Under Fire (Elite Force 3)

She could have kept strolling around outside, nonchalantly waiting, except for the rain. She’d already ditched her SUV in another lot on base before walking with Disco over here. She didn’t want to leave her vehicle too near Liam’s workplace. No need to make it easy for people to figure out who she’d gone to for help.

She shifted the front seat forward and gestured inside. “Ride, Disco. Let’s ride.”

Her dog sprung forward like a streak of ebony lightning into the surprisingly clean car. She’d expected to rake aside bachelor chaos. Just two neatly lined-up green canvas bags rested in back alongside her Lab. Still, a tight fit. God, hiding in here would be tougher than she’d expected. Rain drizzled down her neck.

Or was that icy perspiration?

She followed Disco inside. First order of business, cracking open a window for air. Hopefully Liam wouldn’t notice, if she opened the passenger side just a little.

Next she pulled out a water bottle and small bowl from her backpack and filled it for Disco. She set it on the floor, the side closest to the open window. Once her dog started lapping away, she hunched back into the seat at an angle where she could monitor the temperature gauge on the rearview mirror, the number dropping, thanks to the rain and the setting sun.

With luck, the dark would offer a shield, along with her brown clothes and her dog’s black coat, if they held still. Fear nearly immobilized her anyway as she thought of the silver sedan that had been following her for over an hour. The threatening phone calls yesterday. The mind-blowing secret she’d uncovered that made even the secured fortress of a military base unsafe for her.

She rested her cheek against her wet dog’s neck. God, this was reckless and insane, but she was out of options. Liam was her last choice, last chance. Her last hope.

He was also the one man she’d been determined to avoid. The only man to truly tempt her since her soldier fiancé died during a deployment ten years ago.

er 1

Patrick Air Force Base, Florida

“Kill one. Screw one. Marry one.”

Major Liam McCabe almost choked on a gulp of the Atlantic as his pararescue teammate’s words floated across the waves. Today’s two-mile swim was pushing toward an hour long. A light rain pocked the surface faster by the second. Still, there was no reason to think one of his guys had gone batty.

Liam sliced an arm through the choppy ocean, looking to the side. “Wanna run that by me again, Cuervo?”

Jose “Cuervo” James swam next to him, phrases coming in bursts as his face cleared the water. “It’s a word game. Kill one. Screw one. Marry one. Somebody names three women…” Swim. Breathe. “And you have to pick.” Swim. Breathe. “One to marry. One to kill. One to—”

“Right,” Liam interrupted. “Got it.”

He would have sighed and shaken his head except for the whole drowning thing. At moments such as these, he felt like a stodgy old guy more than ever.

“So, Major?” Cuervo stroked along and over the rippling waves. Storm clouds brewed overhead. “Are you in?”

On monotonous swims or runs, they’d shot the breeze plenty of times to take their minds off screaming muscles. The distraction was particularly welcome during intense physical training.

This word game, however, was a first.

A quick glance reassured him the other six team members were keeping pace with him and Cuervo. Each held strong, powering toward the beach still a quarter of a mile away.

Feet pumping his fins, Liam shifted his attention back to the “game.” His body burned from the effort, but he had plenty of steam left inside to finish up. He was their team leader. Their commanding officer. He would not fall behind.

“How about I just listen first?” Water flowed over his body, briny, chilly. Familiar. “Let one of the others start off.”

“Sure, old man,” huffed Cuervo, spewing a mouthful to the side. “If you need to save your breath to keep pace. Okay, Fang, you’re up.”

Fang, the youngest of the group and the one most eager to fit in, arced his arms faster to pull up alongside. “Bring it on.”

“Topic for first three. Brad Pitt’s women,” Cuervo barked. “Gwyneth Paltrow. Jennifer Aniston. Angelina Jolie.”

“Jennifer’s hot.” Fang spewed water with his speedy answer. “I would do her in a heartbeat.”

Liam found an answer falling from his mouth after all. “I’d marry Angie.”

“Too easy.” Cuervo snorted. “You’ve been married three times, Major, so that’s not saying much for Angie.”

Which just left… poor Gwyneth.