The Captive's Return (Wingmen Warriors 10)

Last rites? Denial howled through him. Not to mention rage.

Lucas eased from the gurney, strode across the room, his face right in the sergeant's, his voice low. "To perform a marriage ceremony."

The seasoned Marine's eyes radiated a pity Lucas hadn't seen since a teacher slipped him an extra apple in elementary school. "Of course, Major, I'll see if I can hurry him up."

"Lucas?" Sara's weak voice pierced through the pandemonium.

"I'm here." He took her hand again.

"I want you to know, just in case—"

"Damn it, Sara, quit wasting energy talking."

Another blast outside echoed his command. Plaster rained from the ceiling.

Way to go, grouching at a bleeding woman. Of course he'd never been much for pretty words or flowery sentiments. His emotions were too raw, especially for a guy who preferred to keep life even, unemotional. Objective.

Sara blew his objectivity right out of the sky on a daily basis. Who knew what she saw in him, enough to be his friend, then his lover.

He wrestled his emotions and tone to softer levels. "You're going to be fine. You're a tough lady, Sarafina Tesoro. You'll be chewing me out for being a grouchy SOB before sunrise."

"I look forward to it."

The door flung open, slamming against the wall. Lucas reached for his M9 strapped to his waist, ready to fling himself over Sara again if necessary. She wouldn't shed one more drop of blood on his watch today.

The sergeant raced through the door with a young man in jeans, a black shirt—and thank God—a priest's collar.

Sara's hand drifted back down to rest on her chest. While the harried doctor rolled her to her side to evaluate another wound in her shoulder, the priest leaned down to Sara. She whispered, quickly, something that obviously convinced him, as if her condition wasn't cause enough.

The priest straightened. "I hear we need a wedding performed."

The surgeon didn't so much as glance up from his patient, his jaw going tight at a newfound slice on her shoulder. "Short version, Padre, this lady has a date with me in surgery."

Searching the doc's world-weary eyes, Lucas found determination—and not much hope. Dread sucker punched him.

Words and vows passed in a blur as he spoke and ran alongside the litter being raced to the next room—a piss-poor tiny facility when she needed the technology of a major hospital. He wanted to growl orders at everyone around him, command them to wipe the fatalistic looks off their faces. She would not die.

The priest raised his hand for a final blessing of brief vows Lucas couldn't remember repeating. So little time. Her eyes slid closed and he could only seal their marriage with a brief kiss to her blood-covered hand before they rushed her away. He watched the door slam closed, blocking her from sight, but not from his mind's eye.

He refused to accept he would never see Sara again.

Chapter 1

Cartina, South America: Present Day

Lieutenant Colonel Lucas Quade refused to allow himself to hope he would see his dead wife again.

The woman he'd been sent to rescue would turn out to be some other poor sap's wife. Still, in spite of his fervent belief that he was wasting his time, Lucas found himself at a computer station mounted to a pallet in the belly of a cargo plane. Just yesterday, he'd piloted the C-17 from his home base in South Carolina to a tiny-ass airfield in the Cartinian jungle.

The parked craft would serve as a mobile command post for the joint rescue op with the CIA, Army and Air Force scheduled to launch at midnight. Less than six hours from now, the mobile command post would support communications while Delta Forces slipped into Chavez's compound, snatched the woman and brought her to the other waiting C-17 that had flown in the Delta Boys.

Six hours. A damned eternity.

Old satellite feed provided by the CIA scrolled across the computer screen in front of him, while five operatives clicked on keyboards a few feet down the steely cavern. The CIA had approached him a week ago to ID the woman they suspected might be Sarafina Tesoro Quade—a possibility he still couldn't wrap his brain around. He'd been through five years of hell since saying goodbye to her lifeless body after the failed surgery. Now the CIA wanted him to believe she'd somehow survived in spite of what his eyes witnessed?

He'd given up on miracles in kindergarten after a playground drive-by shooting.