Navy SEAL Noel (14 page)

“I heard. About a year later.”

“So why not call me then? Or send me an email? Two lines. ‘Jess, I'm okay. I'll be back.' Boom. Done. Is that too much to ask?”

“Right about then, I wasn't very proud of the man that I'd become. I was doing my best to live up to every negative stereotype a navy man could acquire. I wasn't good enough for you, and I knew it.”

“What changed?”

He refused to analyze if her question suggested that he was worthy of her now. Because it didn't matter. Even if they both wanted to be together, Sal's continued feelings for her stood between them like a sentry.

“I met a couple guys. L.T. and Rock. They're SEALs and men of integrity, and, man, I wanted to be like them.”

Her face scrunched up. “L.T.—Tristan Sawyer?”

Will paused, examining the subtle shifting of her eyes. “Yes.”

“I know him. Well, not really. But I know his wife, Staci, and his sister, Ashley.”

Will shook his head, his worlds colliding so fast that he had to hold on to his chin to keep his head from falling off. “Of course you do. From the shelter?”

“Do you know them?”

“Well, way before she was L.T.'s wife, Staci almost got me run over by a van in front of Pacific Coast House.”

Jess's hand shot forward to grab his arm. “Were you hurt?”

“I said ‘almost.'” But he didn't mind the tender grip on his forearm or the concern wrinkling her forehead.

Taking a little step forward, he wrapped his hand around hers, holding it in place. Her gaze shot to the point of contact, but she didn't try to pull away.

“I'm glad.” She blinked and licked her lips, still focused on his hand. “That you weren't run over, I mean.”

“Me, too.” He stared at her, his attention entirely consumed by her. She smelled of plastic and rubber and the lab, and despite the lack of sleep, her eyes were bright, her cheeks pink with life. He reached his free hand to her face, running his knuckles over the satin of her skin.

Finally, she looked up and let out a long sigh. “I'm still mad you.”

“You should be.”

“Why are you making it harder for me to stay angry?”

He shrugged, giving her a gentle smirk. “I'm not trying to.”

“I know.” She looked away, but didn't dislodge his finger, which had stopped under her chin. “That's what's making it hard. You used to pass blame off whenever you could. But you're not that guy anymore, are you?”

Risking another little step toward her, he fully invaded her space. Her feet didn't move, but her breath caught on a sudden intake as her eyes grew wide.

“Jessalynn, I knew I didn't deserve you back then, and I'm not arrogant enough to think that I do now. But I'm trying hard to be a better man. Whatever that looks like. Every day. And today, that means that you can count on me. I won't leave you again.”

“Does that mean that we'll be friends when we get back to San Diego? Will we pick up right where we left off?”

It would have been so easy to say yes. It would also have been a lie. Now that he knew he loved her—and that he could never hurt his brother by trying for a relationship with her—how could he stand being by her side but never holding her? Being her best friend but knowing that he'd never be anything more?

He bit back the easy answer in favor of an honest one. “I don't know. I don't think it's that simple. But if you need me, I will be there for you. All right?”

Her eyes grew wide, deep and stormy as the ocean. Her apron brushed against his, and his breath stirred the chestnut strands that had escaped the rubber band in her hair. Had he stepped closer? Apparently so.

But not close enough.

When his shoe bumped into hers, he paused. Then leaned in a little more.

This was a terrible idea. He had no business getting so near to her. Again. It was bound to lead to the same place it had last time.

But his promise deserved to be sealed with a kiss. And any good military man knew better than to argue with protocol.

Slipping both arms around her back, he pulled her all the way against him. She squeaked and pressed her hands to his chest. The hum in his ears started low and slow, building with every second as he memorized her face. The freckles sprinkled over her nose hadn't changed, but the fine lines on either side of her smile were new. Her lips were pink and smooth and hanging open just enough to show off her adorably crooked front tooth. Long lashes fluttered over her eyes, never lifting much past the level of his nose.

Maybe she was as mesmerized by his lips as he was by hers.

Could they have had ten years of this? If he'd just talked with Sal? If he'd been honest with himself? If he hadn't been a coward?

Just how much he'd thrown away, Will would never know.

But for a second, he set aside regrets and just let himself enjoy the moment.

Only a breath away, he whispered, “I won't leave you again.”

Jess rose on her toes, pushing their lips together with a hunger and passion that made the rest of the world vanish. The lab, the toxin, the mission. All of it disappeared as her fingers curled over the edge of his apron.

She was like thunder in his arms, powerfully uncontainable, and he couldn't let go for fear that he'd never capture anything like it again.

Taking back control, he deepened the kiss, enjoying the way her hands wandered to his neck and the hollow behind his ear. Cool fingertips danced along the back of his jaw, scraping against his whiskers, until his entire body trembled. Or was it Jess who was shaking?

Where he stopped and she started had turned fuzzy as his head spun.

He couldn't breathe, didn't want to if it meant this kiss had to end.

Jess fell heavily against him, her legs seemingly unable to hold her upright a moment longer. He pulled back just long enough to suck in oxygen and scoop her onto the counter before catching the corner of her mouth again.

She clung to his arms as if they were a lifeline and she was drowning.

Maybe she was. Maybe they both were.

All he knew for sure was that it was the sweetest drowning he'd ever known.

But this had to be the last time.

He pulled away, hoping to end the torture before it was too late, before he couldn't form a coherent reason why it couldn't be like this for the rest of forever.

Her lips were rosy and swollen and trembling. They parted in a silent breath, and he was completely undone.

* * *

Jess couldn't breathe. Will had effectively sucked all the air out of the room, out of her life. But she needed him, needed his strength and his heart, way more than she needed oxygen. So when he pulled away, she clamped her eyes closed against the immediate sense of loss.

She felt like vapor, flying in every direction, uncontained and unrestrained. Pressing her lips together, she tried to collect her thoughts, but it was as useless as grabbing for a balloon caught in the wind.

Not even the edge of the counter digging into the back of her thighs could bring her to the present.

And then his lips found hers again.

Settling his lean hips between her knees, he cupped the back of her head, cradling and protecting her and making her forget every reason for her bitterness.

She couldn't find the right grasp on him, so her hands roamed over his arms, across the long muscles of his shoulders and up his neck. The short hairs at his collar tickled her fingers, so she played with them. A deep and satisfied groan filled her, and it took her a moment to realize it had come from him.

Somehow, someday, she was going to make him make that sound again.

But before she could even attempt it, the heavy padlock on the door clicked.

Her stomach jolted, but Will was faster, sliding her down his front until her wobbling legs had to support her weight.

“Be ready tonight. I'll come for you after midnight.”

Her brain had turned to mush, and his words didn't make any sense. “Where are we going?”

“Over the wall.”

Everything snapped together, and she pulled herself upright, heels together and shoulders level. Just as the heavy metal door swung in, she ran her hand over her ponytail and tried to straighten any flyaway wisps.

It was too late for a complete overhaul, and she just hoped she didn't look as if she'd just been kissed. Thoroughly.

El Jefe and Arturo sauntered in, shoulder to shoulder, then parted to reveal a tall, sleek man, whose gray suit shimmered in late-afternoon remnants of sunlight. His eyes could have pierced solid cement. He ran a palm over his oil-slicked hair before using two ringed fingers to pinch his lips.

Jess's heart skipped a beat at the intensity of his perusal.

When he lowered his hand, he cracked his knuckles one at a time, each a deliberate action.

“Hello. My name is Juan Carlos Reyes Alvarez.” His gaze followed a sharp path between Will and Jess. “You'll be avenging my brother's death. I want them to suffer.”

TWELVE

W
ill was still sick from the short interview with the cartel's kingpin. Juan Carlos had a smugness about him that curdled what little was in Will's stomach, and the man's complete lack of regard for human life made Will's skin crawl.

He wasn't just a guy who did bad things.

He was a man who took pleasure in wreaking havoc and death.

And he'd convinced himself that what he was doing was the right and true thing.

Will sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing his hands slowly together, the hiss of skin against skin the only sound in his room.

Juan Carlos hadn't said much more after his formal introduction. Except, “We are so pleased to have two such astute scientists with us. For the time being.”

Jess had jumped at the unspoken threat of those four little words, and Will had fought every urge in his body not to scoop her up and run away at that moment. Forget the toxin. Forget the armed guards and whatever those booby traps were outside the wall. Forget the rival cartel and the danger of the surrounding jungle.

None of it mattered if Jess was in harm's way.

But acting brash wasn't going to save either of them.

So he had swallowed every protective instinct and stood his ground, just a little in front of her, slightly more in the path of Arturo's gun, if he decided to use it.

Behind closed eyes, Will played out every possible scenario he could come up with for their escape. Ideally, he'd go to the lab alone, pick up the powder still stored in the refrigerator, then pick up Jess at her cell. He'd give her the toxin, and he'd take her mattress, which he'd sling over the barbed wire and glass atop the wall near the compound's northwest corner. He'd boost Jess up and over, and he'd follow.

They'd be free, if they could avoid the danger represented by those red marks on the map. He could see their positions on the map in his mind's eye. He just didn't know for sure what they were.

And an unknown in this scenario could mean the difference between escape and death.

“God, I'm at a loss here. You know that I am. I need Your help.” The prayer seemed to bounce around the empty room, and with a sigh Will leaned his elbows onto his knees.

When he'd first met L.T. and Rock, he'd known there was something special about them. It wasn't just the never-say-die attitude or spirit of brotherhood on the teams. It wasn't only their hard work or integrity. They wore peace like body armor and hope like a helmet.

After a long first year on the teams, Will had realized he needed that same peace and hope if he ever wished to make it out of his service in the navy intact. It wasn't about fear of physical injury or being a sin eater. It was about knowing that with God on his side the rest would take care of itself.

But just now, that peace seemed like a distant memory.

Whether he felt peace or not, this was about rescuing Jess and keeping his promise.

He'd get her home by Christmas.

With another silent prayer for protection and stealth, he stood, marched to his window and hoisted himself up until his feet slid through the opening.

He landed on the ground in a crouched position, looking left, then right, and listening for anything out of the ordinary. The moon had been eclipsed by a heavy overlay of gray clouds, and he could make out only the outlines of the neighboring buildings. The wind howled through the alleys, carrying the scent of December's heavy monsoons. And something else.

He sniffed twice before he recognized the sour odor of tequila and unwashed bodies.

By then it was too late.

Two men rushed around a nearby corner, tackling him at his knees, while a third wrapped an arm around Will's neck. Black spots flashed in front of his eyes as his oxygen supply diminished.

The men screeched in low tones, ordering each other to hold him down, which Will made relatively simple.

Oh, he maintained the facade of fighting back, clawing at the arm around his neck and kicking one attacker in the stomach. The man grunted and let go. The others just yelled louder. Will let them pull him into a liquor-scented fog and went back to waiting for the right moment.

They didn't know that he had been here before. In this very situation. Without air. Without a weapon.

He'd been trained how to fight back, which made him smile. But only for a second. Then he smashed his head into the face of the man at his back. Cartilage crunched and something hot dripped down Will's neck. The man screamed a string of curses and let go, to cover his broken, bleeding nose.

Taking great gulps of air, Will turned on the man holding his legs. The Panamanian's eyes were wide and vividly white in the darkness, his grip loosening even before Will gave his jaw a solid right hook. The man crumpled into a whimpering heap.

Will spun in a slow circle, glaring down at the attackers littering the ground below his window. They were unorganized and inebriated, and not at all what he'd expect from El Jefe's goons.

And then he knew.

They were just the first wave.

He spun in time to see the outline of a man raise his arm. Will jumped to the side, at the same time a gunshot split the air.

His scalp was on fire. From the root of his hair to the tips, it burned, and something thick and sticky oozed down the side of his face. He tried to lift his head from where it rested against his outstretched arm on the ground, but the flaming pain at his temple kept him firmly in place.

Two men approached him, the one with the gun pointing it again in his direction.

“Wait.” Will had never been so happy to hear El Jefe's high-pitched squeak.

“Why?” Even though he could see only feet, Will knew Arturo's slow drawl far too well.

“Because I said so.”

Arturo muttered something that Will couldn't quite make out. Clearly unhappy, he kicked Will in the side, sending him coughing and sputtering in the grass.

Will had been lower than this. He'd been wet and sandy for days. He'd run for miles with a boat over his head. He'd survived Hell Week and the rest of the tortures that filled SEAL training.

A little gunshot wound and a bruised kidney weren't enough to take him out of the picture.

What was it that Luke was always saying? A head wound would bleed forever but rarely kill a man?

Will prayed that was the truth and not just a medic's tall tale, because he had to get to Jess.

He had to get her out of here. He'd promised.

But a promise wasn't enough to keep the darkness from swallowing him whole as Arturo punched him right where the bullet had grazed his skull.

* * *

Jess pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs and leaning against the unforgiving wall. Her toe tapped an inconsistent beat on the wrench that lay on the floor by her side. Darkness surrounded her, only a sliver of light from the cracks in the door allowing her to distinguish the form of the metal bed frame from the rest of the night.

She'd tried to sleep, but it didn't come easily after the encounter with Juan Carlos, and Will's cryptic last words to her.
Be ready.

Of course, it couldn't have anything to do with the heart-stopping kiss he'd given her just before that. Or the way she fit perfectly against his chest. Or the earthy scent of his hair that she still picked up when she closed her eyes.

Resting her chin on her knee, she closed her eyes, just waiting. Waiting for Will.

She'd gotten pretty good at that over the years, but tonight was wrapped up with a red-ribboned promise. He'd sworn that he'd come for her.

And she actually believed he would.

Strange. It hadn't been a conscious decision to put faith in his word again. If it had been, she'd have chosen the other way. She'd have talked herself out of trusting him just to save the inevitable heartache that loving and relying on someone always brought.

Love.

Whoa! Where had that come from?

Will had been closer than a brother, more than just a friend. Ten years ago, she'd cared about him and—if she was truly honest, which this silent cell seemed to demand—she'd loved him with an innocent, childlike love. She'd trusted him, just as she'd trusted her father. Maybe because she saw so many similarities between the two. Strength. Loyalty. Compassion.

Will had tucked her, the new kid, under his arm on their first day of junior high. He'd protected her from the snobby girls and the bullies, and given her a lunch table to join. He'd sat with her on the bus and even walked her most of the way home.

He'd done that, and so much more, for six years. How could she not love him at least a little?

But she most certainly didn't love him now. At all. Even a little bit.

Maybe she'd just keep telling herself that.

At least she could trust him.

He would be there—

A gunshot shattered the silence, and she jumped, cracking her head against a cinder block and letting out a cry. Scrambling to her feet, she scooped up her weapon and sneaked toward the entrance.

The wood was cool and damp as she pressed her ear against the door.

All was silent.

Then came a screech that could have peeled paint.

Lord, please don't let that be Will.

A quiet voice in her heart reminded her that Will would never make a sound like that. He was probably fine. It was likely an out-of-control gambling game. Or someone who had gotten on Juan Carlos's bad side.

Just the thought turned her blood to ice.

She and Will were about to be right there.

Her breath was shaky as she let it out, and she hugged her wrench to her chest. The words of her prayer were lost in the fog of her mind as she fought for control and something stable to cling to as tears streamed unbidden down her cheeks.

“I will never leave you or forsake you.”

Nearly audible in the silence, the words of her dad's favorite Bible verse reverberated through every fiber of her being, from the very depths of her soul. She wanted to shout back at the memory of those words.

Her mom had promised the same thing.

Will had said he'd stay by her side.

And where were they now? Her mother had dropped her off at school and never bothered to return for her. And Will? Only God knew if he'd been held up by that firefight. Or worse, involved. Wherever he was, he wasn't where he'd promised to be.

How could she trust that God would be there when no one else in her life seemed capable of sticking around? It was so much easier to believe in a God who came and went on a whim, only as involved as He wanted to be at any given moment.

That was reality. At least that was the reality she knew.

People came and went and there was nothing she could do to keep them with her.

So why did she keep going back to Him, begging for protection and peace in the good times and the bad? And why did He keep showing up when she called?

Hadn't He sent Will when she'd prayed for help? And when she'd asked that Will remain hidden in that closet, whoever had been after them seemed to vanish in the night.

The questions and their more troubling answers swarmed her heart, tearing and clawing at it, until she dropped the wrench from her lifeless fingers. This wasn't the time for her to have this battle. This was the time to escape. She should be over the wall and running for the United States Embassy.

Instead she was glued to the door, waiting for any other sounds of chaos beyond. But there was only silence. And more time with the voice in her mind, the one that reminded her of Sunday school lessons and Bible verses from a safer place.

Here she was, thousands of miles from her home, from everything she knew, and she was still praying. And still, strangely, sure that God heard her. Could it really be that, no matter where she went, He was with her?

Eventually the sun rose, filtering through the cracks in her door. The compound woke up in fits and starts, a low murmur here and there, then nothing for ages. A rumbling jeep and loud shouts, then silence again.

She sank against the wall, slipping all the way to the floor and letting her hands rest in her lap. With her eyes closed the sounds from the compound seemed magnified. Slamming doors and laughter. Marching feet and loud voices.

But they were all faraway. They weren't coming for her.

No one was coming for her.

Especially not Will.

A tear leaked out of her eye. She swiped at it with her fist, gritting her teeth and checking her emotions.

Maybe he'd changed his mind about it being the right time. Maybe he'd forgotten her. Maybe he'd been held up.

By one of Juan Carlos's goons.

Her stomach threatened to jump to her throat as fear raced through her.
Please, God. No.

Somehow she'd managed to make it through the entire night without letting her mind dwell on the one possibility that was just too much to accept.

If Will had been involved with that gunshot, she was most likely on her own again. It was up to her to make it home in one piece, with the toxin in hand, all by herself.

But could she leave without knowing what had happened to Will?

Jumping to her feet, she snatched the wrench from the floor. She bounced the cool metal in her palm, weighing it against the task at hand, as she eyed the door. The wood was old and splintered and would easily succumb to a few good blows from the tool. But not without drawing the attention of everyone within a hundred yards.

Far too risky.

She ran a finger over the rusted hinges. There were only two of them holding the door in place. Sticking a fingernail into one of the screws securing the brackets, she twisted until her nail broke at the quick. Stopping just short of popping the throbbing digit into her mouth, she surveyed the damage. Just a little blood. And she had far too much to think about to dwell on the pain.

Dropping to her knees, she wedged the wrench beneath the lip of the hinge. Locking her elbows, she put all of her weight onto the tool.