SEALs of Summer 2: A Military Romance Superbundle (119 page)

Claire hunkered low and kept running toward the downed man.

The rebels cheered, loaded into trucks and raced from the village to the fallen aircraft, headlights piercing the darkness.

Flames rose from the crash site and another explosion rocked the ground beneath Claire’s feet.

Keeping close to the shadows of trees and bushes, Claire arrived at the spot she thought she’d seen the man fall. At first, all she could make out was the charred remains of a mud and straw building that had long been burned to the ground. Outside the village, it had probably belonged to a shepherd. Now the hut was nothing but a jumble of grass, rocks and sticks.

Claire glanced all around and was about to give up and hide herself when she heard a moan.

The trucks with the rebels would be near her position any minute.

To the side of a large pile of the rubble, lay a dark figure. Claire crouched beside him and checked for a pulse by pressing two fingers to his neck. If she had time, she’d unbuckle his helmet and loosen his bulletproof vest. But she didn’t, and he didn’t have the time for her to do anything but kick, scrape and rake rocks and bramble over his body, hiding him from view of the rebels, should they pause to check out the remains of the hut.

Claire did the best she could before throwing herself into the brush behind a large bush. There she lay, breathing as quietly as she could.

Men carrying guns tromped past the burned-out shell of the structure, barely glancing in the direction of the man half-hidden beneath rocks, brush and sticks.

As soon as the men went by, Claire returned to the man in black, aware more rebels would be headed their way. She had to do a better job of hiding the soldier or risk him being discovered.

Irish floated in
and out of consciousness. Each time he tried to sit up, pain shot through his head, his vision clouded and he slipped back into an abyss of nothingness. Several times a pale feminine face hovered over his, surrounded by blue-tinged, light-colored hair. Cool fingers pressed to the base of his throat. “Did I die?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Shh.” She pressed a slim finger to his lips.

He puckered, kissing the pretty lady’s finger. “Are you an angel?” Was it against the rules to kiss an angel? He didn’t care.

“You have to be silent,” his angel said. “Lie very still.” She pushed rocks and brush over his body.

Irish blinked in and out, disturbed that his angel seemed intent on burying him. A stab of pain ripped through his head again, and he winced. “Dead sure hurts a lot.”

“You’re not dead,” she assured him.

Though the SEAL in the back of his mind echoed
death was the easy way out,
none of his muscles responded to do anything about it. He lay as still as a dead man, slipping back into the blackness.

On another trip up to consciousness, moonlight barely came to him through the leaves and branches piled on his face. He lay on the hard ground, rocks and bramble digging into his back, his body covered in dirt, branches and grass. The earthy smell of dirt and dried leaves filled his nostrils. Again, he attempted to sit up, but the weight of his own body and the rubble covering him was more than he could lift.

In the back of his mind, he knew there was something he should be doing. A task both dangerous and urgent. If only he could stand, grab his weapon and move. Again, he slipped away, waking only when he felt hands on his chest and legs.

He tried to raise his arm to block the attack, but he couldn’t make it move. It was as though a heavy weight had settled over his entire body. He was helpless to move and not conscious enough to protest.

“Lie still,” the angel’s voice whispered into his ear, her breath warm against his skin.

He blinked open his eyes and stared up into dark pools of indigo. There she was again, the woman who’d visited him before. He wanted to know her name. He opened his mouth to ask, but the pain knifed through his head, and he moaned.

“Shh. You must be quiet, or we’ll be caught,” his angel whispered.

“Kiss me.” His head and body ached, and his vision grew more blurred. “Please.”

“If you promise to be quiet.”

He blinked once. “SEAL’s honor.”

She bent and pressed her lips to his.

He smiled, the pain receding for a moment, warmth stealing over him at her touch. She truly was an angel of mercy.

The sounds of footsteps and equipment rattling nearby disturbed the night.

“Lie still,” his angel repeated. She covered his face with a branch and disappeared.

If he died now, at least he’d go having been kissed by an angel.

‡

C
laire suffered through
several groups of rebels passing near her location. Between each group, she scurried over to her soldier and rearranged the brush he’d disturbed.

He was restless and in pain, but she could do nothing about it until she moved him out of danger.

Thankfully, the rebels on foot and in trucks were more intent on reaching the downed helicopter. Apparently, they hadn’t been close enough to notice the man who’d fallen out before it crash-landed. They concentrated their search efforts on finding the other souls on board the doomed aircraft.

As another group of al-Shabaab fighters passed through, Claire flattened herself to the ground and lay as still as possible. They trickled through, some moving faster than the others. All carrying guns.

A shout rose up from the men who reached the helicopter first and the others ran to catch up. Gunfire erupted, along with shouting. But there were not screams of pain and the gunfire seemed to be an unloading of weapons into the darkness, the rapid firing indicating the men were strafing the area. Claire hoped that meant the crew and passengers of the helicopter survived the landing and disappeared.

Time passed, and some of the men returned to the village, past the location where Claire and the downed military man lay.

Soon, all was still.

Claire assumed the rebels had given up finding the other occupants of the helicopter. They hadn’t dragged any past her location. More than likely, they had assigned men to guard the crash site in case the passengers returned to destroy the craft.

After approximately thirty minutes had elapsed and no one passed her position, Claire took a deep breath and left her hiding place. This might be her only chance to move the man, if he could stay conscious enough to get to his feet and walk, assuming he wasn’t paralyzed from landing on his back.

Hunkered low, she edged toward the crumbled wall of the structure and searched left and right. The moon was making its descent into the western sky, casting long moon shadows over the ground. Nothing moved.

Claire turned and quickly removed the branches, rocks and rubble from the soldier’s body. When she’d cleared him, she checked his pulse again. She held her breath until she could feel the strong, steady beat. Pressing a finger to his lips, she shook his shoulder and bent close to his ear. “Hey. Wake up.”

He didn’t move.

Her heartbeat kicked into high gear. The longer it took to revive him, the more chance of being found. Though doing so went against her grain, she braced herself to get tough. With the palm of her hand, she lightly slapped his cheek.

A hand shot up and snagged her wrist in a punishing grip.

“I wouldn’t do that again, lass,” he said, his voice low, dangerous. Her soldier’s eyes were open and fierce.

A burst of fear shot through Claire. In the strength of his grasp, Claire figured he could easily snap her wrist. She didn’t know this man, who he was, what he was capable of or his intentions toward her. If he became fully functional, she would be at his mercy.

Swallowing the lump of panic in her throat, she gave him a stern look. “Good. You’re awake. If you want to stay alive, you have to move. And above all, keep quiet.”

“Sure we can’t stay put? I’ve a helluva headache.”

The hint of what sounded like an Irish or Scottish brogue made Claire’s insides curl in a delicious way. She’d noticed it the first time he’d spoken. Now it was more prevalent. That plus the residual tingling of her lips where she’d kissed his added up to make her wonder if she was ill or simply attracted to the man. None of it would matter if she didn’t get him out of this spot in a hurry.

What worried her most was that the fall from the helicopter could have resulted in a spinal injury. Moving him might paralyze him for life. On the other hand, leaving him where he was would be a death sentence. In broad daylight, the rebels would find him all too soon. Paralysis would be the least of his worries.

Claire prayed his spine was uninjured as she took his hand and pulled him to a sitting position.

He swayed and blinked. “Where am I?” he said, his voice low enough she could hear, but hopefully the sound wouldn’t carry far.

“Outside the al-Shabaab-held village of Samada.”

He unstrapped his helmet and took it off. “What happened?”

“You fell out of a helicopter.” She looped his arm over her shoulder. “Right before the helicopter crashed.”

Muscles tensed, he lurched forward, attempting to rise, nearly pushing her over in the process. “Have to get to my team.”

“The rebels are looking for them, but haven’t come through here with anyone yet. I assume the occupants made it out and are gone. We have to get out of here before they find you.” Claire braced her feet and held on as he straightened and found his balance.

Voices sounded in the distance, growing louder, making Claire’s pulse leap. “Someone’s coming.”

“Wait,” he said. “Where’s my rifle?”

“We don’t have time to find it.” She wrapped an arm around his waist and started forward.

Her patient didn’t move. “Get my helmet,” he said. “Can’t risk them finding it.”

Barely balancing the man with one hand, she scooped the helmet off the ground and headed for the goat trail leading into the brush.

The man leaned heavily on her, staggering like a drunk.

Claire prayed he would stay upright until she could get him far enough away from the rebels and the downed helicopter.

He swayed and almost toppled before they’d gone fifteen yards.

The voices behind them were nearly to the rubble where Claire and her soldier had been.

“Get down.” Claire eased him to the ground.

His legs buckled and he dropped to the earth, making no more than a whisper of noise.

Claire rolled her charge behind the dense foliage and then peered back the way they’d come.

Two rebels with their rifles slung over their shoulders stopped beside the crumbled wall. Though Claire understood a little of the native Somali language, they were talking too fast. They mentioned something about their leader Umar being angry. But that was all she got out of their conversation.

One shook a cigarette out of a pack and handed it to the other. A match was struck, making a small flame in the night sky. The tip of a cigarette glowed to life, and the match was tossed onto the pile of leaves and rubble where the soldier had been lying moments before. Immediately, the match flame caught on one of the dried leaves creating a small fire.

The rebel nearest to the match stepped on the flame, putting it out. Then he leaned down, lifted something out of the dirt and held it up to the moonlight.

Damn. A knife. It had probably fallen out of one of the soldier’s pockets.

The discovery made the two rebels excited, and they talked even faster, bringing their guns off their shoulders and into the ready position. One switched on a flashlight, and both men made a three-hundred-sixty degree turn, shining the beam into the brush.

Claire flattened herself to the ground, closing her eyes to a mere squint.

The taller of the two rebels strode toward the goat trail, his gun pointed, his finger on the trigger.

Her breath caught in her throat, Claire remained hidden, not moving so much as an eyelash as the rebel started toward her.

She could see his legs through a gap in the bushes and trees. Five more feet and he’d be able to see them.

The soldier lying on the ground beside her tensed.

She eased a hand over his shoulder.

A shout from farther away made the rebel turn and retreat down the trail and back to the ruins where his buddy waited.

Not in the clear yet, Claire stayed down until the two were joined by three others and the five of them headed toward the crash site.

For a long moment, she lay still, breathing in and out slowly, calming her racing heart. When she thought the coast was well and truly clear, she leaped to her feet and leaned down to the soldier. “Come on, mister.”

“Irish.”

“Irish what?” she asked.

“My name.”

“Well, come on, Irish.” Again, she looped his arm over her shoulder.

He let her pull him to his feet and lead him away from their hiding place.

The going was slow, and by the time they neared the refugee camp, Claire’s back ached. Irish leaned on her so heavily, she thought she might lose him before they arrived.

As tired as she was, she couldn’t just dump him in the camp and ask for help. She had to get him to her tent located on the edge of the makeshift village and hide him. Fortunately, she’d insisted on her tent being set up at a little distance from the others, claiming the location would help her stay healthy to better treat the sick and injured.