Connor cut himself off as Shawn let out an angry yell and swung a wild punch at him. Connor was forced to release Shawn’s wrist to avoid his partner’s fist, which would have caught him right in the face. He stumbled back a step, hitting the refrigerator, nearly losing his footing on the items strewn about on the floor. Just as he straightened up, Shawn grabbed a coffee mug off the counter and hurled it at Connor’s head. Connor dropped to a crouch and the mug smashed into the refrigerator.Keeping low, Connor went at Shawn like an American football player, ducking under his partner’s arms and catching him around his middle. Shawn’s back hit the edge of the counter and both of them slid to the floor. Shawn’s fists began pummeling at Connor’s arms and chest as Connor got Shawn first onto his back then flipped over onto his stomach, straddling his waist. Shawn tried to buck him off, yelling angrily and Connor was amazed at the strength the desperate craving for the heroin gave him.

“Please, Connor, please,” Shawn pleaded with him, breathing hard. “I just need a little bit. Just a little and I’ll be fine…”

Connor quickly pulled the syringe out of his pocket and used his mouth to pull off the cap, which he spit out onto the floor.

He swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry, mate,” he said, voice rough, then injected Shawn with the sedative.

“I need it, Connor, I need it…” Shawn mumbled as his eyes closed moments later, succumbing to the effects of the sedative.

Connor slid off of Shawn’s body then, slumping against the counter next to him, his face in his hands, gutted to the core by what had just transpired. A lump formed in his throat as he lifted his head and looked at his partner, lying there unconscious. Shawn’s face was drawn, flushed and wet with sweat, battered and bruised with dark circles under his eyes that had looked at him with such pain and desperation.

Shawn was the strongest, bravest man Connor had ever known, now reduced to this broken soldier before him.

All because of duty and loyalty to his unit and his mission. For the first time Connor feared that Shawn had been shattered into too many pieces to ever be put back together again.

His chest constricted at the thought, the grief and anger inside him suddenly too much to contain any longer. He grabbed for Shawn’s hand and held on tight as he broke down, the first sob tearing through him. He cried for Shawn, who was fighting a battle he might not be able to win and he cried for the two of them, wondering how they’d survive if Shawn didn’t.

He cried until there was nothing left inside him, until his eyes ran dry and his throat burned. He gathered Shawn into his arms then and held him tight, wishing he could take his place, but instead willing every ounce of strength he had into him, the only thing he could do.

“Bloody hell!”

Sergeant Connor Finley swore as he ducked behind the crate a split second before a spray of bullets slammed into it, sending shards of wood flying toward his face. This op had gone both pear shaped and sideways and he needed to get control of it. Immediately. Shadow Unit only had one chance left.

Connor began running through possible scenarios as fast as his brain could process them just as their target let loose with another barrage of automatic gunfire, the muzzle flash lighting up the night.

“Fuck!”

Connor glanced to his left as his partner cursed and hunched over behind his own crate. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Connor idly thought that someday soon he’d keep a tally of how many times Shawn Weller actually said the word “fuck” in a twenty-four hour period. Did they teach him that back in his Navy SEAL days?

Shawn’s gaze flicked to the house and back. “We need to do something,” he said. “He’s the last one left.”

Connor clenched his jaw, the muscle jumping. As if he needed another reminder. “I know, I – ” he began but cut himself off as his comm crackled to life. A split second later the gruff voice of his commanding officer was in his ear.

“Shadow One. Alpha. Send sit-rep,” Lieutenant Colonel David MacDonald demanded in his Scottish brogue.

“Shit,” Connor spat, banging his head back against the crate. He ran a hand over his face then responded. “Alpha. Shadow One. We have one target remaining,” Connor reported back. There was a long pause and Connor could picture the scowl on MacDonald’s face from where he sat at the communications desk back at the hub, five miles away.

“Need I remind you we need him alive, Sergeant?” MacDonald finally responded.

Connor glanced over to Shawn, hazel eyes locked with blue. “No, sir.”

All of Shadow Unit was well aware that if they didn’t take this last man alive they’d never get the intel they needed on the money man funding a terrorist cell of the United Jihad Council. They knew he was based here in the Kashmir region of northern India but not his name and exact location. There were four men inside the house when the op began. Now they were down to one. If they didn’t do something quickly there was a distinct possibility their target would kill himself instead of allowing himself to be captured.

Connor squeezed his eyes shut in frustration but then opened them again as a crazy plan began to form in his head.

“Bugger this,” he hissed, decision made.

He reached over and grabbed a flash-bang grenade off of Shawn’s tactical vest and pressed it into his partner’s hand. “Go on zero,” he instructed, then kept low and darted off into the darkness, hearing Shawn calling after him.

“Finn! What the fuck are you doing?!”

Connor smiled inwardly at the nickname only Shawn was allowed to call him, a split second before his partner’s angry voice was in his ear.

“Shadow Team, be aware that Shadow One is attempting a south side entry. Hold position. Wait for my signal then move in.”

“Shadow Three, copy that,” replied Sergeant Mandy Cho, followed by Sergeant Chloe Davis.

“Shadow Four, copy that.”

Assured that his teammates were ready, Connor crept silently to the back of the house, keeping his six-foot, two-inch frame as small as possible, sweating profusely in the humid climate with all of his heavy tactical gear on. What he wouldn’t give to be back home in cool and rainy London he thought as he wiped the perspiration from his face.

He made his way to the rear of the small, dilapidated house, pausing outside the door, which was partially open and barely on its hinges. He cautiously looked inside, peering around the edge of the door. The interior was just one open room. A kitchen sink and stove were to his left, a small table and two mismatched chairs to his right. Beyond that a mattress on the floor with a ripped and stained blanket thrown over it. And on the other side of the bed, a beat up recliner sat in front of an ancient television set sitting on a box.

The two windows had been shattered from gunfire and broken glass littered the wooden floor, along with three dead bodies, blood pooling all around them. Connor spied their last remaining target, who was partially turned away from him, casting furtive glances out one of the broken windows, his semi-automatic rifle clutched to his chest. The Indian man was breathing hard, shifting nervously.

Connor hooked the strap of his rifle around his shoulder, leaving his hands free, then whispered into his comm. “Shadow Team, I have eyes on target. Shadow Two, on my mark.” Connor reached out, silently and carefully easing the door open wider to fit his body through. “Three, two, one…zero.”

The flash-bang grenade sailed through the window and exploded at the exact moment Connor burst through the back door. Prepared for the smoke, intensely bright light and deafening noise, Connor did not let any deter him as he sprinted toward his target.

Caught completely off guard, the man turned away from the light and smoke – unfortunately right toward Connor. His eyes widened and he raised his rifle, firing as Connor charged forward, now mere steps away from him.

Connor saw the muzzle flash an instant before his head snapped to the side, blinding, white-hot pain tearing through his temple. He fell backward, managing to kick out and sweep the legs out from under his target. They both went down hard just as Shadow Team made entry. Connor got a glimpse of Mandy and Chloe subduing the man and then Shawn dropping to his knees beside him, clutching at his arm. He could see Shawn yelling, his partner’s face a mask of panic, but Connor couldn’t make out the words as his vision went red, then gray, then black…

Shawn’s eyes scanned over his partner, taking in his injuries. He reached out and cupped Connor’s face with both hands, his thumbs gently pushing against his nose, over his cheekbone, checking to see if anything was broken. Connor’s lip had stopped bleeding but his left eye was completely swollen shut now.

“How bad is it?” Shawn asked as he continued his exam, slipping his hands under Connor’s shirt to feel his ribs.

Connor winced and pushed his hands away. “No less than I deserve,” he muttered.

Shawn grasped the top of one of Connor’s shoulders with his hand and squeezed hard, while he pointed a finger in his partner’s face with the other. “I don’t want to hear that fucking shit from you right now. We have more important things to concentrate on than your perceived guilt. Like getting the fuck out of this jungle.”

Connor stared hard at Shawn, his jaw muscle jumping, before giving Shawn a terse nod. Shawn relaxed and squeezed his shoulder again, this time in approval and not anger.

“So what’s our plan?” Connor asked. “We’re at a total disadvantage. This is his playground. We have no weapons, nothing.”

Shawn’s face lit up in a triumphant smile. “Now that’s where you’re wrong.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folding hunting knife. “Your distraction worked perfectly. I got it off the guard’s belt.”

Connor grinned back at him and clapped him on the shoulder. “Brilliant, mate.”

Shawn slipped the knife back in his pocket and looked up at the sky. “It’ll be light in a few hours. That’s when he’ll start tracking us. We need to get moving.”

“Any particular direction you had in mind? I tried to keep track of where we were going, but they were purposely driving in circles.”

“Yeah, I came to the same conclusion.” Shawn pointed to their right. “We know the truck headed back that way after they dumped us out.”

“Since we can’t see the stars well enough and until we know where the sun will rise, that’s as good a direction as any.” Connor pushed himself slowly to his feet. “Let’s move.”

It was slow going through the dark jungle, Connor and Shawn leaving as confusing a trail as the truck had left for them, splitting up and circling back around several times through the trees and underbrush, making it difficult for their soon to be pursuer to track them. They followed tire tracks where they could, but the darkness hampered their progress.

Connor was two steps in front of Shawn when it happened.

He heard the barely perceptible snick as Connor took a step forward. The sound was instantly familiar to him but before his brain could process it, a large, dark shape rushed toward them from his left, swinging down out of the trees, heading right for Connor. With his left eye swelled shut, his partner was blind on that side, unaware of the danger.

“Finn!” Shawn yelled, springing into action and lunging forward, tackling Connor around his legs, driving him forward and down. But he wasn’t quite quick enough. The heavy log clipped Connor on the side of his head and neck, sending him sprawling with a sharp cry of pain.

Shawn remained flat on the ground as the log swung backward on its arc, the earlier sound now registering to him—tripwire. He quickly moved up beside Connor, who was laying on his side, unmoving.

“Finn!” Shawn put his hands on Connor’s shoulders and carefully rolled his partner over. Connor looked up at him, blinking sluggishly. Shawn ran his hand over the side of Connor’s head and it came away bloody. “Shit,” he cursed. “Finn, can you hear me?”

Connor groaned and closed his eyes, his hand coming up to touch his head. “Nnngh…Shawn…? he mumbled.

“Yeah, I’m here. Can you sit up?”

Connor levered himself up on one elbow and Shawn helped him up the rest of the way, sliding him over to rest his back against a tree. Connor’s head fell forward and Shawn cupped his chin in his hand and gently raised it back up. The moonlight was bright enough in this spot that Shawn could see Connor’s right eye was glassy and unfocused. The pupil was dilated more than it should be, even in the dim light. He knew if he could see Connor’s left eye it would look the same.

“Shit,” Shawn swore again. “You’ve got a concussion.”

“What…was that?” Connor grimaced.

“A log. You hit a tripwire,” Shawn told him, his voice grim. “Son-of-a-bitch has this place booby-trapped, Finn.”

“Christ,” Connor muttered. “The bastard’s stacked the deck.”

Shawn tipped his head toward the fireplace. “Come here,” he said and led them over, sitting down on the quilt.

He removed the small box from his pants pocket and held it out to Connor.

Connor tilted his head. “Shawn…”

Shawn shrugged. “It’s our first Christmas together. I wanted to give you something.”

Connor accepted the box and removed the lid. When he saw the gift, he went completely still, for inside was Shawn’s Navy SEAL challenge coin, emblazoned with the motto “The Only Easy Day Was Yesterday” and the SEAL emblem, the same one tattooed on Shawn’s upper arm.

Connor looked up at Shawn with surprise and confusion and Shawn understood the reaction. Connor knew how much that coin meant to him, the act of bravery it had been awarded for. It was as precious to him as his paracord bracelet.

Connor shook his head. “Shawn, I can’t.”

“No, I want you to have it,” Shawn insisted. “Keep it with you, so you’ll know I’ll always be there for you. I’ll always have your back, Finn.”

Connor removed the coin from the box and clutched it tightly in his hand, clearly touched by Shawn’s gesture. He leaned forward and kissed Shawn long and gentle, his turn for thanks without words. But when they moved apart, Connor would not meet Shawn’s eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Shawn asked, concerned.

“I’m sorry, Shawn. I don’t have anything for you,” Connor apologized. “I haven’t done Christmas gifts in a long time.”

Shawn shook his head, his voice soft. “You’re my gift, Finn. This life we lead… It’s hard and it’s lonely. I didn’t think it was possible to find happiness in the death and violence that surrounds us. But I found it. With you.”

Connor swallowed hard, his eyes bright with emotion. “I love you,” he said simply.

It was Shawn’s turn to go completely still, hearing those three words, knowing they were still difficult for Connor to say after fighting against them for so long, with the pain and heartbreak he associated with them.

With his heart pounding furiously in his chest, Shawn pulled Connor close, his partner embracing him just as tightly. His words were gruff with the emotion threatening to close his throat.

“I was wrong,” he whispered against Connor’s ear. “This right here? This is my favorite Christmas memory.”