Delta Force Rescue - Elle James Page 0,61

I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have as the father of my child.”

“Our child,” he corrected. “And, oh yeah.” He rose to his feet, dug in his pocket and pulled out a ring with a fat diamond solitaire surrounded by a halo of smaller diamonds. “Guess I should have started with this.” He slipped the ring on her finger. “I love you, Briana. Now, tell your brother not to kill me. Unless he wants to raise his nephew.”

“Niece,” Briana corrected.

Rafe frowned down at her. “Did you peek at the ultrasound?”

“If I did,” she grinned. “I’m not telling.”

“Well, we’ll just have to wait and see who’s right.”

“Donovan, you’ve got a lot to learn,” Hank said. “The woman is always right.”

Rafe nodded. “And she’s right. The right one for me.”

“And it’s too early to tell the sex anyway,” Hank added.

Sadie clapped her hands. “Well, yay! We’re going to have a wedding. And we’d better make it before the baby’s born. Double congrats!”

Rafe pulled Briana into his arms. “Do you have any idea how happy you make me?”

Briana brushed her lips across his. “If it’s anywhere near as happy as you make me, I might have a clue.”

Thank you for reading DELTA FORCE RESCUE in the Brotherhood Protectors series. Don’t miss the first book in the DELTA FORCE STRONG series BREAKING SILENCE and see the Delta Force team on their next mission!

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Keep reading for the first chapter of Wyatt’s War, Book #1 in the Hearts & Heroes Series.

Wyatt’s War

Hearts & Heroes Book #1

New York Times & USA Today

Bestselling Author

ELLE JAMES

Chapter 1

Sergeant Major Wyatt Magnus pushed past the pain in his knee, forcing himself to finish a three-mile run in the sticky heat of south Texas. Thankfully his ribs had healed and his broken fingers had mended enough he could pull the trigger again. He didn’t anticipate needing to use the nine-millimeter Beretta tucked beneath his fluorescent vest. San Antonio wasn’t what he’d call a hot zone. Not like Somalia, his last real assignment.

It wouldn’t be long before his commander saw he was fit for combat duty, not playing the role of a babysitter for fat tourists, politicians and businessmen visiting the Alamo and stuffing themselves on Tex-Mex food while pretending to attend an International Trade Convention.

The scents of fajitas and salsa filled the air, accompanied by the happy cadence of a mariachi band. Twinkle lights lit the trees along the downtown River Walk as he completed his run around the San Antonio Convention Center and started back to his hotel. Neither the food, nor the music lightened his spirits.

Since being medevaced out of Somalia to San Antonio Medical Center, the combined armed forces’ medical facility, he’d been chomping at the bit to get back to where the action was. But for some damn reason, his commander and the psych evaluator thought he needed to cool his heels a little longer and get his head on straight before he went back into the more volatile situations.

So what? He’d been captured and tortured by Somali militants. If he hadn’t been so trusting of the men he’d been sent to train in combat techniques, he might have picked up on the signs. Staff Sergeant Dane might not be dead and Wyatt wouldn’t have spent three of the worst weeks of his life held captive. He’d been tortured: nine fingers, four ribs and one kneecap broken and had been beaten to within an inch of his life. All his training, his experience in the field, the culture briefings and in-country observations hadn’t prepared him for complete betrayal by the very people he had been sent there to help.

He understood why the Somali armed forces had turned him over to the residual al-Shabab militants that were attempting a comeback after being ousted from the capital, Mogadishu. He might have done the same if his family had been kidnapped and threatened with torture and beheading if he didn’t hand over the foreigners.

No, he’d have found a better way to deal with the terrorists. A way that involved very painful deaths. His breathing grew shallower and the beginning of a panic attack snuck up on him like a freight train.

Focus. The psych doc had given him methods to cope with the onset of anxiety that made him feel like he was having a heart attack. He had to focus to get his mind out of Somalia and torture and back to San