Anything, Anywhere, Anytime (30 page)

The door creaked open behind him, likely more crew dogs filing out to fill the two waiting trucks.

"Jack!" Monica's voice stalled him in his tracks. "Jack, wait."

He turned to find her rushing toward him. Breathless. Not her normal composed self. Her caramel hair swished along her shoulders, down and in defiance of military regs. Unease boxed around in his gut. She'd been through hellacious stress the past months and now faced the most tense of times in her own profession. Had he made the wrong decision in letting her come? Not that she'd left him any choice.

Monica stopped short, hair whipping all around her face in the wind, stray strands reaching out to brush his face. "I just wanted to say goodbye. Good luck. Kick some serious ass out there for me."

"You know I will."

Only an hour from now and she would be entering preflight briefs herself, readying for takeoff in the medivac. Then landing at the terrorist compound's airfield to treat and load hostages and wounded.

Monica. In a combat zone. All the more reason to make damned sure the place was secured and locked down tight. He understood intellectually that military husbands and wives now entered combat together.

The new face of the modern military. That didn't make any of it one damned bit easier.

Big picture war plan, this would go fast, efficient. Once the SEALs secured the hostages, the Rangers would be dropped in and have the whole place secure in twenty minutes. Tops. But there was still the wild card of the lone straggler hiding out in a hole, ready to pop a passing soldier or to launch an infrared missile at a landing plane, refusing to surrender even with certain death staring him in the face.

Shit. He had to quit thinking like this and get his mind on his job. "Go grab something to eat. It's going to be a long night and who knows when you'll get another chance."

"I'm heading to the mess hall after this." She nodded, but didn't move.

"I'll see you soon." He tore himself away from the temptation of hanging around for more of Monica.

"Jack!"

She wasn't going to make this easy for him. And he needed easy today or he'd never make it through worrying about her. He couldn't go deep with heavy thoughts tonight. Stakes were already high enough for him when it came to this woman.

He pulled a smile and pivoted back to her. "Come on, Mon, this Casablanca stuff isn't your style."

Biting wind plastered her flight suit to her body, streaked her hair behind her, leaving everything about her there for him to see. Her shape. Her face.

Her fear.

Still, she boldly strode toward him. "I just figured since the secret's out about us being together again, there's no reason to hide anymore."

"Hide what?"

"This."

Looping her arms around his neck, she urged his head down to hers, kissed him, full, hard, thorough, with open mouth and open emotions, all that fear and worry for him pouring from her into him. And just that fast

—or was it longer but simply never long enough with this woman—she pulled away.

Monica backed from him, gusts lifting her hair and her words. "I could really love you someday, Jack Korba. So cover your ass and make sure you're still around for us to find out."

She hesitated at the door, her eyes all over him as if to imprint a last image before she slipped inside, her hands already gliding up to start securing her hair. The door eased shut, closed her away from him.

"Hey, uh, Cobra?" Rodeo's call from the back of the military truck yanked him back to the present. "You about ready to roll, dude?"

Hell, how long had he been standing around like an idiot? Jack jogged the last few feet, the truck chugging exhaust into the dusky night, and vaulted into the back to sit beside his copilot.

"Damn, Cobra." Rodeo inched over on the bench seat. "That was one helluva goodbye. Guess she forgave you for spilling the beans to me about the Elvis chapel."

"Seems so."

Rodeo frowned. "Uh, are we okay? You and me? I really didn't mean anything with the dedication. That lady of yours must have read something on my face or whatever. Chicks have a way with that laser look.

It's like they've got some kind of interuterine lie detector."

A smile twitched Jack's face. "Monica would pin you in a heartbeat for a sexist comment like that." The truck jolted forward. "But, yeah, man, we're okay. Although I figure you owe me a beer next time we're in Ireland."

"Done deal. And for what it's worth, I swear I haven't told a soul about, you know, the Elvis deal." The truck jarred along potholes and ruts. "But even if folks don't know all the details, I'm glad at least you've quit trying to hide your relationship."

"Yeah, great to have things out in the open now." Great, my ass.

"Isn't love grand?"

Love? Of course, right. She'd said she could love him. He should be punching the air with a victory shout.

This was exactly what he'd hoped for with his strategy of using their time together. He'd won.

Oh, damn. Realization hit. He hadn't said it back.

He scoured his memory and...no. He really hadn't said it. Dumb ass. Hell, he'd told her he loved her at least a hundred times before they'd tied the knot in Vegas. But he'd held the words inside ever since.

Because she needed space, right? He didn't want to scare her off. Okay. Logical. So why not say it now when she'd opened the door wide?

The answer nailed him nose-on like a missile hit. Their marriage rocked him as much as it did her.

He hadn't held back the words for her. He was doing it for himself. He'd denied any deep-waters crap because he was scared as shit of risking a repeat of losing someone he loved.

Damn it all. He did not need these kinds of thoughts seconds before flying into combat. Thank God none of the other crew members could peek in his head or they'd be booting his butt off the truck onto the tarmac.

Plane drawing nearer, he worked to get his head on straight. All right. So he loved her. Really loved her.

The hell of it was, acknowledging the emotion didn't make him feel one bit better. But it sure made the prospect of flying into combat a lot less daunting in comparison.

"You gonna eat that?"

Monica stared across the chow hall table at Crusty already scooping up her chocolate-chip cookie. "Not anymore."

Not at all, actually, since her stomach was turning flips, but Captain Junk Food didn't need to know or he'd clean her out of even the things she might be able to choke down tonight.

"Thanks," he said as he jammed the whole cookie into his mouth.

Sitting beside him, Max Keagan ate silently, moving his cookie to the far side of the tray away from Crusty while the rest of the medivac crew and medical staffers took their seats in the nearly deserted mess hall.

Quiet that should have been peaceful only served as an echoing reminder of crews and Rangers in the air.

Monica shoved her tray aside.

Across the room, a lone figure peeled away from the food line with her meal. Yasmine stood solitary, holding her tray with her guard three steps behind her.

Did she have to look so damned pathetic searching for which of the hundred empty seats she would select?

Ah, hell. Monica sighed long. Hard. "Yasmine."

Her sister turned.

"Come on and have a seat with us."

"Is that an order or a request?''

Ungrateful brat. "It's a request."

"Thank you." Yasmine moved with that spooky silent walk of hers and glided into the seat beside Monica.

At least she had the sense not to talk.

Crusty tore into another roll, his third. "So, Tiara, what're you going to do after we get out of this shithole—"

He paused, glanced at Yasmine. "No offense."

"None taken."

Monica tamped down the irritation over the Tiara comment and answered honestly, "Sleep. For two days straight."

Cancel the divorce proceedings.

Then what? She'd finally given Jack the green light and he hadn't said he loved her back. A man who'd said it so often in the past hadn't dredged up a single word now—much less those important three. Because of the upcoming battle. Had to be. Which still didn't make Jack's omission hurt one damned bit less.

Crusty chewed through his roll. "Hey, Max? You got plans?"

"Darcy and I are going to head out to the beach cabin for a while, get away from the world. We haven't been in the same country together for more than a week in two months. What about you?"

"Disney, dude, for five whole days."

Keagan tossed his napkin on his tray. "A blast for the boys. Take lots of pictures to show us."

"The boys? Sure. But I'm already dreaming about Space Mountain and the food. Oh, baby!"

Monica forced a laugh. The image sounded perfect. Normal. A couple enjoying alone time. A family going on vacation. Something she would have loved growing up and found she actually dared dream about having now.

"You should have a houseful of children, Crusty," interjected Yasmine.

What a time to try to be social.

Awkward silence settled like a toxic cloud while everyone looked anywhere but at Crusty whose wife couldn't have children. Of course, to be fair, Yasmine had no way of knowing that since she'd only heard Crusty didn't have other children yet. Not why.

"We will someday." Crusty snitched the cookie from Yasmine's tray. "No rush. My brothers can use some more time to settle in." He jammed the pilfered dessert into his mouth.

Before Crusty finished chewing, a staff sergeant from Keagan's force protection counterintelligence team entered the chow hall, stopping at their table.

Keagan shifted round in his seat. "Problem?"

"We've got a situation outside," the burly staff sergeant hurried to explain. "A worker from one of the NGOs that helped us pass out the supplies just arrived with a local. Apparently there's a medical emergency in one of the villages. Said she's gotten help from our military before."

"Yeah, that's true. American forces send out medics and docs to help treat locals, but we're tapped out now. Everyone's either been sent forward into the field or is heading for the medivac in an hour."

"All right, sir. I'll let them know."

Yasmine canted forward. "What is the problem?"

The sergeant glanced down at Keagan for permission to answer. Keagan nodded the go-ahead.

"A woman's having a difficult labor and their resident midwife is ill, doesn't want to risk infecting the mother and baby."

Monica shoved to her feet. "I'll write out instructions for the NGO worker to translate and pack up some supplies, things to keep the field sterile. We could send one of our SPs. Security police have some basic medic type training."

"Wait," Yasmine interrupted again.

Monica forced herself not to snap. Fighting wasted minutes. "Time's short, Yas."

"I can help her."

"Run that by me one more time?"

"I am a nurse. I can deliver her baby."

Shock glued her boots to the floor. "You're a nurse?"

"The woman is not going to let your military man—or any man—treat her. I am trained and speak her language. Send me."

Shock gave way to suspicion. "I thought you wanted to leave here? If you want to stay in Rubistan after all, you really don't need to be so elaborate in your escape."

"I have no wish to stay. Send your security man along to guard me."

Crusty leaned forward on his elbows. "She'll need a military escort, anyway, for safety. Max? Security's your call, dude."

Keagan studied her long and hard, then speared a hand through his blond-tipped hair. "There's no reason not to send her if she wants to go. Nothing she could do or say will change anything or harm anyone at this point."

They continued to bat plans and specifics back and forth while Monica stood with her feet stuck to the floor and worked to wrap her brain around the changing image of her sister. A nurse, not just a spoiled trust-fund girl. And if Yasmine was truly trying to leave Rubistan, stepping outside the compound was a brave thing to do.

She'd spent so long associating Yasmine with their mother, how many feelings had been unfairly transferred? And what else about her sister would she have to rethink?

How strange that Yasmine had never opened her mouth to say anything about her training. If positions were reversed and Yasmine had implied her older sister was a leech on society, Monica would have flashed that education like a neon sign under the offender's nose. So much for assumptions. Yasmine's cultural orientation gave her a different way of moving through the world, not necessarily wrong or bad.

Just different.

Monica reassessed her proud baby sister perched like a princess beside her. And then the clock on the wall gave her no more time to mull anything over.

Crusty tapped his watch. "Max, good luck settling this one out and handling the home front. We gotta roll for preflight."

Ready to roll.

Blake crouched beneath the guard tower, below where the guard now lay crumpled and dead in his perch.

Sweat burned salty trails into his eyes. Adrenaline kinked muscles tight, ready to spring into action.

C-17s circled five minutes out, waiting for the all-clear that the hostages had been secured so they could offload the Rangers. No more waiting.

"Go!"

The order through his headset unleashed him into action, noiseless, fast, lethal, like a bullet through his silencer. Under the stealth of night, he moved in. Not as dark or late as he would like. But hopefully confusion from the camp loading up to leave would give him a new edge.

They all fanned out in pairs. A movement flickered on his right. M-4 hip level, he popped the terrorist sentry, silencer hissing. Another hiss sounded behind him. Carlos shooting. Blake swallowed. Damn. What had he missed?

For the first time he questioned the wisdom in his being here. He would die to save Sydney. He would take a bullet for Carlos. No question. But what if he screwed up? Carlos would take a bullet for him, too.

Shit. Get it together.

He ducked, dodged, wove around parked vehicles. Three steps through the open, then behind the cover of a one-story building. Back flattened to cement, he sidled.