At least eighty enemy combatants snaked down the mountainside across from him headed straight for the men, all of them armed with AKs. They would come up behind his element and catch them by surprise. The guys would be caught in a cross fire by an enemy that outnumbered them and had the high ground. By the time support arrived, it would be too late—for all of them.
Zach reached for his rifle, determined to send as many Taliban fighters to hell as he could, only to find his hands chained above his head. He couldn’t move.
There in front of him, two Zetas held Natalie while Quintana tore off her clothes, Natalie’s desperate screams drowning out the Taliban gunfire. How had she gotten here? He’d thought she was safe. He’d thought she was home.
“Natalie!” He tried to free himself so he could get to her, blood pouring down his arms from his lacerated wrists, pooling at his feet, electric cables perilously near.
“Chichis perfectas,”Quintana said.Perfect tits.
Then Brian’s wife, Debbie, appeared beside him, dressed in black, baby in her arms. “You didn’t save my husband. You won’t save her.”
From the valley behind him came the blast of an IED, the explosion followed by the cries of dying friends.
“Zach!”
His hands suddenly free, Zach lunged for Quintana, determined to get the fucker off her, his hands closing around the bastard’s neck.
And then inexplicably, he found himself staring into Natalie’s frightened face. She lay on the floor beneath him, clutching at the hands that squeezed her throat. A man’s big hands.Hishands.
“Jesus Christ!” Zach jerked back from her and landed flat on his ass, his mind caught somewhere between his nightmare and the horror of what he’d almost done. Cold sweat beaded on his skin, his body shaking uncontrollably, the sound of screams and automatic weapons fire still echoing through his mind.
She sat up, coughed, a hand raised to her throat. “It’s okay, Zach. I’m okay. It was just a bad dream. I heard you cry out, and I came to—”
He staggered to his feet and headed downstairs toward the dark kitchen, wearing nothing but boxer briefs. He grabbed the unopened bottle of Jack he’d bought on his way home, his only thought to get himself away from her, away from the nightmare in his head. Without bothering to turn on the lights, he twisted off the cap, brought the bottle to his lips, and took a deep drink, whiskey burning its way down his throat to his empty stomach.
“Zach?” She stood there in that damned silk nightgown, watching him through eyes filled with concern, his own personal angel of mercy.
But he didn’t deserve her mercy, not after tonight.
“It’s obvious I can’t handle this assignment. I’ll ask Rowan to task someone else tomorrow morning.”
“But I don’t want that. I—”
“Go to bed.” He pushed past her, walked through the living room, then opened the French doors and stepped out onto the rooftop patio. Cool night air hit him in the face. He raised the bottle to his lips again, his heart still beating too fast, the image of his hands around Natalie’s throat making his stomach churn.
She came up behind him. “Does that really help?”
“Depends on how much I drink.” He laughed—a dark sound—then took another swallow. “Leave me alone, Natalie.”
“No. You don’t need to be alone. You’ve been alone with this for too long.”
Something inside him wanted to lash out at her, to say or do something that would drive her away. But he held his tongue, bit back his rage.
“You’re hurt.” The tone of her voice was soft, gentle, the tone a person used to soothe a wounded animal. “Sometimes the scar isn’t on the outside. Sometimes it’s on the inside where no one else can see it. Believe me, I know.”
“Stop!” He ground the words out through gritted teeth. He didn’t want her to see him like this again—weak, pathetic, broken. Why couldn’t she understand that? “Just leave me the hell alone! Please!”
“I can’t.” Her palm, soft and warm, pressed against the skin of his bare back, making every muscle in his body tense. “After the storm, I died inside. I lost everyone I loved in a single hour, and it hurt so much that something inside me shut down. My life was cold and dark and empty. But you made mefeelagain. You brought me to life, Zach. Do you think I can turn my back on you when you’re hurting like this? You’re the strongest man I’ve ever known, but sometimes even heroes need help.”
Zach started to raise the whiskey bottle again, but his arm wouldn’t move. His muscles had gone rigid, his body shaking, a strange burning in his eyes. Then his vision blurred, and he felt it—something hot and wet on his cheeks. Was he crying?
Oh, Christ!
He couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop, something inside him cracking, a choked cry ripping its way out of his throat. His knees gave, and he sank into a chair, helpless to combat the maelstrom inside him. The harder he fought, the more it dragged him down.
But then Natalie was there, holding him tight, her slender arms around his shoulders. He let her take the bottle from him and held on to her like a drowning man, surrendering himself to her along with whatever was left of his pride.
Slowly, the horror began to seep away—but not the shame. He was a grown man, a former SEAL, for Christ sake! He was being comforted by a woman he was supposed to protect, a woman who’d survived her own hell, a woman whose neck he could just as easily have broken a few moments ago.