Page 24 of Luck Be Mine (The Defenders #3)

A long stretch of road broke into a small clearing with a house and two side buildings. Jamil liked being secluded in this place of his grandparents. He talked often of keeping his family close and protected this way.

Hunt leaned to get a better view.

The house smoldered and black streaks marred the home. Bodies of people and animals lay in the dirt of the front yard, scattered like debris.

They were too late.

Hunt dropped his head to rub his eyes.

Carter pulled to a stop.

They remained idling and studied the scene. Their other two vehicles stopped behind them.

Jack pushed open his door, raising his weapon. “Let’s check them. Confirm identity.”

Baxter rounded the SUV to join Brennan. “Homebase, we are on site. Standby.”

Hunt got out, readied his weapon, and followed.

Dust swirled in their midst. The heat of the day slapped at him, and the suffocating smell of death rode along in tandem.

He wanted this not to be Jamil and his family. But his eyes, brain, and gut said no chance. Regret and grief clogged his throat. There was no slamming the mental door on this one.

Tommy got out of the third vehicle with his sniper rifle and headed for high ground. Doogie went the opposite way doing the same thing. Riaz and K-Rock went left to survey the area, Carter met Stemmons, and they went right.

“You have company coming from the south,” the neutral voice of Overwatch reported.

Baxter never broke concentration from the death scene. “Copy, Homeplate.”

With sweeps in progress, Hernandez came to Hunt. “Is it them?”

“Probable.” Hunt sighed, letting Brennan and Baxter examine the bodies.

He checked his weapon. Staring at the death scene accomplished nothing. “Let’s do a fast clear. See what we find.” He swept the area around the burning house, searching for threats. Hernandez did the same for the two side buildings. The two men met at their original spot.

“House areas clear,” Hernandez reported in his mic.

Brennan didn’t yell his results across the compound. He walked with Baxter to Hunt’s side. Grim expressions told the story.

“It’s them,” Baxter confirmed. “They’ve been shot and mutilated. Counted four kids. Looks like all the animals they had, too.”

Jack wiped his hand on his pants. “They’ve been like this for a few hours.”

“Tortured?” Hunt choked on having to ask.

“No. Reads like execution and punishment. Likely they didn’t know who they had. Or maybe they didn’t care.” Jack stared into the distance. “We need to move. Nothing we can do for them now.”

He dug for his command presence. “Agreed. Exfil. Baxter, report to homebase.”

Hernandez spoke to the other men via his radio. “Exfil. Return to vehicle.”

A shot rang out, hitting the front of their ride. The engine block hissed.

“Shit,” Brennan yelled. “Move!”

The four of them rolled to the other side of the vehicles, maneuvering for cover.

More shots rang out from this side, too. Caught in a crossfire with their cover compromised, Hernandez groaned, swore, and staggered against the vehicle, blood running down his temple. “Nicked. Fuck.” He lifted his weapon and laid cover fire.

Gunfire from the opposite side strafed the front vehicle again. Pinned in a classic L-shaped ambush, the Taliban used terrain like they wrote the manual.

Immediate return fire from Hunt and Jack left Baxter free to communicate. “Homebase, we are under fire. Repeat. We are under fire. Mission pickup fail. All dead. Standby.”

“Copy, standing by.”

Baxter took a firing stance with Hunt on the passenger side of the vehicles. Jack stayed with Hernandez on the driver’s side, laying down fire in the most likely places for shooters to be hiding. They used car doors for cover.

Bullets pinged repetitively against all the vehicles.

“Multiple shooters, northeast ridge, maybe six.” – Tommy

“Second group south, closing in. Overwatch had it. They’ve got numbers.” – Doogie

“Flanked from the left; they’re going to encircle us.” – K-Rock

“We punch through.” Jack opened the SUV door, put an arm under Hernandez, and pushed him inside the front vehicle. “Regroup at fallback point.”

Hunt eased away from battle focus and took a broader view. “Front vehicle inoperable. Tires and engine out. Exfil vehicle two and three.”

Jack yanked Hernandez out and shoved him toward the second vehicle, covering their run with bursts of fire.

Last time they’d been pinned like this, they’d had a blonde doctor with them and ran up a mountain in a snowstorm.

Hunt fired flanking bursts with Baxter to suppress fire south of the northeast ridge. The fighting slowed. They made a run to the second vehicle. Baxter made it. He didn’t. More fire pinged on the vehicle. Hunt dropped to his stomach and rolled under the SUV, hitting his head.

“Motherfucker,” he swore.

“Alpha X, status.” – Jack

Hunt groaned and swiped away the blood. “Ok. Rolling west. Make room for me in the back seat.”

“I’ve nailed a few of those fuckers on the ridge.” – Tommy

“Thanks for the assist. Get to the third vehicle, Alpha Five.” Jack laid more fire. “Alpha Two, Second vehicle.”

Mere minutes was all they had.

K-Rock came to the side of the vehicle and had a quick conversation with Jack. Hunt didn’t ask. He picked a seat and mentally hurried Doogie. Baxter settled in the driver’s seat.

K-Rock went past again, moving in a evade pattern. Doogie catapulted into the backseat with him and Hernandez.

Doogie gave Hunt a side-eye. “You’re hurt?”

“Just a scratch.”

He did a double take. “You, too, Senior Chief?”

“Just a scratch.” The man grinned.

Doogie rolled his eyes. “Boy, I’m glad I don’t have to explain this to your wives.”

Hunt checked the back car. Command habits die hard. “Are we all in, LT?”

“Yep. Go Baxter. Alpha Six, Go.”

Both vehicles executed a quick U-turn.

Carter’s voice silenced everyone. “Stemmons has minor injuries. Working on him now.”

“Life threatening?” Jack’s eyes drilled into the front vehicle as if he could see.

“No. I’ve got him, LT.”

“Let’s get out of here.” Hernandez’s voice slurred. Head injuries sucked.

Hunt leaned in his seat to Doogie. “Do you think the south group will catch us down the road?”

“We’ll find another route if they do.”

A sudden explosion rocked the vehicles.

Jack chuckled. “Good work Alpha Six.”

“Thanks, Alpha One. I aimed to fuck them up.”

Hunt guessed at their tried-and-true move. “He blew up the first vehicle, didn’t he?”

“Yep. Can’t have them using it, can we?” Jack took to the radio. “Homebase, we are exfiling.”

“Copy. Come home.”

Both vehicles were dented to hell with a bonanza of bullet holes and their windshields cracked.

Three people were injured.

A failed mission.

Enemy still on the road home.

Six dead.

The whole country was going up in smoke, and there wasn’t a damn thing they could do to stop it.

Doogie handed him a bandage. Hunt pressed it to the bleeding gash above his eye and ignored his tight chest. He didn’t have the heart to turn around for one last look at the black smoke from the car, the burned-out home, or the dead bodies.

He’d made himself numb to those truths to do his job, but the layers were stark and exposed now.

First time he’d ever set foot in Afghanistan, he thought he knew the job. Thought he understood what the patches, the trident, the endless hours of training prepared him for. Then he’d landed, breathed in sand-choked air, and realized the job description.

Men die.

You kill.

You figure out how to live with it.

Or you don’t.

§§§§§§§§§§

? Lifelines ?

Cait parked at QM and closed her eyes, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

Bad days at work left her tapped out. She still hadn’t figured out how to tell Mackey she’d punched someone or how to weather his you need more training speech.

To top it off, an injured employee needed her, too.

One of the bodyguards had tangled with an ex-husband and a big knife.

With her medic in northern California handling a family problem, she would be doing the stitches herself.

The bright morning sun hurt her eyes. Too little sleep made them burn, and too many worries about her absent husband strafed her emotions. She wasn’t supposed to let her bucket get full like this.

She avoided news updates from Afghanistan like the nightmare-inducing PTSD mess they were, but it didn’t stop the sick feeling inside. U.S. flags over so many coffins through so many tours. They were on her mind and heavy on her heart.

She craned her neck to see who was at the desk in the building’s entrance. Two men exited, and she groaned.

Can I not have a minute?

Mackey and Quaid.

Remy St. Claire at the desk must have tattled on her sitting in her car.

One phone call upstairs had Mackey and Quaid striding across the parking lot in lock step. One would think they had a deal with her husband about her security.

She shut off the engine and opened the door, resigned to two bodyguards in civilian clothes. Her purple surgical scrubs stuck to her legs, her feet hurt, and she’d kill for a shower. She grabbed her purse, searching for a way to convince them she was fine.

Her phone rang.

Adrenaline surged. Her stomach rolled.

Frogman. No! Wrong time of day.

Fingers shaking, she juggled the phone and answered. “Hunt!”

Quiet airspace lasted long seconds. Finally, his voice filtered through, low and hesitant. “I’m okay.”

Cait’s breath seized. Fear knifed through her. “Tell me.”

“I needed to hear your voice.” Low. Raw. Controlled.

But he wasn’t. She knew it, felt it, heard it in his voice.

Her pulse stumbled. “What happened?”

Mackey and Quaid stopped in front of her, concern on both their faces.

“Can’t say. You know how it is.” His voice hitched. He didn’t have to explain. Loss. Failure. Grief.

She exhaled, calming herself. “Babe, I’m here. Whatever it is, you can handle it.”

Silence.

Mid-morning call, no words. It was bad. So bad.

“I love you so much, Cait.” His exhale came sharp, ragged. There was an edge in his voice she’d never heard before.

Her heart sank. Her throat flooded with tears. She stared at Mackey and Quaid, panic rising. Mackey’s hand dropped in a quiet signal – calm down. Her emotions weren’t what he needed.

She shoved the rising ache away. “I’m here. I love you, too. Listen to me. This is what you do, what you’re good at. Without that, I’d be dead. You understand?”

“Yes.” His simple answer scared her. The grief coiled beneath the surface spoke of a heavy weight. She’d heard the same sound from men clinging to sanity in the middle of hell. It was in her voice sometimes, too.

“Stay steady and do the job, Hunter. The leader is what they need. It’s what you trained for. Then you come home to me. I’m here.”

“You always are. I need to go.”

“Wait.” Her voice cracked. “We do hard things, and then we go home, Hunt. Repeat it.”

A long exhale came over the line. “We do hard things…then we go home.” Steady, believable.

“I love you.” Her voice broke on the words. “Hold on to that.”

“Copy. I’ll see you soon.” The line clicked off.

Cait’s eyes flew to Mackey and Quaid. Tears spilled down her cheeks, a sob tearing from her throat. Quaid slid an arm around her waist, holding her against his side. Mackey shifted closer on the other side.

“We have you, Doc.” Mackey’s steady voice soothed.

But this wasn’t Doc . This was the woman, the wife, who’d just talked her husband off a ledge. Her strong, capable, determined husband whose faith in himself felt broken.

“I’ve been where he is, Cait.” Mackey’s stared across the street, expression grim. “Sometimes, you need to touch base. He’ll settle. You gave him that. An anchor.”

“I hope so.” She wiped her face and eyes.

Quaid eased away. “Look at me, Cait.”

She pulled in a breath and gazed at him.

The serious Quaid – the version few people saw – looked back at her. “If there’s one thing I know about him, it is how much he loves you. He’ll get back to you, Cait. He always keeps his promises.”

“He always keeps his promises,” she repeated.

He was alive. He would come home.

Safe harbor would be waiting.