Trapped (Delos Series Book 7) Page 5

  Dan hooted. “Ohhhhh, there you go, Felix. You want Sloan so bad you can taste it and she just keeps tellin’ you ‘no’. Now you’re gonna use a puppy to lure her in.”

  Manny flushed. “She’s a nice girl.”

  “She’s not a girl, she’s a woman,” Ram muttered.

  “Like you’ve got tons of knowledge about women?” Dan shot back, giving him a cocky grin. “Manny has more than the hots for her. He’s known her nearly two years, off and on now. He’s serious about chasing and catching her.”

  Snorting, Ram said, “There’s only one thing a woman is good for and that’s in bed. One time, and then you walk away.”

  “You are one cruel motherfucker,” Manny said, and slapped Ram on the back. “I’m not built like you, bro. I met Sloan two years ago on my first deployment here to J-bad. She’s a good lady.” He waved his finger in Ram’s face. “Emphasis on lady. She’s no one-night-stand in my book. She’s smart, kind, funny, and I like being around her. She makes even a bad day look better when I get off a ball-bustin’ op. I go over to the clinic pretending to be sick just so I can see her.”

  Dan snickered and looked at Ram. “Torres loves them and leaves them. He’s not built like you at all, Manny.”

  Shrugging, Manny said proudly, “My folks came from Mexico and settled in San Diego, man. Family is everything and I was taught to always respect a woman.”

  “Me, too,” Dan said. “Farm families tend to be large and we have to really depend upon one another because we live in a rural area.” He looked up at Ram. “You never talk about your family. Didn’t they tell you to respect a woman?”

  Ram gave Dan an evil look. “My personal life is off-limits to you squids.”

  Manny hooted, “Oh yeah, that’s right, Torres, you were telling us you were born in a test tube in some science lab. Yeah. Right!” He laughed some more and so did Dan.

  After they settled down into silence once more, Manny said, “Let’s go talk to Ali when we’re done eating. Maybe we can set up some kind of fail-safe system so that if the team is out on an op, Sloan can keep the pup and feed her. She’s nuts about animals!”

  “She must if she loves you!” Dan joked, giving him a grin.

  Manny’s chest puffed up. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Cousins. But then, SEALs are widely known to be animals.”

  Ram said nothing, listening to the teasing between his two friends. Since coming to the team, he’d never discussed his family—ever—and he wasn’t ever going to, either. Everyone else had photos of their loved ones, photos they often showed one another tacked up in their rooms. Ram had none on his wall. When asked or prodded, he’d just tell them he was a test tube baby. End of discussion. They always gave him a strange look when he said it, but they never pushed him on the topic.

  His conscience was definitely needling him about Ali and the puppy. He didn’t want to see her—or it—again, but that wasn’t realistic. After chow, he’d hunt her up and tell her once and for all it was her dog, not his. Once that was off his conscience, he wouldn’t have to deal with either one of them.

  *

  The door to Montero’s room was wide open when Ram stepped into the compound. Dan and Manny were hanging out at the medical facility because Sloan was on desk duty. Manny had told all his SEAL brothers that he loved Sloan. Ram wasn’t at all sure what love was, but he didn’t tease Manny about it. He’d seen glimpses of it among the married SEALs, how they reacted when their wives would Skype them, or if something happened at home that made them anxious because they were unable to help. Love caused a lot of problems from where he stood.

  Mentally girding himself, he walked down to Montero’s room and looked into the brightly lit area. She was on the swept, clean floor, in civilian jeans and that pink top with capped sleeves, the dog in her lap, petting it. He’d purposely quieted his boot steps, wanting to come upon her without her hearing him approach. Montero’s room was spotless, everything picked up, and he noted a slew of photos in frames sitting on her crate dresser. He saw what were probably her mother and father, and in another one, a beautiful young woman that looked somewhat like a relative. Maybe it was her sister. Ram couldn’t be sure. He’d never asked Montero anything personal about her family. But then, he never asked anyone else about their families, either.

  “Hey, you came.”

  Startled because his focus was on those family photos, his gaze snapped to hers. She was smiling up at him, cross-legged on the floor, the puppy bouncing around in her lap, cradled by her hands so she wouldn’t fall off onto the floor. “Yeah,” he snapped. “I got your note.”

  Scooping up the puppy, she got to her feet. “Here, Torres, take your dog.” She placed her gently against his chest.

  Without thinking, Ram covered the squirming, happy puppy with his two large hands, not wanting it to fall to the floor when Ali removed her hands. “This is your dog, not mine,” he growled, watching her slip on a pair of comfortable leather shoes.

  “How can you say no to a face like that?” she teased lightly, smiling as she turned toward him, gesturing to the puppy. “She’s just the cutest thing! Sloan and I fed her milk earlier. Then, she wangled some dog food from a scrounger friend of hers here on base. You should have seen this little gal gobble it all down! We didn’t give her much because Dr. Samson said if she overate, she’d heave it all back up. Her stomach is so shrunken; we’ll have to feed her little bits every couple of hours until her body adjusts to eating.” She stroked the pup’s head. Looking up into Ram’s darkened eyes, she added softly, “You saved her life. You’re my hero—and you’re hers, too.”

  Ram winced inwardly, he didn’t want her sincere compliment to touch him—but it did. And for an instant, his heart swelled, startling him. Roughly, he said, “I’m no one’s hero, so get that out of your head, Montero.” He saw her give him a slow, measuring look. Right now, she looked like a young college grad, not the sniper and translator he knew her to be. He wished he wasn’t captivated by her long, shining black hair moving silkily across her shoulders. It made him want to reach out and touch those glossy strands.

  Ali gave him a slight shrug. “The heroes in my life, Torres, are men and women who do the right thing for the right reason.” She gestured to the pup. “You saved her life and you know you did. That implies you have a heart and you’re unselfish. You thought of the dog, not yourself. In my book of life, that’s a positive quality I look for in any human being. Life is precious and not everyone would have helped that puppy out. But you did.”

  He stood there absorbing her husky voice, now colored with emotion. He saw the sense of responsibility in her gold-brown eyes, felt the empathy for a suffering creature. He was actually amazed that she was being vulnerable with him, because out on an op, she was all business. She showed no emotions, and never engaged in personal chitchat with him or anyone else. The team was focused only on the mission and successfully carrying it off.

  He realized that his body seemed to have a damned mind of its own. There was a feeling within him, as if warm, sweet honey had just been poured over his starving heart, and it felt so good, so rich and uplifting that he couldn’t respond to her. He’d decided long ago not to interface with her when back at the base. But thanks to his moment of kindness when he rescued this mutt in his hands, here he was, exactly where he didn’t want to be. Alone. With her.

  “I don’t want this dog. I told you before you can have it.”

  “Then, give her a name? That’s the least you can do. You found her, Torres.”

  Stung by her new firmness, and hearing her disappointment, he shook his head. “You give something a name, that means you care about it. I’m not going there.” The sharp look Montero gave him made him stop. Why was she looking at him like that?

  “Are you serious?” she demanded. “Really?”

  “About what? I’m serious about everything, dammit.” He was beginning to feel judged and he hated when that happened. “I have a right to how I feel about this.”
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br />   She pushed some strands of hair away from her cheek, continuing to study him, her lips compressed. “You meant what you said? Giving that little puppy a name would mean you care about it?”

  “Of course I meant it!” he snapped.

  “Did you have animals growing up?”

  “None of your damned business.” He stepped forward, thrusting the puppy toward her. “You name this dog. I want nothing to do with it.” Mentally, Ram chastised himself. He wasn’t trying to be reasonable with Montero. He was being his old self, and that could cause him to be kicked off the team.

  She took the pup. “Give her a name, Torres. I’ll relieve you of the responsibility and duties that come with taking care of her. Never mind that you rescued her from certain death.”

  He could feel her distress about his attitude, and it hurt him. He hesitated, remembering Wyatt’s lethal promise. He tried to sound less growly and confrontational. “If I give her a name, does that mean you’ll get out of my face?”

  She laughed, but it was joyless. “It’s no secret you hate me, Torres. I can live with that because my sights are set on helping people have better lives. What you think about me means nothing to me. Yes, if you’ll name this pup, we’ll both get out of your life and out of your face. Deal?” She boldly looked at him, just daring him to not agree to her terms.

  “I don’t hate you,” he mumbled, turning away, heading for the door.

  “Stop!”

  He halted, tossing a look over his shoulder. “Why? You don’t like me.”

  She walked up to him, the puppy against her breast and stood in front of the door. “I don’t dislike you, Torres. I respect you because you’re a really good shooter. I trust you when I’m out there on an op with you. So no, I don’t hate or dislike you. Got that? Now give this dog a name and I’ll let you go.”

  He smiled a little. Montero was about five feet, nine inches tall and probably weighed around a hundred fifty pounds. At six feet, he lorded over her, and he was medium boned and nearly two hundred pounds. “You’re going to stop me if I don’t give this dog a name?” He almost laughed.

  “Well,” she muttered, scowling up at him, “Not literally. But if you don’t give this dog a name I’m following you down the hall and nagging you to death until you do.”

  He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to laugh or remain darkly serious. She was no wilting violet, that was for sure. “Fearless” was a word he’d use for Montero. And he could see by the way her chin was jutted out, that challenging stare of hers, that she would be good for her word. “Okay,” he muttered, “a name . . . ”

  “And it better be a good one, Torres, because I’m not letting you off the hook about it. This dog belongs to you. So come up with a good name for it, something that makes your heart smile.”

  He wondered what planet she was from—certainly not his world. The challenge in Montero’s narrowed eyes, gleaming gold, almost with fierceness, and knowing she meant every word she spoke, made him acquiesce. “Mazzie. There, you have a name.”

  She grabbed his arm, halting him. “This name means something good and happy to you?”

  He pulled his arm from her fingers. His skin tingled. Hating that his body wanted her, he muttered, “Yes to all of the above,” and stalked out.

  *

  Ali stood there feeling the blast of sadness aimed at her. She’d seen terror and a lot of different, unnamed emotions in his eyes as he’d spat out the name, Mazzie. There was an avalanche of sudden fear that slammed against her, too. What was Torres afraid of? Certainly not her! What then? Compressing her lips, she looked down at the pup.

  “Do you like the name Mazzie, little girl?” She saw the pup wriggle her long, black tiny tail. “I like it, too.” She looked out the open door, hearing Torres’ footfalls echoing down the passageway toward his room. “You know, Mazzie, this hero who saved you is a very complex person.” She stroked the pup’s floppy ears. Her belly was swollen with her latest meal. “So? I wonder who the real Mazzie is in his life?” She smiled down at the puppy.

  *

  “Everyone ready?” Wyatt Lockwood asked his team. They been back to J-bad just two days. Normally, they remained behind the wire five to seven days, resting up and getting ready for another mission. Unfortunately, they had been called out on an unexpected mission at 2100, on a night when they had expected to catch some more rest after the last brutal, demanding mission. The emergency involved one of the friendly Afghan villages that they got good intel from. It was being attacked by a group of Taliban soldiers. The people were poor goat farmers, with little or no weapons to defend themselves against a well-armed enemy. This was a village of three-hundred people, with half the population children under thirteen years old.

  The team stood waiting just outside the airport terminal. The 160th Night Stalker Squadron was preparing an advanced MH-47G helicopter that would take them to the village. Right now there was a pilot, copilot, three crew chiefs, and an aerial gunner on board prepping the bird for flight. This specially redesigned model was specifically utilized for black-ops activity. The G model had a rebuilt airframe, plus new electrical and hydraulic lines installed. Because they were flying a hundred miles up into the mountains where the village was under fire, the MH-47 was equipped with improved fuel capacity via integral fuel tanks. Thanks to advanced avionics, this bird could take them into the night, into the worst weather and flight conditions, and they would be able to make it to their intended landing area.

  Ali waited quietly with the group. They had their weapons and anything else they’d need for this venture. Ram was on the other side of the group. She saw him look in her direction. And then, to her surprise, he moved toward her.

  “What did you do with Mazzie?” he asked.

  “I took her over to Sloan to take care of while we’re out on this op. She’s in good hands.”

  His brows eased from that frown he was giving her. “Okay.” He turned away and walked over to where he had been standing earlier. He didn’t say “thank you,” but she was surprised that he cared enough to come over and ask about the puppy. Secretly, she felt he did care about Mazzie and was just too puffed up with male pride to admit it. The fact that he’d asked, which she hadn’t expected, implied that while he might act like a badass around her, he had some redeeming qualities.

  She saw two Apache helos farther to the south of them, blades turning and getting ready to escort them to the danger zone. Each combat helo carried Hellfire missiles in case they were needed. The men of Bravo stood relaxed but alert. They knew the drill, having gone on night missions most of the time during their deployments. Each wore special black-ops NVGs, night vision goggles that allowed them better sight in the night, the assembly pushed up on each of their Kevlar helmets, looking like a set of four deer antlers.

  She knew Wyatt had given the chief of the village a satellite phone to call him in case of emergencies. And he had called earlier, telling him the Taliban were trying to break through the heavy stucco and rock wall that surrounded the vulnerable village.

  Wyatt was a brilliant strategist and Ali felt confident about whatever calls he made. He was never a cowboy, nor did he go off half-cocked doing what SEALs termed “doing a John Wayne,” which often got people needlessly killed. Even now, she saw Wyatt on his sat phone off to her left, on the outside of his gathered team, finger stuck in one ear, shouting into it as the Chinook fired up, both blades starting to sluggishly turn. There were no lights around the base at night, but the full moon was bright enough for her to make out silhouettes, even some facial expressions. She had her gloves on, the heavy level-three Kevlar weighing her down. Her fifty-pound pack sat on the tarmac near her booted feet. Her cartridge vest was heavy with extra ammo magazines, should they be needed.

  Chuck Cerney, their ‘Raven’ drone driver, leaned over to her. “Wyatt’s callin’ in the troops. He’s getting a platoon of Army Rangers from Firebase Alpha to back us up.”

  “Good,” Ali said, raising her voice above the
din. “Do you have any intel from the overhead KH-12, Keyhole satellite yet, Chuck?” He was their communications expert along with Tinker Ledlow, the twenty-three-year-old with red hair and blue eyes. Between the two, they kept Wyatt and his assistant leader, Steve Allen, informed about enemy movements and took in all incoming traffic from other various black-ops resources. There was something to say about overhead Keyhole reconnaissance satellites, their eye in the sky, with a lens so powerful they could see a coin in the dirt even being a hundred miles or more above the earth. The KH-12 was a billion-dollar satellite and its lens resembled the Hubble telescope’s ability; only the lens was turned toward earth instead of to the stars. A fifteen-ton Lacrosse-class-radar-imaging satellite also supplemented it. Both would assist Wyatt in forming strategies and knowing where the enemy was located.

  “Not yet, Ali, but Tinker is working directly with the Air Force Command on the KH-12. We should get a link here pretty quick,” Chuck replied.

  Ali knew just how important the super-secret satellites that ringed Earth were. Further, these satellites had infrared and night vision capability, so the night became like daylight.

  Those pictures taken by the KH-12 were then sent to Tinker’s Toughbook laptop and then to Wyatt, where he and Chuck would analyze them. It was an important asset for the team’s safety and prevented them from being lured into a trap by the Taliban and killed.

  She caught a glimpse of Ram Torres, who was hanging with Dan and Manny. They were warriors, their faces grease painted in dark green, black and gray, just like everyone else’s. The team was going to land on top of a mountain ridge, five miles away from the village. That way, the Taliban would not hear them coming. They’d have to hoof it those five miles at an altitude of nine-thousand feet, trotting with full packs and gear, down to where the village sat at seven-thousand feet, nestled in a small agricultural valley. There were many goat trails they could traverse, winding down and avoiding the thick stands of evergreens. But those trees also provided them excellent cover.