Breaking Out (Military Romantic Suspense) (SEAL Team Heartbreakers Book 6) Read online

Lately he’d been filling his off time with work on the apartment, the boat, anything to hold the emptiness of his life at bay. His teammates shared their families. His brothers, sister, and parents shared their lives with him through calls, letters and emails. His military calling was his life, but lately it just hadn’t been enough.

  But he’d learned through experience that he couldn’t be romantically involved and do the job. Every time he was tempted, memories of the mission in Iraq when he froze rose up to warn him off. So what was the answer?

  Hawk’s voice came over the com. “There’s a cross wind at nineteen thousand feet. You’ll need to adjust your heading.”

  Zach caught the crosswind and pulled the handles on either side of his chute to correct his course, then checked his altimeter and GPS. He glanced down, making sure the dull gray glows of Hawk and Bowie’s chutes were still aligned with his, then tilted his head back and caught a faint glimpse of Bullet, Box, and Celt’s positions, while his own chute concealed Greenback and Lang’s places in the stack.

  Around zero five-forty the sun appeared above the desert horizon like a yellow-orange ball, and for several moments, Zach was mesmerized by the pinkish yellow streaks painted across the sky. The distant mountains, barren knolls, turned gold.

  “Doesn’t get much better than that,” Hawk murmured. “Transport is ten miles ahead.”

  Twenty minutes later Hawk came across the com again. “There’s a strong hot air downwind over the landing site. Be prepared for a rough landing.”

  From his position above, Zach watched Hawk land with his normal badass control, downwind or not. He scooped in his chute. Bowie landed two minutes behind him. Zach prepared himself for the sudden rush of the ground up to his feet, and thought he’d manage to touch down in as decent a descent as the others, until a quick rush of hot air filled his chute and jerked him back up, carrying him thirty feet farther. The chute curled over him, dragging him forward. His feet brushed the hard-packed sand, and he stumbled over a small rock, lost his footing, and plowed into a waist-high boulder hip-first. He yelped as he dropped and fell, rolling onto his back while the chute still dragged at him, his arm tangled in the lines. “Fuck me!” He tugged the oxygen mask off his face and let loose a stream of curses his Irish Catholic mother would have washed out his mouth for even thinking, much less using.

  Bowie ran across the sand and brush to where he lay. “Jesus, Doc. You okay?”

  “Yeah.” The weight of his gear felt as heavy as the boulder he’d just plowed into. Fuck, no, he wasn’t okay. He’d have the imprint of his sidearm stamped on his hip like a tattoo, his left leg was numb, and he needed to check and see if there was damage to his weapon.

  Concentrate on the immediate problem. He untangled his arm from the parachute lines while Bowie grabbed his chute and started rolling it up so the wind couldn’t catch it again.

  Zach rocked to get to his feet, the weight of his gear making it difficult. His left side was numbed by trauma, but it was going to start aching like a son of a bitch in about five minutes. Hawk and Greenback loomed over him and bent to grip his hands. He braced his good foot, and they levered him to a standing position. He gritted his teeth to keep from groaning aloud when the first spike of pain hit him. He still had a job to do. He was the medic of the team. He needed to look out for their welfare. “Did everyone get down okay?”

  “Yeah.” Hawk’s features were sharp with concern. “Everyone else is fine. Drop your gear, and we’ll get you to the transport,” Hawk ordered. The truck sat a hundred feet away. This was going to hurt. In fact, the whole rocky, bumpy trip in the back of the truck was going to hurt like a bitch.

  *

  Piper Bertinelli spun the steering wheel and pulled into the parking lot. She braked and spent a moment studying the front of the office. The new sign stood out nicely from the main road. San Diego Veterinary Clinic. The painting of two pups, one lying down, the other sitting, gave the businesslike facade a friendlier feel. They had a good location. Though wedged between a strip mall and an office supply store, they had their own access, and were separate from the businesses on either side of them. Luckily the whole back side of the lot provided a deep field of grass which they could use to exercise the dogs they boarded.

  She let her foot off the brake and pulled around to the back of the building where the staff was encouraged to park, leaving the front slots open for customers. The faint sound of barking reached her as she unlocked the back door. The soundproofing they’d done in the kennel area did a good job of blocking the noise. The hoops they had to jump through to get permits for the business had been a challenge, but worth it. They were settled in and getting established.

  And she was doing the one thing she’d always dreamed of, caring for animals. She’d studied so hard. Worked her ass off during school and after. And now it was paying off.

  She turned on lights as she walked toward the front office, pausing to check on the ten boarded animals and make sure they had fresh water, then moving on down the hall to the kenneled animals they were treating.

  The two dogs who’d gotten into a bag of year-old chocolate Halloween candy and eaten every bit wagged their tails when she paused by their kennels. After inducing vomiting, they’d given the dogs activated charcoal to absorb as much from their stomachs as possible, and put them on IVs to flush their systems. Both had shown mild symptoms of chocolate poisoning, one more than the other, but they were recovering, and would be sent home today.

  She moved on to the next kennel to check on the golden retriever who’d been attacked by a pit bull. His thick coat saved him, that and the owner’s quick response with a water hose, but they had to put a drain in the dog’s neck to filter out the infection. He raised his head and wagged when she spoke to him, the most activity she’d seen in the past two days. The antibiotics were taking hold and doing their work.

  Last but not least, she checked the mother cat someone had dropped off with her six kittens. Piper already found a foster home for the cat and her litter, and they’d be picked up at noon.

  She stopped by her office to put her purse in her desk, then swept down the hall to the reception desk, but paused when she noticed the computer was on and files already pulled. She was usually the only one who came in early.

  She raised the divider and walked to several very large metal bookcases with dividers to hold the office files in place, checking between each one. No one was there.

  She backtracked to the counter and opened the first file. It was for a German shepherd named Otto. His owner brought him in for shots three months before.

  Piper opened the appointment book on the computer and scanned the listings to see what Otto was being brought in for this time. His name wasn’t listed. Nor were his owners’. She ran through the rest of the files quickly. Every dog was a large breed, ranging from the German shepherd to a Rottweiler.

  Was one of her partners doing some kind of study?

  Someone had pulled the files and left the computer on overnight. She’d need to remind the staff to shut things down before leaving.

  Piper resisted the urge to put the files back in their proper places, in case someone was working with them. She studied the appointment book instead.

  They were going to be busy. Which was a good thing. And she needed to make sure the surgical instruments were sterilized and ready to go for the two spayings scheduled for this morning.

  She’d do the surgeries, go home for a few hours, and return for evening duty. She didn’t mind working a split shift, and she’d certainly done it often enough at her family’s restaurant. After all, she didn’t have a family to go home to like two of the other three partners.

  She went into the surgical bay to make double sure everything was ready and heard a sound through the open door. She glanced at her watch. Seven-thirty was too early for any of the employees to arrive. She walked to the door and paused there to listen. The squeak of a rubber shoe on the tile floor shot her heart rate into the stratosphere. Anxiet
y rushed her system. Someone was inside the building with her. Her limbs grew weak, she started shaking, and her breath came in shallow pants while she rubbed the chill bumps on her arms.

  In a flash, she was back at the robbery. She and her father stared down the barrel of the gun aimed at them by a drug-crazed maniac. Helpless. Terrified. Her face went numb as she gasped for air. Every muscle in her body turned to stone.

  She had to move, had to hide. It took twice as much energy to force her legs into action. She shuffled back away from the door and spotted plastic-covered tray of surgical instruments on the adjustable table next to the operating table. She ripped the plastic off and grabbed one of the scalpels. Her legs wobbling, she crept to the corner closest to the door. If the intruder walked by, he wouldn’t be able to see her if he looked into the room, not unless he stepped inside.

  She waited. One minute turned into five. The sound of a door opening, then closing, came from the direction of the kennels. The dogs barked. What if they took one of the animals the clinic was caring for?

  And why didn’t she have her cell phone with her? Because she rarely carried it while at work. If she got out of this alive, the phone would never leave her pocket.

  She glanced at the phone on the wall across the room. Her muscles trembled while she geared up to cross the space. What if there were more than one, and they walked by just as she reached for the phone? And if they were at the reception desk, they’d see the light go on. Why were they at reception and in their records instead of breaking into the drug cabinet? But they might have already been there.

  Piper covered her face with one hand. She had to do something. She wouldn’t be victimized again. Listening intently for any sound coming from outside the room, she crossed the floor to the wall phone. Her muscles felt weak as jelly while she lifted the receiver from its cradle and keyed in nine-one-one.

  She debated where to hide. If she got into one of the cabinets, she’d be trapped, but if she didn’t, she’d be out in the open, and they might see her and attack. She got down on her knees and crawled into the cabinet beneath the sink. Her hands shook, and her clammy palms stuck to the phone.

  A voice came over the line. “Nine-one-one operator.”

  Hearing that calm, dispassionate voice did no more to reassure her than it had the last time.

  “There’s someone in our office raiding our files. They’re still in the building.” She rattled off the address.

  “Are you safe?”

  She hadn’t felt safe in the past seven years. Especially from the police. But there was no one else to call.

  Chapter 2

  ‡

  Without a cloud in sight to soften it, the midmorning sky burned bright blue. It appeared as though the plane, flying diagonal to his position, might hit a flat blue wall at any moment.

  Ensign Zachary O’Connor flipped open the console between the seats, extracted a pair of dark sunglasses, and shoved them on his face. He ran a hand over his scruff-covered jaw and raked his fingers through the long auburn hair curling and waving back from his forehead. He needed a haircut. He’d have to sweet-talk his sister, Kathleen, into giving him one. He didn’t trust the post barbers not to scalp him.

  Shit! The team’s HAHO (High Altitude High Opening) dive this morning had gone off with textbook perfection, and when the sun broke over the horizon, the view had been spectacular. Everyone else’s perfect, synchronized landing, just made him feel more like a clumsy-ass shit. He had more experience than most of the others, so he should have had better control. The only good part about the experience was no one else had been injured, and his skills as a medic hadn’t been needed for anyone but himself.

  His left side ached every time he moved, and was already turning purple. The two-hour emergency room visit for X-rays had been a real joy, too. Luckily his teammates looked out for him. After transport took them back to the base, Bowie drove him to the hospital and left his SUV in the hospital parking lot so he’d have wheels. He even offered to stick around, but there’d been no reason for him to waste his time sitting in the ER, so Bullet, Seaman Jeff Sizemore, picked up Bowie and they went back to the base.

  And now he was limping home like a pussy for a few weeks, until the biggest part of the bruising passed. Doctor’s orders. Fuck!

  He hated being off duty. With no steady girlfriend to spend time with, and his sister working full time and tangled up with Cal, her almost-fiancé, he had no one to hang with or distract him.

  Doc yawned and shook his head. He was already bored out of his skull and he hadn’t even made it home yet. He’d end up sitting in his recliner watching reruns of stuff he hadn’t seen in the first place, or zoning out in front of ball games he had no interest in. Maybe he could go out on his boat and fish a couple of days.

  From his peripheral vision, he caught movement from the left. Instinct kicked in, and he stomped on his brakes, sending the car into a skid even before a man dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, darted out from behind two parked cars. The guy skimmed past the front of the SUV by a hair, but the dog running full-out behind the guy didn’t make it. Doc gritted his teeth against the sickening thump of the impact. The animal cried out and tumbled down the street like a child’s stuffed toy. He jerked the car into park and bailed out as quickly as he could manage, his bruised hip screaming with every move.

  The man tossed a glance behind him. His features were distorted, flattened by something, his hair plastered to his head. He jumped a chain link fence and disappeared between two houses.

  The dog lay motionless in the street. Zach rushed to it. Though its eyes were open, the canine appeared stunned. A puddle of blood formed at an alarming rate around its hips. Doc thought it was a German shepherd until he was upon it. He immediately recognized the breed. The animal was a Belgian Malinois. Doc knelt beside him and ran a hand over the animal’s head. Inside the ear was a tattoo.

  “Jesus Christ!” It was an MWD, a military war dog. It wouldn’t have gone after just anyone. It had to have been chasing a tango on command. Doc moved its back leg to see where the bleeding was coming from. The hip looked displaced and the upper leg bone projected through the skin above the joint. It had possibly torn an artery, because with every pump of the animal’s heart blood gushed from the wound.

  Other motorists pulled around his stopped vehicle, moving slowly and rubbernecking, kicking up exhaust. No one offered to stop and help.

  Assholes!

  The animal, starting to come around, breathed a high-pitched whine. Ignoring his own injury, Doc staggered to his feet and rushed to his vehicle, hit the lock release for the back of his SUV, and dragged out the med kit he kept packed there. Though his hip ached like a son of a bitch, he double-timed it back to the dog.

  He unzipped his kit, shook out the medical gloves, and put them on. Rifling through the medical instruments sealed in paper-wrapped packages, he located the scalpel and clamp, ripping open the packages and using the scalpel to slice the tissue away from the bleeding artery and clamp it off. Using a tongue depressor as a splint, he secured the limb with gauze to immobilize it. He wrapped gauze, then tape, around the wound to hold the clamp in place and put pressure on the injury.

  As it became more aware, the Malinois gave a yip, then a growl of pain and jerked its head toward his hand when he moved the limb. Doc was surprised it didn’t bite him. It was probably too weak from loss of blood, shock, or in too much pain.

  He lifted the dog, which had to weigh at least sixty-five pounds, as gently as possible and carried it to the back of his SUV. He positioned the animal on a blanket and covered it. Now he needed to know where the closest vet’s office was. Otherwise she, he’d noticed it was female, was either going to bleed out, lose her leg, or both.

  He jerked his gloves off, retrieved his med kit and slid back into the vehicle before tugging his cell phone free of his pants pocket to search for vet’s offices. Thank God there was one within a few blocks.

  *

  She should have gone
home after the police left. She could have used an hour or so to settle her nerves. But she had two surgeries scheduled. The medicine cabinets had been raided, and some of the patient files disturbed, but nothing else was damaged. And, most important, none of the animals were harmed.

  And the interview with the police detective hadn’t been nearly the ordeal she’d braced herself for, but then he didn’t know about her unpleasant history with one of their own.

  She did learn they were not the only animal clinic to be hit. She was just the only vet to walk in on the thieves while they were still in the building. Lucky her. But the intruders were gone by the time the police arrived.

  The police took some fingerprints and noted where the lock had been picked at the back of the building. Hunter Rawls, one of the partners, was doing an inventory of the drugs they’d taken, while the rest of the staff held down the fort.

  Their early-morning customers had been rescheduled, including the two spayings, and now it was close to one, and they were seeing patients again.

  Piper ran her glove-covered fingers over the inside of the kitten’s leg. The small swollen area along the stomach wall felt spongy and soft, but didn’t appear to give the animal any discomfort. Although it would if it wasn’t repaired. “It’s a hernia. The exterior wall of the abdomen has a small tear, and the intestines are protruding through it. It will need to be repaired; otherwise it may grow larger and possibly strangulate. If that happens, it will cut off the blood flow to the protruding intestines, and Tabby will need surgery to save her life.”

  The kitten climbed her lab coat and butted its head against her jaw. She disconnected her claws gently and placed her back on the examination table.

  The owner who’d brought the kitten in bounced her baby girl on her hip, more a nervous gesture than because the infant was fussing. “How much is it going to cost?”

  Piper could see where this was going way before she got there. “Including anesthesia and shots, about three hundred dollars.”