Forged in Fire

“Forged In Fire is a smoking hot adventure with an irresistible alpha hero. Danger, action, suspense, and a steamy romance make a story that's impossible to put down!”

—Patti O'Shea, National Bestselling Author of
Through a Crimson Veil

FORGED IN FIRE

BY

TRISH McCALLAN

Beth Brown doesn’t believe in premonitions until she dreams a sexy stranger is gunned down during the brutal hijacking of a commercial airliner. When events in her dream start coming true, she heads to the flight’s departure gate. To her shock, she recognizes the man she’d watched die the night before.

Lieutenant Commander Zane Winters comes from a bloodline of elite warriors with psychic abilities. When Zane and two of his platoon buddies arrive at Sea-Tac Airport, he has a vision of his teammates’ corpses. Then she arrives—a leggy blonde who sets off a different kind of alarm.

As Beth teams up with Zane, they discover the hijacking is the first step in a secret cartel’s deadly global agenda and that key personnel within the FBI are compromised. To survive the forces mobilizing against them, Beth will need to open herself to a psychic connection with the sexy SEAL who claims to be her soul mate.

FORGED IN FIRE

BY

TRISH McCALLAN

Kindle Edition

Copyright 2011 by Theresa Monsey

Cover art and design by Laura Morrigan

Copy Editing by Jim Thomsen

Copy Proof by Anne Victory

All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used factiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

This book is dedicated to Jacqueline Marie Monsey.

I was lucky to have you for the first 47 years of my life.

But I still miss you every minute, of every day.

Acknowledgements

A good book is a team effort, and I had some kickass teammates in my platoon.

To Patti O’Shea: brainstorming guru, who answered all my screams of “What happens next!”, who went beyond the call of CP duty by taking questions to her Northwest Airline engineers and bringing back useable answers, who marked all those instances of repetition and slow pacing and helped keep my characters honest. Without you this book would have never have taken flight.

To Roslyn Carrington: who bled red all over my pages, pinpointed my logic holes, overused adjectives/adverbs, weeded out my slow passages, and kept my characters authentic. Without you this book would never have gotten off the ground.

To Veronica Worthington (ex-police officer): who vetted all my gun stuff and action scenes and kept this book as realistic as possible while still allowing for creativity. Without your knowledge of guns and law enforcement this book would not have the ring of authenticity.

To Jolyn Palliata: who did the final read-through and pre-copy edit. Without your sharp eyes noting several character discrepancies, this book would not have the depth it has now. And without your enthusiasm, unfailing support and prelaunch promoting—half the names on my waiting list wouldn’t be there.

To Cindy Oles Miller: whose comments always made me stop and think and then go back and fix. Without that early look through your eyes, this book wouldn’t have had the foundation to build on.

To Matthew Pat Whalen (16 years of service with the Navy, ten years service with the Air Force—which we thank you for!): I cannot express my appreciation for your patience and unfailing kindness in answering all those emails I sent you. Without you this book wouldn’t have the authenticity I hope it has now.

To Jim Thomsen, of Thomsen Editing Services: who went through this manuscript line by line and weeded out my redundancies, word usage errors, and corrected my punctuation and grammar. Without you this book would not be… well… readable.

To Anne Victory, of Victory Editing Services: who proofed the final version of Forged in Fire in record time, and then typed up her report immediately, even though she was drop-dead tired, because she knew I was wanting to get this puppy out the door. Without you this book would not be the clean, awesome work of art it is. P.S. You need to raise your rates—seriously!

Chapter One

Lieutenant Commander Zane Winters shifted uneasily against the grungy white wall across from gate C18’s ticket counter. He felt naked without his Glock. Exposed. An itchy, irritating prickle of vulnerability tightened his skin and cramped his muscles. Which was fucking ridiculous. They were on leave, for Christ’s sake, booked on a civilian flight. Yeah, he and Cosky and Rawls had to check their weapons with their luggage, but so what? They weren’t going wheels-up, facing deployment to some godforsaken foreign jungle or burning swath of sand.

“Did they have to pick Hawaii? We have the same blue sky and warm weather in Coronado. And without the tourists.”

Zane barely heard Cosky’s disgusted mutter through the drone of excited voices surrounding them. With a grunt, he massaged the back of his neck and surveyed the growing crowd. More passengers were arriving by the minute. Shit, there were already too many people to keep an eye on. Too many jackets and pockets and purses. Too many places to conceal a weapon.

A stacked brunette across the gate area caught his gaze and offered a sultry smile. Zane turned away.

“Jesus.” Rawls’ lazy grin was a slash of white in his sun-bronzed face. “You two need to get off base more often. You’re as hinky as a pair of hounds during tick season. Those are civilians y’all are glaring at, not a room full of tangos.” Bright blue eyes zeroed in on the brunette across the room. “What you need is some of
that
. Sun, sand and sex. All the fixin’s for a memorable vacation.”

Cosky shot his teammate a derisive glance. “When did you become so fond of sand and sun? Sure as hell not last month, judging by your nonstop bitching.”

Rawls flipped him the finger. “It’s that third “s”, Cos. Makes all the difference. You should try it sometime, but without that blow-up Barbie you keep stashed beneath your bunk.”

Shrill laughter erupted across the room. Zane tracked the sound, skimming an abandoned stroller and clusters of luggage. When the brunette tried to catch his eye again, he swore beneath his breath. Shifting against the wall, he gave her his back.

“See? This is why I like hanging with you, skipper,” Rawls drawled, a grin twitching the edges of his mouth. “You attract the little darlin’s over, and when you turn that cold shoulder on ‘em, they start buzzin’ round Cosky and me.”

“Leave me out of it,” Cosky said. “Unlike you, I don’t need to surf Zane’s wake for a hookup.”

“A hookup?” Rawls shook his head and smirked. “Is that any way to talk about your hand?” Bracing his elbows against the wall behind them, he tilted his head and studied Zane’s face. “Seriously, skipper, you should take her up on that offer. It’s not like—” He broke off to scan Zane’s face more intently. Suddenly he frowned. “You’re shittin’ me. That’s some prime real estate over there, and you don’t have any interest in her? None at all? That just ain’t… natural.”

Hell, Rawls was right. She
was
prime time. A real looker. Long, thick mahogany hair. A tight, curvy ass. Stacked across the chest. Enough flare through the hips to hold onto. She was the kind of woman who’d give wet dreams to any straight male between puberty and death.

Which must mean he was dead. Because he was way past puberty, yet he didn’t feel even a twitch of interest. No chills. No thrills. No goose bumps.

She could be his great-grandmother, for all the attraction he felt.

Every year the numbness dug a little deeper, spread a little further. He’d been warned about this particular side effect of the family gift—or curse, depending on who was talking. But knowing about it, and living with it, were completely different animals.

“Let’s hope that woman of yours shows up ASAP. Much more of this drought and you won’t remember what to do with her.” With a flash of white teeth, Rawls reached over to punch Zane’s shoulder.

The moment Rawls’ fist made contact, every muscle in Zane’s body clenched. He froze, his breath locked in his throat. His vision blurred.

Click
.

It was a subtle sound. A switch flipping inside his head. An image flashed through his mind. Quick. Brutal. Ugly.

Rawls sprawled across a bank of narrow seats. His blue t-shirt splotched with black. Blood dripping from limp fingers. A fixed stare glazing his blue eyes
.

The vision vanished.

“Son of a bitch.” Sheer disgust vibrated in Cosky’s gritty voice. “We’re on stand-down. This is a civilian flight. Regardless of that all-too-familiar look on your face, we cannot be in any goddamn danger.”

But he didn’t dislodge the hand Zane clamped around his bicep.

This time Zane was expecting the vision. He tensed anyway, his body contracting into one giant charley horse.

Click
.

He strained to capture as many details as possible as the new vision flashed through his mind.

Gray eyes locked and empty, already filming with the unmistakable haze of death. Black hair saturated with blood. Hands clenched. He was splayed across a narrow aisle, dark blue upholstered seats rising on either side of his head.

When the image vanished, he released Cosky’s arm and wrestled air back into his lungs.

“Tell me this is a joke,” Cosky demanded.

Zane shook his head and gripped the back of his neck with both hands.

“What did you see?” Rawls finally asked.

Zane drew a shallow breath. “You dead. Cosky dead.”

“From boredom?” Cosky asked dryly, one black-as-sin eyebrow arching. “We
are
going to a wedding.” A quick glance at Zane’s face, and a glint of steel darkened his gray eyes. “Where’s this going down?”

“On the bird.” Zane frowned. “Couldn’t tell whether she was in flight. Didn’t get a good enough look.”

Cosky turned to study the boisterous crowd. “When do you ever?”

Zane scrubbed his palms down his face and forced back a surge of frustration. The flashes never lasted long. No more than two or three seconds. Just enough to warn, without giving details. Just enough to raise guards, but not enough to mitigate the danger.

“Which bird? Over or back?” Cosky braced his hands on his hips and studied Zane’s face. “Either fits the three-day window for those flashes of yours.”

“Today.” Zane nodded toward Rawls’ blue-clad chest. “Same clothes.”

Cosky grunted. “I don’t suppose you saw who killed us?”

“When have these damn things ever been that accommodating?”

“Fuck.” With a disgusted shake of his head, Cosky dropped his chin and scowled at the worn carpet. “What about the wounds?”

“Lots of blood. Could be a gun. Or a knife.”

“A crash?” Rawls broke in quietly.

“Doubtful. Neither of you were burned. We’re looking at some kind of weapon.”

Cosky frowned. “It would be easier to smuggle a blade through security, but few people are good enough to take us on with a knife. Chances are it’s a gun.”

Zane pushed away from the wall. “Whatever’s going to happen is bad enough to take the three of us out.” The flashes never centered on him, but if Cosky and Rawls were in danger, he was as well. “We need to get hold of Mac.”

As the OIC of SEAL Team 7, Commander Jace Mackenzie had the pull to get the plane grounded and the passengers searched.

“Question.” Cosky’s attention zeroed in on Zane’s face. “What are we going to tell him? We don’t know what’s going to happen, who’s behind it, or what kind of weapons will be used. If Mac gets this bird grounded, only to have nothing show during the search, the backlash is gonna be a bitch.”

“What are you suggesting?” Zane cocked an eyebrow. “That we skip the wedding, keep our mouths shut and let events play out?”

“Don’t be an ass. I’m
saying
it would be handy to have some solid intel to pass on for a change. Why can’t you ever pick up more information if you touch us again?”

Zane shrugged. Just because he suffered through the visions didn’t mean he understood their properties. “We’ve got some time before boarding. Maybe one of the passengers will jump out at us.”

A wave of heat suddenly rolled through him. It started at his scalp and flowed down—a tide of molten fire that left chills in its wake. A tingling, numbing sensation followed, as though he’d been hit with a high-voltage electrical shock.

“What’s wrong?” Cosky’s question came from a distance. Muted and warped.

Zane turned, searching for… something. The gate area spun in slow motion. That strange, electrical tingling raised the hair on his arms and down the back of his neck.

He found her in the mouth of the waiting room. She was blond, slender. Perfect. Her cream-colored slacks and ivory blouse glowed beneath the harsh fluorescent lights, as though she stood squarely in a spotlight—lit up to catch his attention.

Her chin lifted, their eyes connected and that strange, pulsating current shot straight to his cock. Electrified him. His libido, numb for years, reared up and howled. He took one long step toward her.

Cosky grabbed his arm and hauled him back. “Goddamn it, Zane. What’s wrong?”

Zane shook his head, tried to clear the fog from his mind. The tug toward her was incredibly strong, like she was a magnet and his bones were metal. He took another step forward, his body vibrating at some strange frequency.

Cosky’s hand tightened with brutal force around his forearm, piercing the primal urge to claim her.

Zane froze and drew a shaky breath. His muscles were rigid. A vicious ache had seized his groin. His skin must have shrunk at least three sizes.

Holy shit.

It had to be her.

After all these years of searching, of waiting… this had to be her
.

To go from nada to nuclear in the blink of an eye… yeah. He drew a slow, burning breath, grappling to drag his body back under control. This
had
to be her.

From listening to his brothers’ stories about meeting their mates, he’d expected a strong reaction, but nothing like this whirlpool of hunger.

And he hadn’t even touched her yet.

“Who is she?” Cosky demanded. “Did you see her in one of your flashes?”

The question snapped the world back into focus. The memory of those damn visions flooded his brain.

He watched, frozen, while she headed toward one of the plastic benches strewn throughout the waiting room. She was apparently booked on his flight.

A marked flight.

His chest seized. His skin started to crawl. Christ, he couldn’t breathe.

Of all the bad timing.

He’d finally found her. His soul mate. At a time when he couldn’t afford the distraction. When the slightest mistake could get her killed.

* * *

Holy Mother of God… they were real. All three of them. Real.

Beth Brown sat frozen in front of gate C18, shock searing her lungs and sucking the strength from her legs. Across from the ticket counter, a trio of tall, muscular men lounged against a wall.

Her mind had to be playing tricks on her. Those three men leaning against the wall could not possibly be the same ones who’d died in her dream the night before.

And then the dark-haired man in the middle of the loose masculine knot shifted his stance against the wall, turned his head, and scanned the departure gate. His intense gaze locked onto her.

She was too far away to actually see those sharp eyes, but she knew they were green. Vibrant green. Icy chips of emerald. Just as she knew his hard jaw had a cleft in its chin, his name was Zane Winters and he was a lieutenant in—well, something. She knew all this, yet she’d never met the man, had never even seen him. Until the night before. In that damn dream.

Disbelief slammed into her with the force of a Boeing 747. It roared through her head, drowning out the low drone of voices, the shriek of jet engines climbing overhead and the announcements over the loudspeakers.

Oh God… oh God… if they were real
….

If Zane Winters was real, if he was flesh and blood and standing across the room from her, what about the rest of the nightmare?

The question rolled through her on a greasy wave of nausea. Oh, Lord, she was going to throw up. Or faint. The buzzing in her head grew louder. Desperate, she spread her legs, stuck her head between her knees and drew a much-needed breath.

Calm down, Beth. Calm down
.

She was letting her imagination get the best of her. She’d just
imagined
they’d resembled the three men in her nightmare. Once she got a better look, she’d find they were soft, with receding hairlines or jowls, nothing like those lean, lethal warriors from the night before.

“Are you okay?” a tentative male voice asked above her head.

No, she was not okay. She’d gone crazy in the space of a bad night’s sleep.

“There’s no reason to be scared. Flying’s safer than driving.”

She wasn’t afraid of flying. As a PacAtlantic employee she could fly free. This flight, however, she did not intend to board, even though she’d listed herself on standby and picked up a boarding pass. It had been the only way to gain access to gate C18 and prove nothing mysterious was at work.

“I’m fine.” She forced herself upright.

The stranger comforting her was in his mid-to-late thirties, tall and thin, but with a surprisingly broad span to his shoulders. Behind the wire rims of his glasses, his brown eyes were kind and bright with male appreciation.

When she didn’t recognize him, her muscles went limp.

There! She was being foolish. Her Good Samaritan was waiting to board Flight 2077, but she hadn’t watched him die the night before. Which proved she hadn’t had some weird precognitive vision. She wasn’t psychic. She did not have dreams that came true. The nightmare had been a result of too many late nights and too much work-related stress. She was blowing the whole situation out of proportion.

She needed a vacation, but not to Hawaii. And certainly not on this plane.

Except… she’d never blown anything out of proportion. For God’s sake, her wedding had been canceled fifteen minutes before ‘I
do’
when she’d caught her groom and one of her bridesmaids necking in the coat closet. If she’d been the type to have hysterics it would have been then. Instead she’d sent the guests home and sat down for a heart-to-heart talk with the pair. She simply did not have a hysterical bone in her body, which she would prove to herself as soon as she worked up the courage to check out the rest of the people at the departure gate.