Page 3 of Stranded with the SEAL

A noise sounded behind him, a gentle whoosh like a bed sheet being snapped through the air over a mattress, and for a moment he couldn’t place it.

Fire!

“Lady!” he was screaming now, moving faster through the snow. He nearly tripped over her, lying in the snow wearing her white coat. “We have to move,” he commanded, stealing a glance at the fire behind him, but even as he spoke he knew she couldn’t hear him. He prayed she was unconscious and not dead as he reached beneath her arms and began to pull her up the hill, with only a moment’s concern that he shouldn’t move her before help arrived.

There was another smell here, the scent of blood, light on the cold winter air. Hawk had smelled enough of it in his life to recognize it easily. He pulled harder, forcing his body to move faster before the inevitable occurred.

Smoke.

Fire.

Gasoline.

As if on cue, the red sports car exploded with a deafening boom, flames and debris shooting outward from the accident, the force of the explosion knocking him backwards into the snow. He stared at a piece of flaming material just ten feet away. They weren’t hit, but it was close. Too close, considering his car was bound to be next, and he was packing a lot more fuel for the fire than gasoline.

With a roar he picked up the woman in his arms and began to run. His footsteps fell heavily into the snow, which sucked at his feet and legs, dragging him down. He had to get enough distance between them and the impending second explosion, had to keep this woman safe from further injury.

Already, she might die.

He ran for what seemed a half mile before turning around. He could smell the blaze, but couldn’t see it through the snowstorm. A second explosion, bigger than the first, echoed across the mountainside, the shockwave hitting him a moment later. This time, Hawk kept his footing.

He thought of the weapons he had lost, the car, and how far he was from Steele’s house, then he looked down at the woman in his arms. A trail of blood ran down one side of her face, and she was eerily still. He wished for somewhere to lay her down and realized there was nowhere, so he sat in the snow and cradled her in his lap. His big hand reached inside her coat, sliding along her slender neck.

She had a pulse, though it was weak and thready. He reached for his cell phone and found it was not in his pocket. He cursed out loud, knowing it was lost in his vehicle, and he checked the pockets of her coat for one, too, finding nothing. He squeezed her tighter to him.

What had he done? They were alone on a deserted mountain in the middle of a snowstorm, with no cars, no phones, and no shelter.

He worked to shrug off his coat, then laid it in the snow next to them and moved her onto it, knowing what he had to do now. “I’ll be back for you as soon as I can, sweetheart.”

3

Standingup was like unbending metal. Hawk winced as he forced his knees to hold his weight again, realizing he must have sustained an injury in the accident and instantly pushing the thought aside.

It was frigidly cold, and the whipping wind raked his skin like frozen sandpaper. He had about twenty minutes to find or make some kind of shelter and to get that woman the hell into it. He began to jog up the hill, favoring one leg in an awkward hop.

His mind strained to focus on a memory, the map of Warsaw Mountain he’d studied so many times before. But he was eleven miles from his target, and he hadn’t paid special attention to the few houses scattered along this remote mountainside. He only knew they existed, and now he prayed they didn’t belong to any of Steele’s men.

Making his way along the tree line, he looked for any breaks or paths that might indicate a driveway. The road curved to the right in a wide arc and back again, then grew steeper. He thought of the woman and wondered how far he should go before turning around and making his own shelter from the land. He was up to the task, but would she still be alive when he completed it?

Fifty more paces, and he’d go back.

Forty-nine.

Forty-eight.

Forty-seven.

He squinted into the falling snow. There was something up ahead.

A mailbox.

Hawk picked up speed. He ran up the driveway. A cabin appeared, and he was hopeful he’d find someone at home—they’d surely have a vehicle and a way to contact emergency services.

He banged on the door, acutely aware of the passage of time and the freezing temperatures. He banged again and cupped his hands around his eyes, peering through a window.

The cabin was deserted. He turned around in a full circle, taking in the wilderness and seeing nothing that could be of help to him.

He would have to carry her here.