“A year . . .” Zane shook his head, the ice turning brittle in his eyes. “Those two weeks you disappeared to visit some gal back east?”
“I visited her while I was there.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie. He had visited Alyssa, which had been every bit as uncomfortable as the memorial and the two weeks of funeral arrangements.
“You’re full of surprises.”
Zane’s flat, cold comment stung, but Rawls shook the bite off. He didn’t regret keeping his friends out of that personal and painful intrusion from his past life. His teammates, for all their closeness, didn’t know who Seth Rawlings was. Hell, they didn’t even know his real name. Shrugging off his old life had been the entire purpose of joining the navy, of qualifying for the teams, of convincing HQ1 to let him join a platoon as a corpsman, rather than sticking him in the bowels of some naval hospital removed from the action. He’d been determined to erase that clueless, pampered child, determined to make sure he’d never face such helplessness again, and he had developed the skills necessary for survival.
If he’d told Zane and Cos about his dad’s death, they would have insisted on heading out to Columbia, South Carolina, with him, where they would have heard far too quickly about William Crosby Seth Rawlings—the self-absorbed son of one of South Carolina’s oldest families—and how his pathetic, ill-prepared, good-ol’-boy lifestyle had gotten his baby sister tortured and murdered.
“Please, make them stop, Will. Make them stop.”
He flinched at the memory. Forced it down into that pit of shame that never quite scabbed over.
Sure, headquarters had known his full name, but they’d been as eager to bury his story as Rawls had been. He could just imagine the headlines if some enterprising reporter ferreted out the ugly details—Southern socialite rescued by US Special Forces, turns Special Forces himself. Of course SEALs weren’t Special Forces, but none of the original articles had gotten that little detail correct anyway.
“Your brothers joinin’ your father at the camp?” Rawls asked, recognizing the irony in the question as soon as it hit the air.
He knew everything about Zane—from his four brothers, right down to his quest for his life-mate, which he’d found in Beth. Zane on the other hand? Hell, his best friend didn’t even know Rawls had once had a sister.
“Dane, Chance, and Webb are out on rotation, but Gray’s going to meet the bird and haul everyone out to Dad. God knows how long he’ll be able to stay.”
Rawls simply nodded. Zane stared at him for a couple heartbeats too many, as if he was waiting for him to come clean, waiting for him to step back beneath the umbrella of team life and team camaraderie. When Rawls remained stoically silent, Zane swore beneath his breath and turned, heading for the door.
“You know they have eyes on Amy’s kids. They’ll be waitin’ for her to pick those boys up. Y’all will be walkin’ into a trap,” Rawls said, raising his voice as Zane approached the door.
“That’s the consensus,” Zane acknowledged, stopping with his back to Rawls.
While he understood Amy’s urgency to collect her kids and get them to safety, moving too early gutted their most effective snatch-and-run strategy. The biggest advantage a SEAL team had was strike hard, strike fast, strike while the enemy was unprepared and unaware. Zero dark whenever was their closest ally.
This mission, on the other hand, was going down in broad daylight with plenty of prior warning. A blueprint for casualties.
All of which Mac, Zane, and Cos knew, but it never hurt to issue a reminder. “Why can’t this wait until midnight? Under cover of darkness.”
“Because there’s too many damn civilians in the mix. Amy’s parents, her kids, her brother. And two of those civilians will be armed.” Frustration sharpened Zane’s voice. “Since we can’t shoot on sight, it leaves us and everyone in that house vulnerable.”
Nor could they warn Amy’s family that they’d be coming. In all likelihood there were ears on that house.
Rawls nodded his understanding, his unease increasing. “What about those handy-dandy premonitions of yours? You gettin’ anything?”
Zane shook his head. “But hell, the visions don’t always kick in when I need them.”
True. Zane’s psychic warning system was glitchy at best. Nothing you wanted to count on to cover your ass. “You’ll need the med kit. I—”
“Wolf’s second has medical training. He’s bringing his kit,” Zane interrupted. “You know damn well we can’t bring you in on this. Not with your head in its current scramble.” He waited, one beat . . . three beats . . . five, and then rolled his shoulders. “When you’re ready to tell us what the fuck’s going on, you know where to find us.” Without looking back, Zane walked out the door.