Fast Lane (SEAL Team Alpha Book 16), Page 2

  “Afghanistan,” Ruckus said.

  Jalalabad Airfield, Forward Operating Base Fenty, Jalalabad, Afghanistan

  Solace hefted her pack as soon as the plane landed. She was disembarking at Jalalabad Airfield, in Nangarhar Province in eastern Afghanistan, adjacent to the Pakistan border. This area had been designated Regional Command East, the most dangerous part of an increasingly dangerous country. Not much had changed.

  She filed out with the other people who were manning the Special Forces helicopter team, including pilots, aircrew, and ground support relieving the current SOARS members. Looking at the aircraft on the flight line, the refueling trucks and the buildings she knew held equipment, tools, and safety equipment, Solace couldn’t help thinking J-Bad was just another hellhole. Nothing special.

  She had recently been to the Congo and Syria, handling missions that had kept her on her toes or too tired to think. She liked it that way.

  They were assigned to Forward Operating Base Fenty, located at this military airfield. The base was named after Lieutenant Colonel Joe Fenty who died in a CH-47 Chinook helicopter crash after a high-risk rescue mission in the mountains above Chowkay Valley and all aboard were lost. Among those deaths were Nightstalker members. She had heard Fenty was relentlessly focused, and for some reason, that made her think of Fast Lane.

  There was some kind of dustup going on in Nuristan. Whispers of a new threat from Pakistan and a mission of utmost importance in a fight to stem the tide of another Bin Laden. This was a direct threat to the United States. Instead of waiting for another terrible disaster like 9/11, Special Forces were going to be proactive.

  Most of the other combat outposts, or COPs, had been demolished or turned over to Afghan forces. Even FOB Fenty wasn’t what it used to be. In the cold weather of January, a chill wind blew the forever dust that gritted everything, clothes, teeth, face, and eyes, clinging to the residue of combat that was nothing but an echo in the distance.

  The Americans were no longer in charge here. The war on terror…or at least this part of it…was over. No more troops, no more medevacs and infils or exfils, no more heartbreaking American or NATO casualties. Now it was up to the Afghan government to hold back the Taliban. Now it was about maintaining military influence when the majority of American boots-on-the-ground forces were gone.

  They came here for revenge against the 9/11 terrorists, and they got it. They had broken the back of the Taliban, decimated Al Qaeda, relentlessly and tirelessly tracked down Bin Laden and the architects of that long-ago tragedy now more than two decades old. It would now become an air war, a diplomatic mission. They called it a victory and were moving on.

  As she must. She hadn’t been able to shake Somalia like she had many other battles and close calls in the past. Maybe that was because she’d been on the ground, in the thick of the danger, seen a crewmember die right in front of her, and almost lost her own dignity, honor, and life. In a split second, she had gone from being victimized to being rescued…by Fast Lane.

  It was difficult to bear the thought of how precious life was when she knew how short it was for so many others. She had been shaped by combat, honed by battle into that sharp tip of the spear, but much more by the relationships she held dear.

  Solace boarded a bus to head to the main part of the now Afghani-run base. She took her assigned quarters in a plywood structure with a single cot and a small dresser for clothes. After setting down her gear, she pulled out a pair of jeans, a shirt, and a sweater, and grabbed her towel and shower kit.

  She took a hot shower, washing her hair and body. Sighing, her thoughts went back to Somalia. Maybe the most difficult time she’d had with Somalia was seeing Fast Lane again. Her ex-husband. With him protecting her and saving her from a terrible death at the hands of bandits, was she looking at him with different eyes?

  That thought made her shiver.

  The pivoting point of their marriage had been that harrowing mission in Nigeria where he’d been the type of leader she had always known he was but had never had an opportunity to witness. He had been strong, relentless, terse, and ruthless in getting them to safety. That’s why she had been so blindsided by her personal and devastating loss. She hadn’t been able to turn to him to find the comfort they would both need. Instead, she had dug in her heels, her secret getting buried and mired in their arguments and anger until there was nothing left to do but leave.

  She’d learned the valuable lesson of being strong and determined at the age of fifteen, after the death of her twelve-year-old brother, Michael. Her mother’s emotional withdrawal had followed, and her parents had ultimately divorced, leaving her floundering for a place to belong. She’d learned to depend on no one but herself and developed the courage to take chances and fight for what she believed in or wanted.

  She didn’t know why this was happening now, but the memories lashed at her, still vivid. A wave of painful nostalgia and old guilt surged through her, and Solace gripped the edge of the shower stall, the ache in her chest so big she could barely endure it. At least he was here even if it made her remember all her mistakes back then, either due to her youth or her attempt to exert her independence. As a SEAL, he was occupied. Effectively gone forever out of her life.

  Suddenly blinded by tears, her chest heaved, and she indulged herself in a few seconds of self-pity, then a thump of someone else in the showers snapped her out of her misery. A familiar sense of loss swept over her as everything she thought she had dealt with washed over her. She used the heel of her hands against her eyes, thinking she could grind the tears away. But the pain returned with crippling force. She had loved him so. He had almost become her world, and that is what had scared her so much. He had been wild and cocky, and he had made her feel things—wonderful wild things she hadn’t ever experienced before or since. It was as if something bright and shiny had dimmed in her when he was no longer in her life.

  After her shower, she headed toward food to get a bite to eat. She chose something light and sat down at one of the tables. The food went in without thought. When she was done and putting her tray away, she ran into someone because she was lost in her own thoughts.

  Two strong hands reached out to steady her and she looked up. It was her old high school boyfriend, Chris Donnelly, who was now some hotshot reporter.

  “Solace? Damn, I haven’t seen you in a long time. How have you been?”

  She managed a smile and laughed softly. “I’m good.”

  “What the hell are you doing here? There’s nothing going on in J-Bad, except the looming threat of the Taliban waiting in the shadows to take over again now that there is a drawdown.”

  “I go where the 160th tells me to go.”

  “Ah, I see. Classified.”

  “Always. What about you?”

  He slipped his arm around her and smiled. “I’m writing about how the US is damned if they do and damned if they don’t. Same old story. People yell at us when we come in to help, then yell at us for being here and taking over, then cry when we leave.”

  She nodded. “How’s that big brother of yours. He enlisted in the Marines, right?”

  His face went solemn, and the light went out of his eyes. “He was killed in action a few years ago. Left a daughter and his wife, Glenda.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered as she hugged him, closing her eyes in reverence for his brother—smart, funny Bobby. A gust of wind, hotter than expected, kicked up dust, and it billowed over her just-washed body.

  When she opened her eyes, the sight of Fast Lane slammed into her. He was standing a few yards away, a thunderous look on his face that smoothed out when he met her gaze.

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The fact that he was furious wasn’t lost on her, and he didn’t have to say a word for her to know he was simmering with anger. She was always able to see deeper than the surface with people in general. She expected it had something to do with honing her own abilities when it came to people and reading body language to recogniz
e the subtle nuances that many seemed to miss.

  She had no idea why he was giving off these vibes. It seemed as if he resented her being here, and that irked her. She had a job to do just like he did.

  Chris must have felt the change in her body. He separated from her, then followed her gaze. “You know that guy?”

  She nodded curtly as Fast Lane just stood there. “Yes. He’s my ex-husband.”

  “Looks like a scary son of a bitch.”

  That might be Chris’s observation. Partially hers too. Her gaze skated over him. He hadn’t moved. He looked so deadly and sexy, and she was ready to give up anything if he’d just come over here and kiss her. Whoa. That thought was out of the blue. Or was it?

  She tilted her head and said, “He is. He’s a Navy SEAL.” A shiver stole through her, puckering her nipples against the cups of her bra and provoking a tumble of excitement in the pit of her belly. She hadn’t had sex in a long time, and the chemistry they still shared ignited between them, indicating she wasn’t nearly as over him as she had thought before Somalia.

  “Hmmm, Special Forces is here too? There’s a story somewhere.”

  “Nothing I can help you with,” she responded, her body heating a little more from the dark, intent look in Ford’s eyes. He was always protective of what was his. He just couldn’t seem to get it that she wasn’t his anymore.

  “I’ll let you go. You two seem to have some unfinished business. Take care, Solace.”

  “You, too, Chris.” His words made her stomach lurch. They had finished their business. They were divorced, no longer together. Yet Chris’s “unfinished business” words now echoed in her mind. Was something stirred up in Somalia or had it never been resolved, even with the breakup?

  That he wasn’t happy to see her was an understatement. The tense set of his body, his clenched jaw, and his fuming silence said it all.

  He still didn’t move as Chris walked away. Uncompromising bastard. She headed toward him. It wasn’t brain surgery. He was here, which meant his team was here, which meant the 160th was here to support them, which meant they were, once again, working together.

  He shifted and she couldn’t help thinking what an amazing body he had—athletic and honed to perfection from just being a SEAL and his dedication to being as strong as he needed to be. He was tall with wide shoulders that tapered to a lean waist. Faded, well-worn jeans hugged his tight hips and strong-looking thighs. There wasn’t an ounce of excess fat on his lean, muscled frame from what she could see.

  He wore his pitch-black hair longer than she remembered. Typical SEAL. The thick mass looking glossy in the light. With the beard also neatly clipped, he exuded a rugged, rough around the edges, bad boy appeal. Pure sex and sin in one breath-stealing package. A man who was in charge, fully aware of his responsibilities, wearing the mantle of power so well.

  With all those elements, it was easy to see that badass was the new black.

  When she reached him, he scrubbed a hand along his jaw. She opened her mouth to say something, but he interrupted her before she could speak.

  “Of all the dangerous places in all the towns in all the world, you have to walk into mine.”

  2

  Fast lane had come into contact with many women who were involved in protecting America but none of them were like Solace. The first time he’d met her, she’d told him to step back, clam up, do his job and she would do hers. She was the master of her aircraft. When he’d tried to hit on her, she’d told him she wasn’t helpless or a piece of ass. Then she’d walked away.

  Solace Eden Mitchell was the most exciting woman he’d ever met—beyond that, she was athletically fearless, laser-focused, and drank up her surroundings like a sponge. As a couple, they had been involved in extreme sports and even won a few mixed double competitions. She was a pilot that regularly pushed her limits, and he was the leader of a SEAL team. His boundaries in combat and patience were tested every day.

  But here she was, in the flesh, again. It wasn’t enough that she was always on his mind, an ache in his heart. Now, she was appearing around every corner. Somebody up there must really have it in for him. He had to admit he was both dismayed and overjoyed to see her. Not hugging another guy, of course—that brought out ugly jealousy that was neither productive nor healthy—but that was his reality now. She was his ex-wife. Emphasis on the ex part.

  She was easily the best pilot in SOARS. He’d seen her come into a hot landing zone under heavy fire to exfil them, to extract wounded, to fight the enemy on the ground with blazing guns from the air. She traversed rugged terrains just a few feet off the ground with precision and skill, and he’d seen her autorotate a chopper to crash land, saving the lives of the majority of the Special Forces and crew aboard.

  He’d seen her fight like a demon on the ground when they were all hunted like animals. He loved her as much now as he did then. He was convinced he would love her to the grave and beyond.

  But right now, in her jeans and warm sweater, she looked sweet, not like a tough pilot at all. Her dark hair was pulled back in a twist, exposing the long line of her throat, but some wisps had slipped free from the cool wind, floating against her face and the soft skin of her neck.

  “I’m no Ingrid Bergman and you’re no Bogey.”

  “That so?”

  “Well, he’s no you. Too soft.” She smiled. “Besides, your Bogey imitation is terrible.”

  He chuckled. She had a way of disarming him from almost any mood.

  “Don’t tell me you’re here for Operation Witch Hunt.”

  “One and the same. I’ll be dropping your ass in and pulling it out of the fire, as usual.”

  He leaned in. “My ass is always in the fire with you, Solace.”

  Her eyes widened. Fast Lane had a sudden urge to take the pins out of her ruthlessly pulled back hair.

  But in her usual fashion, she collected herself quickly. Then she raised one eyebrow and gave him a slow, shrewd smile. “Maybe that could be because you’re always such a contentious alpha bastard,” she said, her low, husky voice making his gut tighten. “Maybe you like setting those fires.” The glint in her eyes deepened. “And putting them out.”

  Holding her gaze, Fast Lane grinned at her. “Maybe I do, with the right fuel.”

  She gave him a dry, amused look. “Maybe you should have become a firefighter.”

  A man said as he approached them, “Ma’am, I’m sorry to interrupt.” He saluted both of them. Fast Lane raised his arm to return the courtesy at the same time she did. “The crew chief asked me to find you. He has some concerns about the aircraft he would like to discuss with you.”

  “I’ll see you at the briefing,” Solace said as she left him to follow the man. He watched her walk away, then clamped his jaw in a hard line. He straightened, ticked off for getting drawn off the bead. He had things to do that didn’t involve Solace. He was messing with things he had no business messing with. And he needed that like he needed another hole in his head. He and his team were going into a very dangerous situation and his focus needed to be there, on the mission and the team.

  Realizing that part of his testy mood had to do with the fact that he hadn’t eaten since early that morning, he decided to grab some chow. Then he was going to check his kit and his guys. They would get to the business of tracking down and eliminating Zasha Vasiliev as a threat to them and to the US.

  That bitch was going down along with the new threat to America and the world: Muhammad Anger Said.

  As he sat down to eat, in the distance he could see the rotors of the choppers that were going to take them into battle. His expression stiff, he rested his arms on the table and hunched over, his gut tightening with a feeling that made him want to bust something. He tore his eyes away, then clenched his jaw and stared at his clasped hands. Focused on keeping it together, he rubbed his thumb along an old scar on the back of his hand, loneliness rolling in on him, and he tried to block the images from taking shape in his mind, knowing he was going to
be in bad shape if he didn’t. Her face intruded—a devasting face with soft skin, fierce blue eyes, beauty that made his gut tighten, and a voice that slid over a man like black silk.

  “Fuck, Dodger. You were in the SAS for Christ’s sake,” Errol “Pitbull” Ballentine said.

  “He screamed like a little girl,” Maximilian “Mad Max” Keegan said.

  Fast Lane looked up, happy to see the group of knuckleheads he led walking toward his table with their meals. Each of them sat down. They would be a great distraction.

  “You know. All of us have phobias. I don’t like spiders, mate. So shut the fuck up. You hate sharks,” Oliver “Artful Dodger” Graham said.

  “Yeah, but they can eat you. Serrated rows of teeth, tearing you apart. Spiders are smaller than you, and those camel spiders don’t even have venom.”

  “So is a grenade,” Dodger groused as he set down his tray. “I’m not going to share my bed with one.”

  “Ah, hell, he’s used to Anna in his bed. A tarantula is furry, Dodge. So cute. C’mon.”

  Dodger shivered. “Don’t talk about my wife, you wanker. You are a sick man, Pit.” Dodger glared at him.

  “I hear camel spiders lay eggs in camel’s stomachs and run twenty-five miles per hour screaming like a banshee.” Hemingway and Professor looked at one another and made disgusted faces.

  “We’re trying to eat here, Dragon,” Professor groused.

  Ryuu “Dragon” Shannon shrugged. “I don’t blame you, Dodger. It’s the snakes that give me the creeps.”

  “Snakes have two eyes…spiders have eight. All staring at you in a multifaceted, creepy way, looking to suck your fluids.”

  Hemingway pushed his meal away. “Crap on toast. Can we stop the reptile talk?”

  “Spiders aren’t reptiles, Hemingway,” Pitbull said like he was talking to a child. “They’re arachnids.” Then he turned back to Dodger. “So, who wears the spider pants in your family? Anna? That girl has backbone.”

  Dodger didn’t say anything. Just jumped Pitbull and wrestled him off the seat onto the dust of the compound.