Justice Burning (Hellfire #2) (13 page)

At that moment, Jackson slammed open the back door, drawing attention away from Nash.

The man in the ski mask swung his arm toward Jackson.

Nash fired, hitting the man square in the chest, dropping him where he stood.

A car engine revved at the side of the building, backed up to where the man lay on the ground and then shot forward.

Audrey staggered from around the side of the building, a hand braced against the structure. “The other guy has Phoebe. Don’t let him take her.”

Nash dodged around Audrey, focusing all his energy into catching up to that car and rescuing his runaway bride, yet again. He couldn’t let someone hurt her now. In the short amount of time he’d known her, he had fallen under her spell. He couldn’t let it end here. He wouldn’t.

The sedan pulled away, spitting up gravel as it swerved to avoid hitting a truck backing out of a parking space. As it pulled around the backing truck, the sedan hit another truck’s tailgate then spun sideways, the front of the sedan stuck to the tailgate. The sedan’s driver backed away, but couldn’t shake loose from the tailgate. He dragged the truck a few inches and then stopped, the tires of the sedan spinning in the gravel, going nowhere.

Nash didn’t dare shoot the driver when he couldn’t see where he had Phoebe. Instead, he raced for the sedan and reached for the driver’s door and yanked it open.

Inside, a man wearing a ski mask cursed. With one hand on the steering wheel, he held a gun in his other hand, pointing at Phoebe who was tipped sideways against the passenger door, her arms and feet bound in duct tape. “Touch me,” the driver warned, “and I’ll blow her head off.”

“The hell you will,” Phoebe said. She lifted her bound legs and kicked the man’s wrist, sending the gun flying across the seat. Then she kicked again, landing both of her feet in the side of the man’s face. “That’s for hurting my new friends.” She would have kicked him again.

Nash grabbed the man, yanked him out of his seat and threw him onto the ground. When he tried to get up on his hands and knees to scramble away, Nash dropped on top of him, pressing his knee into the small of the man’s back. He held his gun to the man’s head. “Move, and I’ll blow
your
head off,” he said, repeating the same words the man had used to threaten Phoebe.

Sirens wailed in the distance, and footsteps crunched in the gravel beside him.

Phoebe’s father appeared with his bodyguards and Greta Sue. They helped Phoebe out of the car and carefully removed the duct tape from her arms and legs.

By the time the sheriff arrived, the entire saloon had emptied, gathering around Phoebe, Audrey, Nash and Jackson. A fire truck arrived, and Chance climbed down and pushed through the crowd to check over the four of them. He pronounced them fit, with the caveat that Jackson go to the emergency room in case he had a concussion and subsequent swelling in the brain.

Sheriff Olson took possession of the prisoner. “I take it these are the guys who killed Ryan Bratton, the man in the trunk of the car Miss Sinclair brought to Hellfire?”

Phoebe nodded and pointed. “This one admitted to killing Ryan.”

“My word against hers,” the man said with a shrug.

Audrey came to stand beside her. “I will testify I heard him say he killed Phoebe’s fiancé.”

Phoebe’s attacker glared at Audrey. “I want a lawyer.”

“Looks like we have a murder suspect.” Sheriff Olson cuffed the man, put him in the back of his service vehicle and then returned to Phoebe and Nash. “Guess your bodyguard duties are done, Grayson.”

Mr. Sinclair turned to Nash and held out his hand. “Thank you for taking care of my baby girl.” He shook his head. “I might be a big ol’ grouch and a bit pushy, but I love that girl.”

Phoebe hooked her arm through Nash’s. “If you love me, then let me live my life the way I see fit.”

Nash’s chest swelled at Phoebe’s demand. She could have everything handed to her on a silver platter if she returned to her father’s house. But she chose independence. And by the way she was holding onto his arm, she was choosing to stay with him.

Her father nodded. “Seems you’re a better judge of a man than I am.” He shoved a hand through his thick thatch of gray hair. “After you disappeared, I had my private investigator dig into Ryan Bratton’s background a little deeper. I also had my team of accountants check into his corporate dealings. What I found scared the crud out of me. I didn’t know if you’d left of your own volition, or if Bratton kidnapped you. I had no idea Bratton was stealing from the company. I thought he was a good match—a forward-thinking young man with a bright future ahead of him. Someone who could give you everything you deserve.”

Phoebe snorted. “Well, I didn’t deserve him.” She touched her father’s arm. “I always did what you and Mama wanted of me, but I never felt like I belonged in your world.” She glanced around at her new friends. “Though I’ve only been here for a couple of days, I’ve never felt more at home and needed. I want to stay, preferably with your blessing. But, with or without it, I’m staying.”

“You have it,” her father said. “If this place makes you happy, let me help you get set up.”

Phoebe shook her head. “Thanks, but I like making it on my own.”

Her father nodded. “Fair enough. At least let me find a vehicle for you to get around in. I hate to think of you stranded on the roadside.”

“Being stranded on the roadside was where this adventure began.” With a smile, Phoebe leaned into Nash’s body. “I wouldn’t have learned what a wonderful place Hellfire, Texas, was, or the generosity of its people if the car I was driving hadn’t had a flat tire.”

Nash’s heart swelled in his chest. He couldn’t believe she was staying. Having settled things with her father, she could have chosen to take the easy life and go back to Dallas. But she wanted to stay in Hellfire.

He looped an arm around her waist and held her against him, happy and optimistic about the future for the first time since he returned from the war. Nash realized what he’d been missing in his life. Not just a place to call home, but someone to come home to.

If he played his cards right, then Phoebe could be that someone. Now all he had to do was give her time to come around to his way of thinking. He’d show her what a loving, caring family could be, and let her decide for herself if this was what she wanted.

Within minutes, the crowd dispersed, trucks leaving one by one.

Audrey glanced around at the emptying parking lot. “I say we call it a night.”

“I don’t mind working through to regular closing time,” Phoebe offered.

Nash stood by, hoping Audrey would give the girls the rest of the night off.

Audrey glanced at her watch. “Seems it’s already closing time. And I, for one, need to be home in my bed.” She winked at Jackson. “With the man I love.”

Jackson took off his hat and shouted, “Yee-haw!” Then he scooped up Audrey, careful not to disturb her injured leg. “Charli, you can lock up.”

Charli saluted. “Got it.” She turned to the others standing around. “Let’s call it a night.”

“I’m headed back to Dallas,” her father said. “Seems the only places to stay around here are booked through the weekend.”

Phoebe grinned. “It’s rodeo week.”

“That’s what they said.” Mr. Sinclair hugged his daughter. “I know I don’t show it enough, but I really do love you, Phoebe. You can always come home. Never forget that.”

“I won’t,” she whispered.

Her father climbed into his SUV with the bodyguards and left.

“Now that you’re no longer in danger, you could go back to your apartment over Lola’s garage,” Nash offered.

Phoebe took both of his hands. “What do you want me to do?”

“Uh-uh.” He shook his head. “I want you to do what
you
want to do.”

Taking his hand, she grinned. “Since my clothes are all at your place…I think it’s best if I stay there tonight. If that’s okay with you.”

Relief washed over him. “Babe, it’s more than okay. That goes right along with my plan.”

“Oh?” She cocked her brows. “And what plan is that?”

“To win you over with my charm and good looks.”

“Hmm. And if that doesn’t work, you can always flash your badge.” She rose on her toes and whispered in his ear, “I’m a sucker for a man in uniform.”

“And I can’t resist a runaway bride.” He scooped her into his arms and carried her to his truck, settling her on the passenger seat. Before he closed the door, he leaned inside and kissed her long and hard, sweeping his tongue across hers in a promise of more to come.

“I never thought getting stranded on the roadside could be so good,” she said, brushing a finger along his jaw.

“And I never thought coming home would ever feel right again.” He held her close for a long time, inhaling the sweetness that surrounded his auburn-haired beauty. “I didn’t know home was only missing you.”

E
LLE JAMES
also writing as MYLA JACKSON is a
New York Times
and
USA Today
Bestselling author of books including cowboys, intrigues and paranormal adventures that keep her readers on the edges of their seats. With over eighty works in a variety of sub-genres and lengths she has published with Harlequin, Samhain, Ellora’s Cave, Kensington, Cleis Press, and Avon. When she’s not at her computer, she’s traveling, snow-skiing, boating, or riding her ATV, dreaming up new stories. Learn more about Elle James at
www.ellejames.com

• @ElleJamesAuthor
  

R
EED TUCKER
, TUCK to his buddies, tugged at the tie on his U.S. Navy service dress blue uniform, and his gut knotted as he entered the rehabilitation center of the National Naval Medical Center in Bethesda, Maryland.

He’d never run from anything, not a machine gun pinning his unit to a position, a fight where he was outnumbered, or an argument he truly believed in. But the sights, smells, and sounds inside the walls of the rehabilitation center made him want to get the hell out of the facility faster than a cat with its tail on fire.

But he couldn’t leave. Not yet. This was graduation day for Reaper, aka Cory Nipton, his best friend and former teammate on SEAL Team 10. Reaper was being released from the rehabilitation center after enduring something even tougher than BUD/s training, the twenty-four week Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training designed to weed out the true SEALs from the wannabes.

But Reaper’s release from rehab wasn’t the only event that brought Tuck there that day. He was going to a wedding. His heart twisted, his palms grew clammy, and he clutched

the ring box in his left hand as regret warred with guilt, creating a vile taste in his mouth.

Reaper was marrying Delaney, the only woman Tuck had ever trusted with his heart. The only woman who’d forced him to get over his past and dare to dream of a future. She was the woman he could see himself spending the rest of his life with. And today she was promising to love, honor, and cherish his best friend—a better man than Tuck by far. A hero who’d lost his right arm because Tuck hadn’t given him sufficient cover. Cory deserved all the happiness he could get after being medically discharged out of the only family he’d ever known. The Navy SEALs.

His hand on the door to the room where the wedding was to take place, Tuck squared his shoulders and stepped into his future.

Two months earlier

TUCK GLANCED TO his left and right. The members of Strike Force Dragon sat or stood, tense, holding onto whatever they could as the MH-60M Black Hawk dipped into the valley between two hilltops, less than a click away from the dark, quiet village. The only thing different about this mission was that, since the one before, he’d slept with the Pilot in Command of the helicopter.

Most men knew her as Razor, the call sign they used for the only female pilot flying infiltration and extraction missions for the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment (SOAR), Army Captain Delaney O’Connell.

Through his NVGs he picked up the bright green signature of a lookout on top of one of the buildings.

Within seconds, shots were fired at them, tracer rounds flaring in the dark. The helicopter remained just out of range of the man’s rifle shots, but it wouldn’t be long before a Taliban machine gunner with long-range capability was alerted with the potential of lobbing rocket-propelled grenades their way.

Wasting no time, the helicopter sank to a level just above the drop zone (DZ). While it hovered the men fast-roped down.

As soon as his boots hit the ground, Tuck brought up his M4A1 in the ready position and ran toward the sniper on the rooftop, zigzagging to avoid being locked in the enemy crosshairs.

Reaper, Big Bird, Gator, Fish, and Dustman spread out to the sides and followed.

When they were in range, Reaper took a knee and employed his uncanny ability as a sharpshooter to knock off the sentry on the rooftop.

The team continued forward into the walled town, going from building to building, until they reached the one they were after. In the center of the compound, high walls surrounded one particular brick and mud structure.

Big Bird bent and cupped his hands.

Tuck planted his boot in the man’s massive paws and, with Big Bird’s help, launched himself to the top of the wall, dropping down on the other side in a crouch. Weapon pointing at the building, finger on the trigger, Tuck scanned the courtyard for potential threat. People moved past windows inside. So far, no one had stepped outside to check out the disturbance. Only a matter of time. “Clear,” he said into his headset.

As Dustman topped the wall, a man emerged from the side of the structure and fired on them.

Without hesitation, Tuck fired off a silent round, downing the man with one bullet.

Dustman dropped to the ground beside him and gave him a thumbs up, taking the position by the wall so Tuck could move to the corner where the dead man lay.

As they’d discussed in the operations briefing, they only had three minutes to get into the compound, retrieve their target, and get out. Kill anyone in the way, but bring out the target alive.

Once four of the six-man team were inside the wall, they breached the doorway and entered, moving from room to room. If someone or something moved, they had only a millisecond to decide whether or not to shoot.

Tuck opened the first room. Inside, small green heat signatures glowed in his NVGs. Children sleeping on mats on the floor. He eased shut the door, jamming a wedge in the gap to keep them from getting out too soon.

He moved on to the next room. When he opened the door, a woman rose from a pallet, wearing a long black burka. When she lifted her hand like she held a gun, Tuck fired, taking her down before she could pull the trigger.

As he continued in the lead position down the narrow hallway, Tuck’s adrenaline hammered blood through his veins and honed his senses. His wits in hyper-alert status, his finger rested a hair’s breadth away from again pulling the trigger. This was the life he was made for. Defending his country, seeking out his enemies and destroying them with a swift, deadly strike. His job was risky, dangerous, and deadly.

A man emerged from a room down the hall.

Tuck’s nerves spiked. He had only a fraction of a second to identify him.

Not his target.

He pulled the trigger and nailed him with another silent round. The man slumped to the floor, his cry for help nothing more than a startled gasp.

The door he’d emerged from flew open and men bearing guns poured out.

Tuck spoke quietly into his headset. “Get down.” He didn’t bother to look back. His team would follow his orders without hesitation. He dropped with them, his M4A1 in front of him, and fired at the kneecaps of the men filling the hallway.

One by one, they went down, discharging their weapons, the bullets going wide and high.

In Pashto, the language spoken by most of the population of Afghanistan and Pakistan, Tuck told them to lay down their weapons.

When one of the injured enemies sat up and took aim, Tuck fired another round, putting him out of the game.

The injured enemy soldiers threw down their guns.

“Gator, clean up out here,” Tuck whispered into his mic. “Reaper and Big Bird, you’re with me.”

In the lead, Tuck stepped around the fallen Taliban and entered the room in a low crouch, ducking to the right. Nothing moved. Another door led into yet another unknown space. Tuck dove into the room and rolled to the side, weapon up.

As he entered, a man with an AK47 fired off a burst of rounds that whizzed past Tuck’s ears, missing him, but not by much. The man shouted for Tuck to drop his weapon.

Tuck fired at the shooter’s chest. He fell to the ground, revealing the man he’d been protecting. Their target, the Taliban leader they’d been briefed on. He stood straight, a pistol aimed at Tuck.

Though he wanted to pull the trigger, Tuck couldn’t shoot. His mission was to bring him out alive.

His hesitation cost him. A round, fired pointblank, hit him in the chest and flung him backward to land on his ass. If not for the armor plate protecting him, he’d be a dead man. He lay still for a moment, struggling to regulate his breathing.

Reaper used the stun gun, firing off a round that hit dead on and had the man flat on his back and twitching in seconds. “You okay?” He extended his hand to help Tuck to his feet.

“Yeah.” Tuck motioned to Big Bird. “Take him.”

The biggest, strongest man of the team, Big Bird lifted their target and flung him over his shoulder.

Still fighting to catch his breath, Tuck led the way back to the fence. Once outside the building, he scanned his surroundings and then checked back up at the top of the roof. No signs of enemy snipers. But that didn’t mean they were in the clear. They still had to navigate their way out of town and get back to the helicopter.

Leading the way, with Gator and Fish guarding the rear, Tuck hurried back along the narrow street to the outer walls of the village where the helicopter hovered nearby, waiting for their signal.

Tuck blinked the flashlight outfitted with a red lens at the hovering aircraft and it moved in, setting down for the briefest of moments, enough to get the six-man team inside. He reached over the back of the seat to the pilot and shouted, “Go!”

The Black Hawk lurched into the air, rising up and moving forward at the same time, hurrying to gain as much altitude as possible as they disappeared into the night sky, out of enemy sight and weapons range.

Not until they were well out of reach did Tuck release the breath he’d been holding and take stock of his team and their prisoner. All of them made it out alive and intact. That’s the way he liked it. He’d been the only one who would have sustained injury if he hadn’t been equipped with armor plating.

The co-pilot handed Tuck an aviation headset and he slipped it on.

“Nine minutes, twenty-five seconds.” Gunnery Sergeant Sullivan’s raspy voice sounded in Tuck’s ear. “Better, but still not fast enough.”

This had been a training mission, one they’d repeated five times in the past two weeks. Someone wanted them to get it right. The team was improving, but still needed to be quieter, faster, and more aware when the mission was real. The people they’d shot tonight had only been tagged with lasers. If this mission went live, the ammunition used against them would be live rounds.

Leaning back, Tuck held up nine fingers for his team to see and understand the repercussions of wearing out their welcome in a Taliban-held village.

The men nodded. Noise from the rotors precluded talking inside the chopper. When they got back to the base at Little Creek, Virginia, they’d debrief before being dismissed for the night and hitting the club.

They’d played the same scenario five times, improving with each iteration. All six members of the team were highly

skilled Navy SEALs. The cream of the crop, the most highly disciplined officers and enlisted men from the Navy.

Like Tuck, the team was tired of playing pretend. They wanted to get in and do the job. But, like most missions, they didn’t know when they would go, who their target would be, or where they’d have to go to take him out. Only time and their commanding officers would tell. Only when they were about two hours out would they get their final orders and all the details.

In the meantime, they’d be off duty until the following morning’s PT, unless orders came in that night. It happened. But if Tuck waited around his apartment for it to come about, he’d go stir-crazy. Besides, he wanted to see O’Connell and pick up where they’d left off the night before.

BACK AT BASE, Delaney O’Connell climbed out of the pilot’s seat and grabbed her flight bag. Adrenaline still thrumming through her veins, she knew going back to her apartment for the night wasn’t an option.

Her co-pilot, Lt. Mark Doggett, aka K-9, fell in step beside her. “The team’s headed to DD’s Corral for a beer and some dancing. I know you don’t usually like to hang out, but it’s been a tough week. Wanna go?”

“Sure,” she said, a little too quickly. Any other time, she’d have cut him off with a quick, but polite,
no.
But if she went back to her apartment alone, Tuck might show up and what good would that bring? Somehow, she’d fallen off the abstinence wagon with a vengeance and she was having a hard time getting back on.

“Great.” K-9 cleared his throat. “Do you need a ride?” “No, thank you. I prefer to drive myself.”

“Probably a good idea. These Navy guys work hard and play harder.”

As well she knew. Tuck had played her in bed like a musician played an electric guitar, hitting every one of her chords like a master.

Her body quivered with remembered excitement, her core heating to combustible levels. Maybe going to the club was a bad idea. If Tuck was there...

She squared her shoulders. They didn’t call her Razor for nothing. She would cut him off like she’d done so many others who’d tried getting too close. And soon. Walking away from a physical relationship was a hell of a lot easier than walking away from an emotionally involved one. Delaney refused to invest her emotions in another man with an addiction to adrenaline rushes. She’d been there once and would not go there again.

Before Tuck, she’d gone two years without a man in her life. Two years since Mad Max, Captain Chase Madden, bought it on a leadership interdiction mission in Pakistan. When a Special Forces soldier had been left behind, he’d gone back into hostile territory against his commanding officer’s order. His helicopter had been shot down. Max had been injured, but was still alive until the Taliban found him and dragged him through the streets tied to the back of a truck. By the time they untied him, he’d bled out.

Delaney had been devastated. No one knew she and Mad Max had gotten engaged two weeks prior to his deployment. And no one would, if she could help it. Being a part of the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment was an honor she took very seriously.

She understood her position was precarious. On more than one occasion, her CO had told her she was on probation as the only female ever entrusted with the honor of flight leader in an all-male corps. The powers that be were watching her every move. One misstep and she would be out, and she’d worked too damned hard to get here. Three years of training, and working her way up the food chain, and a rock- hard body, at least where it counted, had gotten her noticed.

Fooling around with Tuck, one of the Navy SEALs assigned to this training mission, wouldn’t go over well with her commander. But the strain of anticipation and the long bout of celibacy had taken their toll on Delaney. She’d needed a release. When Tuck and Reaper offered to help her change her flat tire, she never dreamed she’d end up in bed with one of them. But those damned SEALs with their massive biceps and quads...