But sounds like he’s losing patience with you. I’ve got just the song to cheer you up, though. You ready to make that call? No? Five hundred bottles of beer on the wall—” Pachico’s voice broke into song as Rawls lifted the bottle of Tennessee Honey and twisted the cap. “Five hundred bottles of beer. Take one down, pass it around, four hundred and ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall.”

Rawls took a pull straight from the bottle, wishing the smooth, slightly sweet fire burning down his throat had more of a bite to it.

Because sweet Jesus, he was looking at a long, long night.




Faith waited until the helicopter carrying Amy Chastain and her self-appointed rescue squad took to the skies before turning to the kitchen counter and picking up the plastic-wrapped plate with its thick roast beef sandwich. She paused at the front entrance of the main lodge, letting the dust devils settle before thrusting open the door. Trotting down the plank stairs, she headed across the earthen courtyard toward the largest cabin. Originally the rustic bungalow had housed all four SEALs. But then Lieutenant Cosky had set up house with Kait Winchester, and Zane with his fiancée, Beth. These days, Lieutenant Rawlings shared the place with Commander Mackenzie, alone—which was reason enough for commiseration as far as Faith was concerned.

From the discussion she’d eavesdropped on earlier, Zane had tracked Rawlings to his bedroom. With luck, he’d stayed put after his commanding officer had left. Waving away a swarm of mosquitoes, she hurried up the three plank steps and knocked hard on the rough-hewn door. Silence greeted her from within the cabin. She knocked again, hard enough to bruise her knuckles. More silence. If he was in there, he had no intention of admitting it. Sympathy stirred; she understood the need for solitude. Indeed, she’d often felt it herself while growing up. Sometimes you just needed to get away, to escape the fear in loved ones’ eyes—or in his case, his teammates’ eyes.