Page 23 of Huck Frasier (Seals on Fraiser Mountain #5)

Frasier

Tucson – Near the Junkyard

I saw her before she saw me.

Slumped against a rusted truck. Face scraped. Her shirt bloody at the side.

And still holding her damn phone like it was a weapon.

I stopped the truck so hard the tires kicked up dust clouds. Threw it in park. Didn’t even shut the door.

“Marley!” I shouted.

Her head jerked up. Pain flickered across her face, but she smiled.

“Hey, soldier,” she rasped.

I reached her in seconds. Dropped to my knees and scanned every inch of her, hands hovering over her body, too scared to touch.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking,” she gritted, “that kids are being trafficked and someone needed to do something.”

“You almost got yourself killed!”

“And you think that scares me more than losing them?”

I stared at her—bleeding, bruised, fierce—and my anger cracked.

She was right.

But I still wanted to throw her over my shoulder and lock her in a damn vault.

“I’m calling in med evac,” I muttered, reaching for my sat phone.

“No,” she said, grabbing my wrist. “Fras… I have proof. It’s on the phone. I got it.”

Her voice trembled, but her eyes burned. “They were going to take me. I got away. But they know someone’s watching now. If we wait, they’ll move the kids. We can’t let that happen.”

I didn’t want to listen. Not while she was hurting. But she’d risked everything for this—because she couldn’t not fight.

I clenched my jaw. “Alright. But first, I’m patching you up.”

She leaned into me then, finally letting her head fall to my shoulder. Her breath hitched.

“I thought I could handle it,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you could,” I said. “But you don’t have to. Not anymore.”

Her fingers curled into my shirt. “I’m scared.”

“You’re allowed to be.”

“I didn’t want to need you this much.”

“Too late,” I whispered. “I need you more.”

I scooped her into my arms, careful not to jar her ribs. She hissed in pain but didn’t fight me.

As I carried her to the truck, she whispered, “You’re not gonna let me live this down, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

“But you’re still gonna help me finish it?”

I glanced down at her—messy, bloodied, brilliant—and kissed the top of her head.

“I already started.”