It seemed to take forever, but Rio was finally cleared and through the gate, and heading toward the SpecWar building where Team Ten lived.
Senior Chief Harvard Becker was out in the parking lot—his truck had been just a few vehicles in front of Gert. Mike Lee—one of Rio’s besties from BUD/S, now a lieutenant junior grade—and Dave Patterson had just arrived, too, coming in from another gate.
“You know what’s going on, Lieutenant?” Harvard asked Mike before Rio could ask the senior chief—usually all-knowing—the very same question.
“Not a clue.” Mike shook his head, looking from Rio to Dave. “Cell service is down—I can’t even text. Anyone get onto social media?”
Rio shook his head, and it was a big fat no from Dave, too.
Whatever this was, it was definitely bad—that much was clear.
There was a crowd in front of the elevators, so they took the stairs, double-time, up toward Team Ten’s CO’s office.
Captain Joe Catalanotto was already out in the hall, decked out in camo instead of his usual summer whites. He was on the move toward the command center.
“Good, Senior, you’re here,” the CO barked as he saw Harvard emerging from the door to the stairwell. “I need two SEALs to report to Admiral Francisco, on the double. Tasha and Lieutenant King never arrived at the Ustanzian compound and—”
“I’ll go.” Rio and Mike spoke at the same time. If Thomas King was in trouble...
But the Captain shook his head. “No, I need my officers, the entire world’s on fire,” he said. “Lieutenant Lee, you’re with me. Senior, catch up ASAP.”
Rio realized in that moment that the CO’s no didn’t apply to him, so he quickly turned to the senior to plead his case. “If Thomas King is missing,” he started.
But Harvard didn’t need to hear it. “You and Mike know him better than anyone,” he said, already on board. “You’re it. Dave, you’re with Rio. See what the admiral needs.”
Chapter Seven
“I’m trying not to think about ticks,” Tasha admitted. “Or spiders.”
“That’s smart,” Thomas’s voice was quiet in the darkness.
“You weren’t kidding when you said it would get dark fast out here.”
“Yeah, I’m just dressed like a clown.” His voice floated back to her from where he was tending the smoldering remains of the small pit fire he’d lit—easily, thanks to Tasha—or rather thanks to the lighter she carried in her jacket pocket. He’d put the flames out when the daylight first started to fade, telling her that he didn’t want whoever might be following them to see the glow in the darkness.
But that fire had crackled merrily away for a while, and had done the trick both to dry their damp clothes and to warm the hide—which was what Thomas called the little lean-to of branches and forest debris that they’d half-dug, half-built into the hillside.
As Tash had helped him as best she could, considering her hands were still cuffed, he’d explained that the only reason he was building a fire was because of the smoke that was already hanging heavily in the air.
The current low-hanging cloud cover was keeping the smoke from escaping, Thomas had continued in his narrate-a-nature-video tone. Normally, in clear conditions, smoke from even a small fire like this one would be the equivalent of a neon sign announcing We are here! and Come and get us! But with the amount of smoke both from the exploded SUV and whatever else was burning already hanging in the air, their smoke wouldn’t stand out.
The sun hadn’t seemed close to setting when Thomas had first announced that there was no way they’d be able to hike all the way to the Ustanzian compound tonight, and that they’d need to stop so he could build them this shelter.
The very first thought that popped into Tasha’s head in giddy response was: We’re finally gonna have sex!
Her stupid imagination had immediately concocted a glorious story—she and Thomas, clinging together for warmth in a far less tick-slash-spider-filled shelter than this one. Whispered talking would lead to banter would lead to heated glances, which would lead to a kiss and then many more kisses... which eventually would lead to them both shedding their clothes, orgasming wildly, and then proclaiming their undying, endless, and epic love.
She knew it was ridiculous, and yet...
They’d both survived a fiery, explosive death today. So even if the proclaiming-undying-love thing was admittedly a stretch, the idea of two healthy, grateful people having whoop-whoop, we’re both alive sex didn’t seem all that far-fetched.
Except for the fact that one of them was her and the other was Thomas King.
Back when they’d first stopped walking, Thomas had given her a long list of very non-we-gotta-have-sex reasons why they couldn’t push on to the ski lodge; why they had to stop for the night even though it was still daylight. As they continued, the incline would get far more steep and at times even treacherous. They’d have to use their hands—and hers were still cuffed. No way was he willing to attempt that blind.
Because out here, he’d grimly told her, when it got dark, it got dark.
“Not a lot of kidding is gonna be coming out of my mouth between now and tomorrow morning,” Thomas informed her now as he checked the temperature of one of the large rocks he’d placed along the bottom of the fire pit. Apparently, instead of snuggling together for warmth, they’d each get cozy with a rock or two, like a caveman’s version of a bed-warmer, “when we extract via Uncle Navy’s rescue helo.”
“You weren’t kidding is just an expression, Thomas. Jeez,” Tasha countered, more irritated at him than she had the right to be. Except, no. She’d escaped death today, too. “No need to clutch your pearls and go all Navy SEAL on me.”
He laughed at that. “And now I’m wondering—hard—about the dress code for the Ustanzian special forces. Pearls?”
“You know what I mean,” she said, instead of shouting, For God’s sake, stop treating me like I’m your little sister!
Because even though he’d started this with his whole Not a lot of kidding thing, she’d purposely said clutch your pearls to get the laugh that she’d wanted. And gotten. He’d obliged.
It was a game they’d played back when she was much younger, back when Thomas had babysat for her, twice, sometimes three times a week, and then later, when they’d just hung out, watching movies. He’d intentionally take whatever she said literally. It had always made them laugh themselves silly, but revisiting it here and now just made her feel sad and tired.
Of course, maybe she was just sad and tired. It had been a truly stupid day.
I do love you. You’re my little sister.
“You always hated camping,” she said to break the silence that was stretching on a little too long.
“Still do,” Thomas said evenly. “This isn’t camping. It’s SERE, with an emphasis on the S and the Es, and right now I happen to love it very much.”
SERE—as every family member of a Navy SEAL knew—was a military acronym for survival, evasion, resistance, and escape. Back when Thomas first realized that he aspired to be a SEAL, he recognized that although his San Diego-born-and-raised background gave him the swimming and boating skills required, his mountain-man type living-off-the-land abilities were lacking. He talked the SEALs in Team Ten into giving him a crash course in SERE training—and hated every minute of it.