Page 56 of D-Day

D-Day slipped off the table, clutching that damn flimsy paper against his genitals. He stiffened to attention, ready to accept his commander’s punishment.

“I am recommending a Medal of Valor for all three of you for courage in the face of untold odds, for saving a hostage and bringing the body of another one home, for preventing a terrible catastrophe that would have devastated this region, for completing a mission, for gaining critical and valuable intel as to who constructed those devices, and for your unwavering integrity, honesty, and creative thinking. I have never been prouder to be Zorro’s, Buck’s, and your commanding officer.”

D-Day exhaled unevenly. He blinked furiously, all the emotions rising into his throat and choking him. He wasn’t surehow much longer he could hang on to the pressure pressing on his chest.

“You ready to go after the bastard who caused this shitstorm?”

“Sir?”

“We have a target package, and we’re spinning up. I want this for Zorro and Buck. You should be there. Are you fit enough?”

“I’m ready to go.” His gung-ho words reverberated in the room.

Joker smirked, looking him up and down. “You might want some clothes, body armor, and maybe a couple of weapons before we ship out.”

D-Day grinned, looked down at himself and the two of them broke out into hard laughter.

Later on, on the plane as they flew toward Thailand and the fucker responsible for manufacturing those WMDs, his only regret was that he had to leave Helen before he could talk to her, still in limbo regarding Buck and Zorro’s injuries. But as he looked around the plane at the grim, determined faces of his teammates, he knew deep down to the very soul of him, he was right where he needed to be.

Dr. Everly Quinnstood in the shadows of Zorro’s room. She had been on a plane for the last untold hours, tired, hungry, and jet-lagged. Doctors for the World had contacted her with a job offer to come to the Philippines to take over for the deceased Dr. Greg Matthews who had been killed by unknown forces while a hostage to warlords.

When she’d heard that Joker’s team had been involved in recovering Dr. Matthews’s body and saving the life of RN HelenBuckard, but that several team members had been wounded, she’d headed directly to the hospital, her heart in her throat.

She’d patched these guys up before when she was doing a stint in Niamey, Niger, when the country had been ruled democratically, but she’d been ousted after the military coup against the government succeeded and they took over.

She hadn’t been able to breathe until she saw the man who drove her crazy every time she’d encountered him. It got to her because Petty Officer Mateo “Zorro” Martinez was not only a freaking sexy bastard, but he was a special operator, part of the reason her husband was dead now for two years.

The pain of his death had dulled since, her regret at their inability to make their marriage a priority still eating at her. Work always got in the way.

“Don’t cry, Mom. It tears me up.” His warm, deep voice reached her in the shadows. She was aware this was eavesdropping, inappropriate, and wrong, but she couldn’t seem to get her feet to move. He was unguarded, wounded, hurting. As a doctor, she could hear the pain in his voice. There was also that sweet, son-to-mom inflection, a soft tenderness men couldn’t hide when it came to the woman who reared them.

He said something sweet-sounding in Spanish. She bit her lip, catching most of it. She had to admit that she’d been boning up on her Spanish, adamant that it was all about using it on the job, but she couldn’t fully lie to herself. Basically, his words translated to, “you are my heart.”

So, speaking of hearts, hers melted totally against her will. She had an ugly grudge, one that she hadn’t been able to let go of, miring her in so much bitterness and sorrow.

“Abdomen,” he said. “Got under my vest. Ricochet…just a fragment, but it fractured two ribs, and I had to have surgery to remove the piece still inside.” He sighed softly, his voice breaking. “Buck suffered a head injury…he’s bad off, Mom.”There was a pause, and he continued, his voice subdued. “I couldn’t do a damn thing for him, except carry him out of combat, and I failed at that.” She could feel his pain and the tension in his voice made her chest tight. “No,” he laughed softly, but it was tinged with more pain. “I didn’t have an MRI machine handy, and I’m not a brain surgeon, but I’m his medic.” There was a muffled sound, and she closed her eyes, realizing that he was crying. “It doesn’t matter. I feel inadequate.” He sniffed and she could see him wipe his eyes. “I’m not coming home just yet. I’ve got a few days here…no, Mom. Don’t fly here. It’s too far. No, I’m okay, and the guys won’t leave me alone for long, the knuckleheads.” She swallowed the lump in her throat, realizing that this was information she just wished she didn’t know. “I’m in good hands. Yes,” he said, his voice so warm. “I love you, too. I will. I promise. Bye.”

Struggling to hang on to her equilibrium, to maintain some balance, she swallowed hard, hiding in the shadows, not acknowledging that stark truth. Feeling unexpectedly close to tears, she held them back. She didn’t want to know that special operators were vulnerable, admitting his helplessness…and fuck it…human.

He shifted in the bed, that muffled noise drifting to her, and that heartbreaking sound was unbearable. God, he shouldn’t have to endure this alone, but she realized he probably preferred it. God forbid he should lean on anyone when Navy SEALs were adept at compartmentalizing their sorrow, guilt, and pain.

Everly had never acted on impulse in her life, but she acted on impulse now. Her eyes burning with tears, a weird kind of anger setting her resolve. She was a caregiver for God’s sake. She just could not—would not—let him go through this alone.

Fortified with a crazy kind of determination, she slipped into the dim light of the room, her heart growing larger and more cumbersome with every step, her nerves vibrating so badly thatshe was shaking. She didn’t have a clue what she was going to do. But she didn’t care, refusing to acknowledge her headlong, frantic flight to the hospital to make sure…very sure…that he was alive.

She approached the bed, ready to meet those deep brown eyes, and she expected a cocky grin, but what she got was an exhausted, sleeping, drop-dead-gorgeous, wounded warrior. His pitch-black hair was longer than she expected, the ends curled around the side of his neck just behind his ear. The thick, glossy-looking strands were tousled around his head on the stark white pillow. Her eyes traveled over his face, his lashes inky, thick half-moons against the dark circles beneath his eyes, his obvious Latin heritage in every line of his handsome features, down the strong column of his throat where his pulse beat in rhythm to his heart. The hospital gown was bunched around his waist, the white bandage against the tanned skin of his lower left side couldn’t hide the delineated muscle in his rippling abdomen, and she couldn’t stop her eyes from roaming over his wide, burnished chest, those broad shoulders or his beautifully muscled arms, his biceps smooth and thick. There wasn’t an ounce of excess fat on his lean, so tantalizingly male frame.

Her stomach did a free-fall tumble that had nothing to do with her emotions. No this was all physical and all about her intense attraction to Zorro. Even asleep, wounded, and completely mussed, he managed to vibe an earthy, sexual magnetism, one she was finding dangerous on so many levels—physically, emotionally, and mentally. The fact that this man had the ability to affect her so completely was a scary prospect she wasn’t prepared to face or deal with.

She had no idea whatever possessed her to move closer, to lean down and press her mouth to his, to savor the warmth of those sculpted lips, the stubble there tingling her skin with soft pricks. The heat and male scent of him overwhelmed herthoughts, arousing her body, and creating a heavy, tingling sensation between her thighs. This had happened before, back in Niger, but it was during an argument, and she had no intentions of acknowledging how turned-on she was even during a confrontation.

He stirred, murmuring in his sleep, and she stiffened at what felt like her betrayal. She turned and bolted out of the room, sure that the odds of seeing him again were nil to none. She might have to work here, but she was going to avoid his floor, his room…him. She vowed she would never give in to these feelings again.

Human or not, sweet, funny, and gorgeous or not, his community had destroyed her life, ravaged her heart, and took so much from her. She could never forgive them, and now, after this display, how could she forgive herself for succumbing to temptation?

He hadn’t meantfor it to happen, but a full month had passed since he’d left Thailand and that bastard dead, his deployments sending him all over the globe to hard-to-reach places. All those weeks unable to contact Helen, and when he’d tried, he hadn’t been able to get through.

Buck was back in the States, in a coma, and at Coronado Medical Center. He’d suffered a fractured skull, and the bleeding on his brain had facilitated a medically induced coma, but he was alive, his brain activity was good, and D-Day prayed every day that they would get their teammate back.

---