Forget Me Not (39 page)

Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!
Fire leapt out of the muzzle as it spewed rounds at the helicopter. The Osprey was already buffeted by the winds. To Gabe's horror, the rounds made contact with the rear rotor of the helo, making the bird impossible to control. Through the gray drizzle and across the distance between them, Gabe couldn't tell who the pilot was, but he suspected it was Luther, their only trained aviator. The tail of the helo swung left and right.

Jump!
Gabe thought, tearing his gaze from the chopper in distress to the madman who had paused to watch it flounder. Gabe was too close to shoot Lovitt without killing him, and killing him was not his intent.

"You're the murderer, not me," he growled, stowing his weapon. Then he tackled the CO, coiling an arm around Levitt's neck and squeezing. Unfortunately, Lovitt's fingertips were still on the trigger and, to Gabe's dismay, he got off a few more rounds.

The helo tilted at an unnatural angle, then fell like a stone, streaming smoke behind it: It hit the roiling waves with a noisy crash.

Gabe gaped in disbelief. That was
his
man that had just gone down. Luther Lindstrom—a man without a mean bone in his body, who'd turned down gobs of money playing football because he was a patriot first.

Gabe's grip closed off Lovitt's windpipe. He could feel the CO struggling feebly, yet his hold didn't loosen. Visions of the warehouse exploding, of his yearlong incarceration kept him rigid. He was barely cognizant of the fact that his men had set cover for each other and were picking their way forward.

"Jaguar!" Master Chief was the first to reach him, shaking Gabe by the shoulders to break him out of his trance. "Let go, sir." He tried to pry Lovitt free of Gabe's death grip. Regaining his senses with a start, Gabe released the CO abruptly. Lovitt hit the deck with a thud. With a cough and a wheeze, the man revived. Gabe stared at him dispassionately. Rainwater splattered the commander's face.

"He'll live," said Master Chief, sounding a little disappointed. He gave Gabe a probing look. "You okay, sir?"

Gabe's gaze strayed out into the choppy gray waters. "Luther," he said, in a strained voice.

"I saw him jump," Sebastian assured him. "He'll be all right. Rodriguez, on the other hand, is dead."

"He betrayed me," Gabe added, handing Sebastian Rodriguez's weapon. "Apparently he was part of Lovitt's little scheme."

He and the master chief shared a dark look. Gabe severed their gazes as Westy and Vinny appeared, looking harried. "Both of them fucking jumped ship," Westy exclaimed.

Gabe's scalp prickled. "Where's the third one?" he asked. Master Chief swung around. "There were three?"

"Three in addition to Rodriguez and Lovitt," Gabe confirmed. He leapt to his feet. "I'm all over it," he added, determined to avenge all that had been done to him. He spared Lovitt a glance. "You mind dragging that asshole into the bridge for me?"

"Not at all," Sebastian drawled.

Helen, Leila, and Mallory waited for the SEALs to pull out of sight before they followed them. By the time they arrived at Little Creek, it was swarming with military police, gunning their small patrol boats in preparation for a trip out to sea.

"Oh, my God," Helen breathed, seeing it as a bad sign. Something had happened to Gabe. Life was just too perfect right now; she knew it couldn't stay that way.

Catching sight of a familiar face among the MPs, she pulled her two companions toward a patrol boat "Artie!" she called. It was Artie Coonz, a faithful attendee of her lunchtime fitness class. "Can you tell us what's happening?" she asked.

Artie squinted up at her. "Got a Mayday from a PC," he shouted over the engine.

Helen's knees trembled. "You have to take us with you," she insisted.

"No, ma'am. I'm not carrying civilians into a situation."

"Pretend you don't see us," Helen retorted, urging Mallory and Leila to jump on board.

Artie grumbled something about losing his stripes. "Get into the cabin and stay out of sight" he relented.

With the feeling that none of this could be real, Helen leaned against the shelter's wall, clinging to her companions, as Artie guided them out into the water. The little boat slammed through the waves. A siren screamed over their heads; the deck jerked beneath their feet. Mallory looked green about the gills. Leila squeezed Helen's hand.

Helen closed her eyes, praying all this haste would be for nothing. How could a man who'd made it to the rank of commander betray his own men?

She opened her eyes to see the PC directly ahead, a larger craft than the one she was on. It bobbed in the choppy waters, going nowhere. Cold fear gripped her as she saw smoke rising from the water some distance away. Even standing in the enclosed cabin of the police craft, she could smell gunfire. She glanced at Mallory, who was searching the few figures aboard the PC for signs of Gabe.

Someone aboard the bigger craft waved at them, summoning them closer.

"It's Sebastian," Leila cried with a telling hitch in her voice.

As the patrol boats approached the hull of the PC, the MPs tossed up grapple tines, securing the smaller boats to the larger boat's side. Helen recognized Westy who was helping on his end. But where was Gabe?

Too impatient to wait, she ordered Leila and Mallory to stay put and stepped out of the cabin. The rain had subsided to a drizzle, but the sirens were still wailing, and men were shouting over the throbbing of engines. Military police shinnied up the sides of the PC on Jacob's ladders.

Helen grasped the rail of the patrol boat "Vinny!" she called, catching a glimpse of a familiar dark head.

He peered over the edge of the
Nor'easter.

"Where's Gabe?"

He looked disconcerted to see her. "He's okay," he shouted back. "We're looking for a missing tango. Stay out of sight."

A missing tango.
That meant one of the bad guys was not accounted for. Helen turned to beat a retreat into the cabin when she caught sight of a figure rising up out of a cargo hold near the rear of the PC. He sprang into sight like a nightmare jack-in-the-box, an antitank gun on one shoulder.

"Oh, my God," she whispered as fear gripped her. She'd seen enough war movies to know what a weapon that size could do.

To her horror, the cold-eyed renegade pointed his weapon down the length of the PC, at the pilothouse where most of the activity was going on.

Dear Lord. He's going to blow up the ship and take everyone with it, including himself!
She took an astonished step backward, trodding on Mallory's toes as her daughter came up behind her. "Mom?" Mallory queried.

Helen didn't wait for someone aboard the PC to notice the threat and eliminate it. Pulling Gabe's Glock from beneath her shirt, she aimed at the would-be assassin. Never in her life had she pointed a weapon at a person. But this was different. Her hands were remarkably steady as she squeezed the trigger, thinking,
Over my dead body!

On board the
Nor'easter,
Gabe was closing in on his prey. Technically, now that the MPs had arrived, he could leave it to them to hunt down the last tango. The man might have bailed ship like the others, but he'd learned from experience never to assume anything. He might well be plotting an offensive belowdecks.

Just to make sure, Gabe skulked along the narrow passageway, past the sleeping quarters, the showers, and the mess. At the end of the corridor, he came to the artillery storage area. A tug on the airlock revealed that it'd been jammed from the inside. Coincidence, or not? There was only one other means of entering or escaping that area of the ship, and that was through a hatch that opened onto the deck above.

With a jolt of horror, Gabe realized that the renegade could have come this way to arm himself. There were a number of lethal weapons in the room beyond. If the man escaped through the hatch on deck, he could wreak unspeakable havoc.

Jesus!
Gabe changed direction, sprinting toward the exit, shouting raw warnings to anyone who might hear him. As he burst onto the deck, his gaze flew toward the rear of the ship. He was horrified to see that he was right. The renegade had popped out of the hold with an AT-4 antitank weapon on his shoulder. He was aiming it straight at the heart of the ship. Any second now, Gabe would see a ball of fire streaking toward him, and then... nothing.

The crack of a pistol rent the air, and Gabe flinched, expecting scalding pain. To his astonishment, the enemy faltered, clutching a hand to his abdomen. He fell to one knee.
Christ, someone had shot the man,
Gabe realized.

But he wasn't dead yet. His finger tensed convulsively about the trigger, and the antitank gun discharged with a roar. Gabe dived for cover as the shaped charge rocketed over his head. He expected the deck to buckle beneath him, expected to be swallowed in an upwelling of shrapnel and heat, but instead the PC merely bucked and rolled. Water showered the deck, telling him that the antitank round had exploded underwater.

Weak with relief, Gabe dragged himself up again. The renegade was injured but still a threat. The man struggled to his feet, fighting to center the AT-4 on his shoulder. Gabe didn't wait for him to fire again. With a roar of denial, he charged the man, firing as he ran. Three bullets punctured the man's chest before he finally collapsed, his weapon clanging loudly as it hit the steel deck.

Approaching the dead outlaw, Gabe slanted a look to his left, curious to know who had shot him in the first place. What he saw made him stop dead in his tracks.

There stood Helen aboard an MP patrol boat bobbing at the PC's side. She stood as stiff as a statue, pistol still gripped between both hands.

His wife had shot the freaking renegade. She'd kept the
Nor'easter
from going up in a fireball and ultimately saved every single soul aboard the PC.

The strength leaked out of Gabe's legs. He staggered toward the rail and gaped down at the trio below. "What the hell are you all doing here!" he roared, envisioning with horror what had nearly happened.

Helen tucked the weapon back into her shorts and offered up a shaky smile. "Hi, honey," she called. "We thought you might need help."

Jesus, God.
Terror gave way to relief. Gabe's legs went out completely, making it necessary to turn around and sit down fast, his back to the rail.

"Honey?" Helen shouted up at him. "Are you okay?"

She sounded so distressed that he forced himself to rise again, though his legs wobbled precariously. "Stay there," he said, pointing a finger so she would know exactly where
there
was. "Sebastian!" he roared, summoning the master chief from the forecastle.

Sebastian raced to Gabe's side and looked quizzically overboard. "Yes, sir?" Seeing Leila with the other women, his jaw fell open and the blood drained from his tan face.

"I think she loves you," Gabe said as he clambered over the rail. He descended the Jacob's ladder, still weak with relief, and jumped the last few rungs. In two long strides, he closed the distance between himself and his family, engulfing Helen and Mallory in a rib-crushing embrace. The urge to berate his wife battled with the realization that he and everyone aboard the PC owed their life to her.

Torn by conflicting urges, he did the only other thing he could think of. He crushed his mouth to hers, kissing her with every ounce of frustration and love that roiled in him.

By some form of mutual consent the sirens aboard the three patrol boats fell suddenly mute. Someone aboard the PC whistled in approval. Gabe lifted his head to regard Helen with amazement. "You just saved my life, woman," he exclaimed. "Mine and every other goddamn person aboard the ship. Don't you ever follow me into danger again!" he yelled.

She shook her head apologetically. "We didn't want to lose you, Gabe."

He looked at Mallory, whose level look implied that they would have shot a hundred bad guys just to save his sorry hide.

"You'll never lose me," he growled, squeezing them both. "Chief," he said, turning to Artie, who hovered behind them, "let's take this craft and search the area for my junior lieutenant. He jumped from the helo several minutes ago."

"Aye, aye, sir." Artie responded to the authority in Gabe's tone, calling several men off the bigger ship to join them. Sebastian climbed stiffly down the Jacob's ladder and helped unhook the grapple lines. He kept his back turned to Leila.

Artie shooed the women back into the pilothouse, and they chugged away to begin the heart-thudding search for Luther Lindstrom.

"He's furious with me," Leila commented with a stricken expression.

Helen put an arm around her. "Well, if you missed it, Gabe was mad at me too. It's a good sign, really it is."

"What if he never speaks to me again?" Leila added, sounding truly alarmed at the prospect.

"He will," Helen swore. "He's just rattled, that's all, and he doesn't appreciate being rattled in front of his men."

Shouts outside the cabin wrenched their attention to the front of the boat. Artie hefted a life buoy in one hand and was preparing to hurl it overboard. Helen strained on tiptoe to see over the fore portion of the boat. At the same time an ocean swell lifted Luther into view. Other than the fact that he was soaked and shaken, he looked no worse off for having jumped from a flailing helicopter.

With a whispered prayer of gratitude, Helen slumped back against her companions. This day's events could have ended in a number of horrific tragedies, but they hadn't. Righteousness had prevailed, just the way it was supposed to.

L
abor Day gave Echo Platoon an excuse to celebrate their victory over corruption. The weather could not have been more amenable to a party on Gabe and Helen's newly stained deck. The breeze rolling off the ocean kept the sun from broiling them. In the event that one of the revelers still became overheated, there was plenty of iced tea, beer, and wine coolers to refresh them. There was also the promise of the waves, spilling gently onto shore a mere hundred yards away.

Gabe was king of the grill. He'd cooked up burgers that disappeared in record time and was now turning the barbecued ribs. As Helen oversaw the distribution of chips and napkins, her gaze strayed repeatedly to Gabe's handsome profile. She relived again the nightmare that had occurred two weeks ago, marveling at how closely they'd come to losing all that they'd rediscovered in each other's arms.