“I met Liam a few years back,” Devon answered evenly, wondering what the sudden tension was about.
“He’s based out of Fort Lewis.
I was up there for a training exercise.”
“What’s really happening,” Candace interjected, “is that Devon’s got a lot of male buddies, because she considers herself to be one of the guys.
And somehow she’s still completely oblivious to the fact that they see her as anything but.”
Dev rolled her eyes.
“Oh, please.
That’s why I’ve got a swarm of men following me around, right?” And why she’d only ever dated a handful of them in her whole life.
“Anyway, you know Liam too,” she accused her friend.
“You were with me the night we stayed out at the bar shooting pool because his fiancée had just dumped him, were you not?”
Candace winced and gave a nearly imperceptible shake of her head.
Her eyes darted toward Honor.
“What?” Devon demanded, glancing over at her new roommate.
Anything else she might have said evaporated when she saw the pinched look on Honor’s face.
Her eyes were downcast.
The sweep of her strawberry blond hair obscured some of her profile, but what Devon could see of her skin had gone pale except for the rosy blush staining her porcelain cheeks.
Then it hit her.
Honor.
Not a common name.
Couldn’t be merely a coincidence that Liam had been engaged to someone in the Air Force named Honor.
“Oh, shit,” she breathed, then bit her lip.
“Sorry.
I didn’t know…”
Honor shook her head and forced a smile.
“Don’t worry about it.
It’s fine.”
Devon looked to Candace for help, but her friend merely sighed and stood as she gathered her tray.
“Well that was an interesting meal.
Thanks, Dev.”
Contrite, Devon followed in the wake of the suddenly quiet group as they left the chow hall.
Honor made a point of patting her shoulder and smiling on the way back to their barracks, and Devon relaxed.
Six months was a damn long time to live with four other women if they didn’t get along.
Grudges, cattiness…
ick
.
No wonder she felt more comfortable hanging with the guys.
A cool wind picked up, blowing dust around them, but the sound of it was drowned by the sudden roar of an incoming Chinook’s engines.
Heart beating fast, Devon raised her head to watch it descend, a hulking mass of metal silhouetted by the twilit sky, its dual rotors tearing through the air with a thunderous noise.
The rotor wash hit them even from where they stood far from the runway.
Once its wheels set down, the pitch of the engines dropped as the pilots cut power.
Adrenaline flooded her veins.
She couldn’t wait to get up in the air and do her part for the mission.
“Getting itchy, huh?” Candace asked.
“
So
itchy,” she agreed, unable to wipe the grin off her face.
Was there any better job in the world than being a helo pilot?
“Hey, Dev, is that you?”
She whipped around at the male shout and squinted through the cloud of dust raised by the Chinook’s blades.
The man was big, decked out in his BDUs and full combat gear.
Something about his stance was familiar.
Then the dust cleared a bit, and she let out a squeal.
“Ryan!” Throwing protocol aside, she ran over.
He dropped his massive ruck and opened his arms, catching her when she flew into them.
His deep familiar laugh almost made her tear up.
“Hey, Dev.”
“Hi.” She squeezed him tight before stepping back.
“It’s good to see you.”
“You too.”
She glanced around, heart rate increasing, but other than her roommates, nobody was staring at them.
“Is Cam with you?”
“No, he’s crashed.
Had a long night last night.”
She tensed.
“Is he okay?”
“Yeah, he’s fine.
Lost a couple of guys, though.”
Oh
.
Cam was tough, but he was a softie inside.
Losing men would be hard on him.
She imagined him wiped out, crawling under the sheets and throwing a muscular arm across his eyes.
It made her want to find him just to make sure he was all right.
And then crawl in beside him to hold him against her, skin to skin.
She shook the thought away.
“You heading out?” she asked Ryan.
“In a few minutes, yeah.” His gaze fell unerringly on the group of women waiting for her.
“Those your friends?”
“Roomies.
Not sure they like me much, though.
I’ve already managed to put my foot in my mouth.”
He glanced down at her.
“What, you?
Come on.”
“Trust me.
I can still taste the dirt from the bottom of my boots.
And that was before I scandalized them by running over to hug a non-com.
But you’re charming—maybe you can smooth this whole thing over for me, regardless of your inferior rank.” She winked, then dragged him over by the hand.
He went willingly enough, and it made her grin.
There was no way she could’ve made him budge if he didn’t want to, but he was a shameless flirt.
“Ryan Wentworth, meet Maya, Honor, Erin and Candace.”
Ryan shook their hands as she introduced them, but held Candace’s hand a moment longer than was necessary—or polite—as he took in her flight suit.
“You a pilot?” Devon winced.
Poor guy had no idea he’d just inadvertently hit Ace’s hot button.
Candace withdrew her hand and actually wiped it on her thigh as she gave him a contemptuous look from down the length of her nose, even though he was at least six inches taller.
“That’s right.
Got a problem with that, Sergeant?”
Ryan’s eyes lit with amusement, as though he got a kick out of her defensiveness.
“No ma’am.”
“Good.
I take it you’re a CCT?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Then you might need my services out there one day.
And even though I am female, I still outrank you.
Plus I’d hate for there to be any confusion as to whether you’re talking to the right aircraft if you heard my voice during an operation.”
He chuckled.
Actually snickered, and Candace’s dark eyes flashed as he spoke.
“I’ll keep that in mind, but I’m not real worried.
I’d recognize your voice instantly if it came through my radio.”
Okay…
Before things could get more uncomfortable, Devon stepped in.
“How long will you be out this time?”
Ryan deliberately held Candace’s glare for another moment before looking at Devon.
“Not sure.
Day or two maybe.
Depends on how quick the SEALs are with their hunting.”
Going after Taliban and al Qaeda chiefs.
Or warlords like Nasrallah.
“Be careful.
And say hi to Cam for me when you see him.”
He smiled.
“Trust me, Dev, you’ll see him long before I do.”
He picked up his ruck and walked away.
Devon stared after him, thinking about that cryptic comment.
Was Cam going to come looking for her?
Her stomach flipped.
God, she wasn’t ready yet.
“Dev, let’s go.”
Falling into step with her friend, she glanced at her watch.
Only forty minutes until her briefing, and she still had to find Will.
“By the way,” Candace began, “about you rooming with us…know why a bunk suddenly became available in our hut?”
“No, why?”
Her friend’s eyes were full of censure.
“The lieutenant that used to be in it is up on charges for fraternizing with an enlisted airman.”
Devon’s stomach dropped.
“Seriously?”
“Yep.
Happened last week.
Granted she wasn’t being very discreet about her relationship, but…something you should be aware of.”
“Thanks for the heads up.” She shoved her hands into her pockets.
“It’d be weird to not talk to them, though, Ace.
They’re my friends.”
Candace shrugged.
“Just warning you to be careful.” A few beats passed before she spoke again.
“I realize they’re your pals, but you know what?”
Devon could tell by the hard tone that it was a rhetorical question.
She raised her eyebrows in silent reply, and didn’t have to wait long for the answer.
Her friend’s mouth pressed into a tight line.
“So far, I don’t think any of us like them very much.”
Yeah, Devon thought with a sigh.
She was getting that message loud and clear.
Peshawar, Pakistan
Sadiq closed the Holy Quran he always carried with him, and listened to the footsteps approach the living quarters of the modest, middle class house.
He rose as the door pushed open, revealing a solidly built man in his early fifties with a thick sable beard sprinkled with gray and eyes the color of caramel.
His face was weathered and lined from spending his life exposed to the harsh elements of the Afghan climate, and his skin was brown as tanned leather.
Sadiq greeted his host with a polite nod.
“General Nasrallah.”
The general smiled and clapped a fatherly hand on his shoulder, his grip strong despite the arthritis distorting his joints.
“I understand you have been quite busy helping to boost our ranks these past few weeks.
Did you recruit any new men during your travels yesterday?”
“Yes,” Sadiq replied.
“Two from the second village.”
The older man’s gaze lit with amusement.
He switched from Pashto to English.
“All this time back in your homeland, yet you still carry an accent.”
Sadiq fought the flush staining his cheeks.
“I spent many years in the UK, as you know.
I suspect I will always carry it to some extent.”
The general waved his concern away.
“I was not criticizing you, Sadiq.
On the contrary, your education makes you invaluable to me, as few others speak English as well as you do.”
“I only completed my first two years at Cambridge, sir.”
“Two years studying physics is much more than most of my men could ever dream of.” The general tilted his head, that shrewd gaze lingering on Sadiq’s face.
“Tell me, why did you abandon your studies?”
A tightness spread in his chest.
“My brother asked me to.
He needed help on the farm.” Sadiq couldn’t say no to the brother that had half killed himself working to provide Sadiq with a life and post-secondary education in London.
Sadiq had been shocked by how much Hassan had aged in his absence.
Twenty years instead of ten.
His back had already been bent like an old man’s.
All because of his sacrifice to give his younger brother a better life.
“Your loyalty to your brother is to be commended.
But about your work here.
How many men does that make this week?”
“Six.”
“And all together?”
“One hundred and six.”
“That almost doubles the size of my force.” The older man’s eyes gleamed with appreciation.
“You have been an invaluable asset to me.”
Sadiq ducked his head, though his heart filled with pride.
“I only wish I could do more.” Like get into the fight firsthand rather than working behind the scenes recruiting.
“And you will.” Nasrallah squeezed his shoulder once more before releasing him.
“Come.
Have tea with me.”
Honored by the request, Sadiq followed him to a comfortable living room where a low table in the center of a rich, red woven carpet was already laden with bread and steaming cups of chai.
They sat opposite each other and Sadiq waited while his commander said a short prayer before picking up his cup and taking a sip.
Few people were allowed private meetings with the general.
That he was granted such an audience proved just how important the great leader considered him to be.
Nasrallah’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled.
“You have surpassed my expectations, Sadiq.
I thought at first you would not be able to control your anger, but you have proved me wrong.
You have taken your brother’s death and used it to hone your discipline, and I am extremely impressed with you thus far.”
Sadiq felt like a little boy earning hard-won praise from a stern father.
He straightened his spine, determined not to show how much the general’s words meant.
He was not a child.
He was a grown man ready to accept his destiny and join the fight he fervently believed in.
“Allah guides me well.”
“He guides all of us well, if we are willing to listen,” the older man agreed.
“My commanders tell me you have become an expert shot with your rifle, and that you are one of their best trainees.
I was pleased to receive this report, because I need more good men I can count on in my new operations.”
Sipping his tea, Sadiq tried not to seem too eager, though his heart pounded at the thought of going out into the field and taking part in the war that had already cost him so much.
“I will help any way I can, sir.”
As though his words amused him, Nasrallah leaned back and regarded him over the rim of his cup with smiling eyes.
“You must have heard the talk by now.”
“Some.”
“I intend to move my army into the foothills for the next phase of operations.
As you are aware the Americans are moving farther and farther out of their base to conduct their patrols.
You know my philosophy about how to strike them when they are most vulnerable?”
“Yes.
Hit them when they are the farthest away from their base, and have an ambush in place, ready for when they try to escape.”
“Why?”
It irritated Sadiq that Nasrallah would test him like this.
If he was pleased with his progress and considered him such an asset, then surely he was aware Sadiq knew all of this inside and out.
He pushed aside his annoyance.
“Because our aim is to create chaos and inflict the most casualties possible to draw more forces in.
And because the Air Force will send in aircraft to assist.”
“Exactly.” His gaze hardened into shards of amber.
Focused and predatory, like a wolf’s.
“We turned the Russians into whimpering babies by destroying their aircraft one by one.
The Americans and their allies are far too powerful for us to meet them head on in a fight.
We must organize and maintain discipline in order to fight them effectively.
Our tactics and willpower have to outweigh their superior numbers and weapons.
The aircraft are vulnerable to the very missiles they gave us to get rid of the Communists, and every time we shoot one down it guarantees they send in more.
Think of the damage we could inflict if the right opportunity arose.”
Sadiq sensed the fire burning in the warrior’s soul.
It blazed out of his sharp eyes, contagious in its power.
“The Presidential elections are next year.
If we inflict enough damage and kill enough soldiers, the American people will elect the new president on the basis of pulling out of Afghanistan.” He gave a hard smile.
“Then we will have defeated yet another superpower.”
An excited shiver tingled down Sadiq’s spine.
This was why he admired the general above any of the other leaders he’d met.
The man understood the way things were, and he made his goals both finite and attainable.
Both of those qualities ensured his men had higher morale than most of the other forces in the area.
Other leaders foamed at the mouth about killing all the infidels and pushing them out of the Middle East entirely, and a select few were bent on expanding the Islamic empire until it encompassed the globe.
Others terrorized their own people in that cause.
Like the Taliban, prowling the tribal region to enforce their interpretation of Shari’a law on the villages they took.
“And the Taliban?
They are nothing more than archaic bullies.” He hated them almost as much as the occupiers.
“Perhaps,” Nasrallah allowed.
“But still a formidable enemy.
More so than when our Northern Alliance defeated them.
The Americans were our allies at the start of this war but I can no longer support their continued occupation.”
“None of us do.
But that fight is here, on our soil, not in North America.
Too many zealots get that wrong.”
“I couldn’t agree more, which is why my men support al Qaeda’s efforts only in this region.”
“I understand.” Sadiq didn’t care one way or the other about what the Americans did in their den of iniquity on the other side of the world.
For all he cared they could wallow in their own moral filth until the Final Judgment when Allah would wipe them all away with a cleansing fire.
What he wanted was vengeance, plain and simple.
And he wanted the western soldiers out of his country once and for all.
When that happened, he would return to the UK and finish his studies, fulfilling his brother’s dream of seeing him earn a university degree and making something of himself in the world.
But first they must win the war.
Excitement and determination rushed through his veins.
“When do you need me and the others?”
The general’s lips curled in the midst of his salt-and-pepper beard.
“Tonight.
Can you be ready?”
“I’m ready now.”
He let out a rumbling laugh.
“Have the new men here at sunset.
We have a long way to travel in the next few days.”
“We will be waiting, sir.”
Nasrallah set his cup on the table and rose, signaling the meeting was over.
Sadiq pushed to his feet and gathered his Quran, his brother’s most cherished possession.
He never went anywhere without the leather bound heirloom.
“Your brother would be proud of you.”
Halfway through the door when the general spoke, Sadiq stopped and looked over his shoulder.
“I pray that’s true.”
Leaving the comfortable house, he stepped into the cold mountain air and pulled in a deep breath, letting the purity of it sweep through him.
The wind cut through the woolen scarf he wrapped tightly around his face and neck, but he barely noticed the cold.
His resolve kept his inner fire burning hot enough to counteract the coldest night.
He pulled out the battered photograph he always carried in the shirt pocket over his heart.
He kept it there as a daily reminder of his earthly purpose since that terrible day two months earlier.
Like the Quran, it went with him everywhere.
The familiar faces, one male, one female, stared back at him.
He knew every line of them now, so well that they often haunted his dreams.
He stroked a thumb over the smooth surface, thinking of his brother, and sent up a prayer.
God willing, I will do what must be done.
Bagram Airfield, Afghanistan
Cam walked into the pool hall at the Exchange and stopped short.
Still a bit groggy from the short but deep sleep he’d pulled himself out of, he fought the urge to rub his eyes.
Holy shit, she was there.
Right in front of him.
The room was crowded and noisy, but all his senses focused on the slim woman in the center of the room.
What was it about her that made his pulse pound in his ears and the blood rush from his head to pool between his legs?
Leaning against the pool table as she chalked her cue, Devon chatted to that Night Stalker pilot, Liam.
Her camo cargo pants and snug T-shirt did little to hide the trim curves that featured in every erotic dream and fantasy he’d had over the past three months.
Already she had a crowd of men surrounding her, eating up her every word.
A bass chorus of male laughter followed whatever she’d said.
Jesus Christ, she was like Scarlett O’Hara holding court over her suitors, only Devon didn’t have a fucking clue about the effect she had on men.
It always made him shake his head because any man with a pulse would be attracted to her.
Cam didn’t know exactly what it was about her that drew him so strongly.
She wasn’t beautiful.
Not in the classic sense, anyhow.
Her features were too sharp, her eyes almost too big for her face.
She wasn’t his usual type, either.
Not even close.
He usually went for ultra-feminine women.
The kind that spent hours doing their long, carefully styled hair and even more carefully applied cosmetics.
The last woman he’d dated had freaked if she chipped an acrylic fingernail.
She hadn’t known a thing about the military and wouldn’t have wanted to, beyond what he looked like in his BDUs.
Or rather, without them.
And he was just fine with that.
By contrast, Devon made all the other women he’d been with look like simpering prima donnas.
And whatever it was he felt for her, it wasn’t casual like all the others had been.
He’d never felt this protective of a woman before.
Only she brought that out in him.
That powerful, odd mixture of independence and vulnerability completely melted him.