Wild Hearts (Novella) Read Free Page B

flapping your lips.”
    The flunky stepped back inside the building and pulled the door shut. A bolt clanged into place.
    The driver stepped forward, his hand out. “I can take your bags, gentlemen.”
    Clearly, this guy knew nothing about their situation at all. But a limo? Something wasn’t right … again. Risk checked the height of the vehicle, then made sure it didn’t list to one side under the weight of explosives. He turned and saw the question on his comrades’ faces. He bypassed the guy’s outstretched hand, tossed his duffel into the open trunk, and ducked into the limo.
    Saxby followed with the grace of a guy who’d been in a limo a time or three. “You think this is the Navy’s way of sayin’ sorry?” he said under his breath as he dropped onto the leather seat.
    Knox shook his head. “They let us hang but send us off in a fucking
limo
? Are you kidding me?” He slid in next, leaving Rath and Julian eyeing the vehicle with the kind of suspicion that had saved the team a time or two. Risk knew what they were thinking: a gift from El Martillo, perhaps? Or even more sinister, would their government go that far to shut them up?
    Rath’s dark gaze surveyed the civilian driver, checking for weapons. The guy looked like a weapon himself, six feet, four inches of solid muscle and sharp-as-a-knifefeatures.
    “Already cleared it. Just get in,” Risk said.
    Rath was probably considering whether he should flip off the gesture of the limo and walk. They each held a plane ticket to a destination of choice, another gracious gift from Uncle Sam, so the limo must be the transportation to the airport. Maybe it was supposed to throw off the press, who wouldn’t be expecting something so flashy.
    Julian tore off his suit jacket and wrenched the tie away before getting in. He muttered a string of curse words in Spanish.
    Saxby thumped him on the arm and pitched his voice high. “Oh, Jules, even dirty words sound romantic when you say them in Spanish.” They’d heard it enough times in the bars they frequented. Those two were the biggest chick magnets, pretty Latin boy and Mr. Honey-drippin’ Charm.
    Salsa slugged Sax in the biceps, clearly not in the mood for the slightest bit of humor. They sure as hell could use a laugh about now. Damn, Risk would take even a chuckle.
    Rath had ditched his jacket somewhere on the walk there. Heh. That would keep the security twinkies busy for a while, clearing the area and examining the pile of fabric. While Risk was usually the first into a situation, Rath was the one bringing up the rear—and watching their asses. He released a resigned breath and got in. Once the door closed, he felt around the roof for bugs or cameras.
    “Look, we signed on to this SEAL gig knowing we could lose life or limb,” Risk said, though he obviously knew none of them wanted to hear it. “We lost our jobs instead.”
    “And our reputation,” Saxby said.
    “Our dignity,” Rath added.
    More than that. They each had a personal reason for wanting to be the best, the toughest, the ones the Navy sent in for the most dangerous missions. The Navy had lost too, though; their commander had been none too happy about losing five of his men all at once. He’d hinted at possible reinstatement down the road, but Risk wasn’t betting on it.
    Saxby had opened the mini-fridge and was pulling out a Heineken. “It’s not the end of the world.” He popped off the top with a bottle opener.
    Rath sneered. “Not when you’re going back to your rich family to be adored and coddled. Some of us have a storage shed waiting.” And a good-for-nothing family they’d heard plenty about in stories that were funny and sad at the same time.
    “We have to wade through the bullshit and go on,” Knox said. That short statement could refer to either their situation or the divorce his wife had asked for recently.
    Rath leaned forward and said in a low voice, “Don’t you knuckleheads want to find out what really