Baby, It's You (Uncharted SEALs Book 5) (2 page)

T
wo days into
the mission, the SEALs found the band of insurgents responsible for the attack on an Army convoy, which had killed a dozen Americans soldiers in an ambush near Mosul. Because of the chatter they’d intercepted between the insurgents and their commanders, indicating a plan to move that night, the SEALs were taking the compound in daylight. So far, they’d met no resistance. Most of the ragtag combatants were settling down for an afternoon nap to escape the killer heat. The guards on the compound wall had been picked off one at a time by the SEAL team’s sniper, Wolf Kinkaid, without an alert being raised.

Now, the team ringed the largest house inside the compound, ready to take the structure and any souls inside.

“On my signal,” came the task leader’s voice in his ear, “three, two, one!”

Special Operator Carter Vance’s heart rate settled into its familiar mission-thud, slow and steady, as he reached up with his flashlight and shattered the window above him. Ignoring the shouts from the largest house inside the compound, he quickly pulled the safety pin from his grenade, stretched his arm, and tossed it through the window.

Covering his ears, he dove for the base of the cinderblock wall a second before the impact grenade hit the floor inside. The blast of several grenades going off at once ripped through the air.

“Go, go, go!” came across the comms, but he was already on his feet, his cheek against the stock of his M4A1 as he moved quickly toward the door hanging open on one hinge. He sighted down the barrel and turned in quick, jerking movements, side-to-side, seeking movement around the building, then reached out and yanked the door the rest of the way off before darting inside.

The dust hadn’t settled, but the team had to clear their target, look for any survivors among the insurgents occupying the house. Once he breached the door, he quickly moved out of the lit doorway into the shadowed interior. Splintered furniture and debris cracked and scraped under his boots.

Behind him, two more team members, “Big Mac” McLane and Billy Yates, scrambled inside while more were poised to enter from the rear to take the staircase leading to the upper floor. Carter gave a soft whistle to draw their gazes then signaled he’d check the doorway to the left that led into the kitchen.

Billy flashed a quick, easy grin—the young SEAL smiled no matter the danger. Big Mac nodded, pointed toward the corridor to the right, then hunched over the short assault weapon that looked like a kid’s toy gun in his massive hands and moved forward, Billy on his heels.

Carter slid up to the kitchen entrance, pointed his weapon into the room, then peeked inside for movement before pulling back. The room appeared empty. Taking a deep breath, he entered, searching every corner, opening cabinets and the pantry door for anyone who might be curled up inside. “Clear!” he said into the mike on his headset.

Glancing out the window, he noted the rest of his team moving around the compound, searching sheds, under tarps. They had the outdoors handled. “Big Mac, heading your way.”

As he stepped out into the living room, he heard the sharp report of a weapon then the quick rattle of more bullets firing in rapid succession from down the corridor. “Son of a bitch!”

“Three in the last room!” came Big Mac’s voice in his ear.

More shots rang out. Carter pounded down the hallway.

“Billy’s down!”

Orders were shouted, the sounds of more of the team running through the house could be heard in the distance, but he was closest. He entered the room. A desk had been flipped. Billy sat against a wall, his head held at an odd angle as blood spurted from a gaping wound in the side of his neck.

Hot fury spilled through Carter’s veins, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t lose focus. Hardening his jaw, he kept his weapon level and his feet moving forward.

Shots and scuffling sounded from another doorway at the far side. Knowing others would be there in a moment, he barely spared Billy a look and moved across the room, glancing around the frame before darting through. The darkened room was long, with three smooth lanes running down the center. A fucking bowling alley in a shithole building. He spotted Big Mac popping up like a whack-a-mole to fire blind shots over a counter toward the enemy. Rather than get pinned, Carter ducked to the left and ringed the room, making his way to the side of the pits at the end of the lanes where the enemy combatants had taken cover.

Coming up beside the first opening, he tugged another grenade off his belt, pulled the pin, and tossed it inside before quickly diving to the side. A guttural curse sounded, followed by the sounds of men scrambling, but the grenade blew, hurling bowling pins and bits of softer, bloodier matter out of the openings.

Silence followed. Carter crawled toward a blackened opening and looked inside. “Clear!” he bit out, then added, “Motherfuckers,” under his breath.

“Helos are on the way,” came the mission commander’s voice in the earpiece. “The site’s secure.”

Only then did he let himself feel. His heart thudded against his chest as he rested with his back against the wall, an arm slung around his bent knee as he leaned forward and let the tide of grief spill over him.

A hand clapped his shoulder, and Big Mac knelt beside him, his mouth set in a grim line above his scruffy blond beard. “We gotta move, buddy.”

Carter took a deep breath and nodded. “I’ll ride with Billy.”

“We both will.” Big Mac reached down a large hand and pulled him up.

Together, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, they trudged into the room where their fallen friend rested.

*

Forty minutes later,
Carter jumped to the tarmac from the open door of the Chinook. After moving away from the spinning blades, he stood beside Big Mac as corpsmen unloaded Billy’s body.

Big Mac leaned toward him to shout into his ear. “Someone’s tryin’ to get your attention.”

Feeling a hundred years old since the adrenaline of the mission had dissipated, Carter glanced in the direction of Mac’s pointing chin.

Commander Callahan strode toward him, his expression hard as granite.

Carter stiffened but didn’t salute. That courtesy was outlawed in a war zone to keep snipers from identifying officers. “Sir,” Carter said as the older man drew near.

“Vance, I have some bad news. I have a helo standing by to take you to Bagram Airfield where you will be on a flight home.”

Home?
Carter’s chest tightened. “What’s happened?”

“There was a car bomb at your brother’s residence. Both he and his wife were killed. Son, I’m very sorry for your loss. Your father asked that you accompany them back to Texas, but you were in the field. He’s delaying the funeral until you arrive.”

Carter drew another breath, his gaze snagging on the gurney they’d rolled up to transport his fallen friend. “Sir, respectfully, I appreciate the arrangements, but I’d prefer to stay with Billy.”

Commander Callahan’s gaze narrowed. “Are you sure that’s the message you want me to relay?”

“The team’s my family, sir. Billy’s my brother. I’ll see him into the ground.” With his jaw aching from the effort to keep it firm, he let his gaze slide away. Callahan could continue to wonder, but his mind was made up. Nothing remained for him in Texas. Sure, his heart ached for Daniel’s loss. And he was sorry about Cassie. Sorry for their child. But his father had made it clear long ago that he was unwelcome at the Rocking V. The bastard couldn’t pick and choose the occasions he acknowledged he had another son.

The commander stood for a moment longer then nodded.

Maybe he’d read the anger in his gaze, but Carter didn’t care. He was too tired to argue. Too saddened to spare another thought for his father. After Callahan moved away, he looked sideways at Big Mac who shook his head.

“Sorry about your brother, man.”

Carter rubbed his eyes. “Let’s get back to the hooch. I need to pack.”

As darkness began to fall, Carter thought about the older brother who’d always been the golden child and felt a spasm of sharp regret strike his chest. Daniel hadn’t deserved to go out that way. But neither had Billy. Both were warriors in their own right. Both had wanted to do good in a world gone to shit.

Daniel had used his gifts—his intellect and easy charm—to do his part in forging alliances in the region.

All Carter had ever wanted to do was exorcise his own demons. War had given him his release. Battle had grounded him and had made him stronger. His SEAL brothers had made him human.

‡

Two years later…

M
elanie glanced up
from the porch to watch as a plume of dust rose in the distance. Heat shimmered on the Texas flatlands, distorting the approaching vehicle, but at last, the outline of a Ford truck came into view. Not one she recognized. It was too new. Too shiny. All the working vehicles on the ranch showed their wear.

She stiffened, knowing the prodigal had returned. At last.

A whirl of emotions rushed through her, too fast to land, too complicated to describe. Resentment and anger sifted toward the surface—his actions, or rather, lack thereof, had determined her present situation. But underlying the confusion was a burbling excitement she was helpless to deny. Even after all this time…

A hand tugged at the edge of her T-shirt, and she glanced downward. Emmy’s gaze was wide. She’d heard her and Lee talking about Carter, wondering whether he’d bother to answer this last summons. “Dat Carter?” she asked in her little girl voice.

Although the little girl’s speech was cute, Melanie was working on improving her pronunciation. “Is that Carter?” she repeated, then shook her head. “I’m not sure. But go tell Tilda we have a guest.”

“Yes, Mama,” Emmy said then whirled away, her miniature cowboy boots clomping on the wood planks.

Melanie winced at the
Mama
. That was new. Something Emmy had decided because all her playmates had one. “Melly” no longer suited the little girl’s desire to fit in.

Pushing that discomforting thought to the back of her mind, she stood on the edge of the porch, shielding her eyes from the sun’s glare. Hadn’t she known this day would come? Would he acknowledge their shared past? Or had she been only one of a long line of one-night-stands? Too inconsequential to remember.

The white truck pulled to a halt in the covered driveway beside the house, and Carter Vance, Jr. stepped down from the cab, his gaze hidden behind dark sunglasses. His head turned toward her. His mouth firmed into a straight line.

Had he removed the lenses, she knew he would have worn that same steely glare she’d found such a challenge all those years ago. Her stomach tightened, and she resisted the urge to tug at her hair to cover her cheek.

Abruptly, he turned and reached deep into the cab to pull out a duffel bag.

Behind her the door opened. She glanced backward to see Uncle Lee walk up beside her and raise his chin toward Carter.

“ ’Bout damn time. Almost didn’t make it.”

“Has he said anything?” Melanie asked.

“About him?” At her nod, Lee shook his head. “Don’t think he expected him to bother his ass.”

“Of course, he had to come. His father’s dying.” She knew her words lacked a ring of conviction. He hadn’t come to his own brother’s funeral. Hadn’t answered any of the letters the lawyer had sent about the disposition of his niece.

Everything had been left to Carter, Sr. and Melanie to sort out. Despite Carter, Jr.’s neglect, she couldn’t summon any anger as she watched him approach. The slight hitch in his step reminded her of his injuries and the fact he might be forced into leaving the Navy—something that had to be eating a hole in his gut since he’d been so keen on killing himself in battle.

“Melanie,” he said, giving her a quick but thorough look, only resting briefly on the scar on her cheek before moving on to his uncle. “Lee.”

“Yer old room’s free. Drop yer bag.” With a huff, Lee passed his nephew on the steps and headed straight for the barn.

Carter’s mouth twitched before reforming into a narrow line. “Old cuss still alive?”

His words were terse, maybe meant to sound callous, but she detected a hint of something—maybe worry, maybe a darker emotion—in the gravel of his voice. “Yes. His heart’s weak. He refused to stay in the hospital, so we’re doing what we can to keep him comfortable.”