Read Online Forged in Smoke (A Red-Hot SEALs Novel Book 3) by Trish McCallan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Trish McCallan
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many damn civilians in the mix. Amy’s parents, her kids, her brother. And two of those civilians will be armed.” Frustration sharpened Zane’s voice. “Since we can’t shoot on sight, it leaves us and everyone in that house vulnerable.”
Nor could they warn Amy’s family that they’d be coming. In all likelihood there were ears on that house.
Rawls nodded his understanding, his unease increasing. “What about those handy-dandy premonitions of yours? You gettin’ anything?”
Zane shook his head. “But hell, the visions don’t always kick in when I need them.”
True. Zane’s psychic warning system was glitchy at best. Nothing you wanted to count on to cover your ass. “You’ll need the med kit. I—”
“Wolf’s second has medical training. He’s bringing his kit,” Zane interrupted. “You know damn well we can’t bring you in on this. Not with your head in its current scramble.” He waited, one beat . . . three beats . . . five, and then rolled his shoulders. “When you’re ready to tell us what the fuck’s going on, you know where to find us.” Without looking back, Zane walked out the door.
Dead silence blanketed the room. After a moment, Rawls turned back to the amber bottle sunning itself on the windowsill.
“I’m no expert on you boys,” Pachico said, his voice a cross between dry and smug. “But sounds like he’s losing patience with you. I’ve got just the song to cheer you up, though. You ready to make that call? No? Five hundred bottles of beer on the wall—” Pachico’s voice broke into song as Rawls lifted the bottle of Tennessee Honey and twisted the cap. “Five hundred bottles of beer. Take one down, pass it around, four hundred and ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall.”
Rawls took a pull straight from the bottle, wishing the smooth, slightly sweet fire burning down his throat had more of a bite to it.
Because sweet Jesus, he was looking at a long, long night.
Faith waited until the helicopter carrying Amy Chastain and her self-appointed rescue squad took to the skies before turning to the kitchen counter and picking up the plastic-wrapped plate with its thick roast beef sandwich. She paused at the front entrance of the main lodge, letting the dust devils settle before thrusting open the door. Trotting down the plank stairs, she headed across the earthen courtyard toward the largest cabin. Originally the rustic bungalow had housed all four SEALs. But then Lieutenant Cosky had set up house with Kait Winchester, and Zane with his fiancée, Beth. These days, Lieutenant Rawlings shared the place with Commander Mackenzie, alone—which was reason enough for commiseration as far as Faith was concerned.
From the discussion she’d eavesdropped on earlier, Zane had tracked Rawlings to his bedroom. With luck, he’d stayed put after his commanding officer had left. Waving away a swarm of mosquitoes, she hurried up the three plank steps and knocked hard on the rough-hewn door. Silence greeted her from within the cabin. She knocked again, hard enough to bruise her knuckles. More silence. If he was in there, he had no intention of admitting it. Sympathy stirred; she understood the need for solitude. Indeed, she’d often felt it herself while growing up. Sometimes you just needed to get away, to escape the fear in loved ones’ eyes—or in his case, his teammates’ eyes.
There was nothing worse than knowing someone was worrying themselves sick over you. It hadn’t mattered how often she’d reminded herself that the situation wasn’t her fault, or how many times her therapists had told her that she wasn’t responsible for her parents’ fear—she’d still felt accountable for the deep crevices that constant worry had etched into their faces.
The guilt had been bad enough prior to the first transplant, but when the initial heart had failed and she’d ended up back on the transplant list with diminishing chances of receiving a second heart in time . . . She
Nor could they warn Amy’s family that they’d be coming. In all likelihood there were ears on that house.
Rawls nodded his understanding, his unease increasing. “What about those handy-dandy premonitions of yours? You gettin’ anything?”
Zane shook his head. “But hell, the visions don’t always kick in when I need them.”
True. Zane’s psychic warning system was glitchy at best. Nothing you wanted to count on to cover your ass. “You’ll need the med kit. I—”
“Wolf’s second has medical training. He’s bringing his kit,” Zane interrupted. “You know damn well we can’t bring you in on this. Not with your head in its current scramble.” He waited, one beat . . . three beats . . . five, and then rolled his shoulders. “When you’re ready to tell us what the fuck’s going on, you know where to find us.” Without looking back, Zane walked out the door.
Dead silence blanketed the room. After a moment, Rawls turned back to the amber bottle sunning itself on the windowsill.
“I’m no expert on you boys,” Pachico said, his voice a cross between dry and smug. “But sounds like he’s losing patience with you. I’ve got just the song to cheer you up, though. You ready to make that call? No? Five hundred bottles of beer on the wall—” Pachico’s voice broke into song as Rawls lifted the bottle of Tennessee Honey and twisted the cap. “Five hundred bottles of beer. Take one down, pass it around, four hundred and ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall.”
Rawls took a pull straight from the bottle, wishing the smooth, slightly sweet fire burning down his throat had more of a bite to it.
Because sweet Jesus, he was looking at a long, long night.
Faith waited until the helicopter carrying Amy Chastain and her self-appointed rescue squad took to the skies before turning to the kitchen counter and picking up the plastic-wrapped plate with its thick roast beef sandwich. She paused at the front entrance of the main lodge, letting the dust devils settle before thrusting open the door. Trotting down the plank stairs, she headed across the earthen courtyard toward the largest cabin. Originally the rustic bungalow had housed all four SEALs. But then Lieutenant Cosky had set up house with Kait Winchester, and Zane with his fiancée, Beth. These days, Lieutenant Rawlings shared the place with Commander Mackenzie, alone—which was reason enough for commiseration as far as Faith was concerned.
From the discussion she’d eavesdropped on earlier, Zane had tracked Rawlings to his bedroom. With luck, he’d stayed put after his commanding officer had left. Waving away a swarm of mosquitoes, she hurried up the three plank steps and knocked hard on the rough-hewn door. Silence greeted her from within the cabin. She knocked again, hard enough to bruise her knuckles. More silence. If he was in there, he had no intention of admitting it. Sympathy stirred; she understood the need for solitude. Indeed, she’d often felt it herself while growing up. Sometimes you just needed to get away, to escape the fear in loved ones’ eyes—or in his case, his teammates’ eyes.
There was nothing worse than knowing someone was worrying themselves sick over you. It hadn’t mattered how often she’d reminded herself that the situation wasn’t her fault, or how many times her therapists had told her that she wasn’t responsible for her parents’ fear—she’d still felt accountable for the deep crevices that constant worry had etched into their faces.
The guilt had been bad enough prior to the first transplant, but when the initial heart had failed and she’d ended up back on the transplant list with diminishing chances of receiving a second heart in time . . . She
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