Page 1 of Corey
Prologue
War never smelled good, but it was a scent he knew well.
Explosions rocked the building as Corydon “CD” Emerson’s right boot unexpectedly slid through a wet patch of…something. He glanced down and saw the puddle of blood he just stepped in. The crimson stream was still spilling from a nearby body on the hospital’s laminate floor. Somehow the stench of bodily fluids and death mixed with smoke and gunpowder seeped through his gaiter. Pulling it higher over his nose, he pressed forward.
Their target should be three doors away, and his SEAL team was closing in fast. Another blast shook the Kabul hospital as they reached the door, and sweat dripped down the back of his neck. The building was fucking hotter than a sealed coffin buried beneath the desert sun. It was also strangely quiet inside, which put him more on edge than the continuing blasts outside where British Special Air Service (SAS) were currently engaging rebels on the joint mission.
Tasked with rescuing an American hostage, Corey’s team moved down the corridor in single file.Lone Star, the officer in charge, gave a nod and their breacher—better known as Muskrat—stepped forward. The guy could stay underwater for a crazy long time and was an excellent swimmer, just like the animalthat lived in his small-town Minnesota lakes. Before reaching for the explosives on his belt, Muskrat tried the handle.
It turned with a squeak.
Corey stiffened, his gut screaming. So far, the entire op had gone off a little too smoothly. With the kind of ease that made him think the enemies were welcoming them into hell with open arms and perfectly-aimed AK-47s.
Just a little further, frogs. Come right in. And don’t worry, we’ll blow your heads off fast.
Outside the hospital, war might be raging, but inside it was like a crypt. Eerily quiet, the halls strewn with dead bodies, the ominous ticking of a clock somewhere had him on edge. As though it were counting down to their doom. It put all of his senses on high alert, and he exchanged a quick look with Weston “Murph” Murphy, his closest friend. Murph was the best man he knew, deeply in love with his wife Ellie, and always rock solid when the shit hit the fan.
Which Corey had a sinking feeling might be about now.
But Muskrat pushed inside the room without incident, and Corey, Wes and the others filed in directly behind him, quickly clearing the space. Corey’s focus zeroed in on another door.A bathroom?
Lone Star communicated with a hand signal and his team flanked the door in question. When Muskrat threw it open, Corey’s gaze dropped to the woman huddled on the floor, arms wrapped around herself, and visibly trembling.
They’d found her.
The woman stared up at them with wide blue eyes. “Cassidy Lee Lawrence?” Lone Star asked, and she gave a jerky nod.
Corey dropped to one knee. “Can you walk, Miss Lawrence?”
Those incredible blue eyes went wide as dinner plates. “I-I think my ankle is broken.”
Her voice sounded rusty, parched like the Afghan desert, but there wasn’t time to hydrate yet.
“I’ve got you,” Corey said, extending his gloved hands. He helped her to her feet and she wobbled.Why is no one guarding her?The thought made him nervous.Unless the insurgents had fled after the hospital was attacked?
“Target acquired,” his Lieutenant relayed through their comms. “Now let’s get the hell outta this shithole.”
“Roger,” a voice responded. “Use the tunnel.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Bean said. Beneath all his gear, the blond was skinny as a string bean. But, damn, he could move like greased lightning. “This place is giving me the heebie jeebies.”
“Yeah, I hear you,” Corey muttered.
“Who are y-you guys?” she asked. Even through his gloves, Corey could feel her fingers trembling.
“Just your friendly neighborhood Navy SEALs,” Bean answered.
“Red Squadron, at your service, ma’am.” Her grip on Corey tightened as she limped a step closer. “Murph, gonna need you to check that ankle.”
Their combat medic stepped forward, then paused when Lone Star raised a hand. “No time, Murph. It’ll have to wait til we’re on the helo. Carry her, CD.”
CD, Corey’s nickname, was a result of his unusual first name—Corydon. During BUD/S, the guys had purposely mispronounced it, saying Corey-Don instead of Cor-i-din. Eventually, it got shortened to CD. Those closest to him usually just called him Cor, but he pretty much answered to anything.
There was no time to ask for permission. Corey slung his rifle across his back and swept her up into his arms, noting how light she felt. Fragile and delicate like a flower. She let out a small gasp, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Let’s go,” Lone Star ordered.
Muskrat took point, Corey fell into the middle between the others, and Lone Star guarded their six.
