Chapter 12
12
Some things were in his power, and others were not, and Zorro didn’t lament whatever he couldn’t control. As a SEAL, he either went through it, around it, or killed it. That’s what BUD/S, training, and experience taught him—the separation of what was in his power between what was not in his power. It was something he always had ready at hand, ready to help him deal with whatever was thrown at him. It especially applied to medicine, but for him, there was a gray area. Controlling something and fighting like hell to save someone was a very fine life-and-death line.
Moving cautiously, his senses heightened put a time lock on every step he took. He had to be both fast and stealthy to save himself and Sam and get D-Day the help he was going to need. But trigger-happy idiots roamed the jungle—Filipino government troops, New People’s Army combatants, and other bottom feeders like thieves, drugrunners, and bootleggers. Add reduced visibility and freedom of movement to the mix, and everything just got even more fucked up.
Buck groaned softly.
“Hang in there, cowboy,” Zorro muttered, not sure if Buck could even hear him.
The rain had eased up a little, yet the sky was still dark, clouds hovering in a hard stall, ready to unleash again. There was no sign of a vehicle or two-legged life anywhere nearby. Fuck, a vehicle would be a nice, unexpected bonus.
He couldn’t control the weather or the rain that continued to fall, causing him to have to slog through an even worse-case scenario with a six-foot, two-hundred-pound unconscious Buck across his shoulders. When he found Buck’s body, his heart had jumped into his throat, hammering like crazy, but Buck’s steady pulse caused all that fear to drain out of him…for the moment.
Buck had taken a hard blow to the back of the head, and whoever hit him was long gone. Whether they had left him for dead was something Zorro couldn’t ever know, but he was just thankful that his teammate was alive, and he intended to keep him that way. He and D-Day had made the decision that he would work his way back until he was in comms range, then he would get Buck medical attention, alert Joker to the continued mission protocol, and assemble the SEALs to assault Lando’s compound where they would take him alive and get the intel regarding the triggers in his possession.
There was no other course of action than to leave a man behind. Even thinking it cost him, and that things-beyond-his-control thinking only made him grit his teeth and his gut clench with unresolved anger.
Now all his concern was focused solely on D-Day, and had been for months, and of course, his teammate’s sister. D-Day had always been…quiet, reserved, and predictable. He was an exemplary SEAL, there was no doubt about it. Now he knew why D-Day had turned into an erratic, temperamental man, drinking, fighting, and brooding, even more closed up than ever.
Yeah, and that was a very potent why…the beautiful, tough, and versatile Helen Buckard. He got it. She was something with that flaxen hair, delicate features, and a body with enough curves to make any man swerve over and over again. Yet, for Zorro, it was her courage in standing up to two very pissed-off alpha men—her formidable brother, and a volatile D-Day, going her own way unapologetically with an indomitable spirit. His gut clenched again at the thought of D-Day all alone and up against Lando in a compound full of killers, and if anything happened to him—his gut clenched again—how vulnerable Helen would be all alone. Fuck, Buck was going to be pissed when he found out.
It wouldn’t take much to push D-Day over the edge, he’d been hovering there for some time. Zorro was sure of it. He had all the signs of losing his shit, and Helen was easily the deadly trigger. His still-waters-run-deep teammate didn’t have Zorro and Buck as buffers.
Sam stirred, the burden of Buck’s weight pounding his hips. In the distance, the tat-tat of gunfire boomed in the weak light. Knowing that it was time for a quick rest, and he wanted to check on Buck, he carefully maneuvered his semi-conscious teammate off his back, then went to his knees. Buck’s head lolled to the side and his eyes opened, blinking up at him with the glassy-eyed look of a sleepwalker.
“What the fuck?” he rasped out, breathing in short gasps. “What’s going on?”
“You got your fucking bell rung, amigo,” Zorro said, looking around, keeping his senses open while he rolled Buck to his side and grabbed his pack, digging for his med kit. With quick, methodical movements, he changed the bandage on the back of Buck’s head, his intake of breath suppressed. Transferring him to his back, he noted that Buck’s skin was ashen, the rain mixing with the blood on his face, leaving it splotched in places, with smudges of dirt in others.
“How? What happened?”
“I have no idea,” Zorro said, pulling water from his pack and offering it to Buck. Once he was finished, Zorro drank the rest of it.
Buck frowned. “Damn, I don’t remember.”
“Not really important right now. It’s a good thing you have a hard head.”
“Ha-fucking-ha,” Buck said. “Where’s D-Day and my sister.”
Here it comes. “We made the decision to get you medical attention. They stayed to finish out the mission.”
Buck stiffened. “What the ever-loving fuck. Take us back.” Beneath dark brows, his dazed green eyes were as piercing as they could get.
“No, I have no idea what damage has been done to your noggin, and you are not fit for combat in case that’s eluded your rather screwed-up thinking.”
“In your opinion,” Buck said, trying to rise, but Zorro pushed him back down.
“How many fingers am I holding up?” Zorro held up his index and middle finger.
Buck blinked several times, then growled. “Four.”
Zorro made a buzzer sound and shook his head. “My opinion is the only one that matters, Buck. Stop fighting me. It’s going to be hard enough carrying you and my sixty-pound pack.” He grinned. “It’s a good thing I never skip leg day.”
Buck closed his eyes, probably due to rolling nausea. He definitely had a severe concussion and maybe even a fractured skull. Urgency pressed in on Zorro. “I can walk,” he said weakly.
“Like hell you can, but thanks for the effort. Besides, walking isn’t going to cut it. We need to move faster than a crawl. You’re going back on my shoulders, so stop your bitching.”
“You’ve got a mean bedside manner, partner.”
“I learned it in the medic’s handbook under the heading on how to deal with know-it-all, difficult, never-quit SEALs.”
“If I wasn’t addlepated, I would have a snappy comeback.”
“ Gracias a Dios por los pequenos milagros .” Thank God for small miracles.
“I do understand Spanish, you know.”
“I know.” Zorro bent down and strapped into his pack. “Let’s get out of here. I hate being wet.”
Buck snorted. “You’re a goddamned SEAL. We’re almost always wet.”
“Yeah, doesn’t mean I have to like it. I just joined the Navy for the politas— the chicks.” Zorro grinned and hefted Buck back up to his shoulders, grunting a little. “You probably should slow down on the beers, amigo.”
“Fuck you, Martinez,” Buck rasped with a tinge of humor in his tone.
With a quick prayer to Santa Maria, Zorro took off at a lope and hadn’t been running for more than ten minutes when a volley of bullets sliced through the jungle, some thunking into a tree right near his head. Two directions. They were in a freaking crossfire, and his immediate action was to get off the fucking X.
The jungle was so thick it was hard to see anything, a green shawl thrown over the land, cloaked in gray and steaming with mist, nothing visible in the unnatural dusk. To make matters even worse, the steady drizzle suddenly turned into a drumming downpour.
He darted to the side not sure where the shooters were, but it was clear Santa Maria hadn’t been listening.
Sorry for the flip politas comment . I didn’t just join the Navy for the chicks. I wanted to be part of something unique and dangerous. I wanted to make a difference. I wanted to be part of and heal warriors who never quit. I wanted to be a SEAL.
A sharp pain impacted his left side, a sensation that sent shock waves through his entire body with excruciating pulses. He gritted his teeth and went down hard, immediately covering Buck’s body with his own. The bullets intensified, the rain unrelenting, and he reached down to cover his wound, the blood seeping through his fingers and mingling with the rain.
D-Day stood there for a moment, watching Helen disassemble from the news that her big brother was down, injured. He was also shaken by his teammate’s serious injury, but also the implication that they were alone, without backup.
Finding the nuclear triggers now boiled down to him and Helen, and they were hindered by a little shit warlord who didn’t seem to care for his nation.
His immediate reaction was to get Helen out of here; his next was to comfort her, but he couldn’t be caught soothing her. Graham Butler wouldn’t soothe his own mother.
So, he couldn’t touch her, but he could talk to her. He moved closer to her and lowered his voice. “You do know that Zorro is a Navy Corpsman, right?”
She shook her head, her eyes swimming with unshed tears and anguish. He wanted to gather her against him so badly, but he kept his hands by his side. Her face softened as she looked at him, aware he was struggling.
“Everyone in the service knows the magnificent deeds corpsmen perform in combat. The corpsman rating is the most decorated in the Navy for valorous acts, and Zorro has been decorated more times than I can count. While on a mission we were all in a helicopter crash.”
She made a small sound, then tilted her head. “I thought you were trying to make me feel better.”
He smiled sheepishly. “It’s part of the story.”
“Okay.”
He smiled. She was so amazing, so sweet, and he’d been just a little afraid of her. His betrayal and naivete at the machinations of a girl was something he’d internalized after the trauma he’d suffered in high school, but trusting Helen seemed to come so naturally.
“Our LT was seriously injured, but Zorro kept him alive through combat and a run through the jungle. The doctor who took care of Joker said it was Zorro’s skill that saved him. So, what I’m trying to say is Buck is in good hands. The best hands. He won’t stop until Buck gets medical attention. No matter what.”
“What’s his name?”
“Mataeo Martinez. He’s got a way of using humor to get a point across or to break up tension. Even though sometimes I want to punch him in the face, I also find him…” He cleared his throat… “endearing and funny as hell.”
She giggled.
“If you tell anyone I said that, especially Martinez, I will have to kill you.”
She giggled again and said, “Noted.”
A door opened and D-Day leaned closer. “Push me away and say I’m disgusting.”
She did that just as Lando shuffled into the room looking like he’d been drawn through a knothole. D-Day bet the guy was thankful for the overcast day and the rain. The drug they’d given him last night was a punishing one, but fast, undetectable, and long lasting. D-Day had no regrets.
“I’m going to check on Taer,” she said, giving him a soft look before putting a frown on her face and heading down the hall.
“I’m afraid to break it to you, Butler, but that woman doesn’t like you at all,” Lando said, sitting down on the sofa. Immediately, the woman who had prepared his meal came into the room with a tray and three mugs of steaming coffee. He took one of the mugs and shook his head at the cream. Lando also took his black. The woman then bowed and headed for Taer’s room.
“I don’t care whether she does or not.” He took a sip of black brew and sighed. Not only could the woman cook, but damn she made one hell of a good cup of coffee in the middle of the Filipino jungle. “She’ll soon learn the error of her ways.”
Lando’s brows rose. “Not before she takes care of my brother,” he growled.
“No, not before, but after…” He let his words trail off ominously.
D-Day leaned back and crossed his ankle over his knee. “So, mate, I’ve heard a tantalizing rumor.”
Lando rubbed at his temple and replied wearily, cringing as if his head ached.
Serves you right, you bastard. “That you’ve got something I would definitely want.”
“What rumor?” Lando asked, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as he took a deep draught of the coffee.
“That you are in possession of some nuclear triggers. That would be some profitable merchandise.”
“They’re not for sale,” Lando snapped. “They’re earmarked for another buyer.”
Something eased in D-Day. So, he had them and they hadn’t been turned over yet. That was good news. “Good on ya, mate. I heard six. Couldn’t you say two were lost in transit?”
Lando opened his mouth, then closed it, his expression going sly. “What exactly would you pay for two?”
“Name your price.”
“Hmm, let me think about it. The buyers expect six, but I might be able to convince them that two were lost. But if they find out I swindled them, they’ll kill all of us.”
D-Day shrugged. “No one has to know.”
Lando grunted in response and D-Day let it go for now.
Lando looked around. “Where’s your sidekick?”
“He’s around here somewhere.” D-Day bluffed. He had no intention of giving away the fact that Zorro and Buck were no longer here to back him up.
Lando finished his coffee. “Feel free to use the shower and change your clothes,” Lando said, wrinkling his nose.
D-Day was sure he was rank, and he nodded at the invitation. Lando shuffled out of the room, and he sat there wondering how Buck and Zorro were doing. But this mission was his priority, and the moment Lando revealed where those triggers were, he was taking them and getting Helen the hell out of there.
Helen. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, feeling weary. Even as she slept so peacefully against him, he couldn’t help as a revelation crashed into him.
Buck knew all about them and he was okay with it. D-Day had to wonder if he’d been reluctant to talk to Buck about it because he sensed that Buck would never judge him unfairly, that if he knew he had genuine feelings for Helen, he would simply tell him that he was okay with it, but if D-Day hurt her, he had a huge spread of land in Wyoming and there was plenty of lime and shovels.
He thought it had been Buck and the SEAL Code that had been holding him back, but now he knew that wasn’t true. There was no more barrier to him seeking out a relationship with Buck’s sister. Yet his reluctance to pursue the relationship was completely opposite to his hope of having her in his life. But if he was going to fully commit to her, she had a right to know about his past and why he had no family contact.
He winced against the rush of memories that moved through his mind like a strobe light—fists flying at him as he was held so tightly, helpless to stop the blows that landed with punishing pain that soon turned into agony. The taste of bitter betrayal mingling with the metallic blood in his mouth. The bindings around his wrists and how they chaffed, how he shivered in the night, naked, bleeding, beaten, and in shock. The humiliation, the media coverage, and the shame that still dogged him after eight years of living with it, telling no one about it, and hiding like a coward so that he wouldn’t have to see the look on his teammates’ faces when they found out. He often lived in fear that they would discover what happened and lose all respect for him like his family had. He didn’t think he would survive the same ostracization from his brothers as he had from his family. The team meant everything to him. He had found men like him, who understood his need to be a warrior, right wrongs because that was what burned inside him. He couldn’t lose them, not to that one terrible teenage incident that had ruined his life.
He also didn’t think he could take Helen looking at him differently, with pity, or disappointment, or loss of respect. She was a noble person, and he wasn’t sure he was worthy of such a woman.
And that was the crux of the problem. He burned with shame, his whole body hot from the one emotion he’d never been able to eradicate.
Secrets died hard.
And his secret was a whopper.
It had destroyed his life, destroyed his relationship with his family, and left him alone, hurting, and aching for relief from the unrelenting mortification that incident elicited.
It had been years since he’d even allowed all the crap from high school to affect him, or so he thought. He now wondered if the drinking and the fighting were coming out for another reason, a reason he buried deep down inside him, a residual of unresolved feelings and lack of closure.
Terrified that was exactly what was happening, he shifted on the sofa.
He went to the window, staring out wishing the hole in his gut would go away, wondering what the hell was the matter with him. He was in love with Helen, and they could be together. He should be ecstatic. But he wasn’t.
He was playing big-time games with himself if he thought he could move forward without first dealing with the past. They could never be friends, and there was no way he was going to string along a woman like that. Never.
Looking away, he swallowed hard, his eyes suddenly burning. He would never be the same if he lost Helen, and the fear inside him at the loss made him understand that he couldn’t have both—Helen and his secret.
Was any secret worth losing her?
All he knew for sure was that every moment with her had been real for him. But he was leery, ashamed to admit it even now, that somehow, she would see his unworthiness and he would feel betrayed all over again. He turned away from the window, rolling his shoulders. What he needed was a long run.
A little voice in him said caustically, you can’t outrun the truth.
He tried, as the drizzle turned to a downpour, as he ran full out on the paths behind the compound, wanting to escape not only his own faults and failings but the questions that she would inevitably ask, and he would have to answer. He could never lie to her.
The denial of his own feelings built a sense of pressure in his chest that grew and grew. It crowded against his lungs, squeezed his heart, closed off his throat, pushed hard on the backs of his eyes. He had crushed it out before, time and again.
But what he had never done, not in private, not in public, was to let it all out.
He tried to breathe, but his lungs couldn’t expand to accommodate the wet, humid air. The pressure was so great, he wondered wildly if he would simply explode.
He fought for control, but everything was bubbling up inside him, and gasping now, he ran harder, pushing himself ruthlessly as if he could outrun the demons that weren’t on his heels at all, but inside him.
You couldn’t outrun yourself.
Still, he tried to leash the fury building inside him. His whole body trembled with the power of it. He clenched his teeth against the need to scream.
He stopped, the anguish almost palpable. Shaking violently, he clasped a tree. He fell to his knees, the roots hard against his flesh. Bowing his head, he curled over into a tight ball of misery, gasping for control that seemed even more elusive.
On one level, he understood that he was unraveling, that he had finally faced that terrible memory and desperately couldn’t deny the pain that had been buried for too long. His family had done nothing but condemn him. There was no justice for him, only their disappointment, disapproval, humiliation, and cold, harsh looks.
He’d had no home anymore, and nowhere to go until he’d seen an ad for the Navy on TV. He didn’t even think about it. He left right then and there with nothing but a small bag of his belongings, the whole of his meager bank account, and got himself to the nearest recruiter, and then to BUD/S where he found his new family. His pride in digging deep inside him to persevere gave him hope that he was worth something. Then there was Wyoming, where he found his heart and the people who didn’t judge him, but just accepted him for who he was.
He pushed himself relentlessly to his feet. So much depended on him—Helen’s welfare, the fate of the whole of the Philippines, subsequently everyone in it, including his countrymen. He wasn’t going to fail no matter how his personal life was impacting his life. He would be worthy of the mission he had accepted. He would be worthy of his role and his place on his SEAL team. He had earned that, and he was proud of it. He would never let his brothers down.
He turned and ran back to the compound, stripping off his sopping wet shirt and wringing it out, then stepped back inside. He removed his soaked boots and wet socks, and to his chagrin, that sweet little woman was there, taking his shirt out of his hands, and the socks, nodding to his pants. He slipped out of them as she handed him a towel, removing the briefs. She smiled at him as if she could see who he really was, then turned and disappeared.
For some reason, that made him even more unsettled. He walked to the bedroom he’d shared with Helen, but once he got inside, he just lost it again.
He leaned his forehead against the doorframe to the bathroom, his chest heaving with an overload of emotions.
The warm touch of her hand jolted him. He hadn’t heard her come in, and he was shocked by his own behavior. He was supposed to always be aware of his surroundings. It was a huge wake-up call.
“Drew,” she said softly, simply moving against him and taking him into her arms without even a preamble.
She held him close, cradled him against her, giving him everything that was in her heart, and he choked up, his chest expanding and contracting with the pain and the realization that once this mission was over, he was going to have to go back home before he could do anything else, before he told Helen he loved her, before he told them all about his past, before he could heal himself and be the man she deserved instead of this utter mess of shame, remorse, anger. He couldn’t hide any longer, and he couldn’t push all of this morass down anymore.
If he didn’t come back to her as the man she deserved him to be, he wasn’t going to come back at all.