Page 26 of Luck Be Mine (The Defenders #3)

On the Coast of Libya

The plan was flawless, the approach clean, the breach silent, the charges planted. Until gunfire erupted from the shadows and the mission fractured in an instant.

Hunt’s hand itched for a weapon, his body tightening in muscle memory. He shifted between three monitors instead and made do with action transmitted on body cameras and sparse radio traffic.

The Middle East was a powder keg, one spark away from detonation.

Libya was his least favorite mission spot in all the world.

He’d bled here once. Lost someone here once.

Left a piece of himself here and never got it back.

The place offered bad actors exactly what they needed: political instability and sprawling paramilitary smuggling routes for arms trafficking.

The ancient weapons factory, tucked into the countryside near the coast, had earned itself a bullseye, thanks to intel from US naval assets and local allies.

Taking it out would choke off a fresh supply of arms headed for terror cells across North Africa and possibly much closer to home.

Unfortunately, it was another fail in finding Barzan Madari, but the factory had to go.

The night drop via helicopter with off-road vehicles had been smooth and precise, the approach to the factory unimpeded.

The concrete, multi-room compound was rife with shadows, twisting corridors, and dozens of storage areas.

The mission objectives were brief and specific – find intel and destroy the factory.

Brennan led as Alpha. Stemmons and Hernandez had door breach and interior sweeps. Doogie took the search for tech, intel, and hardware. K-Rock handled his favorite thing – explosives. Planned, practiced, executed with precision.

But … no plan works past ten seconds.

It was such a beautiful plan.

The interior sweeps were clear, weapons identified, and data discovered and transmitted. K-Rock had the destruction objectives in progress. Seven minutes on the clock.

Gunfire erupted from the back corridor.

Shit! Hunt jerked upright, finding the correct camera.

“Party of six, Papa Bear.” Stemmons radio report was garbled by weapons fire. His helmet cam jostled wildly. “I’m hit.”

Hunt switched to Hernandez’s camera. The senior chief dashed down a corridor with Carter on his heels. They’d switched search objectives to get to Stemmons, but they were too far away.

“On it.” Baxter’s cool response came amid more gunfire. Hunt fisted his hands, quietly pounding them together while he counted the seconds.

“In position.” Tommy’s competence came through in his tone. “One down.” The open ceilings in the factory left a clear line of sight from the rafters.

A minute later, “two down.” Their sniper was earning his pay.

“Got Stemmons. Thigh and shoulder. Conscious.” Baxter fired his weapon, then grabbed Stemmons by the vest and pulled him to a more defensible spot.

Hunt identified the streaks, blood and dust. Knuckles white, he stayed command steady, but fuck he wanted a gun and to be there, not here.

This not being able to do anything rubbed against his training and his experience.

Hernandez and Carter arrived, racing down the corridor, weapons raised and firing. The gunmen leap-frogged, shooting, hiding. Every time one popped from behind a crate, the trio of shooters took them down until all was quiet.

Brennan spoke. “Sit-rep.”

Hernandez. “Shooters down. Six confirmed. We need evac, now.”

“Are we ready to execute grand finale?” Brennan’s cool, precise tone returned thoughts to mission objectives.

K-Rock. “Yes. Finished. Let’s get out of this tin can. It’s gonna be a pretty show.”

Brennan. “Exfil. Rendezvous in two. Take down in four. Don’t be in the building.”

Hunt watched as their exit was as smooth as their entrance. Baxter’s camera showed Stemmons over Carter’s shoulder. He identified the men he could see, but Doogie was missing.

“Alpha Two. Location.” Brennan said it before Hunt could.

“Exited a side door. I’ll beat you to the vehicles.”

“Copy.” Vehicles to the extraction point. Chopper pickup to the ship.

The explosion, when it hit, needed no confirmation. The factory blew into the night sky.

Hunt kept his sigh of relief on the down low. “Get our man to the aircraft carrier for medical attention first,” he ordered the yeoman on deck.

“Yes, sir. Confirming with the pilot now.”

Hunt snapped off the monitors and made himself stand in one place. Frustration, anger, and a whole bunch of questions crowded his thoughts.

There was always a shit factor. Always.

Yet….

Mission success. But the man down hit hard.

§§§§§§§§§§

? Nightwatch ?

The darkness at three a.m. soothed Cait’s aching head, and the sweet aroma of summer flowers from her gardens relaxed her entire body. Quaid was right. She was pushing herself too hard.

She could turn off her emotions to a certain extent. But it wasn’t uncommon to hit a coping wall, and she came home to bake, cook, garden, draw, and have lots of sex with her husband when he was home.

She also sat on her front porch in the middle of the night.

Too much worry about a husband gone dark in a dangerous world multiplied her stress. She pretended there, too, and ignored processing all those emotions, if she could. The results came in anxiety and bad dreams leading to broken sleep.

Hunt had texted their letter code once. As of two days ago, he was all right. The news gave her some comfort.

On her oasis porch with the red gingham cushions in the chairs, the welcome home wreath on the door, and the sweet smell of fresh mowed grass, Cait searched for stars.

No matter when the night came, she could find safe harbor sitting on these steps with the wide wood planks and looking out into a neighborhood they’d claimed as their own three years ago.

We Go Home.

She didn’t have to say much to Hunt about this house for him to jump into ownership with her. She’d been prepped to remind him what she wanted, but he had a list of his own.

A place for her when he was gone. Check.

A place for him to call home. Check.

A place for their version of “us” to thrive as much as it could with them both going different directions. Check.

While there wasn’t a dog or an iguana or kids, the house had everything else.

The quiet neighborhood ambience broke with an engine sound coming down the block. Somebody coming home late. She listened carefully to the engine.

Her heart skipped a beat.

On tiptoes, she tried to see over Frank’s hedge. No view.

A familiar silver truck passed the bushes and swung into their driveway.

Husband. Home.

Her heart soared to triple time, worry releasing, and love leaking from her eyes. “The man never tells me when he lands.”

Swiping away the tears, she danced off the porch and skipped through the grass, delighting in the surprise on her husband’s face. Oh, he would grill her until she confessed why she’d been on the porch in the dead of night, but him in her arms right now welled into a desperate need.

The door opened with the ease of a well-cared-for truck, and he slid out, his arms open to scoop her up. “Hey, Doc,” he grinned.

She jumped and wrapped her legs around him. He pulled her tight, never letting her touch the ground.

“Why didn’t you call me?” She cupped his face, giving him no chance to answer, and pressed her mouth to his.

Urgency roared at her. His mouth hard against her lips, he slid his tongue against hers, stroking like days and days of this wouldn’t be enough.

The last-minute call to go outside the wire had left them without the usual goodbye kiss.

“Oh, God, I missed you.” She shifted the angle of her mouth and tasted him again, breathing in his masculine scent, and reveling in his warmth.

“I missed you, too. Before you ask, I’m fine. We had one injury, but he’s going to be okay,” he murmured against her mouth.

She pulled back, concern, fear, and outrage spreading like dye in water. “Who?”

“Stemmons. Leg, shoulder. Got him right to the surgeon. All is well.”

She squinted at him. She knew better than to ask, but wanted to. Instinct pushed her to question, dissect, resolve. Instead, she swallowed the irritation of being out of the loop and set it aside. She wasn’t the man’s doctor – and the SEAL Teams had good ones.

“You sure?”

“Yes.” He swooped in for another kiss.

Letting it go had never been harder. She caught the blank look in his eyes and dropped it. “I want in your space as fast as possible.”

He shifted her to one arm, grabbed his travel bag, and kicked the door shut. He carried her across the damp lawn and deposited her on the bottom step.

“I can walk.”

“Not when I can carry you. Why are you outside in the dark?”

She toyed with not telling him the truth, but it wouldn’t work out well and was against their rules.

“Dreams. A few bad nights here. There’s chicken pot pie in the freezer.”

“Cait.” His warning singsong smashed her plans to skirt over it until later after good food, delicious sex, and a sound night’s sleep.

She took three steps to her original spot and scooted to make room for him to sit.

He settled his weight against her. God, so good. She dropped her head to his shoulder and sighed like a schoolgirl in the throes of a crush. He didn’t seem to mind.

“Talk.” Rule #1.

“You first.”

His mouth twisted, and he stroked a hand through her hair. “Same shit, another day. More weapon searches, more motherfuckers.”

His tone was off. Cait sorted through possible causes. “But you feel left out of the action. Except honey, you’re the brains.”

He went silent for a good while. “Not a solution. The more I’m in administrative shit, the more they give me.”

“Step back and math it out. You’re the best thinker they’ve got, and Harrison told you to shape it the way you wanted.”

His fingers slid under her cropped shirt and sparked off skin begging for attention. “I’ll consider that. Your turn.”