Garrison's Creed (Titan) (37 page)

Nic drew back from their too-hot-for-church kiss. “My turn.” She held out her small white paper, then ripped it, tossing the paper pieces into the air like confetti. Another chuckle ran through the church. “Here I go… Cash Garrison, I took your last name when I never thought I’d see you again.” Pain flashed in her eyes, and he caressed her hand until she smiled again. “It was the saddest of consolation prizes, but I clung to it because you were my world. I love you. More and more each day.

“I promise my heart, my soul. I promise to always trust and love unconditionally. I will follow you to the ends of the Earth if you need me. I will be your faithful, loyal wife to come home to, knowing you are forever my partner. Yes, in sickness and in health. But also through the hell of radio silence and undercover operations. I am yours, as I always have been. I vow this to you today.”

Cash had her in his arms the second she stopped speaking. He snaked his fingers around her veil, into her hair, and dipped her back, kissing her again in front of God and guests.
Screw the reception.
He was ready for the honeymoon suite.

Behind him, the preacher laughed. “The rings are just a formality. Skipping right along, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Cheers and claps echoed around them.

Husband and wife. Cash and Nicola Garrison. For real.
He whispered into her ear. “How long do we have before the reception?”

She giggled. “I don’t know. Why?”

“Because I’m down to start the honeymoon before champagne and cake.”

“You’re going to make the best husband ever.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Cristin Harber is an award-winning author. She lives outside Washington, DC with her family and English Bulldog, and enjoys chatting with readers.

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: https://www.facebook.com/cristinharberauthor

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Website
: http://cristinharber.com

Email
: [email protected]

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Did you like Cash and Nicola’s story? Pick up the next the novel in the Titan Series:

WESTIN’S CHASE
(Jared’s story)

And for sexy, quick reads, check out two Titan novellas:

GAMBLED

CHASED

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you to everyone who feels the Titan love!

Karen Allen, you are a dream editor. Lynn McNamee, thank you for the editorial support. You two are amazing.

I can’t thank you my critique partners enough. Jamie Salsbury, Nicola Layouni, Victoria Van Tiem, Andrea Bramhall, Claudia Handel, Kaci Presnell, and Sharon Cermak. You ladies are writing gold. Love your thoughts, nitpicks, and every biznatchy comment that made us throw CC stars. Amy Anhalt and Racquel Reck, you’re lumped in with them, even if we didn’t cross writing paths when this was a WIP.

And, tons and tons of thanks goes to my husband. XO.

COPYRIGHT

GARRISON’S CREED

Copyright 2013 by Cristin Harber

All rights reserved. This book or any portions thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author and publisher except for the use of brief quotations used in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally.

ISBN-10: 0989776026

ISBN-13: 978-0-9897760-2-8

Genres: Romance, romantic suspense, military romance

www.CristinHarber.com

FIRST LOOK AT WESTIN'S CHASE

He saw no point in being the leader if he couldn’t guide his men home at the end of every job. His team. His operation. And right now, his disaster. Fire exploded around Jared Westin as he rolled for cover. Gravel dug into his cheek, and branches scratched at his eyes. Acrid smoke billowed, leaving the bitter taste of accelerant on his tongue.

Radio silence was a bitch. He was fine. He would survive, despite the bite of the bullet in his calf and the shrapnel in his shoulder. His men and the rescued hostage were his concern.

Stuck on the side of a mountain in Afghanistan, he saw that his only way out was through a hostile mess of turbans and firepower. Not the best strategic position. Jared’s only comfort was knowing the released American would soon be on their helo and out of enemy fire. Rocco and Brock had hustled the guy down the side of a cliff toward the pickup zone before the firefight got bad.

Thump, thump.

The enemy’s aim was blind, but close enough to cause harm. Dirt and rocks flew at him each time the bullets found groundcover instead of flesh.

Popping up his head, Jared eyeballed the area. He had a third man in this melee. Roman remained somewhere nearby, drawing enemy fire. A flash of a grenade hit ten yards to Jared’s right, followed by Roman’s return fire.
He must’ve had the same damn thought. If I’m going to die on a cliff in Afghanistan, let me do so in a pile of empty brass shells.
There was no way either of them was dying without a fight.

Jared checked his super-mag clip—full, with lots of potential. Plus he had a Sig Sauer strapped to his thigh. It had a solid reputation of accuracy, and he needed those bullets to hit their mark.

Fire burned through the brush nearby, and he caught sight of his man. Roman’s shadow danced in the fiery glow cast against the rocky mountain. He was hunched against a boulder, reloading.

Jared reached into the gear pack strapped to his back. He needed something explosive. A bloody distraction. In the background, the
chop, chop, chop
split the night as the helicopter neared the landing zone. It was right on time, and he needed to get a move on. If not, they would be on their own.

Moving too quickly, his head spun.
Blood loss must be worse than I thought.
Spectacular
. Jared rifled through the bag. More ammo. Two knives. And… thank the gun lords above, a handheld grenade launcher and two big-ass rounds.

Palming the launcher, he recalled the sexy woman he had to thank for this beauty. She went by Sugar. He had no idea of her last name or her real name, but, damn, he loved working with her. She handed out grenade-launching hand cannons as gifts.
Now if that wasn’t a turn on…

And if this thing saved his life, he would have to come up with a decent way to say thanks for the cover.

He snapped the metal handle into place, loaded up the first 40 mm grenade, eyed Roman, and shot out a blast. The explosion ripped open a possible escape route. Jared slammed the second cartridge into place.
Locked and loaded.
After a nod to Roman, saying this was their chance, he let it rip.

Jared covered his face and ran toward the hellfire with his super mag firing. Brass casings spurted from his weapon, leaving a trail behind him. He pushed through the burn in his body and the pain in his leg and shoulder, ignoring the heat that seared his clothes. When his magazine clicked empty, he tossed the piece into the flames.

Behind him, pops of firepower said Roman was behind him. Jared took a harsh breath. The smoke burned his throat. Gun pulled from the holster on his thigh, he pivoted and picked off enemy tangoes. They hit with bull’s-eye precision. Sig Sauer deserved a thank you when this shit mission was done.

Their chopper hovered two hundred yards away in the pitch black night, hanging motionless off the side of the mountain. Roman was fast on Jared’s heels, and the two of them beat feet as quick as they could toward the bird.

As Jared closed in, Rocco and Brock became visible, hanging from the opening, providing cover. Bright explosions ripped through the night as bullets rained down behind them. Two rappelling ropes blew in the violent mountain wind.
Hell yes!

With no time to overthink his moves, he launched over the edge of the cliff and into the inky-black abyss. He crawled through air, reaching for a lifeline. The seconds took too long. Without the ropes, he knew death was certain. A free fall down into the rocky mountain spikes meant lights-out for good.

Gravity took over, and momentum lost. Jared’s weight began a rapid descent. His skin prickled as he splayed his fingers, reaching—hoping— for success.

One hand fisted the rope, his wounded arm taking the brunt of his body and gear poundage. With a grunt and heave, Jared growled up to a second handhold. He had two hands tight on the rope, and Jared looked over at Roman. Swaying in the obsidian night, Roman screamed, “Hoorah!”

Crazy bastard
.

His heart screamed, punching his bruised ribs. The jump was the best damn adrenaline rush he’d had in a long time. Jared took a painfully deep breath as the helo pulled up hard and swam off into the sky.

***

The devastating sound of the chopper leaving brought tears to her eyes. Gunfire and battle cries in a language she didn’t understand screamed into the chilly night. Her saviors had come for one of them, but not both. It didn’t make sense. They hadn’t tried to find her. She heard them show up, create hell, and leave after finding her counterpart—the only other American in this camp.

They have no idea I’m here.

That was worst case scenario because that meant they weren’t coming back. Big time bad news. Maybe she should have listened, stayed stateside, and handled her
work
headache differently. But, no, she needed an adrenaline rush. Needed to get her mind off everything at home that she wanted to avoid. And when a Middle East gun-tracking assignment popped up through black-op back channels, she’d hopped on a plane without even telling her friends.

Not that they would let her pull a stunt like this. Because… well, she would’ve been captured.

Hanging out with the elite gun-slinger types was problematic. Even if she was decent on the trigger, she wasn’t elite or even as good an operative as she thought. Her background was intelligence gathering. She was only a
former
ATF agent with a desire for something bigger and too much time on her hands.
Pathetic.
All she had was an ego that rivaled the size of this goddamn mountain, and—

Sugar. Shut. The. Hell. Up.

She shook her head, then rubbed her eyes. “You
will
survive. You
are
that good. Who the hell needs a military rescue?”

It’d been more than forty-eight hours since her dumbass partner had stumbled into enemy hands and she’d tried to rescue him. That hadn’t worked out according to plan, and she was tossed into a makeshift cell and given nothing more than dirty water and rock-hard bread. As a foreign woman, they could’ve done much worse to her—and that threat still loomed.
But I can handle this.
She could kill each one of her captors and walk off that mountain before she had any more woe-is-me thoughts.

Jeers came her way from her captors who’d survived the rescue operation, and her cage allowed no escape. She stepped away, feeling the earthen walls at her back and the lump at the back of her throat. She laid her palms flat against the cold dirt and dug her fingernails in. Two men approached, shooting into the night like it was Mardi Gras.
Celebrating? Oh, yeah, because they still have me.