CHAPTER 1
Sergeant Ali Montero had to admit it—she was worried as hell. She tried to force the snakes roiling around in her belly to stop, but her gut was tight. Worry plagued her as her combat boots thudded down the dirty ply-board floor that was in desperate need of a good sweeping. She knew what was coming: Chief Wyatt Lockwood, the leader of Bravo SEAL team here in Jalalabad, Afghanistan, had requested a private meeting with her. Now, she reluctantly dragged herself toward his office, wishing the reprimand—or whatever he had in mind—was over.
For sure, these meetings were never a good sign. The SEALs she worked with called them “woodshed moments,” meaning you were probably in deep shit and Lockwood was going to let you know it. She’d been with Bravo team for over three months, and now, in June, her number had come up and the shit was probably going to hit the fan.
What had she done wrong? She bit her lower lip, trying to figure out why he’d be calling her, of all people, in for a roasting. Like her fellow SEALs, Ali wore a tan t-shirt and desert camo trousers. Unlike the others, she wore her long black hair back in a ponytail most of the time.
At J-bad, in their cramped, one-story brick compound behind the wire, everyone wore a sidearm. They knew their base was a major target for the Taliban, given the SEAL teams’ talent for decimating the enemy. Ali was part of a snatch-and-grab team aimed at killing high-level Taliban commanders or capturing the bastards alive, then handing them over to the CIA for interrogation.
Actually, she suspected she knew what had brought on this meeting. Ever since arriving in J-bad on special assignment to the SEAL team, one guy had put her in his sights: Petty Officer Two, Ram Torres, a Mexican-American born in Nogales, Arizona. For some reason, he seemed to hate her on sight. He’d never accepted her as a part of their all-male team, even after Ali had tried to warm up their frosty relationship. The SEAL would have none of it, constantly turning his back on her efforts to be pleasant.
She wished she could avoid him, but they were a small team and inevitably found themselves thrown together at times they would have preferred never to see each other again. Ever!
Ali slowed down as she approached Lockwood’s office, pausing at his door hanging slightly askew on its hinges. There was nothing perfect about the SEAL group’s housing. The Navy Seabees hadn’t made up this hodge-podge of three-quarter inch ply-board. Rather, the first SEAL units had cobbled it together hastily within the grey cement structure. It wasn’t great carpentry, nor was it an engineering feat to brag about. But it kept them out of the elements and dry, and that was all that mattered.
Taking a deep breath, she looked up and down the quiet passageway. Lockwood had told her to arrive at 0800. To Ali’s relief, the area was empty. She didn’t want her teammates knowing about this—although she was sure word would get back to the guys sooner or later. She knocked firmly on the door, and from the other side, she heard the reply in a heavy Texas drawl, “Mosey on in, Montero.”
She opened it, and there sat Wyatt, the man in charge. He was a big SEAL, twenty-eight years old, six feet tall and, by her estimate, close to two-hundred pounds of pure, hard muscle. He looked up, and she met his gray gaze, coming sharply to attention in front of his desk buried beneath papers. “At ease, Ali,” he drawled, gesturing at the metal chair in front of the desk. “Take a load off.”
She closed the door and sat down, pretending not to notice the churning in her stomach. “You wanted to talk to me, Chief?”
She had to admit it: she was always impressed when it came to Wyatt Lockwood. He was a legend in the SEAL community. Not only had he graduated from SEAL sniper school, but he was brilliant at writing software code as well. He’d even designed his own mission-planning app for his team to use, and it never failed.
A perfectionist, he still tinkered with it after every op, fine-tuning it in his rare free time—whenever that was. Ali had no idea where he found a spare minute between running his eight-person SEAL team. They were out on a mission two to three times a month, sometimes for several days or a week at a time. In fact, they’d just gotten back from their latest mission last night.
Wyatt leaned back in his creaky chair, its stuffing poking out of the black leather here and there. “Ali, you’ve been with us since March, and I thought it was time to assess your skills and your work with my team.”
Great. She knew what was coming. Wyatt appeared to be an easygoing guy. His family owned the Rocking L Ranch near Van Horn, Texas, which had been in his family for the past hundred years. He was a country boy, and was able to project a laid-back attitude in tense situations.
Ali had come to respect him and even enjoy his Type-B personality under fire. She could see why he had been given his job as team leader, and for those reasons, she trusted him fully, and without question. Wyatt worked hard to make damned sure his team returned from their missions in one piece. His priority was keeping all his people as safe as he could under combat circumstances.
She tightened her lips, waiting for Wyatt to drop the bomb on her: Ram Torres.
“Coffee?” he asked casually, turning in his chair and picking up a battered aluminum coffee pot.
“Umm . . . well, if you’re having some, sure,” she replied in surprise. Maybe he wasn’t going to hang her from the nearest yardarm after all! She’d never had this kind of private chat with him before and didn’t know what to expect.
Her friend, Manny Felix, a Petty Officer Three shooter, and the youngest member of their team at age twenty-two, had told her Lockwood had read him the riot act after one of Manny’s recent missions had gone sour. Wyatt never yelled at his team or beat up on his men like some leaders did. No, he’d taken Manny apart piece-by-piece in a calm, firm, no-nonsense way.
Afterward, Manny reported that Lockwood had asked him to train with Chuck Cerney, the oldest SEAL in the team. Chuck would mentor him so such screw-ups didn’t happen again. Ali had heard from another team member, Tinker Ledlow, that he, too, had been taken to task during one of these private chats behind a closed door—not that Tinker didn’t have it coming. She’d been there on that op and he’d screwed up a helluva lot worse than Manny had. She knew this probably wasn’t going to be a pep talk from Lockwood.
Ali watched him pour hot, black coffee into two white ceramic mugs, but somehow she suspected that neither Tinker nor Manny had ever been offered a cup of coffee during their interviews. All they’d gotten was a Texas-sized verbal frog-stranglin’ thunderstorm raining on their parades. Warily, she took the coffee he offered with a murmured, “Thanks.”
“I also have sugar and powdered milk,” he said, pointing to the two containers on the shelf above the coffeepot.
“No . . . no thanks, Chief.” His excessive niceness wasn’t jelling with what she’d heard from Tinker and Manny.
“Hey, Ali, in here when we’re alone ‘Wyatt’ will do. Okay?”
She gave a slight nod. “Yes. Okay.” Lockwood was known in the ranks as a pretty casual leader. He always called the members of his team by their first names or their nicknames. When he used their last names, it meant he was displeased about something they had or hadn’t done on an op.
Wyatt sat back and watched Ali watching him. He grinned. “Drink your coffee, Ali. I’m not gonna behead you.”
“I haven’t seen you do that to anyone on the team,” she said quietly, hoping she wouldn’t be the first.
“How are you getting along with the team, Ali?”
There it was! What a loaded question! Lockwood was damned smart, and knew what was going on with every member of his team. Ali knew that bullshitting him wouldn’t work. But would brute honesty serve her? Should she be diplomatic? Tell some of the story, but not all of it?
She felt sweat form under her shirt as her nervousness turned into panic. How could she escape telling the truth?
“Well,” she began, clearing her throat, “I think everything is going fine.” She saw Wyatt’s eyes narrow slightly as he studied her, continuing to slowly rock in the chair.
“Really?”
She gulped. “I try to get along with everyone in the team.”
“You’ve done a good job of that. I know when you were assigned to us, a few of the guys had some questions about it. But you brought a lot of skills we needed. I’d been yelling at Command to send us a translator who spoke the local Pashto language. We were desperate for someone who could translate for us.”
“I took a one-year Pashto immersion course at the Navy language school in Monterey Bay,” Ali said, nodding, her hands gripping the mug. Unsure of where Wyatt was going with this, she said nothing more. She did notice that he looked pleased, though. Whew!
“You’ve helped us enormously, Ali. All the villages we work with look forward to us coming because they can talk to you, and tell us what they need—whether it’s food, medicine, or something else. I’m very pleased about that.”
Okay. So maybe this wasn’t a whupping? Her confusion increased, and she frowned slightly, waiting for the next shoe to drop.
“The relationships we’ve built these past months have been good for intel gathering,” she agreed.
“Hey, it’s far better than that,” Wyatt said. “You’ve single-handedly built a strong connection with the women in these villages, and they tell you everything. The men might not—because in their belief system, women are never in power or control—but these ladies have given you incredibly viable intel that we’ve acted upon—with good results. In fact, we’ve gotten more top Taliban leaders since you’ve been with us. You’re a great asset to us, Ali.”
“Well, thanks,” she said carefully. “I’m glad to hear that.” Had Wyatt called her in to pat her on the head?
“And you’re also a sniper, like me, and you’ve more than proven yourself in that area, Ali. I like having two snipers and two combat medics on my team. We really lucked out with you. You’re the whole package.”
She was flabbergasted. No longer able to restrain herself, she gave him a sharp look and said, “I guess I didn’t expect this, Wyatt.”
“Oh?”
Shrugging, she said, “I know it hasn’t escaped your all-seeing eyes that Torres and I get along like oil and water.”
“My granddaddy always said it doesn’t take a genius to spot a goat in a flock of sheep,” he drawled.
Tilting her head, she smiled. “Is this one of your famous Texas sayings, Wyatt?”
He grinned back. “Sure is.”
“Am I the goat or the sheep?”
Wyatt’s grin broadened. “Your mama didn’t raise a dummy, did she? Excellent question.”
He slowly sat up and placed his mug on the desk in front of him. “Well, now, ever since you were assigned to us, I’ve seen Torres being the only member of the team not to accept or integrate you. He’s the goat. You’re trying to be a sheep and fit in with the rest of the sheep under my command. But he’s never totally fit into our team, Ali, and you have. The other men fully accept you as one of them now. They trust you. And you can’t make someone like Torres, who is a goat, turn into a sheep so that you all get along with one another. That’s what I’m sayin’.”
Blinking slowly, she assimilated what he’d said. “I’ve really tried to get along with Torres.”
“I’ve watched,” he murmured, nodding slightly.
“I know he doesn’t like me on the team,” she admitted quietly.
“No, that’s not it. He doesn’t trust women in general. That’s a horse of a different color you’ll have to adjust to, Ali.”
“Why doesn’t he trust women?”
“Can’t say. That’s for him to tell you, not me. But as team leader, it’s my job to make my team into a well-oiled group that works a hundred percent with one another. We’re stronger together. If I have one person in my team withholding trust toward another member, that’s not good.”
“But I’ve tried to get along with him, Chief. I really have!” Her heart was racing, adrenaline surging into her blood stream. Was Wyatt going to make her the reason why Torres was the way he was? Anger flashed through her, thinking he was doing just that.
“If you find yourself in a hole, Ali, the first thing you do is stop digging.”
Rolling her eyes, she muttered defiantly, “I’m afraid I’m not following the message from your Texas sayings, Wyatt. Can you just spit it out and tell me where this is all going?”
One corner of his mouth twitched. “Torres doesn’t trust women. It comes from his growing up years. When you came onto the team, Ali, it raised the issue within him. I’ve tried a couple of times to take him aside and tell him to give you a chance to prove yourself because you are trustworthy.”
“Well,” she snorted, “that sure as hell hasn’t happened! He questions my every decision, especially if it involves the team as a whole.”
“Right. He’s got an inflated view of himself as the dog that protects the herd of sheep. He believes it’s his duty to protect others.”
“He’s a goat,” she muttered, scowling, “not a sheep dog.”
“But that’s how he sees himself,” Wyatt said gently. “You see him differently, of course. But his lens on reality is focused on him being the protector.”
“He’s never protected me,” she said.
“You’re absolutely right,” he agreed, his expression shadowed.
“He’s the only one I can’t trust, Wyatt. I learned early on not to rely on him when I was out in the field. I know I’m on my own. All the rest of the guys do have my back. I even have Torres’ back, whether he realizes it or not.”
“Yep, we’re seeing things the same way. And I’m pleased that you’re a team player, Ali.”
“Then what am I doing in here, Wyatt?”
Wyatt looked at her, sizing her up. “Look, Ali, I can see that Torres’ way of handling the situation is not helpful to you or to my team, and I want you to know that I have your back. This situation must be dealt with and Torres has to stop distrusting you, or he’ll be leaving my team.”
His honesty took her aback. “I thought . . . well, I thought you were going to blame me for the situation.”
Again, his boyish smile came and went, that glinting intelligence in his eyes telling her that he missed nothing.
“There’s a saying that every quarrel is a private one, and outsiders are never welcome. But in this case, I’m going to interject myself into this scene. Torres won’t like it, but I’m hoping that after discussing this issue with him, that he’ll stop it so our team can be tight again. We need to be one-hundred percent accepting of each other to function at our best. We’re not there now, and we have to get there quickly.”
She sat there, digesting his words. “I know enough from Psychology 101 to see that you feel Ram is projecting onto me.”
“Yes, ma’am, he’s definitely doin’ that. I’ve taken a lot of psychology classes, and spotted it right away. I was hoping that Torres would come around, eventually. The fact that he’s Mexican-American and you’re Yaqui Indian and Mexican-American seemed like an easy way for him to accept you on the basis of your shared blood and backgrounds.”
“But it hasn’t. Manny Felix and I have bonded, for sure. He’s Mexican-American, too.”
“Right, but Torres was the goat standing outside his pen of sheep. He didn’t want to fit in.”
“Why? Why does he distrust women so much?”
“He just does. We’re now at the point that if I can get Torres to understand by not having your back he’s hurting the team as a whole, maybe he’ll accept you. If he can do that, I’ll keep him. But if he can’t, he’s outta here in the blink of an eye. We need your expertise, Ali. And you’ve worked hard to become a member of the team. I appreciate that.”
Ali frowned, thinking about Ram. “You know, he seems to be tightly bonded to the guys from what I’ve seen. He does his job and he does it well. But I never see him joking around or teasing the others, or vice-versa, Wyatt. He doesn’t talk about his family, or share a photo that he carries of his wife or kids—if he’s married. I never hear him discuss his mother or father. I just feel he’s in some kind of emotional lockdown, and he’s not letting anyone in.”
“No, he’s not gonna let anyone in, but I was hopin’ over time he’d relax and let you in. I’ve watched all the other guys gravitate to you, Ali. They treat you like a sister. And out in these Afghan villages, you’re the person the locals can’t wait to see. The children love you. The women cluster around you and squeeze you to death. You’re accepted and trusted because of who you are. That big heart of yours, I’ve decided, is probably the size of the state of Texas.”
She found herself reddening with embarrassment. This was certainly not the way she’d expected this interview to go!
Wyatt continued as if not noticing her chagrin. “Every man here in the team, with the exception of Torres, dotes on you. They use you as a confidante, they pull you aside and tell you things they’d never tell another guy or even me. I’ve watched it go down. You might be a helluva sniper out on an op, but you also have a lot of nurturing and maternal instincts that you’re sharing with your team—as well as with the villagers. You’ve added a layer to my team, a good one. A woman’s energy and expression is different from a man’s and I’m very pleased with you being among us. But this situation with Torres has to be resolved—and soon.”
“That’s hopeful sounding.”
Nodding, Wyatt said, “You can lead a horse to water, but that don’t mean he’s got the brains to drink. This isn’t your fault and I don’t want you to think otherwise.”
“Have any of the men complained to you about me?” She might as well get everything out on the table. She was relieved that Wyatt saw her clearly, understood she was a valued member of his team, and it dissolved most of her dread.
“No one to a man,” Wyatt said. “They respect you, your skills, and your professionalism.”
“Has Torres come to you?”
“Nope. He’s locked up tighter than Fort Knox. He’s not available to anyone. He’s never said anything about you to me. From time to time, I’ve heard him try to badmouth you in front of others, but he’s always been stopped. They tell him to knock it off. He’s not being a team player, and they don’t appreciate that.”
Wincing, Ali whispered, “He’s not a bad person, Wyatt. Surely you’ve seen him with the little boys in these villages. They love him. He always keeps candy in his pockets to give to them. They just adore him.”
“I’ve seen it,” Wyatt said, leaning back and rocking a little in his chair. “And I’ve seen him be good with all the men on my team, as well. He doesn’t open up to them, but he’s a good listener, and sometimes he’ll give another guy his two cents’ worth when asked.”
“God, I don’t want to be the reason he leaves,” she sighed.
“You aren’t. He just needs to learn to adjust and recalibrate how he treats you. Often, when a person projects something bad that happened to them when they were young, they take a shotgun approach and include everyone around them. In this case, it’s his distrust of women.”
“Is he married? I never hear him talk about himself. Not even to the other guys.”
“He’s footloose and fancy free. Never been married. No rug rats, either.”
She smiled a little. “Rug rats” was an affectionate military term for children. “There’s good in him. We’ve all seen that.”
“And here you are defending him even if he won’t treat you with respect and as an equal.”
“I don’t believe in throwing out the baby with the bath water, Wyatt. Torres is your best shooter. He’s really, really good. A 4.0.”
“I won’t disagree with your assessment. That’s why he’s comin’ to my woodshed,” and he looked at his watch, “in about an hour. I’m hoping to thread the needle with him on this issue and hope he’ll change his attitude toward you.”
“I wish,” she began softly, looking away for a moment, “I wish there was something I could do that would help him ease into that transition, but I’ve run out of tools to fix what’s not right between us.”
“I’m with you on this. He’s a good man, but he’s badly wounded in ways that I’m not sure any of us can help him fix. What I can’t do is allow this to continue, Ali. What we do out there on ops is life-and-death. We must trust one another during every step of that op.”
“I feel so bad. I guess I shouldn’t, but I’ve always seen the good in people, Wyatt. I’m an optimist with a healthy dose of reality thrown in. I’ve seen Ram help the other guys, and he’s always been there for them.”
“But he’s not there for you, and I can’t have that on my team. This isn’t yours to fix, anyway,” he added sternly. “It’s my job. You’ve tried and I’ve been silently cheering you on, hoping one of those peace offerings will take hold. But it just hasn’t worked, so it’s time for me to step in.”
Ali nodded, her stomach tightening.
“Every one of us is composed of light and dark, good and bad,” he agreed. He rose from his chair. “Now, why don’t you go get some sleep? We’ve just come off a pretty stressful op.”
“Okay.” She set the emptied mug on his desk and stood up to leave, realizing she felt terrible about Ram Torres. The man hadn’t changed in the three months she’d been assigned to the team. Could he really change now? She didn’t know.
“See you later,” Wyatt said.
Turning, she opened the door and closed it quietly behind her. The passageway was empty, everyone still asleep, exhausted from last night’s op. Walking lightly down the hall because the ply-board bedrooms were not soundproofed, she headed to the end, where her room was located. Exhaustion swept through her. She had to eat first and then put in her volunteer time at the medical clinic.
Wyatt was right: it had been tough, six-night-long black ops. They’d nabbed three Taliban leaders from the area, thanks to local village women giving her their names and locations. Rubbing her tearing eyes, she pushed open her door and walked inside. It was a ten-square-foot room made completely of unpainted ply-board, and furnished with a metal cot and a few wooden crates she’d stacked together to act as a dresser.
There was no way Ali wanted Ram Torres to be jettisoned from the team. He was a highly intelligent man with a bear trap mind when he was on an operation. Wyatt had said he was “wounded.” What had happened to him when he was younger that had caused him to distrust all women?
Would she find out later that Wyatt had fired Torres, giving him orders to leave their team? In her heart, she hoped not. He was a respected warrior with an open wound that had yet to heal. But she hoped that over time it would, for all their sakes.