Chapter Twenty-Eight

She didn’t know where she was, only that someone moved silently around her. Whoever her caretaker was, he or she kept the room that Dev lay in dark, and the noise level nearly non-existent. The temperature was near perfect, but her poor head was still filled with shadows. Given the way her brain throbbed each time she tried to open her eyes, Dev didn’t—couldn’t—fight what was happening around her. Not that she needed to, but still… Something kept telling her to try.

“You’ve got a concussion, Angelique” a gravelly voice murmured at her right. Not Seth. Not Cord. Definitely not Sly. And somehow, knowing that much, that it wasn’t Sly who’d come for her was—enough. For now.

“Name’s Devereaux,” she said as she ran the tip of her tongue over her dry bottom lip.

Instantly, she was rewarded with a cool, moist sponge bathing her face, then the tip of a straw pressed to her lips. Breathing hard, she latched on and sucked down a swallow of what tasted like coconut water. Oh, so good. Sipping another long draw, the refreshment eased down her parched throat like a sweet taste of heaven.

By the time she lost traction on the straw, she’d forgotten what she’d wanted to ask. Something about… something… someone...

“Rest easy, Angelique,” the same husky voice, still from her right, whispered.

Dev wanted to turn to that guy and set him straight. She wanted to open her eyes and know who’d dared or cared enough to rescue a complete stranger from the roadside, even if he had her mixed up with someone else. She wanted to know what he looked like, if he was a priest or a doctor or just a guy with a good heart.

Not happening. She had just enough energy left to murmur, “Ah-huh,” before her energy gave out and she drifted to sleep.

“You heard me. We’ve got nine women who can walk, a seven-and-a-half-year old boy who’s ready to fight, and we’ve got Cassidy, but she’s in bad shape. Stand by for rapid evac, I don’t care who’s on your ass!”

“Copy that,” Cord replied like the true professional he could be—calmly and without one smart-assed dig for a change. “Be aware that FAST has just engaged the enemy to the south of us. We’ve got mortar shells pounding the south beach, panicked civilians everywhere, and dozens of black-uniformed bastards flaunting spiffy red berets with some Arabic shit on ’em. The quicker you get out of there, the better for all concerned.”

“Copy that,” Seth bit out with Chris still bouncing on his hip and nine frightened women crowding his six as he hot-footed it back the way they’d come. For now, Chris helped by aiming Seth’s flashlight straight ahead. Eric followed the harried procession, carrying Cassidy, while another woman scurried at his side with his flashlight.

Eric hadn’t detected any broken bones during his quick exam, but Cassidy had yet to regain consciousness, and Seth was worried. Concussions left unattended were brain killers. He’d suffered two while playing football in high school until his father put his foot down the last time, and said, “Enough!”

“You might have to walk if we run into any bad guys,” Seth warned Chris.

“Oh, okay.” The boy hadn’t let up his stranglehold since he’d scrambled into Seth’s arms. “Are you gonna shoot ’em?”

“Only if they shoot first. We’re getting out of here by boat, so when we hit the shore, and I tell you to run, you head straight into the water, and don’t look back. My good buddy Cord’ll pull you aboard, and once you’re there, you stay with him, okay?”

“’Kay,” Chris murmured against Seth’s neck. “I like you.”

Seth grunted at that out of the blue compliment. He’d reached the end of the line, but when he pressed one shoulder to the metal doors, they didn’t budge. He hadn’t noticed until now what he wished he’d seen on his way through these doors. There were no doorknobs or handles on this side, not even a hole or fitting where one would’ve been. Shit. They were trapped.

Crouching low, he set Chris’s feet to the ground and told him, “I need you to be brave, tough guy. Stand back with my buddy and the ladies, while I get us out of here.”

“Okay,” Chris said, still aiming the light at the closed doors.

Seth sent a glare at Eric. “They’re locked. What do you think? Grenade or a hundred rounds?”

“Fire in the hole,” Eric answered, motioning for Chris to join him. “Come on, everyone. We’re going around the corner where we’ll be safe. Send a message to those bastards, Seth. Light ’em up.”

Good answer. Seth waited until Chris and everyone else had retreated safely out of sight and beyond the blast zone. But shit, he was sick and tired of Montego’s rat bastard buddies. Approaching the door again, he splayed both palms over the rusted metal, wishing he had x-ray vision. Crouching, he ran his fingers along the threshold. Damn. There was no space for his flex neck spy cam. He and everyone with him really were trapped. Like rats.

Like hell.

The doors were rusty, and every door had hinges. Carefully, Seth retrieved one of the two aerosol cans of freeze-spray from his gear bag. After he donned a pair of leather gloves and a pair of photochromic safety glasses, he applied a good dose of the spray to both sides of the doorframe. Then he backed off from ground zero, crouched against the nearest wall, and curled both arms over his face and head in case the hinges exploded.

Metal, especially compromised metal, cracked under pressure, and this doorjamb was crackling plenty. This particular blend of freeze-spray contained not only dimethyl ether, but also propane, making it downright lethal in the right hands. Doctors used a much weaker version of it to treat warts and cancer cells, but the military grade version was blow-your-hands-off wicked. And Seth wanted to blow whoever was waiting for him on the other side of these doors, straight to hell.

In very few seconds, the distinctive popping sounds coming from the distressed metal hinges told Seth it was go-time. In one fluid motion, the spray can went back into his bag. His assault rifle slid over his shoulder and into his arms like a pet dragon, ready to breathe fire and mayhem.

The women in the dark hall behind him were quiet, and they were his last thought. He was doing this for them and Scottie. For every other battered woman in harm’s way. For Devereaux. For Lianna and Christopher and Cassidy. Seth pushed off the balls of his feet and charged into the centerline of those doors. Throwing his weight into it, he lead with his left shoulder while he aimed to kill anything that got in his way.

He was NOT blinded by the light that hit him square in the face once those doors burst off their hinges, though. Uh-uh. The safety glasses he’d snapped on had instantly compensated for the sudden shift from dark to bright, shielding his retinas from the sunlight now streaming through the dilapidated roof on the other side of those doors. The clear-as-day vision allowed him to accurately see the seven men in gray uniforms, all with rifles raised and ready to fire at him. Not Americans. Not Cubans. But every last one of them was decked out in red berets with some piece of shit Arabic symbol front and center over their black brows.

The Saudis seemed surprised. Some dropped their mouths as if they’d never seen a pissed off American soldier before. Toby Keith’s rowdy chorus, “How do you like me now?” rang out like a rebel cry in Seth’s head as he hit the dirt running.

Sliding like Babe Ruth into home base, he laid down a healthy round of rapid-fire, rotating his rifle from left to right as, still on his butt, he breached his enemy’s perimeter.

The Saudis were damned slow to respond, no doubt because he’d gotten in too close and too personal, way too fast. Nearly at the nearest guy’s knees before the bastard aimed and fired, the prison ground turned into an old west shooting gallery with the Saudis at Seth’s right, firing into their own guys on his left. They’d panicked. They were killing each other, firing wildly like a bunch of idiots.

Someone got off a lucky shot that actually ripped high into Seth’s shoulder like a hornet, but by the time he looked back to see how many, if any, of those badasses were left, the game was over.

Eric was the only one standing, the AR in his hands smoking almost as much as he was. “You’re an idiot!” he hissed as he stalked toward Seth, his jaw set hard and his brows clenched like one dark thundercloud over two blazing mad eyes. “You could’ve been killed, you dumb shit!”

Seth nodded as he shoved up off his knees, the hammering in his chest making it hard to breathe. “Well, yeah, but I knew what I was doing. They didn’t,” he said as he nodded to the losing team, on his way back to Eric.

One Saudi soldier clutched his pant leg as Seth passed by. Begrudgingly, Seth dropped to one knee beside the guy and asked, “You got something you want to say, asshole?”

After a drawn-out gurgling groan, the poor guy spat a river of blood along with, “Who… who are you?”

Seth cocked his head. He’d expected some terrorist rhetoric, ‘death to the infidels’, or some bullshit rant about ‘Allah’s will’, not a frightened question in broken English. “Me? I’m nobody, but who the hell are you?”

“Rashid…” the guy whispered, wheezing through the multiple bullet holes in his chest.

Seth took a second look at the man he’d bested. Shit, Rashid was no more than a kid, maybe eighteen. Maybe younger. Swallowing hard, Seth glanced over his wounded shoulder at the others sprawled around him. None of them were geared up. They wore no tactical vests. No body armor. Nothing to shield them from the killing effects of modern-day warfare. But they were all dying. It didn’t make sense. This Saudi army was nothing more than a bunch of kids with guns?

God, not again. “How old are you?” Seth had to know.

Rashid held up three bloody fingers. “Fif… teen.”

Holy shit. “Why are you guys in Cuba?” Seth asked more gently, needing to understand what the hell was going on. “Why’d you ambush me, Rashid? Why’d you take our female agent prisoner?”

“Must… save…” Wheeze. Spit. Groan. “Princess… Lianna…” With those final words, Rashid expired on a hiss.

Thoughtfully, Seth closed the younger man’s eyes before he looked up at Eric, who still surveyed the carnage, ever watchful. Ever faithful. Ever covering Seth’s six like a brother. But that was what military training did to a man. It turned him into a skilled, professional warrior. A guard dog. A killer. Something these kids obviously were not.

Shit. I’ve killed a child, children. Again.

Rattled to his soul, Seth told Eric, “I don’t get it. Khadeem sent kids to save the daughter he betrayed, but he sent them without sufficient protection or training. Look at them. None of them are soldiers. They’re not wearing bulletproof… anything. Not even a vest or body armor.” Exasperated with himself as much as the psycho on the other side of the world, Seth said, “Khadeem sent these—these children—to die for a cause he knew wasn’t true.”

Eric’s shoulders lifted as if he didn’t care, but Seth knew better. Eric’s love for his fellow man knew no bounds, but he also prioritized that love. His brothers and sisters always came first. “Like Alex says, once a bastard, always a bastard. Seems to me Khadeem wanted what you’d call plausible deniability. If his own people, his army, thought America was behind Princess Lianna’s disappearance, then why aren’t they Stateside blowing up airports and churches and… shit. Why are they here?”

“Apparently because…” Seth’s head jerked up. “Shit, Eric. Khadeem knew he could never get his men into America. He didn’t send them to retrieve Lianna. That’s not what this is about. He sent them here to die. Don’t you see? Two wrongs don’t make a right, but Jesus H. Christ! What he’s done to his daughter and these boys will start a war with America. He told his army to come save his daughter, but that’s what he really wants—war. We’ve got to get to FAST. Now! They’ve got to stop fighting before they do exactly what Khadeem expects. It’s not even a fair fight. Those Marines will kill every last one of these poor dumb kids, and then—”

“And then we’ll be at war with Saudi Arabia, every country that backs them, including Russia, and—”

“And shit!” Seth hissed, on his feet now and pissed at the treacherous snake behind this evil plan. “Khadeem’s one sick bastard, Eric. We’re not fighting Saudi Arabia, though I have no doubt that’s what Khadeem hopes to achieve. No, these aren’t the king’s soldiers. These are the sons of Khadeem’s tribesmen.”

Jerking his satphone out of his pocket, Seth stuffed the battery into its slot and did what he should’ve done a day ago. He called home.

“Stewart,” Alex bit out.

Without any preliminaries, Seth stated emphatically, “Boss, I need you to call your highest-ranking USMC buddy and tell him to direct FAST to cease and desist all military action on Isla de la Juventud. Right damned now, Boss! FAST needs to stop killing, because—these kids are not Saudis! Understood? They’re untrained teenagers. We called this all wrong. Khadeem sent unskilled young men without protection, and … Shit! Just fuckin’ disengage before we get sucked into another war!”

The line went dead, and Seth wasn’t sure if Alex hung up on him or what. Seth had never spoken to his boss like that. His thumb hit redial, and once again he got his boss, but all he heard was the one-sided conversation of one angry son-of-a-bitch telling another, “You heard me, General Pratt. I’ve got boots inside Cuba, and my guy’s telling me… Yes, I trust my man! He’s the best man I’ve got! Now, sir! Call your FAST commander right damned now and end this mess before it blows up in our face. This battle is not, I repeat, not what we think it is!”

The best man I’ve got? Me? Holy shit. Alex had just done precisely what Seth asked—and more. Instantly. No questions asked. For some crazy, inexplicable reason, tears stung the rims of Seth’s eyeballs. He brushed them away, but holy shit. Alex—listened.

Seth’s phone clicked and rattled a couple times before Alex came on the line and snarled, “What now?”

“Thanks,” was all Seth could manage, but it came out so quiet, he wasn’t sure Alex heard him.

The huffing and heavy breathing coming over the line told Seth his boss was one fired up badass, but Alex finally calmed enough to say, “Well done, Seth. Tell Eric I’m sending reinforcements. We’ll be watching for him. Have you located Cassidy yet?”

“Yes, Boss. We’ve got her. We were in the middle of exfil when we encountered a group of seven, umm, shit. Kids...” Whom I killed. “She’s unconscious right now, Boss, but there’s a boat waiting offshore for us. Eric’ll get her there. Should be home before sunset if all goes well.”

“I’ll have a team and an ambulance standing by to receive, just tell me where and when.”

“Copy that,” Seth said meekly, wishing Alex would get off the line before he caught on.

But Alex had an uncanny knack for reaching across a thousand miles and touching a guy, either with venom or with something much more powerful. And that was what Seth was afraid of, that—other weapon, the concise scalpel Alex wielded like a surgeon.

“Let it go, son,” Alex said, his voice gentled and soft. Downright kind.

Seth bowed his head like a kid and swallowed hard. The sting of Alex’s venom he could’ve handled, not—this.

“You had no way to know who you were facing, not as quickly as things spun up down there. Let it go and don’t carry these ghosts with you, too. Those kids were armed, young, and scared. On adrenaline alone, they would’ve killed Eric, Cassidy, and everyone with you.”

Seth nodded, though his boss couldn’t see him, but yeah. In his head Seth knew he should let the deaths of these innocents go. Those kids would’ve killed him, no questions asked. They might’ve bragged around the campfire tonight about the dumbass American they’d shot, about what a fool he’d been to charge into the middle of them like he did. They might’ve told each other all the lies and crap boys forced to become men told each other at the end of the day. But try telling Seth’s heart that. In the end, those men he’d killed were somebody’s little kids.

Damned if Eric didn’t make everything worse when his big hand landed firm and brotherly between Seth’s shoulder blades like it had so many times in the past. “You’re a good and decent man, Seth,” he said quietly. “I’m damned proud to work with you.”

Shrugging yet another nightmare off, Seth turned to the other man in his life whom he respected more than most. “The press will be all over this if the Marines massacre Khadeem’s men. You know that, don’t you? They’ll spin this to their own political agenda, and whatever we do here today will be the only thing that’ll make or break their lies.”

Eric nodded. Usually a positive guy, he’d grown more and more grim, almost morose, the longer this rescue mission took. “I’ve got to get Cassidy to the boat. The women and the boy, too. They can’t wait, and they need off this island.”

“Christopher. His name’s Christopher, Eric.” That seemed more important now than ever.

Eric tugged a plastic wrapped blow-out kit up from one of his many pockets and handed it over. “You’re wounded, Seth. Take a minute to patch yourself up before it gets infected.”

Seth stuffed the kit into his rear pocket. “Will you be okay?” He had to know.

Eric gave him one curt nod before he turned to where Chris and the women now huddled around Cassidy at the shattered doorway.

“You go with Eric from now on,” Seth told the brave little soldier still pointing his flashlight at Seth. “He’ll get you home to your mom and dad, to your teacher, Mr. Cousins. He’ll make sure you go on that field trip, too.” He’ll make sure you grow up to be a better man than most.

Chris nodded. Eric crouched to lift Cassidy up into his arms, and that was how Seth left them. Behind.