Under Fire (Elite Force #3)(61)
Author: Catherine Mann

“Shit.” He punched the tractor. Knuckles throbbing, he resisted the urge to pitch the mic to the ground.

Rocha edged around the tractor. “I’m going in after him, boss. I’ll follow the cable, dig through, and—”

Reason filtered through the rage. He needed to level out, stay in command.

“Hold steady. Not yet. I don’t need two of the team missing.” He refused to believe Franco was gone. Only his voice, only the radio connection, had faded. “Let’s check in with the cleanup crew, maybe nab one of the search dogs again to confirm the exact location since things have shifted.”

Scrubbing along his jaw, he scanned the crews returning to business as if nothing had happened. Training kicked into overdrive at times like these. The cold-sweat stage would set in later, once there wasn’t anything to do but sit and think about how very wrong the day could have gone.

How badly it could still go, as they all hung out together in an active seismic zone…

All the same, Liam intended to bring as much help to the table as he could wrangle out of the already-overtasked people scurrying around the buckled piles of concrete and rebar. He scanned the construction crews—a mix from around the world—for a spare soul to help out.

And came up empty.

He scrubbed a gloved hand over his face. God, they were all maxed already, working alongside a rescue task force from Virginia for the past eighteen hours without sleep. He was running on the fumes left over from his catnap on the cargo plane ride over.

More C-17s dotted the sky, a trio landing one after the other in the distance with more supplies and personnel. Much-needed help. Except it would be hours before they were in place here.

But the helicopter hovering closer? The supplies and personnel that chopper contained would be available in minutes. His headset buzzed with news of a relief dog handler being sent from the Virginia USAR—Urban Search and Rescue.

He zeroed in on the cable lowering from the craft. A wiry figure dangled from the end, appeared to be a female in rescue gear with a dog strapped to her chest.

The helicopter was sending in a fresh search pair. A gold mine, when everyone else was running on fumes after over eighteen hours without sleep. They were also closer than whatever troops or supplies might be loaded in the C-17 still circling in the sky.

He clapped Rocha on the shoulder. “I’ll be right back. Keep talking to Franco.”

Sure-footed, he jogged across the jagged debris toward the chopper, eyes homed in on the duo spinning on the end of the descending cable.

He was a scavenger from way back, and intended to be first in line to claim her…

Liam turned from the rain-slicked window and back to the bed. Rachel had been his from the start. In the field or out. That hadn’t changed.

So what was it that had him reaching for the mutt puppy as if he needed a dose of therapy just because he’d hinted at the M word? Marriage. Even thinking it now made him break out in a cold sweat at the prospect of failure.

But the thought of losing her? Hell, that gave him the shakes too. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. The image of Rachel sleeping in his bed merged with the vision of her descending from that helicopter with her dog. Even in his memories, she damn near took his breath away.

Realization filtered through him without the aid of any therapy session—or hell, maybe the dog had a magic all its own. Because he knew without a doubt, just as he was reaching the point where he had to leave his work in the field, the time had come for Rachel to return to her calling.

And this time, he would be the one out in the cold in a relationship with someone married to the job. It was inevitable. God knew he’d lived through the scenario often enough to see how it would play out. To know the hell that came from trying and failing. He wouldn’t wish that pain on anyone, much less on Rachel.

Now he just had to figure out if he had the courage to back away from the only woman he’d ever truly loved.

***

Catriona curled under the sheet on the bed, hugging a pillow and wishing she had Brandon to hold on to instead. But he was stretched out on the floor on a bedroll with his dog. Either he was being a gentleman or he wasn’t interested.

Regardless, he was definitely restless. Every time thunder shook the ground, he thrashed, then settled again. Good God, how did he ever manage to feel rested, sleeping so sporadically? Sleep deprivation alone could send someone over the edge.

She didn’t know what to do for him. Or if he would even want her help. She was in way over her head here with someone out of her league.

Lightning and thunder flashed and cracked in sync.

Brandon shot upright.

An encore of lightning slashed across his face, revealing a fear and horror that brought tears to her eyes. Before she could stop herself, she’d clambered off the bed and onto the floor beside him. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and she held on tight. Rocking back and forth, she mumbled soothing words—she had no idea what, but kept on talking until the tension began to leave his body.

A long sigh racked through him. “You can ask.”

“I’m not even sure where to start and I wouldn’t want to say the wrong thing.”

“How about asking what makes me lose my marbles every time a car backfires? What makes it so I can’t sleep through the night?” His voice picked up speed and ferocity, even if he kept his volume under control. The tension crept up his back again. “What makes it so I can’t even get a hard-on, much less make love to a woman?”

Whoa. Just whoa.

She’d asked herself some of those questions, but the last one had caught her by surprise. “Um, I was going to ask what makes you bite your nails? But since you mentioned the rest of that, I’m all ears if you want to talk.”

He shrugged free of her arms—gently but deliberately. “I’ve talked and talked and talked some more to shrinks.”

She leaned to grab her water bottle off the end table and passed it to him. “Sounds as if you think the talk was wasted.”

“It didn’t work, but I had to try if I wanted to end this purgatory of being on medical leave until I get my head on straight again—or don’t. So far I’ve managed to convince them the therapy’s making progress. We’ll see.”

“And your therapy dog?” She prodded carefully, afraid of doing more harm than good.

“I got a great trained free pet.” His smile was dark and strained. “What’s to argue about?”

“She doesn’t help?”