Authors: Catherine Mann
She
shook
her
head
silently.
Words
were
kind
of
tough
at
the
moment,
anyhow.
Monkeys
cackled.
The
camp
rustled.
Her
heart
stumbled
over
itself.
Bobby’s
mouth
hovered
over
hers
like
his
craft
in
flight,
unpredictable,
ready
to
land
or
fly
away
without warning.
“Are
you
seeing
him?”
“Seeing
who?”
she
whispered
then
mentally
headthunked
herself.
So
much
for
pretend
relationships
as protection.
“Rodeo.”
“Derek?”
“Derek,
huh?
Yeah,
him.”
She
stared
into
Bobby’s
eyes
and
saw
such
raw
anger
she
couldn’t
believe—
“You
can’t
possibly
be prejudiced
against
an
interracial
relationship?”
“Hell,
no.”
His
honesty
was
unmistakable.
His
arms
went
steely
around
her.
“I’m
fucking
jealous.
And
if you’re
standing
this
close
to
me
and
having
a
‘relationship’
with
him,
then
I’m
thinking
you’ve
been
lying
to yourself
about
how
you
feel
for
this
guy,
which
is
damn
well
not
fair
to
him,
and
you’re
always
fair.” She
stopped
his
tirade
with
a
finger
to
his
lips,
not
her
most
brainiac
of
moves.
“Derek
and
I
truly
are
friends, keeping
each
other
company
through
rough
times
in
our
lives.”
“Uhhuh,
now
I
get
it.”
Bobby
grinned,
always
too
damned
perceptive.
“So
you
two
are
just
faking
it
to keep
someone
away.
You
were
worried
what
would
happen
when
we
saw
each
other
again.” Ohmigod,
she
so
didn’t
need
the
highschoolish
thrill
his
jealousy
stirred.
Okay,
so
highschoolers
probably had
more
dating
experience
than
she
did,
but
she
had
maturity
and
human
behavioral
training
on
them.
“What
makes
you
think
that’s
any
of
your
business?”
“This.”
He
grazed
his
hand
down
her
wet
hair
again,
minimal
water
dripping
into
the
spray
of
orchids behind
her,
the
squat
plant
stalling
any
retreat.
“It’s
not
fair
for
you
to
see
someone
else
when
we’re
still
this attracted
to
each
other.”
“You’re
very
sure
of
yourself.”
“Am
I
wrong?”
She
couldn’t
lie
to
him.
“He’s
the
one
who
needed
a
fake
relationship
to
scare
off
someone.
Not
me.”
“Ah,
Gracie.
What
the
hell
are
we
going
to
do
about
this?”
He
looped
her
hair
around
his
hand,
binding them
together.
Her
fingers
gravitated
to
the
tiny
scar
near
his
ear,
her
thumb
flicking
away
a
droplet
of
sweat.
Why
did
this man
hold
such
sensual
sway
over
her?
She’d
seen
well
how
her
father’s
life
had
been
sent
into
turmoil
by
an
irresistible
attraction—which
she should
actually
be
grateful
for
or
she
never
would
have
been
born.
But
she’d
watched
her
mother
try
to
yank her
father
around
by
the—uh—libido—even
after
the
divorce.
She
wouldn’t
allow
herself
to
throw
away reason
for
hormones.
Grace
Marie
shimmied
out
of
Bobby’s
hold
and
away
from
his
allure,
her
arms
locked
around
her
waist
to keep
the
robe
from
revealing
any
more
inches
of
flesh.
“It’s
good
to
see
you
again
and
know
that
you’re doing
well.”
His
eyes
narrowed
as
if
he
might
push
the
point
and
then
he
simply
nodded.
“You
too,
Gracie.” He
was
the
only
one
who
dared
do
that—call
her
Gracie—and
it
implied
an
intimacy
she
couldn’t
allow, especially
not
now,
when
her
mission
was
so
vital.
“Please,
I
prefer
Grace
Marie.”
He
nodded
again
but
didn’t
answer,
which
of
course
didn’t
reassure
her
in
the
least.
She
would
simply
have
to
shuffle
aside
that
concern
for
now,
because
before
sunrise,
she
needed
to
toss
on some
clothes
over
her
clean
body
with
only
one
shaved
leg,
gather
up
her
Glock,
snitch
a
Humvee
and retrieve
her
father.
CHAPTER
THREE
BOBBY
SHOVEDhis
head
under
the
icecold
shower
and
thanked
heaven
that
Gracie—aka
temptation personified—was
now
tucked
safely
in
her
Army
TEMPER
tent.
He
swiped
the
soapy
bubbles
from
his
eyes.
Shit,
that
stung.
Blinking
his
eyes
fast
against
the
shampoo,
he
lathered
up
his
hands
with
a
miniature
bar
of
soap
he’d
picked up
at
a
hotel
in
Guam.
This
practice
operation
should
be
lowkey,
but
his
streetsense
nerves
were
itching.
Only
a
year
ago
in Cartina,
South
America,
he’d
seen
how
fast
a
simple
practice
op
could
turn
into
something
more
intense.
The
whole
world
was
a
hot
spot
for
terrorists
these
days.
Finishing
soaping
up
the
rest
of
his
body,
he
figured
he
should
probably
sleep.
Drying
off
and
yanking
on Air
Force
jogging
shorts
and
a
Tshirt,
he
left
the
stall.
No
hottie
Gracie
waiting
outside
with
her
exotic
scent
to
tempt
him,
no
perfumes
or
special
designer
soaps, just
the
one
hundred
percent
arousing
scent
ofher.
He
made
his
way
through
the
camp
to
the
tent
he
shared with
his
crew:
Face,
Vegas,
Stones,
Padre
and
Sandman.
He
dropped
onto
his
cot
and
stifled
down
the
itchy
badfeeling
jitters.
His
job
worked
on
a
needtoknow basis.
So
no
point
in
firing
himself
up
until
necessary.
Hopefully,
he
would
be
out
cold
in
seconds
like Stones,
Padre
and
Sandman.
He
rolled
onto
his
side
on
the
cot,
fisting
his
pillow
rounder.
“Jesus,
what
are
we
doing
in
these
crappy
ass tents?”
Vegas
disconnected
his
cell
phone—a
call
to
his
wife,
no
doubt.
“Don’t
let
the
Army
grunts
hear
you
since our
Air
Force
Harvest
Falcon
tents
are
downright
cushy
up
next
to
their
stark
Army
TEMPER
tents.”
“I
picked
the
Air
Force
so
I
didn’t
have
to
do
this
camping
shit.”
“Used
to
the
good
life,
are
you?”
“That’s
me.”
More
like
he’d
spent
enough
time
roughing
it
for
three
lifetimes.
He
rolled
to
sit
up,
reaching over
to
Face’s
cot
and
snagging
a
perfectly
good
packet
of
crackers
Face
was
about
to
throw
away.
Hand arced,
Bobby
pitched
it
into
the
small
box
across
the
room.
Face
gathered
up
the
remains
of
his
meal
and
started
their
Postalinstigated
ritual
of
pitching
their
unused MRE
parts
into
Bobby’s
perfectly
labeled
boxes.
Face
lobbed
a
powdered
chocolatedrink
package.
“What
are
you
gonna
do
with
all
these
scavenger
items, make
a
salt,
creamer
and
cracker
sandwich
later?”
“Ever
tried
one?
They’re
positively
exquisite.”
Bobby
couldn’t
resist
jabbing.
Face’s
smirk
faltered.
“Okay,
you
got
me.
Even
you
aren’t
that
cheap.” Wanna
bet?
“Shh.
Don’t
let
word
get
out
or
my
frugal
reputation
will
be
shot
and
next
thing
you
know
I’ll have
to
pay
for
a
round
of
drinks.
Actually
with
the
bananas
around
here,
the
peanut
butter
packets
will really
come
in
handy,
adds
some
more
taste.”
“Consider
my
trap
shut…ifyou’ll
let
me
ditch
some
of
this
crap.”
“I
hate
waste.”
They
had
a
perfectly
good
corner
to
store
the
condiments.
Why
not
stash
a
box
there?
Vegas
ducked
a
whizzing
peanut
butter
packet
and
sagged
back
on
his
cot,
shaking
his
head
as
his
eyes drifted
closed.
“God,
Postal,
we
won’t
be
able
to
move
around
by
the
end
of
the
week.”
“Fine.
Whatever.”
He
shoved
to
his
feet
again,
restless
from
his
confrontation
with
Gracie,
and
damn
it, that’s
how
he
thought
of
her.
Gracie.
Everybody
else
could
call
her
the
more
uptight
Grace
Marie.
He
squatted
in
front
of
the
row
of
small
boxes containing
the
leftover,
unused
parts
of
the
MREs—Meals
Ready
to
Eat.
Not
much
in
there
after
a
half
day, but
the
stuff
could
really
pile
up
in
a
week
for
him
to
take
home.
No
need
to
waste
it.
“Don’t
come
crying
to me
when
you’re
looking
for
salt
at
two
in
the
morning
for
your
inflight
snack.” Bobby
fished
through
a
few
more
MRE
reject
pouches,
too
antsy
to
drift
off
like
the
others.
Well,
everyone except
Face,
who
shifted
to
sit,
as
if
giving
up
on
sleep.
Face
leaned
closer
into
the
space
between
their
cots
to
keep
the
conversation
private
even
with
the
rest
of
the room
sleeping.
“Everything
cool
working
with
Lieutenant
Lanier
again?” Thank
God
the
C17
crew
was
in
a
different
tent
because,
regardless
of
what
she
said
about
Rodeo
being
a friend,
Bobby
sure
as
hell
didn’t
want
the
guy
overhearing.
“Why
shouldn’t
it
be?”
“She
dumped
your
ass.”
Face
scooped
his
handheld
BlackBerry
from
his
open
bag,
thumbing
a
message across
the
keyboard
while
he
spoke.
“It
blows
carrying
around
feelings
for
a
woman.” Face’s
thumbs
continued
to
fly
over
the
keyboard
as
he
undoubtedly
sent
his
customary
ten
kazillion messages
a
day
to
his
wife,
Brigid
Wheeler
Greco.
Everyone
knew
Joe
had
waited
for
two
years
while
Brigid
Wheeler
grieved
for
her
dead
lover—
Joe’s
best friend—only
to
discover
the
dude
wasn’t
dead
after
all.
Things
had
been
rocky
there
for
a
while,
but
Joe
and Brigid
were
solid,
one
of
those
rare
meanttobe
couples.
Finding
that
forever
fit
involved
a
hefty
dose
of dumb
luck
as
well,
and
he’d
already
shot
his
wad
in
the
goodfortune
department.
He
couldn’t
even
sit
still.
What
made
him
think
he
could
settle
down?
It
wouldn’t
be
fair
to
the
woman
or any
kids
they
might
make
together.
So
why
had
he
been
playing
with
her
hair
like
a
totally
whipped
dude?
“Gracie’s
a
hot
lady,
no
question,
but she’s
also
a
very
smart
lady,
wise
enough
to
know
when
something
isn’t
working.”
“Fair
enough,”
Face
replied,
still
dorking
around
with
his
BlackBerry.
“But
second
chances
are
a
gift,
you know?
Maybe
the
timing
is
better
this
goround.”
“I’m
still
the
same
guy
I
was
nine
months
ago.
Nothing’s
changed.”
Except
for
the
fact
that
for
the
first
time since
he
was
seventeen
years
old,
he’d
gone
without
sex
for
nine
months.
Longer
that
that,
actually,
since he’d
been
two
months
without
when
he’d
met
Gracie,
and
they’d
never
cycled
around
to
the
naked
part.
What
did
that
say
about
his
messedup
head?
He
didn’t
let
women
get
to
him.
“Come
on,
you
remember
the old
bachelor
days.”
Joe
shrugged.
Didn’t
say
anything,
sure,
but
a
half
smile
kicked
up
his
face.
Yeah,
the
guy
remembered.
So
did
he.
Except
the
memory
wasn’t
as
much
fun
this
goround.
Hell’s
bells.
Bobby
dropped
back
onto
his cot.
Joe’s
face
cleared.
“I
have
no
memory
of
any
woman
before
Brigid.
Just
ask
her.”
“She’s
not
here.”
Bobby
waved
around
the
musty
tent
full
of
snoring
crewdogs.
“Remember
those
two French
nurses
in
the
Balkans?”
“Uh,
no,
dude.”
Face
shook
his
head
slowly.
“I
have
absolutely
no
recall
of
that.
Really.”
“Oh,
right.”
Bobby
thumped
his
forehead.
“That
was
a
dream
and
come
to
think
of
it,
you
weren’t
there.” Falling
back
onto
his
cot
with
a
belly
laugh,
Face
tucked
away
his
BlackBerry.
“I
swear
you
make
shit
up just
for
shock
effect.”
“What
of
it?”
Face
stuffed
his
hands
under
his
head.
“Well,
we
did
talk
to
those
two
Israeli
women
in
that
bar
in
Tel
Aviv for
ten
whole
minutes
before
they
walked
away
uninterested.”
“You’re
not
listening.”
Bobby
swung
his
bare
feet
to
the
ground.
“I’m
having
a
serious
crisis
here.
I
need your
help.”
His
pal
stared
back,
his
expression
even
more
serious
than
normal.
Everybody
knew
Face—Joe—was
the best
guy
around,
a
man
you
could
trust
anywhere,
anytime.
“You
don’t
need
me
to
tell
you
that
you’re
a badass
in
the
cockpit.
And
you
sure
as
hell
don’t
need
me
to
remind
you
of
all
the
women
who
have
pitched their
panties
in
your
beer
seconds
after
whispering
to
a
friend—”
his
voice
shifted
to
Marilyn
Monroe breathy
falsetto
“‘—I
can
fix
him.’”
Vegas
snorted
from
the
cot
behind
him,
apparently
not
completely
asleep.
Bobby
tossed
a
pillow
at
the
guy’s head,
even
as
he
laughed
along.
Gracie
had
no
interest
in
fixing
him.
Smart
woman.
Because
damn
straight,
he
was
as
broken
as
a
guy
came while
still
staying
functional.
Antsy,
he
walked
around
the
tent,
checking
the
boxes,
the
door,
the
stakes.
All
he
could
think
of
now
was
a
workout
to
burn
off
pentup
energy
just
from
touching
Gracie’s
hair.
Smelling
her
freshshowered
skin.
Touching
her—
Hourlong
workout,
here
I
come.
Kneeling,
he
tugged
his
bag
from
under
the
bed
and
unzipped
it
for
a
change
of
clothes,
rifling
around
for his
gym
shoes
to
carry
with
him
to
the
tent
set
up
as
a
weight/exercise
room.
Face
clapped
him
on
the
shoulder.
“It’s
tough
knowing
what
you
want
but
being
certain
it’s
wrong,
isn’t
it?” Sympathy
stank
worse
that
his
flaming
hardon.
Bobby
tugged
on
his
BDU
pants,
tucked
in
his
black
Tshirt then
laced
up
his
boots,
complete
with
the
knife
he
never
let
out
of
arm’s
reach.
Ever.
“Don’t
you
have
a coloring
book
to
finish
or
something?”
Face
raised
both
hands.
“Okay,
dude.
You’re
not
ready
to
think
this
through.
Got
it.
I’ll
back
off.
Don’t know
why
I’m
wasting
good
sleep
time
anyway.”
He
sagged
back
onto
his
pillow.
Bobby
eyed
the
door,
his
mind
mapping
out
the
trail
ahead.
Yeah,
he
should
probably
sleep,
too.
But
first, he
would
have
to
pump
iron
until
his
muscles
screamed
for
mercy.
NO
DOUBT,
he
needed
some
sleep,
because
images
of
Felicia
Fratarcangelo
had
his
libido
screaming
for mercy.
Matthias
had
been
awake
for
twentytwo
hours
straight
studying
Cantou’s
lightwater
nuclear
reactor.
The hall
could
have
been
any
of
the
numerous
research
facilities
that
had
requested
his
input
over
the
years.
Nothing
different,
except
for
the
young
couple
making
out
in
a
dark
corner,
in
their
teens
or
early
twenties, but
obviously
not
interested
in
the
soda
machine.
One
of
the
local
girls…he
scrambled
for
her
name,
uh,
Jiang,
yeah,
and
an
eastern
European
boy
whose name
he
totally
couldn’t
remember,
only
that
the
boy
was
on
scholarship
to
work
with
security,
currently with
his
hand
up
the
girl’s
shirt
and
her
chanting,
“More,
more,
more.” No
unwillingness
there.
He
could
be
on
his
way,
secure
in
knowing
this
was
completely
consensual,
even
if rather
unprofessional
out
in
the
hallway.
Although
he
suspected
they
wouldn’t
be
in
the
corridor
for
much longer.
Youthful
hormones.
God,
how
his
own
teenage
libido
had
changed
the
path
of
his
life,
landing
him
into fatherhood
at
eighteen.
His
footsteps
echoed
down
the
empty,
antiseptic
hall,
past
a
water
fountain,
a
string of
framed
local
landscape
posters
between
each
room,
each
class
emanating
a
different
acrid
elemental
scent of
that
group’s
chosen
experiment.
Cologne
to
a
geek
like
him.
Even
the
professors,
researchers,
teachers,
students
all
looked
the
same.
Except
for
one.
Felicia
Fratarcangelo.
He
deserved
an
Academy
Award
for
how
he’d
pretended
not
to
know
her.
Oh,
he’d noticed
her
all
right.
The
scent
of
flowers
emanated
from
the
lady,
tickling
his
senses
usually
saturated
by
chemicals.
Chemicals didn’t
smell
like
foliage.
Even
when
heated
to
boiling
temps.
He
would
guess
Ms.
Fratarcangelo
preferred things
hot.
What
did
she
hope
to
gain
by
coming
on
to
him?
He
wasn’t
such
a
geek
he
couldn’t
tell
when
a
woman
was
hitting
on
him.
He
rounded
the
corner
to
his dorm
room.
All
right,
perhaps
he
zoned
out
and
missed
the
signs
sometimes,
but
only
a
dead
man
would overlook
the
sensuality
oozing
off
that
woman.