For the Love of a SEAL, page 3
An apology registered in MacGyver’s eyes. “Don’t pay any attention to either of them, Tori. Welcome to our little oasis. If Blake vouches for you, you can stay as long as you like.”
Blake grunted. “Let’s get this stuff unloaded. I promised I’d have her back in time for lunch.” He didn’t look at her as he grabbed an armload of boxes and strode toward the ATV.
Blake Sorenson appeared to be the king of mixed signals. Tori couldn’t keep up. At the hangar, he’d regarded her with blatant appreciation, then abruptly dismissed her when he learned she was a reporter. Yet he’d allowed her to ride along with no effort to oust her and was warm, charming and honest-to-a-fault during the flight. Now, he’d flipped again and, apparently, couldn’t wait to be rid of her, focusing solely on unloading the supplies and moving them to the cabin.
He wasn’t the only mystery afoot, though. His bosses, obviously in better-than-average shape and armed with a lethal-looking rifle, had expressed concern that Blake had shared their location. Travis had called this a safe house, a secret destination. After Travis’s cryptic comment, Tori had done her best to hide her curiosity, afraid that sounding too interested, on top of being a reporter, would result in the revocation of her welcome card. She only wanted to get back in the air and head toward home so she could beg, bargain and plead with Blake for the story she needed.
Forty-five minutes later, Tori rode standing on the bumper of the ATV next to Blake, holding on to the roll bar, while they made their final trip to the house. When they stopped in front of the enclosed front porch, two Latino children, a girl and a boy, burst through the screen door, laughing and chasing each other. Their obvious joy brought a smile to her face.
Blake dropped to the ground beside her and gripped her waist to help her down. He’d insisted on lifting her onto the bumper too, due to her tight, short skirt. Yeah…she hadn’t really dressed for outdoor activities.
As her feet touched down, a woman appeared at the top of the porch steps. “Lucinda, Antonio, come into the house, quickly. Remember what Mr. MacGyver said. We’re not to go outside during the day.” The petite, black-haired woman fell silent and began to wring her hands when she saw Tori and the three men standing in the yard.
Antonio, whom Tori guessed to be a few months younger than Isaiah, glanced toward the woman long enough to trip and fall, hands first, into the sand, rocks and brush of the xeriscape that rimmed the strip of grass. The boy let out a cry as he landed and came up with a bloody scrape on his forearm from an unyielding bitterbrush plant.
Tori hurried to him, ignoring the gasp from the woman she assumed must be Antonio’s mother. She inspected the scratch and smiled at the teary-eyed boy. “I know it hurts, sweetie, but a little water to wash away the dirt and blood, some antibiotic ointment and a Band-Aid…you’ll be good as new in no time. I promise.”
Antonio sniffled. “Really?”
Blake appeared beside her and examined the boy’s arm too. “She’s right. Just keep it nice and clean.”
“Lucinda, bring your brother and come in…now.” Their mother glared at Tori distrustfully.
The girl grabbed Antonio’s uninjured arm and dragged him toward the porch.
A man, with black hair and a salt-and-pepper mustache and beard, put his arm around the woman’s shoulders in the doorway, leaned to kiss her temple and pushed past her and down the steps. He stopped to give the children a hug and ruffled the boy’s hair. The kids disappeared inside the house with their mother, while the man continued toward Travis and MacGyver. He looked strangely familiar. Where had Tori seen him before?
“I agreed to this safe house for the protection of my family, but I will not rob my son and daughter of their childhood. We’re hiding from the hate group that wants me dead. If they will find us simply because my children play outside, we might as well return home. Sí?”
“No shit,” Blake said under his breath.
Tori covered her mouth so the grin trying to break free would go unnoticed. Whoever this man was, she’d heard him speak before. Recently. Somebody wants him dead? It was going to drive her crazy until she remembered where she knew him from.
MacGyver and Travis exchanged a glance, and Tori could clearly see the man’s first salvo had already won the war.
Travis crossed his arms over his chest and frowned, obviously a pathetic attempt to appear stern. “Your safety, and the safety of your family, is our responsibility, Mr. Perez. It’s imperative the rules are strictly enforced.” After another glance at MacGyver, Travis relaxed his stance. “However, in this case, I think we can bend the rules a bit. If the kids stay within a twenty-foot radius of the house and check in with one of us when they come and go, we can live with that. But if conditions warrant, we’ll revisit the issue.”
“One more thing. If we’re going to live together for a while, you must call me Rafael.”
“Deal,” Travis said, and the two shook hands on the new arrangement.
Rafael Perez? There’s something familiar about that name. Rafael Perez. Rafael Perez—as though repetition would suddenly reveal the answer. He had a wife and two kids. Somebody wanted him dead—a hate group, he’d said.
Rafael returned to the house. Blake, Travis and MacGyver began unloading the last few boxes from the ATV, carrying the supplies through the open doorway.
Wait! Rafael Perez? Tori regarded the safe house and the family in a whole new light as the details of the news story she’d read filtered through her memory.
“What’s wrong?” Blake walked toward her, a frown drawing his brows together.
“Nothing. Um…just tired, I guess.” Lame. But Tori couldn’t imagine he or his friends would be thrilled to know she’d figured out who they were protecting. Or that she was the only one outside their small group who knew where the assistant DA from San Diego was hiding. And not from just any hate group—a militant neo-Nazi brotherhood, members of which Rafael had recently sent to prison.
Holy hell. Did I ever pick the wrong party to crash!
“Ready to go?” Blake was still frowning.
“Yes.” Tori smiled her brightest phony smile and let him help her into the back of the ATV, now that the seat was no longer taken up by boxes of food and household supplies. MacGyver drove them to the helicopter and made small talk with her while Blake readied the aircraft for take-off. When he signaled, she ducked down and proceeded to the door, waving goodbye to MacGyver as she climbed inside. As though on autopilot, she buckled her lap belt and positioned the headphones over her ears. They lifted off and soon leveled out, heading northwest, back the way they’d come. The return trip would be no easier for her, but she’d be glad to see the last of the safe house.
“You okay? You’re awfully quiet.” Blake’s deep baritone vibrated in her ears.
“I’m fine.” If she begged, would he change his mind about the story? Could she buy him off with a week’s worth of home cooked meals? A month’s worth? Now that she knew what had happened to turn him sour on reporters, she couldn’t blame him. Not when she’d gone through her own hell after Ken’s death. Some things just needed to be left alone.
Tori smiled. “Thanks for letting me ride along with you today. I’m sorry the interview didn’t work out, but I do understand.” Better than he would ever know.
“Yeah. About that—what are you going to do?” He seemed genuinely concerned.
Tori shrugged. “I don’t know yet, but I’ll figure out something.” There had to be a way to keep a roof over her son’s head.
“Are you going to tell me who your boss is? And why my story is so important to him he’s willing to threaten your job?”
Like I haven’t asked myself that question a few dozen times already. “I thought maybe you’d know why. I assumed the two of you might be acquainted. David Donovan, my editor, wasn’t inclined to elaborate. He’s not exactly a man who reacts well to having his motives questioned. Do you know him?”
“No, but I might just look him up.”
“Oh no, please don’t. Not on my account. It’ll be embarrassing enough being fired for incompetence. If he has a black eye or something, I won’t be able to keep from laughing, and he’ll think I’ve gone off my rocker.” Tori was kidding, of course…but she wasn’t. She didn’t need anything else to feel guilty about.
Blake chuckled as he retrieved his cell phone from his back pocket. He sobered as he read the text that had apparently just come in. Suddenly, the helicopter banked sharply to the right and started to circle.
Tori reached out to brace herself on the control panel. “What are you doing?”
“We’re going back.” His curt declaration left no opening for discussion.
Alarm prickled beneath Tori’s skin. “What? Why?”
“They’re under attack.” His voice was so calm, he might have been talking about what he’d had for breakfast.
Attack? Did that mean the neo-Nazis had discovered Rafael’s hiding place? Attack to Blake probably meant something entirely different than anything she’d ever had to wrap her head around. Would bullets fly? People get hurt? Her breath stalled in her throat as a band of frigid fear squeezed her chest.
Chapter 3
Blake pushed the throttle into the red zone and took everything the old Bell could give him. They were eight minutes out. A lot could happen in eight minutes.
Under attack by air. Could use a hand. The text from MacGyver painted a grim picture. His friend wouldn’t have sent that message if he’d thought they could handle the situation on their own.
To the southeast, a thick cloud of black smoke billowed into the sky. Shit! Blake glanced at Tori. Eyes wide and unblinking, arms wrapped protectively around her waist, her chest rose and fell rapidly. Damn it to hell! This is why he shouldn’t have let her come.
She turned her head, and the fear in her eyes cut him to the core. “They’re burning the cabin, aren’t they?”
“Looks that way.” He couldn’t lie to her. They would drop over the ridge behind the house in about two minutes, and she’d see for herself. She didn’t ask who they were, and he was grateful for that. Blake had limited experience with radical white supremacists—just enough to know how dangerous their brand of terrorism could be. Sebastian Wahl, leader of the hate group who’d made it their vendetta to silence Rafael Perez, had recently been emboldened by a couple of wealthy and high-profile donors and had quickly risen to the top of the garbage heap.
Just beyond the next rise, an Apache helicopter lifted from the smoke, hovered for a second and belched two rocket grenades from the tubes protruding from the belly of the chopper. One grenade hit the shed to the right of the house, sending more smoke, flames and debris thirty feet in the air. The other one went wide, burying itself within the mountainside behind the cabin and didn’t explode. A dud—they aren’t infallible.
Tori flinched as though she could feel the heat of the blaze from here. Her breaths became short and erratic. “They’re all going to die! We don’t stand a chance against weapons like that.”
“Don’t count us out yet. I’ve made a few modifications on this old bird.” Blake flipped a switch on the control panel. The hydraulics whirred into action, and the turrets under the craft’s nose locked into place.
“What was that?” Tori looked from him to the disaster on the ground.
“A little surprise for the occupants of that chopper.” Blake jerked his chin toward the Apache that was now strafing the compound.
Damned if a sliver of a smile didn’t soften her mouth for a heartbeat. “Well…okay. What can I do? I need something to do.” The volume of her voice increased as the words tumbled from her lips.
Blake tossed her his cell phone. “Text MacGyver. Tell him to keep his head down. We’re coming in hot.”
Blake hugged the treetops as he skimmed the ridge. The element of surprise was on his side, and he wanted to keep it that way.
Tori’s fingers flew over the screen, tapping out the message to MacGyver. “Done.” She dropped the phone in her lap.
A hundred feet behind the gunship, Blake hit the trigger. Fifty caliber shells sliced through the tail section of the unsuspecting target. The Apache banked sharply to the port side and descended in a steep dive before the pilot corrected himself and began to climb. Smoke came from the fuselage, and the craft appeared to maneuver sluggishly.
Blake skimmed over the top and circled, lined up and fired again as the other pilot positioned his weapons to retaliate. “Hold on!” The warning probably wasn’t necessary. Tori had a life-and-death grip on her seat cushion.
He didn’t let up, continuing to spew lead, until dual puffs of smoke burst from the Apache’s weapons system, and two grenades streaked toward the Bell. Blake jammed the throttle forward and scrambled for altitude. The whine of the rockets was all too familiar as they homed in on their target. One whooshed by, low and to starboard.
Blake continued to climb, praying he could get enough velocity to stay on the right side of the power curve. Otherwise, this maneuver would end badly. Considering the alternative—getting blown out of the sky—the risk seemed the better option.
The rocket disappeared beneath the front of the chopper, and he held his breath. It could still miss us. The aircraft shuddered as the grenade struck the tail section and spun them around.
Tori’s gasp practically created a vacuum in the airtight cabin. He glanced her way and found her gaze locked on him. Fear marred her gorgeous features, and he cursed the strange attraction that had resulted in him allowing her to ride along. She could have been safely on the ground—jobless but alive.
Time slowed. He opened his mouth to tell her to put her head down and brace for impact when an alarm shrieked from somewhere in his array of gauges and jolted his brain from the slow-motion safety net of shock. By rote, he flipped a switch and quieted the alarm. Seconds ticked by. No blast. The grenade didn’t explode.
Another dud. Somebody should tell these guys to do business with a reputable arms dealer next time. Then again, the world was a safer place if they didn’t.
He reached for Tori, sliding his hand possessively around the back of her neck, his thumb gently caressing her cheek where one of her dimples hid. “Smile for me, sweetheart. We’re not done yet.” Blake almost got an upward movement of her full, red lips and counted that good enough.
Moving his hand back to the controls, he swept the skies around them for the Apache helicopter. The Bell drifted to the left when he asked it to turn. Damn it. The tail rotor had evidently been damaged, though how severely, he couldn’t be sure. Didn’t matter. He’d been a Navy SEAL for fifteen years. And SEALs. Don’t. Quit.
Using both feet simultaneously on the pedals and two hands on the control lever, not to mention a whole lot of come-on-baby-you-can-do-this mojo, he coaxed the chopper into position.
The crew of the other gunship wasn’t having any better luck. Their fuselage was spitting flames and the craft obviously wanted to roll to the left when the pilot tried to pull it around. Surely, he’ll see the error of his ways and give it up. Blake would be just as happy if the battle ended with the enemy tucking tail and running. He didn’t need another notch on the butt of his rifle.
Apparently, a happy ending for all concerned was not to be. The other pilot fought his damaged aircraft in the turn until he was almost lined up to take another shot.
Tori braced her arms against the front of the chopper. “What are you waiting for?”
For him to give up and limp away.
Blake didn’t say the words out loud. She wouldn’t understand. Only his brothers-in-arms could fully appreciate how tired he was of killing. Maybe he was still in the wrong line of work.
Tori touched his arm, as though she thought he hadn’t heard her, and brought him back to the present. The trigger compressed beneath his hand, and the rat-tat-tat of heavy ammunition erupting from both turrets vibrated the chopper. He sprayed the enemy aircraft with shells until one split open the fuel tank. The blast went from the fuselage forward, blowing the tail off. The flaming cockpit, still directed by the spinning of the blades, careened to the left before spiraling into the ground, spreading fuel and fire over at least a hundred yards of parched forest.
“You did it!” Her warm hand fluttered down his bicep and settled on his forearm. Those killer dimples made another appearance. That lives had been taken apparently hadn’t sunk in yet. She held out his cell phone, the screen brightly lit. “MacGyver says everyone’s all right. You saved their lives!”
Pride shone from her bright-blues eyes, and damned if it didn’t heal a bit of his jaded soul. How the hell did she do that—make it okay that they were steadily losing altitude as long as she sat beside him? Damn fool! Clearly, he would be in trouble if he didn’t put some distance between him and this sexy, dark-haired woman as soon as possible.
She was a breath of fresh air to his glass-damn-near-empty. She had the look of forever about her, and he had a damaged heart and jaundiced spirit where women were concerned. As much as he’d like to explore her softer side in a no-strings-attached, all-night-long sexcapade, she unquestionably struck him as the kind of woman a man took his time with…and then took home to meet his mother. He had no intention of doing either of those things, so he needed to put a cap on the fascination she bred within him.
The Bell shuddered and drifted in a spiral to the right. Blake stopped the spin with small, quick movements of the cyclic control. “Tell MacGyver we took a hit. We’re dragging the left skid and we’ll be coming down hard.” Blake removed his sunglasses. “Then make sure you’re buckled in tight and brace yourself.”
He was doing his best to guide the crippled aircraft away from the flaming ruins of the log cabin in case his crash landing didn’t go as anticipated. He could see figures on the ground near the outbuildings—MacGyver and Travis waving him in. Apparently, the smoke billowing from the fuselage had alerted them to the problem.
