Nightshade (Discarded Heroes), page 35
part #1 of Discarded Heroes Series
He lay on the beach, his tactical gear a stark contrast against the sand. He wasn’t moving.
Face down.
“Maaaxxx!” Her scream mingled with Maecel’s.
Seconds later, Ghost One leaped out, followed closely by Gruff and another of their team.
Sydney tried to wrestle free of the belt.
“No!” The Kid stopped her, a hand over hers. “They’ll get him. Stay.” When she started to object, he shook his head and shouted, “He’d kill me if you got off and got hurt. Stay!”
As if everything swirled into one slow-motion movie, Sydney squinted through the sheet of sand to the men sprinting toward Max. Two bent and hoisted him off the ground. Another fired shots into the trees. Tiny explosions of sand erupted as the three hurried back to the chopper. Max hung limp between them.
Two soldiers lifted Max’s shoulders and set him on the steel floor of the chopper. His head lobbed to the side, facing her. Gravity pressed her to the side as the chopper veered off. But nothing could pull her gaze from Max’s closed eyes and limp body. Tears found their exit again, choking her with the fear that she’d lost him. He’d just promised that they’d get back together and work on their marriage, and now … now he was gone?
She cupped a hand over her mouth, disbelief choking her.
“Where’s his vest?” Midas shouted as he ripped open Max’s shirt with a knife. Blood spread down from his shoulder and chest.
“A medic should do that,” someone shouted.
“Our medic is dead!” Gruff shouted back.
Sydney sat back, fingering the multistrapped vest Ghost One had given her. It was Max’s! If he’d been wearing it, the bullets would’ve hit the body armor, not him. He’d not said a word about his missing vest. But that’s the way he’d always been. Sacrificing. Quiet strength burning brightly in his eyes.
As the chopper roared across the ocean and Midas worked to stop Max’s bleeding—Sydney stared at his face, disbelieving. Hot tears streaked down her face. They’d just agreed to make things work. They were going to be a family. He couldn’t die. He just couldn’t.
A hand patted her leg, jerking her from the woeful thoughts.
Ghost One wiped a rag over his face. “He’ll make it.”
Gulping the fear back by the mouthfuls, Sydney stared at Ghost One. “How do you know?” she shouted over the growl of the engine and rotors. She silently begged him to give her a reason to hope, to tell her they weren’t going to be ripped apart permanently.
“He’s too thick-headed to die.”
A half-choked sob escaped as the man wrapped an arm around her. “You must really know him.”
“Like a brother.”
GOING HOME
Tiny fingers wrapped around his as the soldiers respectfully loaded the oak coffin up the ramp of the C-130. With plane engines roaring as loud as his heart, Jon lifted Maecel into his arms. A longing, tight and constricting, wormed through his chest. Tears, unbidden and sudden, lurched to his eyes. How he ached to wrap his arms once more around Kimber. To see her sparkling blue eyes smiling at him. Hear her laughter and the always encouraging words that sang from her lips.
“Mama,” Maecel said, pointing to the box.
How excruciating to try to help her understand. Of course she didn’t.
She stuck two little fingers into her mouth and sucked on them. Any other day, he’d have stopped the habit, but today he granted her whatever measure of comfort she needed. If only God would grant him some measure, too. Something to ease the wicked pain threatening to send him to his knees.
Tears blurred his vision as the casket disappeared through the back hatch. In the jungle, carting the remnant of the woman he loved through the damp, mucky terrain, it hadn’t seemed real. As if she’d been sleeping.
But now, standing alone on the tarmac with his daughter, it was far too real. He buried his face in Maecel’s shoulder and sobbed.
CHAPTER 27
The soldiers of Max’s team lined up on either side of the ramp leading into the C-130, fingertips pressed to their temples in a final salute to their comrade as a steel coffin rolled into the transport. Behind the casket came Kimber Harris’s.
Watching through the window overlooking the airstrip as tears streaked down her face, Sydney cried for Jon Harris, for the fallen soldier. The pain was too great. And too close.
Would Max die, too?
Slowly, she turned and slumped against the hard plastic chair. Hanging her head, she wiped her nose, silently praying God would guide the surgeon’s hands in the operating theater. Max’s operation had been going on for hours, and still no word. She shifted on the vinyl chair, rubbing her neck.
“What were you doing on that chopper, Midas?” she heard Gruff demand of the green-eyed team member.
“Saving his life.”
“You’re not a medic.”
The guy looked down then back to Gruff. “Actually, I am. Fully vetted.”
“And why didn’t we know this before?”
“Nobody needed to know. They took away my certification.”
“Sydney?”
She blinked and looked up.
Lane’s smile didn’t make it past the mole next to his lip. “I … I hope he makes it.”
She drew back, uncertain whether to scoff or accept the words that seemed empty in light of the way he’d pursued her these last few months.
“I’m serious.” He raked a hand through his sandy blond hair. “If you’re happy, that’s what matters. And I know you’ve wanted Max to come around. I mean …”
Awkward silence hung between them.
Clearing his throat, he stood. “I-I’m going to get something to eat.” When he turned and took a few steps, he grazed shoulders with Ghost One.
“Sorry,” Ghost One mumbled.
Almost immediately, Gruff fell into step with Lane and hooked an arm around Lane’s bony shoulders. “We need to have a little talk.”
The not-so-subtle messages—Ghost One’s shoulder bump and Gruff’s “little talk” with Lane—told Sydney these men were serious. And spoke of the imperative for complete anonymity. They would do everything and anything to protect that.
She considered Ghost One as he handed her a bottle of orange juice and eased into the chair across from her. “Midas says you look pale, probably need the sugar.”
Uncapping the bottle, she found her gaze once again on Jon Harris. He’d go home without his wife. With painful memories of watching her die. She tensed her jaw, trying not to explore the possibility she could do the same. Instead, she forced her mind to the juice and took a sip, ignoring the way the man across the aisle from her watched her without watching. A guardian, of sorts. Max’s friend.
Movement outside the building caught her attention. A man in military uniform strode from the building toward Jon, shook his hand, then spoke into his ear.
“Who’s that?” Sydney mumbled.
“Our guardian. He’ll make sure our presence here is kept quiet.”
Sydney met Ghost One’s stare evenly.
He winked then tapped her leg. “Hey, there’s the doc.”
Sydney came to her feet awkwardly as a man in green scrubs shuffled toward her.
“Mrs. Jacobs?”
“Yes?” She straightened the too-tight shirt across her belly. The strength she lacked in her body she felt in the support of Max’s team. As she stood before the doctor, she glanced back. The fact that the team huddled confirmed what she’d sensed.
“I’m Dr. Tomzyck.” He considered her then took her by the elbow. “Why don’t you sit?”
If he wanted her to sit down, did that mean Max was dying? “No. Just tell me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to alarm you,” Dr. Tomzyck said. “You just look a bit worse for the wear.”
“I’m sure we all are.” Her respect and admiration for the men around her swelled.
“Please,” the doctor said. “Let’s sit.”
Acquiescing, Sydney eased into the seat, gripping the arm tightly. Ghost One sat next to her, a silent sign that she wasn’t alone. The others clustered nearby.
“Your husband is stable but serious.”
A breath whooshed out of her. Ghost One nodded.
“I believe he’s stable enough to be ambulatory. Since that C-130 hasn’t left, I’d like to get him on that and deliver him to Okinawa, where they’re better suited to continue treating his injuries.”
“What’s the damage?” Midas asked.
“Three bullets across the chest. One narrowly missed the carotid. But one splintered off his rib and punctured his lung. We’ve repaired the tear, but I’d feel better if he were checked at a facility equipped to handle combat injuries.”
“Agreed,” Midas said, then peeked at Sydney. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to intrude.”
She smiled. “No, it’s okay. You’re right.” She returned her attention to the doctor. “We do agree, Doctor. Can I go with him?”
“Of course.” He stood. “They’re prepping him for transport now. I need to call it in and make the arrangements.”
As the doctor started away, the man from the C-130 who’d talked with Jon Harris appeared. He greeted the doctor, and together they disappeared.
Relief dripped like a nice oil massage over her shoulders and back. Max made it. He’s going to live.
“Told you he was too thick-headed to bail.”
Sydney smiled, grateful when the large guy wrapped an arm around her shoulder, offering comfort. “I’ll never forget seeing him face-down in that sand.”
He gave her a hug. “You and me both.”
Doors flapped back and a gurney emerged. Sydney bolted to her feet, watching. Buried amid crisp white sheets, boards, straps, and tubes, Max was wheeled into the open. She hurried to his side and bit back the tears at his pale face. “Oh, Max,” she whispered. She kissed his cheek, grateful for the warmth she found there.
She wanted his eyes to flutter open, to show her he really was alive. But with the heavy sedation for surgery, she wouldn’t see those riveting eyes for a while. The medical staff gave her a nod then pushed him out onto the tarmac. An ear-piercing thrum from the engines screeched through the air as they ran the gurney up the steel grate.
Sydney walked behind the team, noting that Lane kept his distance. Beside her, she felt Ghost One pause and step back. She caught his hand. “You’re coming with me, right?”
He hesitated then nodded. “Of course.”
But when she looked around, the others were gone. Like a flash of lightning. Enough to crack the night but be untraceable afterward. Yeah. That’s the way it should be. She’d bury this story. Thankfully, the photos were incinerated in the explosion. “You should know, there were photos of you, of the team. I don’t know where they came from. My copies were destroyed, but the film is out there somewhere.”
Ghost One’s features darkened. “Thanks. I’ll pass the word along.”
Sydney glanced around. “Where are the others?”
Again he hesitated. “They don’t exist, so it’d be funny if they all showed up at another military hospital.” He urged her into the plane. “They’ll find their way home. It’s what we do. All of us. Even Max. We find our way home.”
In his own gentle way, he made sure she understood she had a secret to keep. She placed a hand on his arm. “Don’t worry, Ghost One. I understand.”
“Thought you might.” Slow and small, his smile warmed her. “And for a nosey reporter, I’m surprised you don’t know my name’s Colton Neeley.”
“My husband has a friend by that name.” She watched the techs secure Max’s gurney to the left side as Colton guided her to the right, where she lowered herself onto the red web seating. Not exactly comfortable, but she didn’t care. “I won’t be tracking down any more stories. All I want to do is go home, buy a house, have our baby, and fall in love with my husband all over again.”
Hollow laughter trickled into his awareness. Max pried his eyes open—and white light shot into his vision. He grunted and turned away.
A soft gasp. “Max? Max, can you hear me?”
Sydney’s voice lured him from the greedy claws of sleep. “Where—?” Something stuck in his throat, severing his question.
“Shh, you have a tube in your throat. Colton, get the nurse,” Sydney said. Then he felt her breath against his cheek. “I’m so glad you’re back, Max.” Warmth pressed against his forehead. A kiss. A guy could get used to this. Except for the pain that made him feel like he’d been beaten to a pulp.
He battled to see her face, to take in the fact she was really here, that he had survived that cold-blooded attack intent on wiping out the team. Muffled shouts had pulled him around at the last second on that beach, just as the gunmen had emerged. If he hadn’t turned, everyone would’ve been killed.
“This is going to hurt, Mr. Jacobs. Just hold on.”
Max willed himself to relax; it wasn’t the first time he’d had a feeding tube. He gagged once as it came out, leaving his throat raw and sore. The nurse handed him a lidded drink with a straw. “Sip slowly.” He squeezed his eyes shut then pushed them open.
When he tried to elevate his head, pain tore through his shoulder. He stiffened and dropped back, dots sprinkling his vision.
“Yeah, might wanna take it easy there. Seems you tried to bring home a few souvenirs.”
Cowboy. The man’s voice made Max smile. Shouldn’t be surprised that of all the team members sent to check on him and report back to Lambert, it’d be Cowboy. The guy probably volunteered. Closest thing to a friend.
“What’s a vacation without souvenirs?” Max croaked out, wishing he hadn’t.
The burly guy bent over the bed and gripped Max’s hand tightly. “All right, buddy. I’m going to jet. You get better. We aren’t a team without you.”
Once Cowboy was gone, Max rolled his gaze to Sydney. Daylight streaming through the side window made her look like an angel. Her hair hung loose past her shoulders, thick and dark. Her beautiful eyes sparkled.
“Hey, handsome.” She smiled, a tear spilling over her lid.
With the IV hand, he waved her closer. “No tears.” He touched her face. “I meant what I said.” His throat seared. He winced.
“Shh, we can talk later. Just get better. Please.”
“A little pain isn’t going to stop—” His words caught on the dry, stinging portions of his throat. He forced a swallow that stung all the way down. “Whatever it takes, Syd. I don’t want to lose you again.”
She held his hand against her face. “You won’t, Max. We’re in this together.”
Another thing leaped to his mind with urgency. She’d been there for one reason—to find Nightshade. “The team—you can’t say anything.” He tried to show his sincerity, but heaviness and weakness quickly overtook him, pulling his arms down and eyes closed. He pushed them back open. “No reporting …”
Through her tears, she bent toward him. “I found what I was looking for.” She kissed him with a small laugh. “And I’m not sharing him with the world.”
EPILOGUE
Asteamy haze filtered through the bathroom as Max toweled his hair. He dropped the towel on the side of the tub and adjusted the string on his shorts. Rotating his arm, he thanked God for the wonders of hot water after a rigorous physical therapy session. He almost had full rotation in his shoulder now. He’d beat the odds and recovered in under ten weeks. Next week he’d have his checkup with Lambert’s doc and shrink to verify his ability to return to combat. Months ago he’d have jumped at a chance for a new mission. Today he’d rather have a few more weeks with his wife.
Grabbing a black compression shirt, he glanced around for Syd. Not finding her, he headed into the kitchen, threading his arms into the sleeves. As he banked left toward the living room, he spotted her standing behind the large island in their new kitchen. She stood there, a glass half raised to her mouth, eyes wide.
“Your brother called last night. Again.” He shrugged into the shirt, vowing he’d prove Bryce wrong, that he could be a good—no, a great husband and father. No. He didn’t care what Bryce thought as long as he convinced Sydney. He’d laid his anger and his life on the altar, as the counselor had said. “Hey, don’t forget about the appointment with Pastor Roy.”
She blinked and set down her glass. “I don’t think we’re going to make the appointment.”
He chuckled and opened the stainless steel fridge then pulled out a protein drink. “That’s a line I’d expect to come from me, not you.” When he turned back, she hadn’t moved. “Syd?” He took a step closer.
