Page 37 of D-Day

He couldn’t control the weather or the rain that continued to fall, causing him to have to slog through an even worse-case scenario with a six-foot, two-hundred-pound unconscious Buck across his shoulders. When he found Buck’s body, his heart had jumped into his throat, hammering like crazy, but Buck’s steady pulse caused all that fear to drain out of him…for the moment.

Buck had taken a hard blow to the back of the head, and whoever hit him was long gone. Whether they had left him for dead was something Zorro couldn’t ever know, but he was just thankful that his teammate was alive, and he intended to keep him that way. He and D-Day had made the decision that he would work his way back until he was in comms range, then he would get Buck medical attention, alert Joker to the continued mission protocol, and assemble the SEALs to assault Lando’s compound where they would take him alive and get the intel regarding the triggers in his possession.

There was no other course of action than to leave a man behind. Even thinking it cost him, and thatthings-beyond-his-controlthinking only made him grit his teeth and his gut clench with unresolved anger.

Now all his concern was focused solely on D-Day, and had been for months, and of course, his teammate’s sister. D-Day had always been…quiet, reserved, and predictable. He was an exemplary SEAL, there was no doubt about it. Now he knew why D-Day had turned into an erratic, temperamental man, drinking, fighting, and brooding, even more closed up than ever.

Yeah, and that wasa very potentwhy…the beautiful, tough, and versatile Helen Buckard. He got it. She was something with that flaxen hair, delicate features, and a body with enough curves to make any man swerve over and over again. Yet, for Zorro, it was her courage in standing up to two very pissed-off alpha men—her formidable brother, and a volatile D-Day, going her own way unapologetically with an indomitable spirit. His gut clenched again at the thought of D-Day all alone and up against Lando in a compound full of killers, and if anything happened to him—his gut clenched again—how vulnerable Helen would be all alone. Fuck, Buck was going to be pissed when he found out.

It wouldn’t take much to push D-Day over the edge, he’d been hovering there for some time. Zorro was sure of it. He had all the signs of losing his shit, and Helen was easily the deadly trigger. His still-waters-run-deep teammate didn’t have Zorro and Buck as buffers.

Sam stirred, the burden of Buck’s weight pounding his hips. In the distance, thetat-tatof gunfire boomed in the weak light. Knowing that it was time for a quick rest, and he wanted to check on Buck, he carefully maneuvered his semi-conscious teammate off his back, then went to his knees. Buck’s head lolled to the side and his eyes opened, blinking up at him with the glassy-eyed look of a sleepwalker.

“What the fuck?” he rasped out, breathing in short gasps. “What’s going on?”

“You got your fucking bell rung, amigo,” Zorro said, looking around, keeping his senses open while he rolled Buck to his side and grabbed his pack, digging for his med kit. With quick, methodical movements, he changed the bandage on the back of Buck’s head, his intake of breath suppressed. Transferring him to his back, he noted that Buck’s skin was ashen, the rain mixing with the blood on his face, leaving it splotched in places, with smudges of dirt in others.

“How? What happened?”

“I have no idea,” Zorro said, pulling water from his pack and offering it to Buck. Once he was finished, Zorro drank the rest of it.

Buck frowned. “Damn, I don’t remember.”

“Not really important right now. It’s a good thing you have a hard head.”

“Ha-fucking-ha,” Buck said. “Where’s D-Day and my sister.”

Here it comes. “We made the decision to get you medical attention. They stayed to finish out the mission.”

Buck stiffened. “What theever-lovingfuck. Take us back.” Beneath dark brows, his dazed green eyes were as piercing as they could get.

“No, I have no idea what damage has been done to your noggin, and you are not fit for combat in case that’s eluded your rather screwed-up thinking.”

“In your opinion,” Buck said, trying to rise, but Zorro pushed him back down.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Zorro held up his index and middle finger.

Buck blinked several times, then growled. “Four.”

Zorro made a buzzer sound and shook his head. “My opinion is the only one that matters, Buck. Stop fighting me. It’s going to be hard enough carrying you and my sixty-pound pack.” He grinned. “It’s a good thing I never skip leg day.”

Buck closed his eyes, probably due to rolling nausea. He definitely had a severe concussion and maybe even a fractured skull. Urgency pressed in on Zorro. “I can walk,” he said weakly.

“Like hell you can, but thanks for the effort. Besides, walking isn’t going to cut it. We need to move faster than a crawl. You’re going back on my shoulders, so stop your bitching.”

“You’ve got a mean bedside manner, partner.”

“I learned it in the medic’s handbook under the heading on how to deal with know-it-all, difficult, never-quit SEALs.”

“If I wasn’t addlepated, I would have a snappy comeback.”

“Gracias a Dios por los pequeños milagros.” Thank God for small miracles.

“I do understand Spanish, you know.”

“I know.” Zorro bent down and strapped into his pack. “Let’s get out of here. I hate being wet.”

Buck snorted. “You’re a goddamned SEAL. We’re almost always wet.”

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