Two
was exhausted. Tired to her bones from her trip to Afghanistan, and she’d just gotten here. Upon landing, she’d had to go through what she likened to the military’s version of customs to get access to the base, and that hadn’t included actual customs along the way. She needed a shower followed by a five hour nap and a five pound cheeseburger.
WWCAD? She doubted her professional idol wouldn’t stuff her face and whine about needing some grub and a tub. Caitlin shook the thoughts of creature comforts away. If she was lucky, she’d only be here a couple of weeks. Troop deployments were a heck of a lot longer than any short trip she would experience. She’d do well to remember that and not complain, even internally. She knew this. She blamed being tired for the lapse, but she needed to ignore her fatigue and focus on her job. If she focused on every yawn her body produced, that was another moment she wasn’t thinking about her job.
Or her safety.
Her dad had served in Desert Storm and hadn’t taken the news of her current assignment lightly. She could still hear the warnings he’d given her echoing in her ears. “Follow orders… You will not risk your life for the story… Don’t let some randy soldier into your panties…” That last one had almost made her laugh. Almost. Her dad was normally a big ol’ softy who loved to joke, having long ago left the military behind for a boring desk job and life in suburbia. His haunted eyes shown brightly on the rare occasions he talked of his tours. The added veil of the video call yesterday did nothing to hide the permanent despair long buried in them.
“Ms. Cooper?” a tall, dark-haired man asked. He sported several days’ growth on his chin. “I’m Lorenzo Ricci, the videographer working with you on this assignment.”
She hopped as she hefted her carryon more securely to her shoulder and stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Ricci.”
“Lorenzo, please.”
“Caitlin,” she said in way of agreement before dropping her hand. “What can you tell me about the bombing?”
“All in due time, Caitlin,” a man said walking up from behind Lorenzo. She looked over at him, irritation pricking at how he’d said her name, but before she formed a response, she noticed he wasn’t the only man in uniform close by. There were several men standing with their legs slightly apart and their hands behind their backs all staring directly at her. Her gaze slide to each one before she looked up at the man who’d spoken to her and now invaded her personal space. “You have to be briefed on procedure and sign some documentation before you’re allowed access to any information. Follow me.” He turned as if not needing a response from her.
She wasn’t surprised there was more formality involved. Although she’d never reported on the front lines, this wasn’t her first assignment in the midst of a war. Tired or not, his tone rankled her. The least they could do was not schedule this introduction before she had a chance to check-in at her hotel and drop off her bags.
She knew she should fall into step behind him without question, but before she could command her feet to move, her mouth opened. “Who are you?” she almost snapped.
The brute in combat boots had only taken one step when her voice filled the air between them. He froze, and it seemed as if the men standing in a half circle around her got stiller.
The man’s hands flexed as if he was going to fist them but then thought better of it before turning to face her once again. “Commander Owen Burrell. The man tasked with keeping your backside protected.” He hesitated and then added, “Ma’am.”
“Nice to meet you, Owen.” She wasn’t sure if she mastered the same tone he’d taken with her name, but she gave it her best shot. Somewhere in the back of her mind was a warning not to anger the big, scary—and if she was completely honest, hot—guy. But it wasn’t as if this man was her superior, nor did she need to butter him up to get him to talk. She had a list of names of people who’d been in the area before and after the bombing and had committed those to memory. There was no Owen Burrell on her list. He was probably just some extra muscle someone put on her to make sure she didn’t go snooping around any restricted areas while on base.
One of the men coughed, sounding as if covering a laugh.
Without hesitation, Owen stomped right up to him and yelled in his face. Caitlin didn’t catch everything he said. Something about what the man found so funny with some colorful words tossed in. The younger-looking guy paled a little, but barked his responses, keeping in time with Owen’s forceful questions.
The military dynamic fascinated her, but the yelling and posturing was something she never felt comfortable with. She understood the need to keep members in line, but sometimes it felt as if it was really overkill. Like right now. But she wasn’t here to question the inner workings of the military itself.
When Owen finished ripping the guy a new one, he stomped back to her. “Let’s get something straight, Caitlin. I’m not happy about this assignment. I should be with my SEAL team running exercises in preparation for our next assignment rotation, not watching every waking move you make. I wasn’t trained to be someone’s twenty-four-seven guard dog. But if the powers that be want me to babysit a journalist, then I’ll do it without hesitation. Doesn’t mean that service comes with patience or a smile.”
Twenty-four-seven guard dog? She blinked at him. Jack hadn’t said anything to her about someone guarding her. Was this standard procedure for media personnel when reporting outside the wire? She wasn’t sure. Reality that there was a lot she wasn’t aware of slowly came crashing over her. She shook a little and sucked in a deep breath. This was the first time since learning of the mission that she felt real fear. She’d been nervous, anxious even, and most recently exhausted. But not fear. Why had it settled in now? It felt silly that it took a hulking man being assigned to her to pull away whatever wool she’d had over her eyes. Her boss, Hank, even her dad hadn’t scared her.
Part of her want to reply something snappy back at him, but that side of her was hiding behind the other part whose knees threatened to buckle under the weight of this new feeling coursing through her. When she found her voice, she simply said, “I understand.”
He stared, and for the briefest of moments, an emotion crossed his gaze that looked like regret, but it had happened so quickly she couldn’t be sure. “Follow me,” he said in the same clipped tone from before.
She obeyed, and Lorenzo walked beside her. The other men who’d been standing in front of her waited until she passed before falling into step with them.
Not with them. Around them. As if they’d formed some protective barrier, blocking her and the cameraman from view. They were still on base, so the action felt unnecessary, which only spiked her fear.
They walked into a makeshift room built with exposed plywood walls and containing a folding table in the center surrounded by metal chairs. Nothing else was in the small area. Owen motioned for her to sit before turning to grab a stack of papers from the end of the table.
“I don’t have a PowerPoint to show you the dangers of war in some feeble attempt to express the significance of what could happen if you don’t follow orders. You’ll just have to listen to the words I have to say.”
“I’m good at paying attention,” she said without looking at him.
“Good. That just might keep you from having to witness any horrors firsthand.” She didn’t say anything, and he continued. His lecture was long and detailed. He started with the purpose of their overall objective there before moving into what was expected of the men and women there both professionally and personally. Throughout his discussion, her fear eased, which she attributed to Owen’s matter-of-fact vibe. And then went into the rules of conduct of an embedded journalist, making sure she was clear on her role. Irritation began to bubble again because she was well aware of what her role was, but she ignored it. He had a job of keeping her safe, and she told herself he was just making sure she did her part to make his mission easier. “Any questions so far?”
“No.”
“You will not at any time carry a weapon. Ever,” he said, leveling a stare at her.
“Why?” Not that she’d brought any with her. She didn’t own a gun, and it wasn’t as if she could carry a knife on the plane. Although she could have put one in her checked luggage. Maybe she should have.
“Because you are a non-combatant. You are not here to engage in battle. This is not my rule. It is policy.”
In theory, she understood this. She’d never considered the need of a weapon before because she’d always reported from a military base and there’d been thousands of men sporting guns and rifles that the idea of her needing to carry something on her person had never crossed her mind. Her fear from earlier was back, rearing its ugly head. She nodded, worried her voice would betray her renewed fright.
Owen continued on, going over the laundry list of conditions working with an active military unit, such as not reporting any intel that could compromise any unit’s position, classified weaponry, and details of future missions she might become privy to, just to name a few. She understood the need. She was a civilian working with the military, and at any time she could learn things not meant for public consumption that could put the lives of the men and women serving at risk.
When he finished his speech, he slid contracts across the table to her and Lorenzo.
“Read these and sign.” He looked at her.
She took the documentation and began thumbing through it, her mind racing as she read over the words in ink that Owen had said aloud over the last hour. She understood the need for secrecy. She did. But she also knew, at the end of the day, she had a job to do. One the military and department officials might not be pleased with if she uncovered information they preferred stayed hidden. She would have to follow their rules, but be ready to defend her stance on reporting the news. She read every line very carefully to make sure there wasn’t anything hidden in there that would expressly prohibit her from doing her job. When she felt satisfied she wasn’t agreeing to anything she couldn’t live with, she reached for her bag.
“What are you doing?” Owen asked.
She looked up but continued rummaging. “Um, getting a pen.”
He yanked one out of his pocket and slid it across the table at her. She caught it before it could pass her and stared at the thing. It was no ordinary pen. It was black metal with ridges and planes and felt much sturdier than any she’d ever used before. She turned it around in her hand, exploring it further.
“It’s a tactical pen. Push the plunger.”
If he’d given her the instructions as if talking to a child her cheeks would’ve flamed. With her pale skin, she never was able to hide her embarrassment. Thankfully, he’d instructed her in the same tone as he’d sported since they’d gotten in this room. She did as he said, signed the contract, and set the pen on top of it before pushing it toward Owen. Lorenzo had already signed and was leaning back in his chair waiting on her.
Owen picked up the paperwork and handed it to one of the men in the room without ever looking at him. He pocketed his fancy pen as his eyes stayed trained on her. “Now that that’s out of the way. I’ll show you to your barracks. Follow me.”
She stood automatically and started toward the door, his actual words taking a slower amount of time to compute. “What?” she asked, rocking back on her heels. He said barracks.
He faced her and crossed his arms. “Twenty-four-seven, Caitlin. Where you go, I go. Where I go, they go,” he said, pointing toward the men who stood in line behind her, waiting to exit the room. “As much as the press core’s hotel is safe, it’s not on base. The military isn’t going to pay to put all of us up for the duration of your stay. It’s easier—and safer—to give you a room here.”
Then, for the first time since meeting him, he smiled, and the action almost knocked the air out of her lungs. She’d thought him hot earlier, but when the man smiled? Jeez, he transformed into some living god. Too bad he had a cocky attitude to go along with his looks. Or maybe that was a good thing. She didn’t need to let some sexy soldier distract her from her work, and if he was pleasant on top of gorgeous, she’d have a tough time keeping her eyes on her work and off him. “I understand.”
Although, she didn’t. She really didn’t. Why was he still sporting a ghost of a grin?
“Don’t worry, Caitlin. Just because there’ll be two beds in your room doesn’t mean I’m sleeping in there with you. Every night.” But she heard what he didn’t say. There was a chance he’d be sleeping in there some nights. The smile now made sense. The prick delighted in her discomfort. A groan slipped from her at the realization she might never get a moment alone. She was so looking forward to showering and sleeping. The corners of his lips finally slipped back into their flat position. “I’ll have a room right next to yours, so you will get some privacy,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “Your room will have its own toilet, but we’ll have to coordinate your shower time. Last thing I need is for one of these yahoos to stumble in accidentally.” His gaze shot above her, and she knew he was staring down the troops. “Don’t forget what I told you this morning about pulling any accidentally-on-purpose shit, too.”
She jumped at the chorus of, “Sir, yes, sir,” coming from behind.
“Jesus, warn a girl,” she muttered over her shoulder.
“They don’t take orders from you,” Owen said.
“Whatever. Can we get this show on the road? I’m calling first dibs on the shower. And I need food and sleep.” She hated verbalizing these things because she didn’t want to come off as weak. Besides, she was sure the men in this room had gone days without showers, beds, or fresh food several times in their lives. Why didn’t she just keep her mouth shut? She knew by the time she left Afghanistan, she’d have a whole new appreciation for what the troops had to endure on deployments. “Sorry if that came out wrong,” she said after chastising herself.
Owen watched her for several seconds. Then looked up again. “Acker, get Ms. Cooper some chow.”
She looked back as she heard a man’s agreement to follow the order and watched as he left the room.
“It’ll take him about forty minutes to get to the chow hall, secure your meal, and get to the barracks. That’ll give you time to drop off your bags and shower first.”
“Thank you,” she breathed as her shoulders fell, relieving the tension she hadn’t known she’d been carrying. He turned to walk out, and she followed silently this time.
“What time do I need to back here?” Lorenzo asked.
Caitlin gaped at him.
“Oh six,” she heard Owen reply.
“Wait, he doesn’t have to stay on base?”
Owen stared down at her, but his mouth stayed shut as if it was his right to answer her question, and he’d chosen not to.
“The station has already paid for my room,” Lorenzo said from beside her, and she tore her gaze away from Owen to look at the cameraman. “The military offered yesterday to provide the same accommodations to me, but no way am I giving up my own room and shower.” He chuckled.
She couldn’t blame him, but why had Lorenzo been given a choice, and she hadn’t? Where was his twenty-four-hour guard dog? Whether weary from her travel or weak from hunger, she didn’t have the energy to ask. Instead, she shook his hand, told him she looked forward to working with him, and watched him walk off before Owen led her to an ATV.
The barracks wasn’t far and dread eased in when she saw the size from the outside. Inside gave her the confirmation she hadn’t needed. This was going to be cramped. At least she had her own room. Semi-private, she added silently. Owen gave her a quick tour. The guys in the group were bunking two to each room and they departed to their assigned bunks. Owen had his own room, but the second bed would be available for Lorenzo when he needed to stay on base. Once inside her room, Owen stood at the door.
“Take the bed on the left. The right is closer to the door. It keeps me between you and any danger.”
Danger from what? Thousands of US military in the middle of a heavily armed base? She kept those thoughts to herself.
“Shower’s across the hall. I put you in this room because it’s closest to it and if anyone comes into the barracks, they have to get past four other rooms of trained military men.”
She nodded as she looked around, taking in the sparse room.
“Caitlin?”
She glanced up at Owen, almost stunned at the soft murmur of her name coming from the hardened special ops man.
“I know this isn’t ideal. For either of us,” he added with a slight smile. “But you’re in safe hands with me.” Then he squared his shoulders and said all business-like, “Eat, shower, rest. We leave at oh six.”
It was midday, and she really needed to get working on her story after a quick nap. It would take days to get over her jet lag, so she would be sleeping in spurts until her body adjusted.
She couldn’t think beyond the next thirty minutes right now, though. She gave him a nod, and then, for added fun, she flopped her hand to her forehead and said, “Sir, yes, sir.” But her words held none of the sharp retort of a trained person.
He shook his head almost in amusement. “We’ll work on that.”
When he turned to leave, she sat on the bed and shut her eyes on a deep inhale. Learning to salute properly was at the end of her agenda list.