He lunged at her, but he couldn’t harm her now. He growled and barked, pacing back and forth.
She went back to the man, who held his arm across his chest, and crouched down to start assessing his injuries when she felt the muzzle of a gun slide against her ribcage.
“I’ll kill you if you hurt my dog.”
Oliver “Artful Dodger” Graham stood close to his pacing LT in case Ford “Fast Lane” Nixon lost it and attempted to throttle the pencil neck who was telling him that all choppers were grounded. These orders were from the Paraguayan government, who was royally pissed that the American military had carried out a black op on their soil without their cooperation or knowledge.
And as a “fuck you” they’d taken their HVT prisoner and confined the SEALs to this airbase.
He glanced over at Atticus “Hemingway” Sinclair, who had the same look on his face that was on every one of his teammates’ faces. Fuck this shit. Let’s commandeer a chopper and go after Max and Jugs. NCIS Special Agent Shea Palmer, Hemingway’s fiancée—damn, he liked the sound of that—stood near him while Kelly Sparks, their CIA liaison, was on the phone to her boss.
Concern tightened his chest, and he stepped in between the Paraguayan mouthpiece and Fast Lane and said, “Why don’t you take a breather, mate, and let my LT cool down? More arguing isn’t going to get us anywhere. We won’t be changing our minds.”
“You have violated—”
“We got you, pal,” Dodger said between gritted teeth, his own temper barely held in check. “But—”
He was interrupted by Neo “2-Stroke” Teller grabbing the pencil neck by the shirt and pushing him against the wall. “You get that chopper approved, you asshole. We have a man and our K9 left in the field, and if we don’t get to them, they’re going to die!”
Dodger and Saint pulled him off. “Neo, this isn’t helping.”
The normally calm, squared-away SEAL got into Dodger’s face. “What do you want to do? Let Max and Jugs rot out there? We’ve got to get to them before the terrorists or drug runners. They fell! They fucking fell! They could be injured…or worse.”
“Enough,” Fast Lane growled. “Take him for a walk, Dodger.”
Dodger gave Pitbull a silent look to watch over everything. Pitbull nodded, and Dodger grabbed 2-Stroke by his tack vest and pulled him toward the door.
He’d never seen him like this before. It was probably because losing a teammate was the worst damn feeling in the world. He hated the sound of that word. Lost. He remembered the sick feeling when Justin “Speed” Myerson had been taken by the Kirikhanistan rebels who murdered him in captivity. Dodger had that same damn feeling now, and the urgency was eating at them all to get out there to protect their injured teammates.
They hadn’t lost Max or Jugs! They were going to find them. The oath to never leave a fallen comrade was a promise made to each other. If one of them were to fall, the brotherhood would do everything in their power to bring that fallen man or K9 home. It would be a mission that wouldn’t end until they found Max and Jugs.
“You know how to fly a chopper, Dodger?”
“Yeah, Neo. I know how to fly a chopper, but we aren’t stealing a chopper.” At least not right now. “DOD is pissed at us, too.” They had total mission failure. Muhammad Angar Said, leader of the up-and-coming terrorist group Al’Irada was with the Paraguayans. “Muhammad has a relationship with this government. They’re going to let him go, and Max and Jugs…we’ve got to find them.”
“No offense, Dodger, but when Saint and I came to this team, Max was the only one who tried to help us fit in. We knew it was going to be tough, and it was. But the three of us stuck together.”
“You make it sound like we haven’t bonded. That hurts my feelings, mate.”
2-Stroke looked away toward the airfield, his expression tense. “I will admit that it’s been better lately. Dragon has always been great, and Pitbull came around.” He sighed and unclipped his helmet, removing it and holding it by the chin strap.
The wind picked up, and in the distance, the haze over the capital city of Asunción rose like steam in a pressure cooker. It blew strongly across the runways, kicking up dirt and debris, ruffling the golden strands of 2-Stroke’s hair.
“Hemingway is a great addition to the team, but I’m not going to sit around while Max and Jugs are out there, injured, fighting for their lives. I’d never be able to live with myself.” He turned to look at Dodger. “And if it were you, I’d feel the same way. We’re a team.”
Dodger had to admit it. He cared about Max a lot. Not many people, including the men on his team when he was with the Special Boat Service, understood him. He had never felt a connection to teammates like this. It had been easy to give up the service to follow Hermione Tucker to New York, where she broke his heart. Hermione had nagged him all the time that they never saw each other enough. But when he got out, and they came to the States, and he became an American citizen for her, she told him she’d fallen in love with someone at her workplace.
He had been set adrift, finding it difficult to fit into American civilian life, like a fish out of water. He took a job with this shady import/export business which was pretty close to mercenary work.
When he found himself in a foreign country doing a job for money that could get innocent people killed, he’d up and walked away. Although that job had helped him to create a worldwide network of friends and acquaintances, he considered applying for MI5 or MI6, going back to London and being a spy. It seemed it was something he’d be good at.
Enlisting in the SEALs he’d done on a whim, and it was the best decision he’d ever made.
He and Max had been connecting ever since Rhonda’s wedding when he’d stepped off Max’s sister Anna. That feat of strength hadn’t been easy because Anna Keegan was a gorgeous, smart, sexy babe, but you didn’t hook up with a brother’s sister. Dodger didn’t think about a future with a special woman anymore, his lesson learned with Hermione, especially now that he was back in the service.
Since he had no “intentions” toward Anna other than a tumble in bed, he had to take himself out of that equation. Max was his teammate, and teammates didn’t trifle with other teammates’ sisters. That was the line that had been drawn between them.
Although the night he danced with her, that line seemed quite blurred.
He shifted and said, “You trust Fast Lane, right?”
2-Stroke made a “duh” face. “With my life.”
There was no such thing as being too smart for your own good. The world needed men like Fast Lane and the rest of them to keep the balance from tipping in the wrong direction. They hadn’t been identified as the tip of the spear for nothing. If anyone could figure a way out of all of this, it would be Fast Lane.
“Do you think he’s going to let this slide and leave Max and Jugs out there?”
“No. He’s not. None of us will.” 2-Stroke rubbed at his face. They were all weary, going on no sleep. Made it easy to understand why tempers were flaring.
“Well, then be ready to go…”
His words trailed off as a woman snagged his attention. He stared at her, and 2-Stroke stared at him with a puzzled frown.