Chapter One
Jackson
Overhead, footsteps thundered as gang members pounded across the roof.
This was supposed to be a quick job. An Ambassador’s son had gotten in over his head gambling in Romania, and owed a shit-ton of money to the locals. They hadn’t taken kindly to his entitled attitude, so they’d tied him up and dumped him in a decrepit hotel.
My job was to get into the hotel, grab the kid, who at twenty-six, wasn’t really a kid at all. It was a typical Ranger rescue job -- get in, get the hostage, get the hell out.
Someone inside must have been watching more closely than we’d thought, or one of us had hit a trip wire, because as soon as the three of us entered the hotel, the gang had come running. One of my guys had stayed on the roof as a lookout, so we weren’t caught off guard. But we were going to have to speed this up a bit.
I side-stepped down the stairwell to the third floor. Room 332. The cheap wood splintered as I kicked the door in.
Thank the Lord. The kid was in the room, exactly where the intel said he’d be.
I checked the room. It was empty. Morons. They’d even left the kid without a guard.
The kid was tied to a chair by the ankles, but he looked fine. No blood, no bruises. I cut the ropes away from his ankles and pulled the gag from his mouth. “Stay quiet,” I said as I hauled him up with one arm and carted him down the hallway. He was so skinny he barely slowed me down at all.
He mumbled a few times, but mostly stayed silent.
Shit. The footsteps were getting closer. Some of the gang members must have come up from the street entrance. I couldn’t fight with the hostage over my shoulder, so I stuffed him into a broom closet. “Stay in there.” I said. “We’ll be back for you. Don’t leave unless it’s with a U.S. soldier.”
“But--”
“No arguing.” I pointed at him. “You do not want to be in a firefight with these people. Haven’t you learned anything?”
I didn’t wait on an answer. I got my back against the wall and waited until the door to the stairwell burst open.
The Romanians were screaming at me and shooting. Bullets whizzed by and for some ungodly reason, the little shit I’d just saved came running up behind me waving a dustpan.
He must be high. I should have realized.
“Get the fuck back,” I shoved him behind me. But it was too late. One of the bullets hit him right in the thigh.
He screamed and hit the floor.
Fuck.
Now the ambassador’s son had been shot, and I was the one responsible. Thank God it was in the leg and not the head.
Fire sliced across my shoulder. Dammit. This was not good. I was distracted, and now I’d stood there and let a bullet graze me. I scooped him up and threw him back over my shoulder. The kid moaned and thrashed a little. “Put me down,” he said weakly.
Not happening. The chance for a dignified exit was long over.
I ran.
Outside the hotel, our car was gone. Fucking perfect. I ran down the block and ducked into an alley. Within seconds, tires screeched and I heard someone yell, “Ace, get in the car.”
Relief flooded my body. It was my team. Ace wasn’t my name, or even my title, but it’s what my team called me, because I was the lead. I raced down the alley where they were waiting with the car door open. I shoved the kid into the backseat and climbed in after him.
“Couldn’t stay in the street,” my teammate said. “It was like an invasion of ants back there. Gang members running in every direction.”
“You can’t take me to the hospital here,” the kid said, groaning and clutching his leg. “They’ll kill me.”
“Fine,” I said. “We can handle this.” In my bag, we had a shot of lidocaine, penicillin and some butterfly bandages. I got to work, sanitizing my hands with rubbing alcohol, and doing my best to remember all the field medicine training I’d had.
After enduring a long phone call with our supervisor at the American Embassy, and a request for paperwork, and a visit with a medic to patch us up, we were finally cleared to go. The Romanian government even put us up in a nice hotel in Bucharest.
It looked pretty swanky, but I was too tired to appreciate the fancy architecture and the high-thread count sheets. At that point, I’d have taken a blanket and a cot, which would still be a step up from many places I slept. I fell asleep immediately.
Smoke clogged my throat. Dust stung my eyes. On my stomach, I crawled forward. A blast rocked the ground next to me. My ears rang; my head spun.
I jerked awake. Someone was in the room. I rolled sideways to grab my gun, but my hand hit a combat boot.
“Watch it,” my teammate said.
Dammit. A nightmare.
I rubbed my hand over my mouth. “How’d you get in here?” It’s not like we were crammed together in barracks; the U.S. government had sprung for separate rooms.
My teammate loomed over me, but not too close. He had the heel of his boot on my gun, which was smart. “Broke in.” He pointed to the adjoining door, where the handle was now missing. Great.
“You screamed,” he said.
“I was dreaming,” I said. I was not telling him about my nightmare. We were close, but not that close. “Must have thought I was at Disney World,” I said.
“Yeah, I bet. That Dumbo roller coaster is something else.” He gave my leg one last friendly kick. “Good news. We’ve got a month of leave. Boss says good job. The dumbass you rescued is fine, and his daddy is so thrilled he donated a shit-ton of money to the armed forces.”
That was… good. Numb, I tried to muster some enthusiasm for the upcoming holiday from work.
“I’m going to Atlantic City,” my teammate said. “Cannot wait.”
That sounded like hell. Crowds. People. Noise.
I wanted to be alone.
He wandered back to his room, where I could hear the television blaring, thanks to the missing doorknob.
I sat up and leaned against the wall. What the fuck? Why was I having nightmares now? This hadn’t been my worst mission. My team was alive. The kid was alive. The Ambassador was apparently thrilled if he was throwing money around. And we were all sleeping inside. It wasn’t the Ritz, but it was damn near close.
I wiped my hand over my mouth and it came away smeared with blood. I’d bitten down on my own tongue.
Christ, I did need a break.
I rolled onto my back and closed my eyes. I had a month off. I could go anywhere in the world. I wasn’t rich, but I had plenty of hazard pay saved up, and I never had a reason to spend it.
I could go to my grandfather’s cabin in Alaska. I’d spent most summers there growing up. The cool air had always been a welcome break from Florida’s heat, where I’d lived as a kid. Now that I was stationed in Georgia, I experienced the same kind of heat while I was in the States.
Alaska in the summer was perfect. I could go there and get a handle on myself, and quit freaking out about nothing.
Chapter Two
Loren
I tapped my champagne glass against my cousin’s. “Congratulations,” I said. “I’m so happy for you.” The words flowed from my mouth, but I didn’t really mean them. Who in their right mind wanted to get married at twenty-one?