Page 36 of D-Day

D-Day stared at her, then looked down, the frown reappearing as he looked even more remote. There was a taut silence, then, finally, his tone very subdued, he said, “I’m thinking that we should get some rest. We have some hard days ahead of us, and we should take advantage of this respite and sleep.” He paused, and Helen saw the muscles in his throat contract, and she sensed a gut-deep distress in him. “Just be aware that I will protect you with everything I have, even my own life. You have to be prepared to run, and keep running, even if I fall. Can you do that?”

His gaze sharpened, and Helen’s heart nearly stalled. Swallowing with great difficulty, she touched his face, her voice breaking as she whispered, “I don’t know, babe. I really don’t know if I can leave another man behind to die because of me.” Her eyes brimming with tears, she held his gaze and spoke from the heart, her voice breaking with emotion. “Especially you, Andrew Nolan.” Her throat painfully constricted from the awful weight of that emotion, Helen blinked away the tears, unable to say the most important words of all.

The ache in her throat intensified, and she tried to swallow again, an agony of emotion clogging her chest. She suspected that whatever he was keeping from her was potent and life-changing. But just like her, he needed time.

D-Day tried to rise, but Helen stopped him, knowing he didn’t want her to see what her words had done to him. Trapped by her weight, he turned his head away and massaged his eyes, but she had already seen the glimmer of moisture along his lashes. Her own face wet, she caught his wrist and tried to drag his hand away, the love and compassion she felt for him were so big, so consuming, they were unbearable. “Don’t hide what you feel from me, babe,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

He shuddered as if she’d touched a raw nerve, but he yielded to her and lowered his hand, his gaze dark and tormented. He tried to speak, but his voice gave out on him. His face contorting in an agony of emotion, he shut his eyes tightly and pulled her against him, holding on to her as if she were the one solid thing in his life. Closing her own eyes against more scalding tears, Helen cupped the back of his head, loving him with every bit of love she had in her. He was raw and he was hurting, but there were things he couldn’t seem to tell her right now.

She held him until the pressure eased in her chest, then turned her face against his. Her face damp with tears, she pressed a soft, trembling kiss against his neck, more tears wedged in her throat. God, but she loved this man. Swallowing hard, she took a deep, quavering breath, her touch infinitely gentle as she combed her fingers through his hair again and again.

D-Day’s chest expanded raggedly, and he smoothed his hand up the back of her neck, pressing her head tightly against his. “Darlin’, I don’t know what I would ever do without you.”

Her chest so full she couldn’t answer, Helen pressed another kiss against his neck, spreading her hand wide against his head, wanting to draw him inside her tenderness and caring. D-day let his breath go on a shaky rush, locking his arms around her in a rough hug as he pressed his face against the curve of her neck. Sensing the frenzy of feeling simmering in him, Helen spreadher hand wider against the back of his head and tightened her hold.

It took a while for the volatile emotions in both of them to ease, but finally D-Day’s hold on her slackened just a little, and Helen shifted her hold. Cupping his jaw, she lifted his head and brushed a soft, gentling kiss against his mouth, then she eased back and looked at him, her gaze somber. His face was ravaged by strain, with lines of soul-deep weariness around his eyes and mouth, but what made her heart contract was the bruised, tormented look in his eyes, as if he were so raw, he simply couldn’t handle much more. And she realized that D-Day had never been more vulnerable than he was right then.

Twisting so she straddled his thighs with her knees, she took his face between her hands and kissed him again, softly, gently with infinite care.

Emitting a low guttural sound, he caught the back of her head, and she could sense how hard he was struggling to keep himself in check. How hard he was trying to keep all those feelings from exploding into a rage of need. And with some deep feminine intuition, she knew he was still fighting with himself over what he was refusing to tell her.

“I can’t talk about it now, Helen. I…I don’t have the words or the understanding to get where I need to go. I’m sorry.”

Tightening her hold on his face, Helen fought back the sudden frenzy in her chest as desire surged through her, making her heart pound. After brushing her mouth against his one last time, she made herself withdraw, knowing it would kill him if he thought he was compromising them. Trying to control her escalated breathing, she brushed her mouth against his cheek, his jaw, his temple trying to soothe him. As much as she wanted to break through all those barriers again, to touch that passion in his soul, to experience the white-hot rage of feeling, now was not the time. Until they got out of here, they had to puttheir own personal life on hold. Tonight, they were faced with the unknown of what Taer was capable of learning and Lando’s reactions.

But she was adamant that when they were free of danger, she would push the boundaries—his, hers. She was never going to be satisfied until they got everything out into the open, and she found the courage she was lacking to tell him that she loved him and then deal with whatever fallout that would come.

It was clear to her that he needed her in a fundamental way, and she could only wait until he could say the words that would alleviate that anguish locked deep inside him that she suspected had nothing to do with Buck, the team, or any kind of pending decision by the Navy as to his fate for disobeying a direct order. So, she snuggled down against him and let his rhythmic breathing lull her to sleep.

Helen awoke to an empty bed the next morning. She had been up and down in the night, checking on Taer. She was surprised to find an IV bag and a change of his bandage, and she attributed that to the darkly handsome and dashing Zorro. He must be their medic.

Taer was surprisingly resting comfortably, but that wasn’t going to last long. He was in and out of consciousness from the morphine. Hopefully, there would be time for him to convince Lando to either hand over, destroy, or let it slip where the triggers were.

Tucking the sheet around her, she sat up, resting her elbows on her raised knees as she dragged her hair back from her face, a flutter of dread stirring in her belly. The next few days were going to be a nightmare—an unbearable, never-ending nightmare.

Sighing heavily, she stripped away the sheet and got up, feeling dragged out from the accumulated tension and worry. It seemed like years since she’d had a solid night’s sleep.

When she came out into the living area, the door opened, and D-Day came into the room. She could tell that something was terribly wrong by the way he was holding his body, the etched strain on his face.

She looked around, finding that they were alone. Swallowing hard, the thick pulse in her throat nearly strangling her. “What’s happened?”

Bracing his hands on his hips, D-Day closed his eyes and tipped his head back, his body perfectly still. He didn’t move for the longest time, then he let his breath go in a heavy sigh and rubbed his eyes. He swallowed just as hard as she had, then finally he said gruffly, “Zorro found Buck unconscious in the jungle. He’s taken a bad blow to the head.”

She covered her mouth, muffling a soft cry.

“They’re gone. Zorro’s taken him for medical treatment. We’re on our own.”

12

Some things werein his power, and others were not, and Zorro didn’t lament whatever he couldn’t control. As a SEAL, he either went through it, around it, or killed it. That’s what BUD/S, training, and experience taught him—the separation of what was in his power between what was not in his power. It was something he always had ready at hand, ready to help him deal with whatever was thrown at him. It especially applied to medicine, but for him, there was a gray area. Controlling something and fighting like hell to save someone was a very fine life-and-death line.

Moving cautiously, his senses heightened put a time lock on every step he took. He had to be both fast and stealthy to save himself and Sam and get D-Day the help he was going to need. But trigger-happy idiots roamed the jungle—Filipino government troops, New People’s Army combatants, and other bottom feeders like thieves, drugrunners, and bootleggers. Add reduced visibility and freedom of movement to the mix, and everything just got even more fucked up.

Buck groaned softly.

“Hang in there, cowboy,” Zorro muttered, not sure if Buck could even hear him.

The rain had eased up a little, yet the sky was still dark, clouds hovering in a hard stall, ready to unleash again. There was no sign of a vehicle or two-legged life anywhere nearby. Fuck, a vehicle would be a nice, unexpected bonus.

---