SEALs of Summer 2: A Military Romance Superbundle (125 page)

For the next hour, they bumped along in the back of the banana truck as the road led closer to their destination.

Irish prayed the crossing would be uneventful, he’d rejoin his team and they’d put this disaster behind them.

Unfortunately, reaching their destination would be the end of the adventure with the beautiful doctor. Irish would be on his way back to home base in Little Creek, Virginia. Claire sat up in the back of the truck, breathing diesel fumes and choking on the dust the truck spun up behind it, her thoughts churning through all that had happened. From helping villagers, to treating the al-Shabaab, almost being raped and now on the run with an all-too-sexy SEAL through potentially hostile territory, she had to admit her life had changed dramatically.

What worried her was the image of all the dead in the remote village and the whereabouts of her colleague, Dr. Jamo. As soon as she got to someplace where she could get help, the better. Whatever had decimated the village could spread to others. The sooner she notified the powers that be, whether the CDC, WHO or some other organization, she had to raise awareness to prevent what could turn into a pandemic and wipe out the entire continent of Africa if left unchecked.

She must have
fallen asleep. When the truck rumbled to a stop, she felt lips brush hers in a soft caress.

“We’re here,” Irish whispered against her ear.

Claire sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

They were in an urban area, surrounded by people in vehicles and on foot. The hour was near dusk. Everyone looked tired and dusty, similar to the way Claire felt. What she wouldn’t give for a cool shower and shampoo.

Irish climbed down from the truck and held out his arms. “We’d better continue on foot.”

“I have my passport, but what about you?” she asked.

“I’ll see you to the border guards and leave you there.”

“How will you get across?” The thought of splitting up didn’t sit well with Claire. Irish had been her rock, her protector. Without him, she was a lone woman in a strange country. And not knowing where he’d be, or whether he’d be caught, made her nervous.

“If we had time, I’d stay and try to push the issue. As it is, I’ll make sure you get through. Then I’ll find you on the other side.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly. “Don’t worry about me. Once you’re in Djibouti, if I’m not there right away, don’t wait. Catch a ride to the Djibouti International Airport. Camp Lemonnier is located there. Ask for the Joint Special Operations Command. I’ll meet you there.”

The more he talked of leaving her, the tighter the knot grew in her belly. She’d never felt safer than with Irish. Even when they’d been chased by the al-Shabaab. He was the highly trained fighter. Not her.

“Okay?” He raised her hand to his lips and stared into her eyes.

Claire’s heart fluttered against her ribs. Despite her misgivings about going through the border crossing alone, she nodded. “I’m okay. But promise me…I’ll see you on the other side.” Her fingers tightened in his.

“Count on it.” He grinned. “I’ll be watching you. If anything happens, I’ll be there for you.” Then he kissed her lips and disappeared into the crowd.

Knowing Irish would be watching her passage through the border crossing gave Claire a little more confidence. She pulled her passport out of the satchel and waited while four ramshackle trucks pulled forward, one of them being the banana truck she and Irish had stowed away on.

After the banana truck pulled through the crossing, it was her turn. She handed her passport to the guard with the military rifle and waited.

The guard stared at her passport and said something in Arabic.

Claire understood enough to realize he was asking for her papers. Pretending she didn’t understand, she pointed to her bag and said the Arabic word for doctor.

With a frown, the guard called out to the man standing at the doorway to the guard shack.

He came over and took the satchel from Claire and rummaged through it, pulling out her stethoscope, laughing as he fit them in his ears.

Claire held her tongue and fought to keep from snatching back her things from the guard. She wanted to turn and find Irish’s face in the crowd of people. Just when her nerves reached a breaking point, she saw the guards look past her to the road she’d arrived on.

Turning enough to glance behind her, Claire sucked in a breath, her heart leaping to her throat.

A truckload of Somali rebels rolled into the crowd. People scattered to get away, crying out.

The guards shoved the bag and Claire’s passport at her and waved her through, raising their rifles to the ready position in the face of the oncoming truck.

With her clearance to pass through, Claire gathered her head scarf tighter around her face and hurried past the guards toward the banana truck, praying she could catch up to him before he left. From the way the other vehicles were taking off, the drivers wanted away from there before the rebels started causing trouble.

Claire walked fast, without turning back. She had almost reached the passenger door to the banana truck when she heard a shout behind her. Grabbing the handle on the side of the truck, she stepped up on the running board and called out in Arabic, “Please, take me to Djibouti International Airport.” She shot a quick glance toward the border, praying Irish had found another way through farther along. Like he’d said, she couldn’t stand around and wait. Not with rebel forces converging on the border patrol.

The driver waved at her, shaking his head.

Refusing to take no for an answer, Claire yanked open the door, shoved aside the trash on the passenger seat and slid inside, slamming the door behind her.

Another shout rose from the guards.

Claire glanced in the side mirror.

The rebels yelled at the guards, brandishing their weapons. The guards shook their heads and pointed toward the trucks leaving.

Her heart lodged in her throat, Claire ducked lower, praying the rebels and the guards hadn’t seen which truck she’d climbed into. The driver beside her yelled, his Arabic too fast and garbled for her to translate. She didn’t need a translation to know he wasn’t happy she’d gotten in his truck, especially with the rebels behind them starting their way.

In Arabic, she said, “Go.”

The driver shoved his shift in gear, popped the clutch and the engine died.

Holy crap
. Claire could drive a manual transmission better. At this rate, the rebels would be pulling them out of the truck before they’d gone two feet.

A loud explosion ripped the air, shaking the ground beneath the truck.

Claire ducked, fully expecting the rebels had fired something horrible in their direction. In the side mirror, she watched as the rebels who’d been on their way toward the trucks most recent across the border, had dropped to their haunches, turning, their rifles aiming back across the border into Somalia.

A billowing, black column of smoke rose into the desert air from a burning vehicle.

The rebels turned and ran back across the border to where the fire burned in their truck. They shouted to each other and fired their weapons into the air.

With the knot in her chest easing, Claire smiled. That move had Irish written all over it. He’d created a diversion so that she could get safely away.

Starting the engine, the banana truck driver shifted into gear and eased his foot off the clutch. The truck surged forward, jerkily, and headed north on the coastal highway to Djibouti City.

Claire glanced in the mirror, praying Irish found a ride and that she’d see him very soon.

‡

A
fter he left
Claire in the line, Irish had ducked behind a building. From his vantage point, he could see the border crossing and the road leading up to it from the south. He’d noticed the truckload of rebels as soon as they rolled into the small border town. Their faces were hidden behind red plaid or green scarves.

Meanwhile, the guards at the border crossing played with the items in Claire’s doctor bag.

Thankfully, it was a busy day at the border. The truckload of rebels was forced to slow their approach.

When they all jumped from the truck and advance on the border guards, Claire was waved through.

She didn’t wait around, moving through as soon as she got clearance.

“Smart lass,” Irish whispered beneath his breath. But she wouldn’t be safe for long. Just because she’d crossed the border into another country didn’t mean squat to the rebels. They didn’t respect borders, going after whatever they wanted. If they were after Claire, they wouldn’t stop until they captured her.

Irish ducked into a shop, paid a man for his headscarf, wrapped it around his head and neck and hurried outside again. Slipping a package of matches from his pocket. With all the attention at the border where the guards argued with the rebels, no one saw the man stuffing a wad of fabric into the gas tank of the rebels’ truck. If anyone did, they weren’t saying anything as Irish lit a match, catching the tail of the fabric wad on fire. When he was certain it would stay lit, he backed away, slipping into the crowd, detaching himself when he reached a building and hurried around it, between two more and emerged on the other side of the loosely guarded border. He was angling toward the trucks heading north when the explosion shook the ground beneath him.

On the road, he spied the banana truck he and Claire had hitched a ride on and almost smiled. If he wasn’t mistaken, the woman with the bright turquoise shash glancing out the passenger window was none other than Claire Boyette, amazing doctor and adventurer.

With all the attention on the burning vehicle on the Somali side of the border, no one made a sound when the man dressed in black leaped aboard the back of a banana truck and settled in for the long ride on a dusty road north to Djibouti City.

He leaned back against the stems of bananas and watched the black smoke from the vehicle fire climb into the sky and dissipate. He’d gotten lucky. If a crowd hadn’t been at the border that day, he and Claire might not have made it across.

As long as the rebels didn’t commandeer another vehicle, the banana truck and its occupants would make it safely to the city in less than forty minutes.

Those forty minutes in the back of the banana truck dragged by. The sun traveling toward the western horizon was still hot enough to make him sweat, even with the air stirred up by the vehicle’s movement. Irish had plenty of time to think about what had happened. He prayed he’d find his team safe at the Joint Special Operations Command headquarters. Hopefully, the men of the downed helicopter had found their way back. He couldn’t wait to find out how they’d escaped the al-Shabaab rebels.

When the truck finally pulled to a stop, Irish was happy to find himself at the entrance gate to Camp Lemonnier. He jumped from the back of the truck and hurried to the passenger door.

Claire offering her thanks to the driver and turned to get down when she spied him. Her eyes rounded and her face lit. “How did you get here?”

He held out his hands, caught her around the waist and pulled her against him. “The same way you did.” He let her body slide down his until her feet touched the ground.

“I didn’t think you’d make it out of there so soon.”

“I told you I’d catch up to you.”

She glanced around the side of the truck as the driver shifted into drive and pulled away. “But how…”

“I hung with a bunch of bananas.”

Her smile widened and she chuckled. “And I worried about you for the past forty minutes.”

Irish poked a thumb toward his chest. “Who me? I’m a SEAL. We have ways of making things happen.”

“Especially when it involves blowing stuff up?” She winked and then glanced toward the buildings. “Do you think they’ll let me on base?”

“They have to. You’re with me.” He took her hand in his and strode toward the gate guards.

Irish didn’t even bother trying to argue his way onto the compound. He told the guard to call the commander of Joint Special Operations and tell them “Irish is waiting to be rescued at the gate.”

The army military policeman stood with his rifle at the ready while his buddy entered the hut and placed the call. Five minutes later, a HUMMV arrived and four SEALs piled out. Tuck, Big Bird and Fish rushed through the gate and enveloped him in a bone-crushing group hug.

His eyes stinging, Irish hugged them back.

“Man, we thought you were a dead man,” Gator said, limping toward him, leaning on a single crutch.

The guys backed away and let Gator in to pound Irish on the back.

“Me? You were the one that ate a bullet.”

Gator limped back a step. “Just a flesh wound. I’ll be runnin’ circles around you by morning.”

“Yeah, right. Did they replace your leg with a bionic one because you can’t run circles around me without a bullet in your leg.”

“Are we standing out in the hot sun, or are you coming in for a beer and a shower?” Tuck waved his hand in front of his nose. “You smell.”

“Yeah, we want to hear how you found your way back home.” Big Bird wrapped an arm around his shoulder and aimed him for the guard shack.