Firestorm (Security Specialists International Book 6) Read online

  During therapy she'd even tried dating, but the men had been white-collar professionals—pussies—and, yes, totally non-threatening. She'd even had decent sex—boring—a couple of times. Then she moved to Idaho and turned her energy into her new job, into making a life away from the place and job that reminded her of the most horrible experience in her life.

  When Tara had met the SSI women and seen how they were with their men, she realized what she'd been missing—a partnership that both supported and encouraged a woman to be strong and feminine at the same time. She wanted what they had—a man in her life who wasn't threatened by a strong woman.

  Then immediately upon that epiphany she'd met Price. Like lightning striking a field of dry grass, her interest in him caught fire and consumed her.

  It had to have been destiny, right? Send a thought, a desire, out into the universe and then, whammo, there it was—the perfect man for you whether you were ready or not.

  Oh, you're ready. Your girl parts are ossifying from lack of use. And while you’re strong, you still could use, no, need a man who'll put himself between you and danger. A man who’ll have your back in a fight. Who’ll catch you if you fall.

  Tara would never have admitted any of those thoughts out loud. She was afraid of appearing weak. The last time she'd cried had been when the judge sentenced Miller, who'd treated her like a piece of property, disposed of her like garbage, and had been responsible for a still-undetermined number of murders. And yet today she was blinking back tears because she was lonely and longed for what the SSI women had.

  She looked at the ravine and let nature soothe her.

  *

  Price hoped to hell he never pissed Tara off the way Trent had. At least not until after he was assured she was his. Then pissing her off and making up would just be part of the partnership dance.

  After one last longing look at Tara, who'd declined Ren's invitation to sit with them, he picked up his lunch box and snagged a couple of cans of cold caffeine—it was too damn hot for coffee—and followed Tweeter to join Ren and Ren's brother Trey on a rock outcropping overlooking the ravine.

  "Price has a problem," Tweeter announced as Price sat next to Trey. "He needs an intervention."

  "I do not need an intervention." He crankily unwrapped a huge roast beef sandwich with lots and lots of horseradish. Scotty knew what he liked.

  "Denial will do you no good." Tweeter eyed him. "You check on Tara constantly. And I'm sure I'm not the only one who's noticed."

  "I've noticed," Trey put in.

  "So have I," Ren added, amusement creasing the skin at the edges of his eyes.

  "Shit." Price took a bite of his sandwich, chewed, and swallowed. "That obvious?" The three men nodded. After another bite, he asked, "Do you think she has?"

  And why had he opened himself up this way? There was no way Ren, Tweeter, and Trey, especially his brother-in-law Trey, wouldn't walk through that door and offer their opinions and advice—and torment the fuck out of him.

  "Not sure. She has a poker face and she uses it effectively." Trey took a sip of his ice-cold soda. "Are you sure you want to go there, buddy? Tara's good at distancing herself from single men…"

  So he wasn't the only one who'd seen it.

  "Fee's gotten pretty close to Tara over the last month…" Trey continued.

  As Fee should have. Tara was one of the main reasons his little sister hadn't gotten hurt in the meth-cooker incident at the medical clinic Fee ran.

  "She mentioned that Tara's gone through some bad things." Trey frowned. "Things Fee refused to go into detail about."

  Bad things? Well, it wasn't as if he hadn't suspected something had happened to Tara, but now he needed to know exactly what so he didn't put his foot in it.

  "Yeah, DJ said something similar," Tweeter said.

  Price looked at Tweeter, then Trey. "What. Bad. Things?" He couldn't have kept the snarl out of his tone if he'd tried.

  Tweeter's lips thinned, then he shook his head and glanced toward Tara who was staring into space. "DJ didn't go into detail either. Even if she had, she'd have told me in confidence, you know?"

  "Yeah." Price understood confidences. Plus, honoring one's promises to a wife trumped everything in his mind.

  Tweeter nodded and the muscles in his face relaxed. "Thanks for understanding. I can tell you DJ's concerned about Tara, about her being alone. DJ and Tara have had similar military experiences. And while succeeding in a man's world makes them strong women, even DJ finally understood it wasn't weak to ask for help—that having a partner to back her up was a good thing."

  "Damn straight. I respect Tara for all that she is. It's one of the reasons I'm attracted to her. I'd like to get to know her better to see if there's more than attraction," Price said. "But I need to know where Tara's particular minefields are so I don't fuck up and hit a trauma trigger. All warriors have them to varying degrees. Trey, do you have any idea what happened to Tara? Anything you can share, that is?"

  "No details." Trey looked grim. "I can say it's bad, though, and that this particular trauma had, according to Fee, nothing to do with Tara's military service."

  Price's gut twisted. Tara’s darkness was as bad as Fee's, maybe worse, and his sister's nightmare had been bad enough to follow her all the way to Idaho.

  "I know what happened because I looked into both her military and Forest Service records," Ren said.

  "Why the fuck did you check her out?" Price had a sneaking suspicion he knew and wasn't sure how he felt about it.

  Before Ren answered, Tweeter said, "You're looking to recruit her like you did DJ."

  That had been Price's suspicion also. Ren never missed any opportunity to recruit good people.

  "Yeah," Ren nodded, "with DJ pregnant, our sole stateside female operative will be out of the loop for a while."

  They had one more female operative, Dawn Wilson, who lived in South America, Colombia to be exact, with her husband Sam Crocker, another SSI operative.

  "Longer than awhile if I have anything to say about it," Tweeter mumbled into his sandwich, then looked up. "Though DJ informed me that since I'm mostly based out of the Bat Cave I'd have childcare duty while she's on ops. FYI, we're still in negotiations over that issue."

  Ren snorted. "Good luck with that, buddy. Anyway, let's keep my goal to offer Tara a position on the QT. Got it? I just mentioned it to her today and she's considering it."

  Price and the other two nodded.

  "So?" Price looked at his former SEAL team leader. "What's in her file that you can tell me? Any intel I have has to be better than nothing."

  The silence as Ren shoved the sandwich wrappings back into the reusable lunch box and pulled out an apple was ominous. Staring out over the deep ravine, Ren polished the already shiny apple on his sweaty shirt, then didn't take a bite.

  Dread settled over Price, dampening what was left of his appetite. He shoved the rest of his sandwich into the lunch box and took a deep drink of soda, wishing it were a beer instead.

  "I can't give you details…no, won't give you details. They aren't mine to share, especially in light of the fact Fee and DJ chose not to share any details with their men. I can tell you, in my opinion, Tara is a fucking hero."

  Ren's voice was low and gritty. The look on his face was one Price was familiar with—it was the deadly grim look his friend got when he was pulling in trigger slack on a kill shot. The weight in Price's stomach got heavier.

  "Public records show her military career was stellar. She received the Silver Star for actions in Afghanistan. Her security clearance while in the service was equal to what Spec Op Forces hold and many of her missions are still considered classified." He sighed and took a bite out of his apple, chewed, then swallowed. "If she'd remained in the Air Force, she'd have eventually made it to the highest ranks."

  Stalling, Ren was stalling. Trey stared off into the distance, a muscle clenching along his jawline. Tweeter's eyes were downcast, but his cheek bones were flushed dark red w
ith anger.

  Whatever his friends weren't telling him, he had to keep in mind Tara had survived. And it, whatever it was, had brought her here—to him.

  "You know Tara has extensive wildland firefighting experience, but you might not know she has three older brothers," Ren said. "All former Marines, and now all smokejumpers. Tara applied to smokejumper school in Missoula and was accepted against all odds. Her training records showed she excelled."

  Trey whistled. "I hadn't heard that part. Damn, a Zulie. Not many women smokejumpers. Is that where it happened?"

  Ren sighed and only said, "She's here now, rousting illegal hunters and rowdy campers and teaching hotshot training."

  Yeah, "it" happened during smokejumper training.

  "Price," Trey hesitated, "Tara's past has made her very sensitive to women being at risk. It was Tara who convinced Fee to move out of that shabby, insecure apartment over the clinic when none of us could. That's why Tara was at the clinic that day when Fee needed help."

  "I knew that," Price said. "So, what's your point?"

  "Tara also gave Fee another bit of advice that day, something my little doc did not tell me I had to keep secret." Trey's lips curved upward. "Tara encouraged your sister to grab and hold onto a man who wanted to protect her. Um, that man was me."

  "We know that, moron," Tweeter threw an orange peel at Trey. "Guess that means I can share that DJ told me Tara admitted to envying the SSI women’s relationships with their men. So, I conclude that Tara could be open to a relationship with the right man…but not a one-night-stand."

  "I'm not looking for a one-night-stand." Price glared at Tweeter. "I want what you guys have."

  "Well, since this is only my opinion and not something I read in classified government documents"—Ren stared at him, an oddly knowing look in his eye—"I think Tara would be receptive to dating you, but from what I can tell, she has no clue you’re even interested in her."

  "I’ve been trying to be more…um, subtle.” No more buying a drink for a woman looking for a good time and then going home with her for a long night of fucking. “My old moves aren’t right.” Price looked at his friends and found understanding and amused sympathy. “What I’m trying to say is Tara is different…special.”

  "She's very special," Ren said. "But, Price, if you don't make some sort of a move, some other guy's going to snatch her up."

  Like fucking Trent Johnson.

  Price thrust his fingers through his hair and then cast a wild glance at his friends whose faces held expressions running the gamut from "been there, buddy" to "grow some balls" or a combination of the two.

  Was he afraid of rejection? Damn straight.

  "Look, I've kept my approach low key—" He looked each man in the eye, because if you couldn't confess your yellow-belly-fears to your best friends, your team, who could you tell? "Because I've seen how she treats all the men who ask her out. I'm scared if I come on too strongly she'll shut me down—"

  "Did you not hear me earlier?" Tweeter interrupted. "Tara knows what kind of man you are. You're the same kind of men we are. She wants a man like us, and over-protection comes along with the package. Plus, with three older brothers, she's grown up learning how to deal with overbearing, protective men. If you do something she doesn't like, I'm sure she'll let you know or work around you."

  "You think?" Price asked.

  "Yeah," Tweeter said and the other two nodded. "Remember my sister and the zucchini squash and Ren?"

  Ren groaned. Price smiled at the memory of Keely forcing Ren to do something he'd sworn he wouldn't do.

  "DJ gets around my need to protect her all the time," Tweeter shared. "It's a constant push-pull, but we've managed to find more middle ground than not. Though, I definitely don't want her on ops while she's pregnant or nursing our baby, Ren."

  "Got it," Ren said. "I'll take the brunt of the blame on that front."

  Tweeter grunted and muttered, "You'd better."

  "So, I guess I'd better let Trent and any other asshat who looks as if he's making a move on Tara know she's off-limits?" Price crushed the empty soda can and tossed it in his lunch box.

  "That's a start," Trey said. "Given what I know, you’re probably right in being cautious in approaching her sexually. But I wouldn't put off letting her know how you feel about her. A woman likes to be pursued by the right man. You wouldn't want her to think you’re a pussy."

  "Pussy? I'll show you who's a pussy, later in the gym."

  Trey laughed. "Bring it on, kitty. I'll take it easy on you since your sister would get upset if I hurt her big brother."

  "My money's on Price," Tweeter said. "Because he isn't getting any and needs an outlet for all his frustration.

  Ren shouted with laughter. "Man's got a point, Trey."

  "It'll be a cold day in hell when I let a cock-blocked SEAL take me down." Trey snorted, a wicked grin in his eyes.

  Man, he loved his friends, ragging and all. He felt loads lighter than when he'd sat down to lunch. Whatever bad thing was in Tara's past, it wasn't anything he couldn't handle or help her handle. He'd be there for her when the nightmares came, just as he hoped she'd be there for him when he relived his days as a SEAL.

  Strong women, and men, didn't become weak because of trauma, they survived and persevered, but they didn’t have to do either alone.

  His friends had also managed to convince him Tara was merely waiting for the right man. A man like him.

  Now, he had to find the perfect time and place to make his case to Tara that he was the man for her—and keep other men away from her until he did.

  "Guess we'd better get back to work." Price wanted the day done. He wanted to go home and plan new ways of approaching her, since his low-key approach of proximity and friendship hadn’t worked.

  He stood and stretched, automatically quartering the surrounding area to locate her.

  Tara was still sitting on the rocky ledge, still alone, thank fuck, and staring fixedly at something across the ravine. Then she moved suddenly, flattening herself on the ledge as she yelled "gun," and rolled over the edge out of sight.

  Her warning was quickly followed by a familiar sound—a powerful sniper rifle shot. The crack echoed off the granite slopes. Quickly followed by another shot.

  "Tara!" Price took off running. Every instinct he possessed drove him to get to her.

  *

  A flash of bright light caught Tara's eye as the midday sun glinted off something reflective in the scrubby foliage on the opposite slope. Motion in the thick brush captured her attention. Adrenaline flooded her system. Even as she moved, she shouted, “Gun.”

  Survival instincts as old as time had her flattening on and then rolling off the surface of the rock abutment and down over its jagged sides. The crack of a high-powered rifle echoed around the deep ravine, splinters of rock peppering her body as she belly-crawled under the small bit of overhang and clung to the ground. Another shot quickly followed, strafing her with even more shards.

  Shit. Someone was targeting her. Not the others. Her.

  Staying as low as she could, she remained motionless and prayed she presented less of a target for the shooter. Even if she were exposed, she had nowhere else to go.

  Someone called out, "Tara!"

  Not just any someone, but Price.

  "I'm fine," she yelled back. Well, maybe not so much.

  Both shots had missed her, so either the shooter was a lousy shot or hadn't really intended to hit her. But she did have multiple cuts from the ricochets and abrasions and bruises from the roll over the rocky edge of the ledge. The smell of blood mixed with her sweat and the pine dust that covered her. The minor wounds stung, but she'd had a lot worse injuries in her life.

  Another bullet struck the grass-covered slope less than a yard away. She was still scared since she was a sitting duck, but the fear was now underlaid with anger. Damn it, what she wouldn't give for an assault rifle at that moment.

  More shots, but they all missed. It was as if
the shooter were toying with her as dirt, grass, and even more rock splinters peppered her arms as she covered her head. Oh to be a mole so she could tunnel underground.

  She winced and flicked a particularly sharp piece of rock off her shirt sleeve, leaving a small tear and more blood.

  Suddenly she became aware that other shots rang out now. The SSI crew were shooting back. The gunfire ringing in the air took her back to Afghanistan and the times when Kandahar had been targeted by the Taliban. Biting her lip, drawing blood, she forced herself to stay in the present.

  "I'm coming in, Tara," Price warned.

  Before she even fully processed what he'd said, he was there, covering her body with his as shots rang out and bits of rock bounced wildly all around them.

  "You maniac," she shouted with a fury and fear she hadn't felt since her time spent as Miller's captive. “You idiot. You’ll get shot.”

  "Shut up," he growled against her ear.

  Price was taller than her, so his warm body effectively blanketed her from head to toe. She shivered convulsively as she absorbed every heated inch of him. She hadn't realized how cold she'd been. Shock, she was in shock. She inhaled sharply. The PTSD was closer than she'd thought.

  "Shh, shh," he whispered. "It's okay."

  No, it wasn't, but she nodded anyway as she lay quietly under him, allowing his body heat, his scent, his mere presence, bolster her tenuous grasp on the present.

  "Price, you motherfucking idiot, hunker down," Ren shouted. "Vanko and DJ are on their way to give us air support."

  Hunker down? How could he?

  Tara was almost certain the rock shelf had barely offered her protection. There was nowhere for Price to hunker which meant his body was exposed. The only thing keeping him from being shot, as far as she could tell, was the sniper sucked and the SSI men were keeping him pinned down, causing the shooter to fire even more wildly.

  But the odds were eventually even a lousy sniper would hit his target.

  The thought of a bullet meant for her hitting Price was unacceptable. But there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. He was there, and leaving would make him even more of a target.