WARRIOR (CROSSFIRE SEALS, #5) (11 page)

While the teacher was passing out the presents, the guide tugged at Kit’s sleeve again. Kit nodded and she and Joanna waved and walked out of the classroom.

“You never told me your name,” Kit said.

“Hamidah.”

“Thank you for doing this,” Kit said.

The woman shook her head. “It’s not my wish but she needs more help than I can give her.”

She must be talking about Minah, the missing girl. Kit wondered how the women had gotten Minah here without everyone knowing. The girl’s school was the perfect place to meet and her bringing the gifts certainly provided a way to tour the classrooms. Thank goodness for good ideas.

They entered a room in the back. A lone girl sat there, so still she could have been part of the furniture. Her head scarf was down too, revealing tumbled dark hair tied to the side, framing a small face. She stared at them, her features drawn in tense lines.

“You must hurry,” Hamidah told them, and then addressed the girl sharply in Pashto, adding, in English, “I also told her to do the same. Minah, this is Miss Kit and Miss Joanna. I’ll stand outside the door to make sure no one interrupts.”

Joanna said something in Pashto which appeared to relax Minah into a shy and uneasy smile. Although she appeared uneasy, her dark eyes held a grim purpose. She said something back and Joanna indicated her camera and recorder. Kit recognized a few of the words. Reporters. Film.

Joanna beckoned to Kit. “She said she wants her story told before she dies.”

Kit frowned. No one was going to die. Not on her watch. She had meant to start out gently, thinking she had to coax the details out of a girl who could hardly have had any experience about adult matters. The person sitting here, though, with that determined gaze, didn’t need coaxing at all.

After a quick set up, Joanna indicated she had everything ready. Minah had been watching raptly. She leaned forward, as if eager to begin talking.

Kit pressed the record button. “She can tell her story in her own words,” she said. In Pashto, she added, “Just start, Minah.”

An avalanche of words tumbled out from the young girl’s mouth

* * *

“D
ude, I don’t like how red that wound looks.”

Lucas paused in the middle of putting on a clean pair of socks. “Stop looking at my body then. Besides, you’re the one who sewed me. It probably is all red from your tugging that thread through my abs of steel.”

Mink grinned and got off his bunk. He leaned down. “The stitches are beautiful. Like Picasso’s work.”

Lucas snorted and returned to his task. “Oh yeah, exactly like Picasso’s.”

Dirk’s head appeared from the top bunk. “Have you actually looked at Picasso’s paintings, man? Big headed, one-eyed, weird shit.”

Mink reached out and touched Lucas’ stitches. “Geniuses are never appreciated,” he said absently. “Hmm. Soft.”

“Hey, you’re making me nervous,” Lucas growled, elbowing him away. “And stop pulling on the stitches.”

“I’m barely touching them. Heightened sensitivity. The bruising looks normal, though. Did you take the drugs the doc gave you?”

Lucas shrugged. “He said, if the pain was getting to me. It wasn’t.” It was just a knife wound. No big deal. He’d had injuries worse than this one. “Slept like a baby.”

“Actually, you didn’t,” Dirk said. “I heard you tossing and turning quite a bit.”

“Yup, me too,” Mink agreed.

“What are you guys, my babysitters?” Lucas waved them away. “That Afghan insider’s words got in your head, clowns.”

Mink pointed a finger at him. “I’m watching you closely today, pal. I know how you are. You’ll fall over before you admit you’re in pain.”

Lucas got off the bunk. Mink knew him too damn well. “Yeah, yeah,” he said nonchalantly. “I’m putting on some clothes and heading off to look for food. You two can squabble about who gets my big balls when I die from this little scratch.”

He stalked off, feeling restless. He hadn’t lied. He did sleep. Just not fitfully. But he’d always had a difficult time going into full relaxed mode after a night of action so a bit of tossing and turning in bed didn’t bother him one bit. It wasn’t as if the bunk bed was as comfy as, say, Kit’s bed.

Kit. Hmm. He was hungry for Kit. He wondered what she was doing right now. She did mention being out on an interview job where there were no hotspots for texting. Too bad. He had the sudden urge to ask her what her bed looked like.

He grinned. Now, he wouldn’t mind having his abs and other body parts checked out by that woman. She had the most arousing way of smoothing her hands up and down his body. Half massage, half teasing promise. She had first done that to his back, from his shoulder blades all the way down his ass and over the back of his calves. Then, when he’d turned over at her soft request, she’d done the same to his front side, from his pecs, down his tightened ab muscles, over the top of his thighs...and then her mouth had come down between his thighs and...man, now that woman was Picasso with her mouth and tongue. Lucas growled again. Dammit, he was going to walk around with a telltale hard-on with two concerned bros at his heels.

Coffee. Lots of coffee and some protein. That was all he needed.

Fortunately, Dirk and Mink dropped the subject and went about like they normally did, bickering and talking about plans. There were a few other people eating with them and he chose to ignore the little digs about their adventure under the damned hen house. The moment the Stooges joined their table, a few of them started sniffing the air and plugging their noses, complaining about the odd stench.

One of the men clucked like a chicken and the others laughed.

“Pussies,” he said mildly, as he started spooning food in his mouth.

Being alive was good. He could deal with a few good-natured funning from guys who had gone through a firefight with him, no problem. It was healthy just to let loose for a bit, even a few minutes, because too soon, one would be back on alert, taking care of the business of war. So he appreciated whatever time there was that gave these guys to hang and be human, and if it was his friends’ and his balls they wanted to bust this morning, well, his were plenty big and they knew it.

“I’m still wondering about that strange dude with us at the end. You know who I mean,” one of the men on the boat crew—Callahan—said, salting his food with the exuberance of a man who didn’t think much about high blood pressure. “Wonder what else he gets out of it.”

“What do you mean?” Lucas asked. “What are you doing, trying to ferment your breakfast?”

The other man grimaced. “Hey, just trying to make my food edible. Anyway, about that dude. You know how these double agents are. They don’t do nothing for free.”

“I don’t think he’s one, though,” Mink said. “More like, undercover.”

“Yeah, he seemed pretty calm through all that commotion on the boat, like he’s familiar with big caliber guns shooting around him. I’m just curious, that’s all. Not used to Joint Missions with so many different sides. Usually, we just pick you crazy SEALs up or drop you off, that’s it. This time, we have to transport those female agents around too. Kind of effed up, if you ask me.”

Lucas’ ear pricked up. “Transporting them? Up and down the river?”

“Yeah, and at low speeds. They had their high-tech binoculars out looking for something or someone. Like I said, effed up.”

This was all said quietly among them, since they were giving opinions about higher command. Lucas hadn’t questioned the presence of Vivi and Amber, but he remembered how uncomfortable his team had been when they had their first Joint Mission experience with Vivi and her outfit. Not that they were women, because capable women in combat situations were fine with them, but because they were so damn secretive and no one appeared to know what they were up to. Hell, Vivi’s role during their Joint Mission in Asia almost gave his two commanders simultaneous heart attacks when they found out. Too late, by then, of course, thanks to the wily woman who had known to keep her plans close to her chest until it was too late.

Lucas had admired the bold plan, though. Vivi had brought her A-Game, letting the team do their job while she accomplished her mission. He liked her very much and she’d gained enough respect that neither he nor his team had even thought about what her role was in this particular mission. But, of course, the boat crew hadn’t met her or Amber Hutchens before, and they’re showing the same signs of uneasiness about working with strange people from outfits they’d never heard of.

Lucas thoughtfully studied the men as he chewed and swallowed his food. “Our team has worked with them. They’re very capable,” he finally said. “Whatever they’re up to, they know what they’re doing and won’t jeopardize your lives unnecessarily. They weren’t sight-seeing, I bet.”

“I know they’re scouting or looking for someone or something, but out in the open like that? Dangerous,” Callahan said.

“Yeah, they’re great looking women, but we aren’t looking for hood ornaments for our boat,” another of the guys chimed in.

Lucas grinned. Oh, man, Vivi V-Z and Amber Hutchens were going to have a fit if they knew they were being seen as hood ornaments. He felt compelled to defend them. It was his duty, since they were both, respectively, wife and fiancée of his commanders.

“One of them is actually an experienced tracker,” he said. “She’s probably looking for something that had to do with routes. As for the other, the first time I met her, she was disguised as an old lady and arresting military personnel left and right. I didn’t even know that old lady was her when I met her again. Trust me, dudes. These women know what they’re doing.”

“Yeah,” Mink agreed. “There are more of them too. All deadly, like Bond chicks. They all snare men like they snared our commanders.”

The guys at their table snorted and laughed some more.

“If you’re reporting back to your C.O.s, I’ve nothing against women in the military. These two, though, are more CIA-type, all closed-mouth about their agendas,” Callahan said, “and you know how much they don’t share.”

Lucas nodded. CIA tactics had backfired before because of its nature of not sharing vital information about their work at the most frustrating moments. “Agreed. All I can say is Admiral Madison is trying to change things by opening up different channels, using other networks. You guys know we lost some SEAL brothers precisely because of an operation that went FUBAR and it was all due to bad information, deliberately fed by rats in the CIA.”

“Who doesn’t know about it? The shit hit the fan last year and was all over the papers.”

Lucas nodded again. He should know. He’d had a hand in the capture of Gorman, the traitor who had been selling secrets for ten years. There was a huge scandal in D.C. and heads were still rolling.

“Action speaks, right?” He asked. When the others nodded, he continued, “Then, look at what’s happening. Mad Dog made a promise to get things done right. He’d gone to DC and headed up some independent hearing, spending all this time back home to get those bastards who are responsible for not just our brothers’ lives, but so many others, by selling information and moving weapons to our enemies. Since he’d started pulling in these independent contractors and double checking information feeds, Mad Dog had scored us Dilaver, the main guy who had our SEALs killed. The Joint Mission netted us a kill and several important caches of weapons that had been missing from our storage facilities. Success and survival. That’s all I care about, dudes. Fuck the paperwork and passing around of useless info.”

“Hear, hear!”

“Amen.”

“Seeing that you’re tight with River Devil, and he speaks highly of you, I’ll take your word about those indie contractors’ capabilities,” Callahan said with a smile. “I still can’t see them jumping into the arena, weapons a-blazing, though, so can’t even imagine how Mrs. Zeringue could have been with you guys during your stint in Asia, mowing down Triad brothers.”

Lucas exchanged glances with Mink and Dirk. They were all remembering Vivi’s herd of goats and how she had single-handedly divided a contingent of trucks in half for the SEAL team. They started chuckling.

“Callahan, you have to see it to believe it,” he told the guys as he downed the last of his coffee. Pushing back his chair, he stood up. “I expect we’ll be needing your assistance again soon.”

“Yup. We’ll get wet and party, as usual.”

Lucas grinned. Damn river cowboys. They loved their boat and they loved to make a hell of a noise while in it. If he hadn’t made it in BUD/s, he’d have tried to make it into the Special Warfare Combatant-Craft boat teams. An SWCC was in the league of Rangers, Green Beret and the SEALs, after all.

“Tell Devil to give me a buzz,” he said.

“Gotcha.”

He, Dirk and Mink walked off, with Mink grabbing a handful of cookies and popping a couple into his mouth. The rest he put in his pocket.

“You’ll just get cookie crumbles if you’re keeping them for later,” Lucas said.

“Oh, like it’s going to be still there later,” Dirk said. “Mink has the sweetest tooth this side of the world, man.”

“Sweetest mouth,” Mink corrected. “Sweetest tongue too, I’ve been told.”

“Cumber’s got the biggest balls. You’ve got the sweetest tongue. I must be the one with the longest dick.”

Lucas snorted. “There, we’re set to please all the ladies.”

“Talking about ladies, you didn’t sit in the corner passing love notes with Kit this morning. What’s up with that?” Mink asked.

Lucas gave Mink a sideway glance. “Maybe you’ve got the nosiest nose.”

Dirk threw back his head and laughed. “Maybe you should shut that sweet mouth or you’ll also get the blackest eye.”

Mink popped another cookie into his mouth, crunching it noisily. “Maybe you two are just jealous because I’ve got the nicest—Morning, Sir!”

They all stood at attention and saluted Lieutenant Commander Jazz Zeringue. He returned the salute. His wife, Vivi, was with him, dressed in camis.

“Good morning, Ma’am!”

“Stooges,” he said, his grin betraying his amusement. “You know your voices carry down the hallway. I’m sure Vivi is thinking your looks are all you guys talk about.”