She feigned innocence, reaching out and cupping his face, the scratch of his stubble rough against her palm. “What would that be? Cavemen? You want to talk about cavemen?”
He chuckled. “You are so damn sassy. You know what. You know what I want.”
She forced a droll tone into her voice. “Do I, sandman?”
“Yes, you do.”
Atticus Sinclair had been her catalyst. He had been right from the very first. He had tempted her, teased her and taught her about sacrifice, determination, and courage. She wanted a life with him more than anything, but killing Bates stood between them. She was beginning to believe that letting it go and taking what she wanted had been planted in her heart when she watched a brave and selfless SEAL candidate anchor a boat, catch and hold his unconscious boat crew member, and save his boat crew.
“I love you, Atticus. I don’t want to be away from you anymore. I don’t want distance and noncommunication. I want to see you when you come home and be with you, build a life that we can be proud of and bring new life to nurture and grow. It’s what Maddy would have wanted.”
That goofy grin faded, and he dug at his eyes, then met her gaze. “I have been waiting for you to say that. I love you, Shea. You taught me about pure, real love. I had never experienced it before, and I’m glad I never had. You are in my heart and through this whole training to be a SEAL, I never once stopped thinking about you. It’s more than I ever dreamed it would be, and you are more than I ever dreamed I could have. Marry me. Be mine forever.”
She slipped her fingers over his lips, working at releasing the tightness in her throat so she could speak. “Ask me that again after this is all over.”
Gathering her up in a rough embrace, he caught the back of her head and held her tight against him. “I will,” he said gruffly. “You can bet your beautiful ass, I will.”
At six am or zero six hundred and after a cup of strong coffee, Hemingway’s team fast roped out of the helicopter as it hovered over the dense jungle. Max went down with Jugs clipped to his harness, and Shea went down clipped to Hemingway, face to face. She held onto his arms and he smiled. “It’s a blast, right?”
“Oh, yeah, a blast,” she responded wryly, looking down. The ground seemed too far away.
Bates was lowered on his own. When they were all on the ground and unclipped, Shea pulled out a map.
Dodger said, “It’s that way, mate.” He pointed to the north and grinned.
“Human GPS,” Mad Max growled.
“Take point, Max,” Fast Lane said. “Dragon, Pit, Saint, 2-Stroke cover our six.” They moved to the back of the line sandwiching Bates and her in the middle. Hemingway positioned himself in front of her. All of them carried large packs. She had her own backpack, but it wasn’t nearly as heavy as the ones they humped. “Move out.”
She was dressed in khaki pants, a short sleeved green safari shirt, and a vest over top. The jungle was steamy, moisture dripped, and the air was filled with water. She was drenched in a matter of minutes.
The sounds around her were filled with the movement of creatures, the drop of stuff from trees. A small green iguana skittered toward their path, saw Jugs, changed direction and vanished into the thicket. She noticed broken branches. Max was following those. Red and blue Macaws called from trees, blurs of color between the thick cover.
They walked for an hour, moving through thick jungle, a wall of green in front of them, the trail the Marines had left extremely easy to follow. As they approached some granite cliffs, she noticed something just at the edge of the rocks. She touched Hemingway’s pack. When Jugs barked, they surged forward.
They followed the Malinois. Then the line stopped, and she couldn’t see a thing, until she shouldered all the six-feet-something men out of the way. She gasped and stopped dead as whatever had agitated Jugs was revealed.
“Lance Corporal Thomas Schellenberg,” Shea said.
“He’s been dead for about three days, I’d say,” Saint said, crouching beside the body. “No gunshots. He was beaten to death, tortured.”
“Where’s Hanson and Taggert?” Bates asked, sounding truly worried about his nephew. If the man had a heart, it was smaller than the Grinch’s, she was sure.
She looked across the rocky ground toward the edge of the jungle. The trail was wider, more broken. She left them and walked toward the area. Hemingway broke off and followed her.
“You shouldn’t—”
“There was a large force that came through here,” she said, fingering a broken branch. “Whoever killed Schellenberg, probably has Hanson and Taggert. We need to go this way.”
“Good eye,” Fast Lane said. Turning to his team, he made a point of gripping his weapon. “Keep it tight and your heads on a swivel. I don’t think these hostiles are going to like us raining on their parade.” His next command was one word. “Dragon.”
The SEAL took off into the jungle. “He’s going to scope it out and report back to us,” Hemingway said.
“Recon.” She smiled.
As they moved back into the jungle, Dragon’s voice came over the comms. “LT, there’s a bunch of guys here—six, four of them look American, two Hispanic, armed to the teeth, watching an old farmhouse. Can’t determine their purpose. There’s a perimeter patrol, more tangos with autos. Look like drug runners to me.”
“Copy that. Let’s have a chat,” Fast Lane said.
“You stay here,” he said to her and Bates. The look on his face told her Bates wasn’t happy, but even he realized these guys were better at getting the drop on the men in black.
She tried to keep her eyes on the SEALs, but as they disappeared, her nerves drew taut. Then suddenly, they burst out of the jungle, weapons at the ready.
One of the men started to speak in rapid Spanish, and a blond guy stepped forward with his hands raised. “Whoa, DEA,” he said. “DEA.”
“Identification,” Fast Lane barked.
“I’m reaching for it,” he cautioned as he pulled out a brown leather case and flipped it open.
Max moved forward with Jugs. “Stay still. He doesn’t like any quick movements.” He took the badge and the guy froze everything except his eyes as he looked down at Jugs, panting and showing those long, white canines.
“What’s your purpose here?” Fast Lane asked as Max nodded, handed back his badge and retreated with Jugs.
“We’ve been tracking this group from Argentina.” He slipped his badge back under his vest. They are part of the Corta Cartel. I think they were hunting these three. We don’t know why.”
“Don’t tell me you just watched as they killed that Marine back there.”
“No, we came across him dead already.” Regret filled his voice. “I’ve already contacted the American Embassy and the Marine Corps to get him out of here.”
“Are you going to just sit here, while they murder the other two?”
“We’re outgunned and were waiting for backup, but I’m not sure those two can survive.” On cue there was a blood curdling scream and the sound of a man yelling obscenities.
“Now you’re reinforced.”
“SEALs?”