Never mind. Mullins couldn’t intimidate her, impede her or stop her. She wasn’t interested in continuing in politics. It would be a daily reminder that her husband was no longer on this earth doing the job he loved. That was hard enough as it was.
It was political suicide to go up against a man like Mullins. He was connected, rich as all get-out and powerful. It was rumored he had aspirations for the Oval Office and that he would be a shoo-in if he ever decided to run.
Her mouth tightened. She had no doubt he intended to run. And run over her. Well, he was going to be handed his…defeat.
This bill was going to the floor. She bet that stuck in his powerful craw.
She drifted after that thought. Dexter’s gorgeous blue eyes and striking features kept invading her thoughts as she fell into sleep.
It seemed like only moments later when she jerked awake. She lay still in the darkened room. Something was…different. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she heard nothing.
That was it. The hospital was eerily quiet. There was no sound, no voices, no…nothing. And in a busy hospital like Bagram, that was strange.
She rose and immediately slipped on her shoes and grabbed her purse, putting the shoulder strap over her head.
She moved toward the door, not understanding why everything in her screamed at her to remain quiet. She peeked out and her heart jumped into her throat.
Her detail was…gone. Both men were not at their posts. This was unprecedented, unless they had decided there was a threat to her welfare. It was their job to keep her safe, to take a bullet for her.
She slipped out of the room to the nurses’ station, but there was no one there. She took a breath and a popping sound cracked just outside. She jumped and turned toward the door that led to the entrance and the airfield. She heard more popping noises.
Trying to rationalize that the sound must be backfiring vehicles, that it couldn’t be…gunfire―could it?―trying to contain the quavering feeling in the pit of her stomach, she almost came out of her skin at the sound of an explosion so loud it shook the hospital.
Her gaze shot to the front door, her stomach now doing loop-de-loops before dropping to her feet.
The front door banged open and men in desert garb toting automatic weapons came through. They were not the Afghani forces she was used to seeing. She bolted behind the nurses’ station before they could see her and tucked herself underneath the desk, going very, very still.
She could hear them fanning out and she peeked around the desk seeing that they were looking into rooms, but the SEALs had been medevaced out. That only left―oh, God―Dexter.
Chapter Three
Dexter woke to the sound of gunfire, not sure it was a residual dream or reality. He lay very still, his hearing jacked up. Still groggy from sleep, he tried to clear his head. The base wasn’t controlled by the US military anymore. It was a convenient way station, but not as secure as it had once been.
Then he heard it again and his thoughts went directly to Ty and Piper. That gunfire was close, and another burst confirmed it. It was coming from inside the hospital.
He gritted his teeth and rolled out of the bed, crouching. Reaching down and ripping off a strip of tape and gauze from his side wound, he took a breath and pulled out the IV, setting the material against the puncture and taping it securely down. The drugs in his system were still numbing his side enough that he could function. It wouldn’t have mattered. It had been years, but he hadn’t forgotten his SEAL training. If he had breath, he could fight. Pain was nothing but a state of mind. He’d worked through the pain and never, ever given up. It made him unbreakable.
Every bed in here was empty, except his. He listened and waited while he assessed the situation. He had nothing; his clothes and his weapons were shot and bombed to hell, all his ID sitting at home. He was completely unarmed, and the first course of action was to get his hands on a weapon. Then he had to find Piper and Ty.
Hopefully, they had already shipped out of here.
The sound of footsteps approaching had him readying himself. He heard them whisper in Pashto, “There’s no one here.”
“We better search, anyway.”
He watched the progress of the two men, checking each bed, starting at the beginning of the room. His was about halfway down the row. Sliding under the bed, he waited until they made it past him.
Without even a whisper of sound, he ghosted out and came up behind them as they were checking the last bed. As the insurgent turned his head, Dex’s quick jab caught him in the throat and he went down gurgling. The second guy reacted too late. Dex’s arm went around his neck and he applied pressure until the man stopped struggling. It was hell with his wound, but he endured the pain. Without missing a beat, he reached down and grabbed one of the weapons, pulling the sidearm out of the man’s holster. He checked the magazine and slammed it home. Full. Twelve rounds. Russian-made.
He stripped down, ignoring the feeling returning to his side and dressing himself in the pungent desert garb, including the head covering, which obscured his features. Taking his LT bars and pinning them inside his clothes. What the hell was going on?
The only easy day was yesterday. One of the SEAL mottos and very fitting right about now.
He strapped the assault rifle across his back, leaving it dangling against his left hip and uninjured side. He was proficient in shooting with both hands.
He kept the pistol down as he made short work of silently moving along the empty corridors. When he reached the nurses’ station, he was relieved there were no bodies. He could only hope that the captain’s wife and the other medical personnel had made it to safety. Dressed as he was, with command of their language, he had easily taken care of any threats with lethal force as he’d moved to this position. But one quick look into Tyler’s room showed it empty. No bodies. Again, a sigh of relief. He passed the room, made it to the corner.
An insurgent came out of a side door, dragging a screaming, kicking, fighting Piper and Dex’s gun came up, but the insurgent saw him and ducked behind the desk. His face was obscured by his headscarf, but the black automatic in his hand was in clear view.
He put the gun to her head. Dex watched as if in slow motion―the man’s arms around her waist, her hair flying wildly and blocking her face as she struggled, kicking, throwing her head back into the man’s chin and making his steps falter.
Dex stepped away from the wall, unable to get a shot off because Piper was still struggling, and his aim was iffy with those drugs still in his system.
He tucked the weapon in the waistband of his pants and surged across the short space that separated them, slamming into the man at a dead run. Head down, Dex planted a shoulder in the man’s chest. The rifle flipped from his grasp, hitting the floor and sliding a few feet away. The two of them landed on the floor, grappling as Piper, propelled by Dex’s weight, spun away and hit the wall with a thud, groaning softly.
His total focus was on the guy who was swinging at him. Dex blocked, but it cost him a pulling, stinging agony in his side. The guy brought his other hand into play, but Dex blocked that, as well; he was in a fight for his life. This insurgent had some martial arts training and it flashed across his brain, lightning quick, that this guy was really dangerous.
The man fumbled at his waist for a pistol, but Dex got his hand on it. It bucked once, the explosion reduced to a soft thump by the silencer. The slug punched into the wall above Piper’s head. Dex grabbed hold of the insurgent’s arm and slammed it hard against the floor, but before he could shake the pistol loose, a white-hot pain sliced into his injury, momentarily shorting out all thought and strength.