Page 34 of Huck Frasier (Seals on Fraiser Mountain #5)
Fraiser
I ’d been shot at, chased through backwoods caves, and hunkered down in a half-collapsed hunting cabin with two busted radios and a rookie sniper who snored like a chainsaw. All of this over two families feuding.
And yet, none of that rattled me half as much as the voice currently crackling through my only working headset.
Cyclone’s drawl came in low and amused. “Hey, Fraiser… you’re gonna want to sit down for this.”
I pressed the mic closer to my mouth, trying to keep my voice calm so the new kid wouldn’t pick up on how bad this mission had gone sideways. “I don’t have time for games. Status report.”
A rustle of static, then Cyclone again: “Your woman’s here.”
My stomach dropped. “What the hell did you just say?”
“She’s in the Ozarks. Locals say there’s a very pregnant lady driving a beat-up 1966 Chevy, asking which ridge has Navy SEALs hiding behind it. She’s about twenty miles south of you. You might want to… you know… intercept. Before she gets in the middle of the feud.
I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose so hard I saw stars. Of course Marley would do this. Of course, my stubborn, reckless, brilliant woman would decide she could rescue me .
“Does she have an escort?”
“Negative. Just her and her mother’s old diaper bag full of snacks, apparently. She stopped at the corner grocer and filled it up with chocolate bars.”
“Jesus Christ.” I switched frequencies, barking orders to the other two operatives scattered through the woods. “Standby on exfil. Adjust the route southbound. I’m going after Marley.”
The rookie piped up from the corner, half hidden under a camo blanket. “Uh… who’s Marley?”
I turned my glare on him. “The only person alive who can scare the piss out of me. Stay here. Don’t die. If you see movement that’s not wearing a wedding ring, shoot it. With the rubber bullets.
One Hour Later — Fraiser
I found her exactly where Cyclone said I would: parked on the side of a winding forest road, cussing at the pickup hood propped open with a tree branch.
She didn’t hear me approach. Her hair was a mess of curls, her face flushed pink from stubbornness and summer heat, one hand on her lower back like she was seconds away from going into labor just to spite me.
I almost laughed. Almost.
“Need a hand, sweetheart?”
She jerked upright, nearly smashing her head on the hood. Then she turned, eyes blazing, mouth ready for war.
“You!” she shouted, storming toward me. “Do you have any idea—”
I caught her mid-tirade, scooping her up like she weighed nothing. She squealed and hit my shoulder twice before melting against me, burying her face in my neck. Her breath hitched. So did mine.
“I hate you,” she mumbled.
“No, you don’t.”
“I do. So much.”
I kissed the top of her head. “Yeah? Well, I love you enough for both of us.”
She pulled back, smacked my chest, then kissed me hard enough I forgot there were hostiles still hunting me through these damn woods. I was getting damn tired of baby sitting these two families. Hell, I didn’t know who even called us.