Hot SEALs: SEAL's Ultimate Challenge (2 page)

A moment later, Tuck ran back to where Reaper was and motioned him to take cover. Tuck checked his watch.

Reaper didn’t. His job was to provide cover while Tuck synchronized their efforts with Team Bravo’s. They all had to be in their exact places before the party began.

Out of the corner of his eye, Reaper could see Tuck cover his ears, while he pressed the hand-held detonator.

The explosion shook the ground beneath Reaper’s feet. Another blast, a moment later, sounded from the backside of the compound.

Tuck rounded the corner first, Reaper followed. Big Bird and Gator brought up the rear. Ahead, the popping sound of gunfire kicked up dust around their feet and knocked chinks of mud out of the walls. Tuck ducked and rolled into the shadows.

Reaper trained his NVGs at the roof, searching for the sniper.

Tuck, positioned a few feet ahead, had a clearer shot and took him out.

Leaving Fish on the outside of the structure to cover their rear, Tuck, Reaper, Big Bird, and Gator entered through the hole created by the explosives, and spread out.

Team Alpha was to enter through the rear of the structure. Bravo would come through the front door. If they played their cards right, the distraction at the front would allow Team Alpha to secure their target. The trick was to use only enough explosives to penetrate the wall without killing those inside. Intel wanted the man alive for interrogation, which made the SEAL team’s job a lot harder.

Tuck affixed C4 to the back wall of the residence, stepped back with the others, and detonated the charge.

With dust still swirling around the hole, Reaper entered first, diving through the crumbled wall. He rolled to a crouch, weapon ready, his finger on the trigger. They’d practiced this maneuver several times stateside at Little Creek, anticipating resistance from within. Most members of the Taliban attended meetings with their leaders, while armed.

In the fog of dust, the first thing that struck Reaper was the room was empty. No guns, no snipers, no Taliban—just rags and empty crates. Had they gotten bad intelligence? Had Tuck counted wrong?

Someone had spray painted lettering on the wall in Pashtu. Reaper didn’t have time to stop and translate. He had a job to do. Clear the building, find the Taliban and secure their target. He moved toward the next room. From ahead, he could hear Team Bravo, coming in from the other side.

Behind him, he heard Tuck curse, then yell, “Reaper, don’t go—”

Something touched his shin. His mind made the connection and he formed a curse in his mouth, and then the entire room erupted. He was flung through the air. Stunned, his ears ringing, he reached for his weapon, but couldn’t find it. Reaper fought to remain conscious. He had to help his team. Someone could have been hurt. From a long way off, he heard the sound of Tuck’s voice calling.

“Hey, buddy. Wake up.”

Reaper’s ears rang with a high-pitched whine, and muffled sounds came to him as if from a thousand miles away. He tried to open his mouth, to reassure Tuck he was all right. No sound came out. Nothing.
I’m here.

Pressure on his chest and the vast amounts of dust made breathing hard. No matter how much he willed his body to move or his eyes to open, nothing was working. As if his system was jammed and he needed a reboot.

An explosion sounded nearby.
Have to get out.
The mind was willing, but the body wasn’t cooperating.

The rumble of voices nearby reassured him.

“Tuck?” A voice called from down a long tunnel. “Tuck?”

Tuck’s response came from closer. “I’m here.”

“You okay?” the other voice said.

“Yeah.” Tuck sounded strained. “But Reaper’s down.”

Was that why he couldn’t move? Reaper tried again to force his mouth and eyes to open.

“Alive?”

By now, Reaper figured the other voice was Big Bird.

“For now,” Tuck said.

Just give me a minute. I’ll be up and out of this dirt. I just need a minute.

“We’re taking rounds and mortars,” Big Bird went on. “Team Bravo was hit hard. Two dead, the other three heading back to the LZ.”

Dead? Who?
Again, Reaper tried to reach for his weapon.
I’ll kill the bastards.
No amount of concentration helped. He couldn’t wrap his hand around his gun. It probably landed away from him when he’d been thrown.

“Fish and Gator?”

Reaper’s concentration faded. He was getting weaker.

“Injured but mobile. Need help getting Reaper out?”

I can stand,
Reaper thought.
Just help me to my feet.

“I’m not sure what injuries he sustained.” Tuck paused and then said, “Holy shit. Shine your light over here.”

A pale light penetrated Reaper’s eyelids. Still, he couldn’t open them.

The shuffle of feet sounded close to his head.

Then Big Bird said, “Fuck.”

Movement sounded around him. Someone grabbed his right arm and pulled something tight around it. Pain shot through the numbness. Reaper felt himself slipping away.

“We gotta get him out of here,” Tuck said, his words terse.

“I know. You go ahead of me.” Big Bird’s deep voice rumbled through the darkness. “I’m right behind you.”

More mortar rounds exploded, shaking the ground beneath them. They had to leave. For the first time since he’d been hit, he realized he might not make it out. Reaper focused, pushing back the inner darkness creeping up on him. When he opened his mouth this time, he was able to push air past his vocal cords. “Tuck.” He blinked and opened his eyes. A light shined down in his face, and he squinted against its brightness.

“Yeah, buddy,” Tuck said.

“Get out of here,” he said, the sound more of a hoarse whisper.

“Not without you.”

Reaper sucked in a breath, the effort harder than any training he’d endured in BUD/s. “If I die, take care of Delaney for me, will ya?” He tried to lift his right arm to touch Tuck’s arm, but it wasn’t working. But his left one did. With his strength fading, he touched Tuck with his left hand. “Promise.”

Tuck frowned, a muscle jerking in his jaw. “Bullshit on all this talk about dying. You’re making it out of here alive, so hang on.” He bent, grabbed Reaper’s left arm, and dragged him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

Pain shot through Reaper, and he slipped into that black abyss of unconsciousness.

He faded in and out as his body was jolted and jostled.

Gunfire sounded around him.

“Hang on,” Tuck said. “Hang on.” The word echoed again and again as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

Through the ringing in his ears, Reaper heard the distant sound of rotor blades beating the air.
Come on, Tuck. Almost there.

Pain radiated throughout his body, seeming to come from his right arm. He blacked out and woke up, lying on the ground, with something heavy lying over his chest. The sound of gunfire and helicopter rotors filled the air. The pressure on his chest shifted.

Tuck cried out, “No!”

An explosion overhead lit the insides of Reaper’s eyelids. He blinked open his eyes to a huge fireball above him, rotor blades breaking away from the fuselage of a helicopter. It fell from the sky, crashing to the ground.

Reaper’s last thought before he passed out was
Delaney.
He woke once more and stared up at the interior of a helicopter.

Fish’s face swam before him. Fish was saying something. “He’s hanging on…”

The darkness consumed Reaper. He didn’t surface again until the familiar thumping sound of rotor blades slowed to a halt.

Hands rolled his body over and back onto a hard board. Pain ripped through him, and he hissed. The next thing he was conscious of was being lifted and carried across the landing pad then settled onto a gurney.

He forced his eyes open and stared up into Delaney’s serious face. A huge sense of relief washed over him, pushing the pain to the back of his mind, if only for a moment.

“O’Connell?” He tried to reach out with his right hand, but it wasn’t working, so he raised his left hand.

Delaney grasped it. “Yeah, Cory, I’m here.”

“You never answered.” He coughed, something thick and warm dribbled from the side of his mouth. “You gonna marry…me?” His eyelids were too heavy to keep open. He let them drift closed, and he waited for her response.

“Sure, Cory. I’ll marry you. Just hurry up and get better.” Her voice cracked.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Damn. Even that hurt. “Tuck?”

“I’m here.” Tuck’s voice sounded rough.

Remaining awake was getting increasingly difficult. “Take care of her,” Reaper said, his own voice fading.

“I will,” Tuck promised. “Until you’re back on your feet. Because you will be back on your feet.”

Reaper would have chuckled, but that required more energy than he had. “That an order?”

“You bet.”

“Aye, aye,” Reaper said then blacked out.

Chapter Two

One month later

“I’M NOT READY.” Leigha Fields stood in the break room on the first floor of the Orthopedics & Rehabilitation building at Walter Reed Bethesda National Medical Military Center, her heart pounding, her hands sweaty. This case would be her first amputee on her own since she’d completed her training. Yeah, she’d worked with wounded soldiers who had torn ACLs, taken shrapnel to their legs and arms, and had to rebuild the muscles since their injuries. But this was the first amputee. A SEAL who’d lost his arm in a special operation in Afghanistan. “What if I hurt him? What if he refuses to do the exercises I prescribe?”

“You’ll do fine. All you have to do is be patient and remember your training.” Eric Shipley, one of the therapists working with wounded warriors, patted her back. “You’ll do fine.”

“I’ve never been a patient person,” she admitted.

Normally, Leigha went into everything she did without hesitation, full-on, no fear. Her training as a Washington, D.C. cop had prepared her for the worst. Her job on the force had given her the experience with just that. The worst.

Yeah, from cop to physical therapist was a huge change of career. Not one she had chosen for herself. Well, not really.

The daughter of a police officer, she’d never dreamed of being anything else. Both of her brothers had gone into law enforcement. One joined the FBI, the other joined the Alexandria, Virginia Police Department. Her sister had become a nurse and delivered babies in the maternity ward of Bethesda Health. And Leigha had joined the same police department where her father had worked until the day he was shot and killed by a man robbing a liquor store. All over a bottle of whiskey.

Leigha would still be a cop, if she hadn’t had a shootout go sideways. Two brothers had ganged up on another man. Their argument drew the attention of a neighbor who’d called 911. Leigha and her partner responded to that call.

When they arrived, the argument escalated.

Leigha and her partner got out of their vehicle, at the same time one of the brothers opened fire, shooting the man in the face. Both brothers ran.

Leigha and her partner gave chase. The brother with the gun ducked behind a trash bin and fired at them.

Her partner went down, clutching his leg, but yelling, “I’m good. Get him!”

Leigha dove to the side, rolled and pushed to her feet, racing after the fleeing men.

The armed man turned and fired his weapon at her. The first shot went wide, the second one hit her in the knee. Leigha hit the ground, her weapon flying free of her hand and skidding across the pavement two feet away. Pain ripped through her leg when she tried putting weight on it, so she dragged, scooted, and pulled herself toward her weapon.

With no one chasing him anymore, the man with the gun stopped running and said something to his brother, then walked toward her, brandishing his gun. “Not so tough now, are you?” As he neared her, he pointed the weapon at her chest. “Well, look here. We got a she-cop. Maybe we could have a little fun with the bitch before we kill her.”

Another siren’s wail echoed off the brick walls.

The man’s brother tugged at his arm. “Shoot her already. We gotta go.”

With her gun inches away from her hand, Leigha knew she had only one chance and she had to make it good.

The man pointed the gun at her face.

Pushing hard, Leigha rolled over, grabbed the gun, and lying on her back, shot the man in the chest. The impact at such close quarters flung him backward, knocking his brother on his backside. The dead man’s weight on his brother trapped him momentarily. Long enough for Leigha to sit up and take aim at him. “Move, and I’ll blow your ass away.”

That had been two years ago. One of the brothers died that day. The other was sent to prison as an accessory to the crime.

The gunshot wound to Leigha’s knee ended her career on the force. Sure, she could have taken a desk job, but that wasn’t an option. She had to be moving. Instead, she’d opted for medical retirement at the ripe old age of twenty-five. This option left her floundering in indecision. She’d never dreamed of doing anything but law enforcement. She wanted to put away thugs who killed people for fun. Baby killers, rapists, and cop killers like the one who’d shot her father.

After six months of knee reconstruction and physical therapy, her physical therapist had encouraged her to go back to school and retrain. Do something with her life, because it wasn’t over yet.

Because of the work her therapist had done with her, Leigha could walk practically without a limp and she was jogging a little, though that activity wasn’t encouraged on her bionic knee. The elliptical was her friend, helping her to rebuild the strength in her calves and thighs.

Grateful to be back on her feet and almost as good as new, Leigha decided to pursue a career in physical therapy. As part of her curriculum, she’d worked with wounded warriors in Bethesda at the Walter Reed Bethesda National Medical Military Center. She loved working with the military men and women under Eric’s mentorship. When she’d been offered a fulltime position on the staff after completion of her coursework and certification, she’d happily accepted.