Читать книгу Seducing the Marine - Kate Hoffmann - Страница 10

Prologue

THE HEAT SURROUNDED HIM, smothering him like an impenetrable blanket. Staff Sergeant Will MacIntyre focused his attention on the explosive device in front of him, ignoring the drop of perspiration that clung to the end of his nose. He carefully followed the trip wire, tugging it out of the sand until he reached the trigger. It didn’t appear to have an electronic switch that would allow remote detonation.

He could hear his heart beating inside the Kevlar bomb suit. Inside his helmet, the radio earpiece crackled and the voice of one of his team members split the silence. “What do you need, Mac? Talk to me.”

“A cold beer and a hot woman,” he murmured. “When did the cooling system go out on this suit?”

The voice of Staff Sergeant Josh Fletcher crackled over the radio. “Last time I wore it everything was working fine. Are you all right?”

“Just a little warm,” he replied.

Will thought about home, about the winters in upper Michigan, where the weather was so cold a person’s fingertips could freeze in a matter of seconds. It was late October now, long past the first snow. The days were getting shorter. The lakes would freeze in a few weeks and then the ice-fishing shacks would go up on Thayer Lake. The silence of a cold winter night would be broken only by the high whine of a snowmobile engine.

For Yoopers, as citizens of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan were affectionately known, winter was like a months-long battle—except it was nothing like a real war. They could retreat to their warm houses and their crackling fires. He was the one fighting the war. And with every day that passed, Will wondered when the odds would catch up with him.

“What’s going on, Mac?” Josh asked. “Maybe you’d better pull back. We can send in the robot.”

“No,” Will said. “This is a simple one.”

“There’s no such thing as a simple IED. Let me send in the robot.”

“I’m not going to frag another robot on something I can disarm myself.” He pulled off his glove and bent closer, carefully brushing the gravel away from the payload, an old mortar shell.

“Hernandez, check the perimeter,” he ordered, trusting the third member of their crew to rule out a remote detonator.

Though the bomb didn’t appear to be capable of remote detonation, Will knew not to put anything past the Taliban bomb makers. They seemed determined to blow up every last American left in Afghanistan. And when they couldn’t do that, they settled for members of the Afghan security forces.

Will drew a deep breath and waited for another droplet of sweat to fall off his lashes. As he stared down at the half-buried shell, an uneasy feeling came over him. Something wasn’t right. “What’s the date today?” he asked.

“September eighteenth,” Fletcher replied.

He closed his eyes and cursed softly. He’d lost track of the date. For the past nine years he’d spent this rather dubious anniversary in the relative safety of his bunk, reflecting on the one mistake he’d made in his life. He drew a deep breath. Leaving her. Walking away from Olivia.

They’d been high school sweethearts and oblivious to anything that didn’t have to do with their romance for such a long time. But then 9/11 and the Afghan war had happened. A few years later, the invasion of Iraq. Will’s father, a veteran of the Vietnam War, had talked about the honor of serving in the military and Will, wanting to make his father proud, had decided to join immediately after high school graduation.

But Will’s mother had insisted that if he wanted to serve, it would come after college and as an officer. So he and Olivia had started college at Michigan Tech, making the thirty-mile trip to school together every morning and returning to their homes in the late afternoon. Will had signed up for ROTC and Olivia had focused on premed studies. And as their affections matured, they’d planned a life after college. First a wedding and then, hopefully, for Will, flight school and a career as an officer in the Marine Corps.

But Will hadn’t been much of a student, and when his grades had faltered, he’d seen it as an excuse to cut his college career short and enlist. He’d been so stubborn back then, so certain of his decision. And he’d just assumed Olivia would support his choice. But she hadn’t.

Will had known he’d made a mistake the day he’d left for boot camp. There had been something in her eyes when she’d said goodbye, a distance, a coldness, as if he’d somehow betrayed her. And though they’d tried to make things work long-distance, their relationship had broken down. It had ended on October 18. The day he’d received her Dear John letter, four and a half months after he’d said goodbye to her.

He listened to his breathing, deep and even, his gaze fixed on the mortar shell. “I got this,” he muttered.

But as he exposed the connection, Will frowned. Something was wrong. The end of the wire wasn’t attached to the shell—it was simply buried in the dirt. “It’s a dummy,” he said, straightening and stepping back.

He didn’t feel the trigger beneath his foot, didn’t hear the explosion inside the bomb suit. But an instant later, his body was flying through the air. In those long, slow-motion moments before he hit the wall, an image of Olivia’s beautiful face flashed before his eyes.

The odds had finally caught up with him. This was how he’d die. Crumpled at the base of an ancient stone wall, in the dust beside an Afghan road. Alone and so many miles from home.

He gasped her name before he blacked out.