Page 5

3

Carter “Boomer” Finley strode toward the big Air Force MC-130J combat transport plane waiting for them on the tarmac. This aircraft was built for special ops and packed a more powerful engine and extra combat capabilities compared to the older C-130 models. But first he had to get through what everyone called the Happily Ever After Mile—a gauntlet of teammates and their significant others, all caught up in their own heartfelt goodbyes.

There was Iceman and his wife, Rose. Rose’s two tiny bundles were tucked into a double stroller. Their little girl, Tansy, was named after Rose’s late sister, and their son, Alexander was named after Iceman’s lost brother. The way Rose looked up at Iceman made Boomer wish he could have that kind of love, devotion, and commitment. It was the same kind of look Leigh had given Hazard. For a moment, the Happily Ever After Mile felt heavy and lonely without the latest couple in the fold.

The kidnapping of Hazard and Leigh hit him hard. All the promise they had for the future now hung in the balance. It reminded him of a love he once had but lost because of a mental breakdown that drove him away from Lila, his wife. He had seen something terrible on the battlefield, something he could never fully shake. Even when he was home, he was never truly there. The distance grew until Lila filled her life with someone else—someone easy, someone who wasn’t always deployed.

He thought about how selfish he had been. Always demanding Lila’s comfort and support while he hid behind his emotions, afraid to look weak or less than the man she had once married. He buried himself in booze and sometimes drugs, desperate to escape the constant pressure. Out in the field, his life was simple—brotherhood, mission, hunt, kill, win. But when his best friend Mike died in a blast meant for him, it left his confidence shattered and his bitterness uncontained.

Just past Iceman stood Preacher, grinning from the arms of his wife, Luna. Luna understood what it took to be with a Navy SEAL. All the wives did. She was a former Shadowguard herself, and she fit with Preacher like they were made for each other.

For a moment, Boomer wondered if Lila possessed that SEAL babe gene like the other wives. Then guilt crashed over him. Lila had become yet another casualty of war—just like Mike.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to push the past aside. His divorce had hit him so hard that he’d devolved into a drinking maniac. When he drank, he wasn’t the man his brothers knew. Yet these same men had taken his battered soul in and shown him that the brotherhood was forever. He recalled how GQ, Remmy, had knocked some sense into him with a few harsh words about his attitude toward Celeste, the NSA computer geek who had rooted out No Safe Haven in England. She was brilliant and now married to GQ. His brothers had helped him get his life back together before he tanked his military career.

It was too late for a marriage that had crashed and burned. It was too late to fix what was broken, but he was coping. If he lost his trident, he would lose everything.

GQ fist-bumped him as he passed by, and Celeste flashed him a smile. Her gaze drifted back to her husband with that same adoring look that Boomer longed for. Celeste was a brilliant hacker who had come into her own, and Boomer and the team had grown to love her quirkiness. He had worked hard to earn their respect, and he hoped that somewhere deep inside they still held a measure of it for this scarred warrior.

His gut clenched as he realized how tired he was of being alone. He was sick of tearing up what remained of his conscience and kicking at the fragments of his soul. He used humor and his good-old-boy charm to get through the day, masking the darkness within. For the most part, that strategy worked.

Finally, he reached Kodiak, who was sharing a kiss with his wife, Kaiya. Kaiya was an Aussie who had worked with them in Sydney on the No Safe Haven terrorists plan to wreak more havoc on Americans with Aussies in the crossfire. She had been crucial in tracking down and eliminating the threat.

Boomer felt Hazard and Leigh’s absence like a kick in the gut. Hazard was one half of the Goldilocks twins, with GQ being the other. They had been nicknamed that because both were golden pretty boys with model features. Boomer enjoyed teasing them, and their camaraderie brought him comfort. But he swallowed hard when he remembered Leigh’s teary, determined voice and the fear in her words when she said Hazard was in bad shape. Anger surged in him as he thought about how far away his brothers were, and how little they knew about their teammates’ condition.

Then his world came to a sudden halt—his body, his thoughts, his breath, and his damn sanity. A hit-and-run, and not some small compact vehicle but a massive, girl-tank hit. Standing at the ramp to the belly of the beast was a striking and unmistakable beauty. She was like a Hellfire Missile, drawing every eye while sparking a whirlwind of thoughts in Boomer’s mind. She looked like an Amazon, standing six feet tall with slender, lethally toned muscles that spoke of an operator’s life. Her fiery auburn hair reminded him of a scarlet sun setting over the Grand Canyon…in…ah…much slimmer Princess Leia topknots. But he remembered both her bangs and pixie-style cut were blunt and linear, giving her an edge that was both fierce and elegant. Beneath her heavy eyebrows, her darkly lined and mascaraed eyes were a soft gray blue with flecks of gold in the irises, her cheeks brushed with an orangey hue, accentuating her razor-edged cheekbones, her lips painted with a searing hot coral, and attached to the right nostril of her nose was a small gold ring. He had to wonder what else was pierced.

Detective Taylor Hoffman. She worked for the German Federal Criminal Police, or BKA, which also served as the central bureau for Europol and Interpol. Once a liaison officer for the German Embassy in Portugal, she had cut her teeth in Division SOC—Serious and Organized Crime—and even served with the elite GSG9. That unit was so secret even the notion of women in it was almost a myth. No wonder she carried herself like a true operator. Taylor now served as the liaison to the Maritime Analysis and Operations Center for Narcotics in Lisbon. MAOC (N) was a cooperative of eight EU Member States plus the United Kingdom, focused on tackling illicit drug trafficking by sea and air. She was deeply involved in the search for Angel Alzate as part of the effort to dismantle the cartel. Fentanyl was a big problem for her group, just as it was for the US.

Boomer had worked with her briefly in Bogotá, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was out of his league. Perhaps it was because she was around twenty-five while he was thirty-two, or maybe it was her intimidating beauty. He blinked several times as if he had stepped into a time portal. Taylor was dressed in a black-and-white sailor-inspired dress with a rounded collar accented by a gathered swath of fabric clipped neatly with a small black button. The dress tapered into a fitted waist and flared out to a split knee-length hem that evoked the 1960s, complete with black accent gloves and a shiny belt with a tiny bow at her dainty waist. The outfit fit her lithe body. Every step she took caused the dress to ripple gracefully. His eyes kept wandering to her shoes. Damn, she was about to board a C-130 in that retro outfit, and those black patent leather T-straps with three-inch heels meant she was ready to freeze her butt off.

His mind raced with questions. Why was she here? How did she get on this flight? Was she coming back to Bogotá with them? Back to the drug and arms dealers who were locked at the hip with members of the government, making the entire rescue of his teammate and his lady dicey?

Then she lunged forward. “Oh my God, Boomer,” she said with relief shining on her face. “You’re my hero. Come now.”

Her words hit him like a bullet, punching through his carefully guarded heart. She remembered his name. And he felt like a damn fool for ever thinking that she might be interested in him in any way. A thrice-cursed fool.

She hoisted him up the ramp without a single missed step in those heels. Her balance was impeccable, while he staggered a bit as he watched her dress cling to every curve of her shapely form. Her grip on his wrist was firm and unyielding. Once they reached the top of the ramp, she moved over to a simple black bag sitting below one of the webbed seats. It wasn’t far to drag him, but she made no effort to be gentle.

She intercepted one of the Air Force flight crew with a narrowed look. “Blanket,” she ordered in a tone that brooked no argument. The man glanced between her and Boomer for guidance, as if a Tier 1 operator could explain this vision of loveliness with a husky German accent. Boomer looked just as confused. The man grumbled, shook his head, and then set off to fetch one.

She stopped moving, turned to him, and shoved his backpack off his shoulder, then with her other hand coming into play, said a soft, “S chei?e ,” and in her charming accent, it sounded like shy-suh , which he happened to know meant “shit” in German. He knew most swear words in just about every language. It was his claim to fame, and he was damn proud of it. “You have strong shoulders. That is heavy.” Her slim biceps thickened, her toned arm showing the delineation of muscle. His mouth went dry from both her comment and the way her eyes roamed over his upper body. Don’t play with my emotions, woman , he thought, and all kinds of ways they could play came to mind. The naked kind.

For a moment, his normally effusive personality tumbled into a rabbit hole of confusion. He felt as if he had been dragged into a world where witty, confident, and wily foxes ruled.

The Air Force guy who had been regulated to a blanket flunky came through with a green, military-issued specimen that had seen better days. It had a few holes in it. “This is all you have?” she snapped with a frown.

“Sorry, ma’am, but this ain’t the Ritz,” he said and left.

“The Ritz,” she muttered under her breath with a self-deprecating laugh, then added a stream of German that made Boomer smile. She mumbled something about where she would love to shove his blanket. “Beggars can’t be pickers,” she said with a shrug.

He preferred his women a little less intimidating, ones who thought of him as more than a…well a…blanket flunky. The younger-woman thing aside, he’d like to think that he had more to offer than just his strong arms, but again, the truth was, she was out of his league. Way out . There was something about her, a hawklike awareness of people and her surroundings that came with some kind of emotional baggage, and she also knew how to make things happen when she needed them to. Crossing the line was out in left field where he often played, or down a rabbit hole with mystical creatures and a no rhyme/no reason world. He often lived outside the wire and that was as real as it got. Yup, it was too bad, but he did.

“Choosers,” he said.

“What?” She cocked her head.

“The saying is beggars can’t be choosers,” he said, and she smiled, the warmth of it going all the way to those expressive eyes.

“Ah, Americanisms are so complicated, no?” She reached down to the bag and lifted it onto the metal and webbed seating. “Whoops.”

Fuck if she wasn’t the cutest damn thing.

She turned back to him and said, “Hold this with your strong arms.” Her voice took on a sweeter edge, and he wondered if she was flirting with him. His lonely, red-blooded American thoughts surged as he remembered the emptiness he felt without any true connection.

Wait a goddamn minute! It just dawned on him as he took the blanket, grabbed the ends and extended his arms wide. She was going to do a quick change on a C-130 with almost nothing but big, tough military types coming and going. He glanced over his shoulder as his team began boarding, and the stares, smirks, and whispered speculations set his pulse racing. GQ looked as agitated as ever, and it was clear that no one was handling the news about Hazard and Leigh’s abduction very well. Guilt curled in his gut as he realized that even in this light-hearted moment, his mind kept returning to the suffering of their teammates.

Yet, these men were going to be constantly jabbing at him, and he wasn’t going to live this down. So, in the end, she had just needed his broad shoulders because of his wingspan. He was actually the perfect blanket flunky.

“Oh, s chei?e ,” she murmured again, then turned to him. “Could you unzip me? It’s much easier to get up than to get down.”

His lower body stirred accordingly to that provocative statement, and he bit back a groan that automatically rose to the surface. No doubt about it. This woman was going to be the death of him, torturing him with what he wanted so badly. Her . Hot and melting beneath him. Yeah, that was for sure. His dick had been getting up by increments this whole time, but now he hardened at the thought of touching her.

“Hurry, before we take off,” she urged.

Boomer slung the blanket over his shoulder, all the while aware of the eyes of his teammates on him. He moved behind her to shield her from prying stares and, with trembling hands, grabbed the small white tab of the zipper. Slowly, he pulled it down, revealing her gorgeous, toned back—from the delicate band of her white lace bra strap all the way to the base of her spine.

“ Danke ,” she whispered, and he grasped the blanket edges again and spread his arms, turning his head so that she had some modicum of privacy. Except the holes played peek-a-boo with her movements, allowing beguiling glimpses of her butt, her delicious, small, perky breasts encased in white lace, her curved hips with another strip of lace, narrow waist, and long legs. He was in hell. Pure unadulterated hell.

The rustle of fabric filled the brief silence as she dressed. First, she pulled on a pair of military-green leggings, then a simple black, form-fitting thermal top. Finally, she donned a black vest that nipped in at the waist. She pulled the vest closed and zipped it up, then sat down to lace up her military-style boots. She folded her dark socks neatly over the boot lips for a stylish finish.

She rose and stood in front of him, close enough to touch, tempting him to reach out and touch her face, pull her close, and kiss her senseless. Of course, that was pure batshit, Boomer in Wonderland crazy.

“Are you a complicated American, Carter Finley?” she asked with just enough of a hitch in her voice to get him thinking about that flirting thing again.

Holy shit. It dawned on his addlepated mind that she not only remembered his call name, she remembered his first and last names. Okay, rabbit hole here I come . “No, ma’am. I’m as simple as dirt. Just a plain, good ole Southern boy.”

Her brows rose, her eyes sharply curious. “Good ole Southern boy?”

“Redneck.”

“What is redneck?” she asked, catching his hands and pulling his arms back to his sides, taking the blanket and throwing it on the seat behind her. He had been so focused on her, he hadn’t had enough brain cells to rub together.

He raised a brow, amused by her ignorance of that term. “Well, ma’am, it’s kind of a joke, and rather derogatory, but is usually applied to white Americans perceived to be crass and unsophisticated.”

She stiffened and her eyes flashed blue fire. “Boomer, you are no joke. You are not crass or unsophisticated. I find that term offensive. I do not like it applied to you.”

“Okay, no redneck. Just Boomer,” he said, smiling as she charmed him completely. God, he felt like a fool.

For a moment, she dazzled him with a smile that made him forget the harshness of the world. Then her tone changed. “Okay. I like Boomer. Explosions come to mind when I see you.”

Before he could process her comment, Anna stepped up. “Taylor,” she said pleasantly, launching a conversation with Taylor that left Boomer sidelined. He backed away as her words ignited tiny explosions in his mind. What did she mean by that comment? He would be left wondering alone.

When he stooped to pick up his backpack, he caught sight of all the smirks and knowing grins from his teammates. “What’s going on, Boom Boom?” Breakneck asked with a teasing lilt. His eyes flicked over to Taylor and Anna, who were deep in conversation. It was clear they had bonded over the Bogotá assignment.

“Nothing, B. Absolutely nothing. I was just her blanket flunky,” he muttered.

“Bullshit,” Kodiak snorted. “We aren’t blind. Those weren’t just blanket flunky looks.”

“You’re delusional. Look at us. The picture tells a thousand words. Besides, she’s like seven years younger than I am, and those seven years are hard,” Boomer shot back, his shoulders tensing. His heart sank as he thought of how his own feelings for her were starting to feel painfully real.

“You’re rugged, tough, and a Tier 1 operator. Little Miss Taylor has the eyes for you. Mark my words,” Breakneck said with a wry grin.

GQ shifted uncomfortably and huffed out a breath. “Ha, she would go after you more than she would me. I’m not biting that bait, junior,” Boomer grumbled. Boomer sat down, unable to take his eyes off Taylor. “Besides, you’re still wet behind the ears. What do you know about it?” he teased.

“She’d be robbing the cradle,” Skull added, making everyone laugh.

Breakneck’s smile turned secretive. “I know a lot about sex. I’ve been at it since I was sixteen, and not just with girls my own age. I’m a bit of a babe magnet.”

“Conceited much?” Skull smirked.

“It’s not conceit if it’s true. I’m just making a point,” Breakneck replied.

“Are you giving us your sexdentials?” Skull asked, earning a knowing look from Preacher. Iceman just shook his head.

Laughter bubbled among the group, but Boomer’s heart was heavy. He couldn’t help noticing every little thing about her, and it didn’t make sense at all. His noticing her so intensely, his team bantering, and all the while his mind returned again and again to the grim reality of Hazard and Leigh’s plight.

Soon, Taylor drifted away from Anna, and Breakneck joined her for a chat. Boomer stiffened. What was going on? Was this payback for all the teasing? He eyed Breakneck as Skull shot him a sympathetic look.

“Tell me, what did you find out?” Kodiak asked over the din, leaning in with interest as every brother gathered around—except Iceman, who stayed as cool as ever, and GQ, still lost in thought.

Breakneck frowned. “Her travel authorization came straight from the top in JSOC, all the way from Washington, DC. Apparently, she was in DC to talk to the DEA about the fentanyl problem we’re all facing, and she’s coming back to our base in Bogotá to continue her work. Word is that the Alzate Cartel isn’t as dismantled as we thought.”

“Is that all?” Kodiak scoffed. “You suck at intel, B.”

“I didn’t say that was all,” Breakneck murmured. “Bad news, I’m afraid.”

“What’s that?” someone asked.

“Boomer may be right,” Breakneck sighed. “She has a boyfriend.”

Boomer’s hope deflated like a balloon pricked by a pin. Of course she had a boyfriend. What was he thinking?

“So what?” a voice piped up. “I’ve got lime and a shovel. We can take care of that very easily,” Iceman said in his deadpan tone. “If she isn’t engaged, she’s open season in my eyes.”

Preacher chuckled. “She’s not a twelve-point buck, Ice.”

Iceman shrugged.

“Who is this boyfriend, anyway?” Kodiak asked, clearly skeptical.

“An underwear model named Gunther Bauer,” Breakneck replied after fiddling with his phone and passing it around.

GQ wouldn’t take the phone, and it was passed to Skull. He looked at the photo and said, “So what? He’s good-looking and fit, but he looks young, rich, and entitled. Probably immature too.” Boomer’s shoulders tightened as he realized that his own feelings were clashing with the image of Gunther. What was this kick-ass babe doing with a guy like that? Anger bubbled up inside him, mostly at himself for even thinking about her in anything other than realistic terms.

“Yeah, I’m not sure Boomer’s cotton boxers match up to his tight briefs,” Preacher said. The banter continued, and Boomer played along with a smile that did little to hide his deep regret.

“It’s not the boxers that matter,” Breakneck said, his tone thoughtful. “It’s what’s inside them.”

Skull shoved him off the bench seat as GQ exploded in frustration. “What the fuck are we talking about!” GQ yelled, his hands clenched, and his face twisted in anger. “Underwear models and Boomer’s damn love life and Skull’s for that matter! Who gives a rat’s ass?” He took a hard breath and continued in short, curt sentences. “Hazard and Leigh are out there in deep trouble. How can we even think about anything but them? All this fucking fluff makes me sick.”

Iceman rose and placed a hand on GQ’s shoulder. “Whoa, take it easy, Remmy. We’re all hurting here. The world doesn’t stop turning, and our lives carry on. We know what’s at stake. It eats at us that we might not be doing enough. Anna is devastated and hiding it well. I’m gutted, too—I should have caught this, but I didn’t.”

Preacher tried to add, “Ice—” but Iceman cut him off.

“No, I should have,” he said quietly. “Intel takes time, and tracking them is like finding a needle in a haystack. We have the best people on this, and we won’t let them down.”

GQ still seethed as every face around him betrayed a mix of remorse, guilt, fear, and helpless anger. Boomer noticed that Taylor was watching him intently from just a few feet away. It was clear she had heard their conversation. With that realization burning in his chest, he rose and made his way to her.

“Ma’am,” he started softly.

“Taylor,” she said with a warm smile as she set her hand on his shoulder. It was clear she was not offended by their chatter—even if it had involved her. Her face softened as she spoke. “I’m so sorry about your people in danger. I hope they are recovered soon.” Boomer nodded, swallowing down the mix of guilt and worry. Before he could speak, she continued. “I wanted to thank you for being such a gentleman and helping me change. I didn’t miss how you shielded me from all those stares. That was very respektvoll —very respectful.”

He felt a warmth spread through him. “I know. I speak German,” he murmured.

“You do?” Her gaze went over his face. She looked beautiful, and he wanted to touch her, caress her soft warm cheek with the back of his knuckles and pull those knots out of her hair to feel the silky strands against his fingers. That bit of tenderness weaving through his system startled him, and he dismissed the thoughts filtering through his mind before he followed through on them and made an even bigger fool of himself. “You have very strong and pleasant features, Boomer. Very much a handsome man.”

He felt like a stupid little schoolgirl at her compliment. It went straight to his head…ah both of them.

“You’re welcome, ma—ah—Taylor.”

He turned to walk away, but she tightened her grip on his shoulder. “Gunther isn’t my boyfriend anymore. He was rich, entitled, and immature.” A small smile and a soft blush played across her face as she lowered her gaze. He didn’t know what to make of that. He was just a simple Southern boy, he thought. He had hoped for something to ignite between them, but her next words cut that possibility off. “But I’m not looking for?—”

“I get it,” he said softly. “Message received.” He tried to sound gruff, as if that would shield him from the hurt. He backed away from her, and Anna snagged her again. With dismay on her face, she let it go, turning toward her friend.

He wanted to let it go, but he couldn’t shake the need for passion, connection, warmth, touch, and comfort. Meanwhile, the dire situation with Hazard and Leigh pressed on him relentlessly. He didn’t know where to put all these emotions, and he knew that drowning them in a drink would only be a temporary fix. He had lost his chance at happiness with Lila, and there were no second chances for him now—especially not with a vibrant, dynamic, intriguing woman like Taylor.

Some rare souls could hold their arms wide open and embrace the mystery of love and the joy of being loved. He wasn’t sure if he was rare enough or if his arms could span that wide.