Rogenna Brewer - Sign, Seal, Deliver

G’s slammed Zach’s body. Winds buffeted the plane. Alarms rang in the cockpit and throughout his head.

“He’s got a lock.” Michelle put her Tomcat into a barrel roll, launching chaff and flares to confuse any heat-seeking missiles. “I can’t shake him.”

“I’m lining up right behind him.” Zach had two MiGs on his tail now. The one directly behind him locked on. He launched a confusing barrage of chaff and stuck like glue to the MiG riding Rapunzel’s six.

The bogey kept on her.

Sweat gushed from every pore of his body, soaking through his flight suit as he sucked down oxygen from his face mask.

Hold him off, sweetheart.

Lock on, lock on, he demanded of himself.

The HUD showed the bogey in the “pickle” and beeped. “Yes! Enough of this shit. Tower, I’ve got a lock.” Zach’s thumb hovered over the trigger of the Sidewinder, a close-range air-to-air combat missile. “Permission to fire.”

“Do not engage,” Captain Greene spouted policy. They were not to fire unless fired upon.

“He’s all over Rapunzel’s ass!”

Then it happened. His worst nightmare.

The MiG fired, scoring a direct hit.

The tail of Michelle’s Tomcat burst into flames. Her plane spiraled toward the ground.

“Eject! Eject, dammit!” Zach shouted.

One month later

LIEUTENANT PRINCE’S OFF-BASE RESIDENCE,

Miramar, CA

“EJECT, eject, dammit!” Zach awoke with a start. Heart thumping, sweat beading his forehead, he kicked free of the tangled sheets to sit on the edge of the mattress.

The glaring red numbers of the electric alarm clock on the nightstand flashed twelve noon.

He didn’t give a rat’s ass what time it was, or what day, for that matter. If it wasn’t for the nightmares, he’d just as soon stay in bed. With a shaking hand, he reached for the half-empty bottle of bourbon, poured two fingers into a dirty glass and slammed it down in one swallow.

Resting his head in his palms, he tried to keep the forming headache at bay while the liquor burned a hole straight through his gut.

The pounding in his head became insistent before he realized someone was knocking at the door.

“Go away!” he shouted. He realized his mistake when the echo of his words reverberated throughout his aching head.

The pounding persisted. He could hear doors opening and closing up and down the breezeway as neighbors added their complaints. Great. Just great.

“Keep your socks on,” he grumbled, searching for something to cover his bare butt. “I’m coming!”

Zach found a pair of boxer briefs, discarded near the foot of the bed and stepped into them. He needed a shave. He needed a shower. And he had no idea where the rest of his clothes were until he tripped over them on the way to answer the door.

Wanting to connect his fist with whomever waited on the other side, Zach flung open the door. A naval officer stood on the stoop.

“Shit!” Zach eyeballed his brother-in-law, Marc Miller, with the shiny new rank of captain pinned to the collar points of his khaki uniform. “What do you want?”

Zach turned his back on the other man and headed straight for the waiting bottle. He’d managed to avoid his family for the better part of the past month. He’d even unplugged his phone.

But they must have decided to send in reinforcements. The last thing he wanted or needed right now was his family descending on him. When Miller didn’t speak, Zach was forced to turn around and look at him.

“You didn’t show up for rehab,” Miller said at last, closing the door behind him.

Zach tipped the bottle to the glass. “So I’m a couple hours late. Can you blame a guy for one last binge?”

“Must have been one hell of a party.” Miller scowled at the pizza boxes and other remnants of fast-food trash scattered around the place. “You’re two days late. You were supposed to report to the naval hospital in San Diego on Wednesday. It’s Friday.”

“Hours, days. So I’m late. Is that what you came to tell me? Message delivered.” Zach offered a mock salute with the bottle.

Miller didn’t look the least bit amused. “The thing is…you’re all out of chances, Prince. Those billets in rehab are reserved for personnel who really want them.”

“What the hell. It doesn’t matter.” He set the bottle aside and clung to the glass.

“Probably not,” Miller agreed. “But by not showing up you’re UA—unauthorized absence, in case you forgot. Good thing for you you’ve got friends in high places. If it was up to me, I’d leave you to wallow in your self-pity. But you’re right, I’m just the messenger. So here it is.” Miller handed him a folded piece of paper. “Orders to SEAL training starting Monday, 0700.”

Zach took the orders, but didn’t bother to read them. He’d forgotten about submitting the request. It didn’t matter now, anyway. He had no intention of falling back on the family tradition of becoming a Navy SEAL, commando of sea, air and land. His father had been a notorious Navy SEAL frogman before his retirement. His sister, Tabby, had become the very first female SEAL. And his brother-in-law was the commanding officer in charge of SEAL training.

No way in hell would he subject himself to that.

He was already in hell. And like Miller said, he was out of options. He’d sabotaged rehab because he couldn’t stand the thought of opening a vein and bleeding his emotions in front of fellow substance abusers.

Zach unfolded the orders with more curiosity than enthusiasm. Any blood he might shed in SEAL training would likely be real. There’d be blisters. And punishing endurance tests metered out to make his body stronger—physical pain to mask the raw emotional pain in a way that alcohol couldn’t.

And rehab wouldn’t.

Besides, he could quit drinking any time he wanted to. He just didn’t want to.

Famous last words. He set down the glass of bourbon with disgust. Actions spoke volumes.

He didn’t want to drink his life away.

He didn’t think Michelle would want that for him, either. He felt the all-too-familiar stabs of pain.

Zach gave the paper in his hand a cursory glance, looking for the signature he knew he’d find. “Why’s he doing this?”

“Maybe he thinks you deserve one more chance.” Miller stalked over to the window and mercilessly drew back the curtains, letting in the blinding light of day. He threw open the sash, a cool California breeze diffusing the stench. “The family’s expecting you for a late dinner tonight at the Hotel Del Coronado, 2100 sharp.” Marc completed his circle of Zach’s small one-room apartment. “This place stinks. Think about picking up after yourself once in a while.” He stopped on his way to the door and looked Zach up and down. “A shower wouldn’t hurt, either.”

Put on the defensive, Zach scoffed at the suggestion, even though he intended to shower. Most days it was all he managed.

“Don’t let the admiral down, Prince. Or the next time someone comes knocking at your door, it’ll be the shore patrol.” With that parting shot, Miller left.

Zach sank onto the mattress, all the wind knocked out of his sails. The Chief of SEALs, Admiral Mitchell Dann, had stepped in to keep him from going back to the brig where he’d spent the better part of the past four weeks. And now the man had pushed through his request for SEAL training.

Michelle’s father.

His godfather.

A man whose grief probably equaled Zach’s own, yet the admiral managed to put on a better face for the world. How could Admiral Dann be so forgiving of the one person who didn’t deserve it?

Zach threw the glass of bourbon. It smashed against the wall and shattered. Shards of glass fell to the carpet. Amber liquid rolled down the wall-paper like the tears he wouldn’t allow himself to shed.