Operation Summer Storm (16 page)

“Nothing. The file’s safe, but you’ll just have to trust me that I’ve done what I had to in order to protect you. It’s safe,” she promised.

Immediately Willow relaxed, her body giving in to extreme fatigue, and she slumped back against her makeshift cot.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Willow’s voice sounded flat…dead.

“What was I supposed to do? Sit at home and do nothing?” Summer demanded.

“It was my fault I got in this situation; my career that put me in this stinking place. You shouldn’t have suffered because of the choices I’ve made.”

Summer stared at her sister, surprised by the vehemence of her tone. “You’re the only family I have left.”

Willow lifted her gaze to her sister’s face and Summer’s heart clutched as she saw the tears running down her face. “I’ve been a horrible sister Sum. I don’t deserve this. I wish you’d just left me here.”

“You’re not a horrible sister,” Summer protested.

They sat quietly, both lost in their thoughts, until Willows gaze went to her sister’s face, almost as though really seeing her for the first time. “What happened to you?” Willow asked, her eyes on the red graze still at her temple.

Summer gave a slight wince as she touched it, “Actually this wasn’t part of the plan…I got to meet your friends, Anna and Michelle, and you’ll be pleased to know they’re safe.”

Willow’s eyes instantly welled up and fat tears dribbled from her eyes. “He showed me the footage…of Philippe.”

Gently, Summer touched her sisters arm, but words wouldn’t come to comfort her. She knew that what happened, had somehow involved the files.

“It’s all my fault. I should never have come here. How did I think I was going to do this, when Michael couldn’t?” she answered brokenly.

“It doesn’t matter now, and it wasn’t your fault; you didn’t pull that trigger out there.”

Snapping her head up, Willow held her sisters gaze with her own tear-streaked one, “I may as well have. How could I believe protecting a stupid story was worth taking that man’s life? What kind of monster have I turned into?”

Summer stared at her sister, speechlessly. “It’s not just a story. It’s evidence to put that animal out there, away. Giving in to him—surrendering that file is only making it easier for that man to continue killing anyone who gets in his way. Besides, what about Michael and those dead Marines, Tréago slaughtered—his own countrymen, the ones Michael risked his life for, to tell their story, you owe it to them, to make him pay…”

Willow shook her head wearily; obviously, in too much pain and discomfort to talk about it anymore, and Summer watched over her as she fell back into sleep.

* * * *

The loud
flop, flop, flop, flop
of the helicopter momentarily disorientated Summer, caught as she was in the delicate state of consciousness between sleep and awake. As she opened her eyes, she gave a sigh of relief that she hadn’t dreamt the whole rescue. She didn’t want to go through that all over again, any time soon.

Del, seeing she was awake, came over to kneel beside her. “The plan originally, was for your sister to go with the others to an embassy, but Tréago’s still out there and a real threat. We also can’t land a thing this big without drawing attention, so the plan’s changed. Maloney says her injuries won’t be a problem to deal with so, she’s coming with us. We’ll be landing soon, to change transport to something a little less noticeable. I’ll let you know when it’s time to land.”

Summer managed a small nod and gave a weak smile. At least she wouldn’t have to part with her sister so soon after finding her. She just hoped she hadn’t saved her from one danger only to throw her straight into another.

The trip was brief. They landed at an isolated airstrip where they changed from the helicopter to a plane—an aircraft that looked suspiciously like a postal plane. Willow was advised to make herself comfortable for the long trip ahead. She looked at her watch. It was just after midnight. Resting her head back on the headrest of her seat, she closed her eyes and sighed. Less than five hours ago, she’d been in the middle of a battlefield. She gave a chuckle, as she imagined trying to find anyone who’d believe what she’d just gone through. Her. Quiet, predictable Summer Sheldon, who lived in the same house she’d grown up in and still drove around in the first car she’d ever bought? She could hardly believe she’d done it either.

How d
oes
a person go back to living a quiet suburban life after this? She wondered, then realized, she could. She was no G.I. Jane. What she longed for was a hot bath and a soft bed, and her life would be complete. Complete, but not the same. The more she thought about it—the more she realized maybe this out of body experience she’d been living-her insane trek to track down Tate and his men and the boundaries she’d been forced to push in the process had changed her a little.

She decided that when she got home, she would learn how to sky dive—as a normal person would do it...jumping from a plane in the middle of the night had not been an ideal way to experience a first time jump.

Summer opened her eyes and saw Maloney doing the rounds of the men. He looked tired. She didn’t want to like these men, after all they were effectively now holding her captive…at least until they had the file she’d promised them, but she was drawn to them anyway.

“Can I do something?” Summer offered. “You should be resting.”

“Everything’s under control…thanks,” he said and tacked on a smile.

He seemed like a nice man—in fact they all had a kind of charm about them. Now that Willow was safe, her curiosity was aroused. “You’re as good as any Doctor I’ve ever worked with,” she said keeping her voice low, mindful of the men sleeping, as Maloney walked her back to her seat.

He smiled tiredly. “You have to be versatile in this occupation.”

“I imagine you would,” Summer countered, realizing the sensitive nature of these men and the life they led.

“How come you’re doing this?” she indicated toward the sleeping, wounded around them, “when you could use your skills as a doctor, or a paramedic…whatever you wanted? I don’t understand.”

He sent her a guarded glance as he braced his arms against the row of seats in front of her. “Money talks,” he shrugged and she saw a small flicker of uncertainty cross his face that caught her in the chest.

“Maybe for anyone else but for some reason, I don’t buy that excuse from you.”

“Maybe you’re just seeing what you want to see,” he said, lifting an impassive face to her, before excusing himself to head back to his seat.

The drone of the engines and the darkened cabin area soon made her dozy. She looked over and noticed Tate sprawled on a seat across from her, his hand twitched every now and then and she wondered what he was dreaming about…one thing for sure, his sleep was not a peaceful one. Deciding to put her curiosity to rest for the time being, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

* * * *

The night vision goggles lit up the blurry green shapes of his men, as they ran across the rocky ground toward the building before them.

Alpha One moved in closer as Tate, and his team—Alpha Two, took up their positions, waiting for the signal to move in.

They hit the compound hard. The two teams had worked together for so long, they knew instinctively what each member of the team was thinking, carrying out their mission like a perfectly, choreographed dance.

They located the stockpile of arms and had them loaded onto the chopper. The whole operation took under fifteen minutes to complete.

Yet, in his gut, Tate knew something wasn’t right. He had no idea what it was, but something was very wrong.

Then it happened—Alpha Two were covering Alpha One, as they made a final sweep of the compound, ready to pull out—when suddenly the chopper lifted off the ground without warning. Its streamlined nose, with its deadly missiles attached swung toward the returning Marines.

Tate shouted but his warning was drowned out by the scream of the chopper’s motor and the ear-splitting roar of the machine gun as it sliced through the men on the ground, cutting them in half with the ferocity of the attack.

Pandemonium erupted—screams, engines, machine—gunfire and his own voice yelling through his head set, that they were under attack, calling for support that would never come. Then the whole compound exploded as a RPG ripped through it, caving in the bunker, and annihilating everyone within.

* * * *

A small spot of turbulence caused Summer’s head to bang painfully against the side of the plane where she’d been resting it—she sat up and stretched the kinks from her neck. Looking across the aisle she saw Tate sat holding his bandaged shoulder with a grimace of pain etched on his face.

Crossing to his seat, she touched his arm. He opened his eyes and focused on her face as she leaned over him in concern. “Are you all right?” she kept her voice low, again mindful of the others sleeping nearby.

“I’m fine.”

Summer noticed the sweat beading on his brow. Movement caused him a great deal of pain. He was just too stubborn and pig-headed to admit it. Somewhere along the line he’d wiped off the camouflage paint that had covered his face. His jaw she noticed—now covered with a dark shadow of beard gave him a mean, unapproachable and yes—she had to admit it—down right sexy look.

“If you start that thing bleeding again, we’re both in big trouble,” she pointed out—-”lay back and I’ll get you something for the pain.”

“I don’t want another damn shot,” he growled irritably.

Summer bit back a smile, he sounded like a disgruntled little boy—not a big bad mercenary, but she wisely kept the observation to herself. “Do you want me to sit with you?” she asked, expecting a sarcastic decline, but was surprised when he said, “Yes.”

Looking about, she searched for something—anything really, to discuss. Butterflies rose unexpectedly in her stomach. “So,” she said, “here we are,” inwardly she groaned, way to dazzle him with her conversation technique. She blushed and felt like a blundering idiot.

“Here we are,” he echoed.

“Why are you called Ox?” she asked. It had been something she had wondered about since first hearing the others use it.

He gave a slow smile and raised an eyebrow slightly.

“Oh—” Summer groaned.

Tate gave a surprised chuckle, “No, it’s got nothing to do with, ah…that.” He shook his head, still smiling, “Although…”

She put her hand up in warning. “I changed my mind—I don’t want to know.” It was tough trying to keep your thoughts pure and wholesome while in close proximity of a half naked—albeit injured man, but damn it, she was trying.

“Just a spin off on my surname I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” she said almost disappointed it had been so innocent after all. She caught his wince as he tried to settle his arm into a more comfortable position. “I guess this is kind of an occupational hazard for you then. Getting shot I mean,” she stammered uncomfortably.

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I usually try my best to avoid it,” he murmured and Summer squirmed in her seat.

“Why do you do it?” she blurted, “risk your lives doing this kind of thing? For the money? It doesn’t make sense. You can’t be making so much it’s worth getting killed for.”

Tate’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “We don’t do this for the money.”

“Then why?”

Tate shrugged his good shoulder and turned his head away, “someone has to do it. You weren’t too fussy about the reasons behind all this when you asked us to risk our lives for your sister,” he added.

“I didn’t have time to be fussy about a lot of things before,” she muttered.

“This is what we do.” He paused. “You haven’t forgotten the small matter of collecting the file, have you?”

“You know, it’s not necessary for you to come with me to collect it. I could just send it to you.”

Tate turned his head and sent her a skeptical look. “Yeah, we’re going to just let you go home and slap an air mail stamp on it.”

“So, you’re going to follow me all the way home?” she asked doubtfully.

“Honey we’re gonna’ follow you to the moon if that’s where the file is.”

Chapter Eleven

Los Cavernas Island,

The Philippines,

By the time they reached the island in another fishing boat, it was low tide. Summer remembered from the last visit—there was no dock to tie up to, and sighed as she realized she faced another dunking in the water.

Willow had been placed in the dingy and taken ashore. Folding her sister’s blanket, Summer turned to follow the others but was surprised when Del swung her up and passed her over the side of the boat into Tate’s arms.

“What are you doing?” she squeaked in protest as he settled her against his familiar warm chest.

“You’d rather swim?” he asked cocking an eyebrow.

Of course she wouldn’t—she was sick and tired of wearing wet clothes—sick to death of water full stop. “You shouldn’t be carrying me; you’ll hurt your shoulder.”

“Nag, nag, nag,” he said shaking his head.

“Fine you mule headed man, carry me. I hope your arm gives you curry for the rest of the night,” she said giving up, and dropping her head to his good shoulder. She breathed in the sweaty male scent that clung to him and wondered why it smelled so good on him.