Anything, Anywhere, Anytime

"All I want is to get out of this country. You can listen to what I have to say or not. Your choice, Mr. Keagan."



"What about the hostages in the compound?''



"Who?" Her fingers stilled on the silk. "Which ones? Ammar is always holding somebody. Snatching people for bargaining influence. You seem to think I am making an easy choice in telling you because you can offer me military protection. But you do not seem to realize how far his reach extends. I risk much more by talking than by staying silent."



Finally, Drew let himself ask, "Then why do it?"



She met his gaze directly for the first time since she'd sprawled na*ed on top of his chest. "Because I want people to look in my eyes and see honor."



Damn but she fought dirty. All the more reason to keep his guard up around her now more than ever. She knew him, had used her time wisely to find the chinks in his armor.



A knock sounded. Snipped the tension between them.



Baker swung the door wide to Monica Hyatt standing tall and pissed, Jack Korba scowling just behind her. Both wore rumpled flight suits and barely combed hair.



Apparently, Yasmine had wrecked everyone's sleep.



Keagan closed the door behind them. "Seems we have a situation here."



Hyatt's eyes stayed locked on her sister. "So Rodeo informed us."



"Do you have anything to add, anything that might vouch for her character so we can all breathe easier today?"



That sure snapped Hyatt's attention off her sister. "You're joking, right?"



The OSI officer nodded to Jack and stepped toward a far corner of the room. "How about taking a look at the compound map."



The question of the hour. Was Yasmine's input about the layout genuine? Or a trap. Baker, Keagan and Korba huddled in a corner while Drew did his damnedest to stare at the file in front of him instead of looking at Yasmine and her rose scarf. Because then he wouldn't have to see that slight quiver on a mouth that used to smile at him.



She damned well had reason to be scared.



Hyatt walked with calm deliberate steps toward her sister, stopping. "You little bitch," she said low.



Drew kept his head down. He had to give Yasmine credit, she didn't blink, kept her regal calm and took what her sister doled out.



"How dare you use me, use all of us like that? But then I shouldn't be so surprised. You're no more loyal than the bitch who gave birth to us."



"Please do not hold back your feelings, sister."



Hyatt all but snorted. "I'm not too worried about you. I figure we're pretty much evenly matched, you and I." She leaned closer, controlled rage vibrating through her body and even her voice. "But if you've done anything, anything at all to put Sydney in more danger than she's already in, I swear to God I'll make it my personal mission to ensure you rot in jail for the rest of your life."



"Sydney?" Yasmine's poise slipped.



"Cut the innocent crap, little sister." Hyatt's words trembled with impatience and rising volume until heads started to turn toward her. "Your lies this week pretty much negate the act."



Yasmine's brows pulled together, her attention skipping from person to person in the room. She blinked faster, then her eyes widened, brows relaxing apart again. "She's one of the hostages?" Her voice grew louder, higher with each word. "Is she?'' She directed the question at Drew, at the trio of Air Force officers in the corner. "Did Ammar take my sister Sydney?"



Silence echoed a loud affirmation.



"No." The lone word held more pain than any speech. Her hand clamped against her mouth just before she doubled over.



If this was still an act, it was a damned good one. He stomped the spark of sympathy even as he wanted to believe her horror was real. Damn, but did he ever need it to be true, for her, for himself so he wasn't the same dumb-ass fool he'd been all those years ago with Glenna. And for some reason he refused to let himself analyze, the betrayal cut deeper this time.



It had to be because stakes were higher now, more people depending on him not to screw up. By God, he would not let himself go soft.



Once Yasmine straightened again, Hyatt cocked her head to the side and continued. "It sure would be all nice and pretty if you're telling the truth. But you know what? Even if you're not lying this time, you understand what Ammar al-Khayr is capable of. You put everyone in here who was helping you at greater risk by keeping silent."



Hyatt's composure deflated. Her shoulders sagged, dark circles under her eyes matching her sister's in an ironic sibling resemblance of grief. "Yeah, getting Sydney out of here is personal for me. But what about the hundreds of other people here who've never laid eyes on her and are selflessly willing to die for her? For you, too." Her voice cracked. "What about the young man who died last night?"



Hyatt's teeth clamped together on a hiss and she spun away.



Keagan shoved up from the desk. "Okay, people. Let's take a breather, grab some coffee from the mess hall, shake off the dust and start again."



The Air Force officers all banded together around their own, leading Hyatt out into the hall. The doorway stood open, an Army guard to the side, an unspoken message that Yasmine wasn't free to leave.



Drew hooked his thumb in his M-16 strap, but didn't move. Why the hell hadn't he made tracks out for Java, as well? God knows he could use some.



Shit. Damned women. He snagged another file off the desk from beside his Land Mobile Radio and buried his face in weather report data.



"I am sorry." She spoke softly, her meaning clear enough for him but vague enough if the guard happened to overhear.



"I'm sure you are," Drew answered without looking up. "But it's too little, too late."



"You don't believe I want to leave here?"



"Oh, I absolutely believe you want to leave." He clapped the file closed. "But you should have listened to what your sister had to say about why we do what we do."



Drew leaned closer, to keep their conversation private as well as to make his point while proving to himself he could be near her. Smell her. And not take her. "You didn't have to waste the energy playing me. I would have fought to the death to help you escape here even if you'd been a ninety-year-old woman with only three days left to live."



The fire in her eyes died. Tears pooled. The first all-out ones he'd ever seen from her.



Fool me once...



He pivoted away from her and her tear-filled eyes, pitching the folder to skid across the desk to rest beside his LMR.



On cue, the radio crackled with an incoming call for him and he returned his focus to his job, something that grew increasingly difficult with every day he spent with this woman. "Alpha, here. Over."



"Sir, there's some activity going on you need to check out. Looks like the camp's packing up. Intel indicates they'll be on the move anytime now."



Chapter 17



Dusk. Not dark. Damn it.



Helmet bag in hand, Jack strode toward the pickup trucks that would carry the crews out to the airplanes. As much as he wanted to get this mission under way, he would give his left nut to be taking off a few hours later. Deeper into the night as originally planned for the maximum element of surprise. But with an impending sandstorm and camp activity indicating a move...they would just have to pray like hell that the evening would be dark enough and that everyone turned in early to rest up for their big moving day.



The door creaked open behind him, likely more crew dogs filing out to fill the two waiting trucks.



"Jack!" Monica's voice stalled him in his tracks. "Jack, wait."



He turned to find her rushing toward him. Breathless. Not her normal composed self. Her caramel hair swished along her shoulders, down and in defiance of military regs. Unease boxed around in his gut. She'd been through hellacious stress the past months and now faced the most tense of times in her own profession. Had he made the wrong decision in letting her come? Not that she'd left him any choice.



Monica stopped short, hair whipping all around her face in the wind, stray strands reaching out to brush his face. "I just wanted to say goodbye. Good luck. Kick some serious ass out there for me."



"You know I will."



Only an hour from now and she would be entering preflight briefs herself, readying for takeoff in the medivac. Then landing at the terrorist compound's airfield to treat and load hostages and wounded.



Monica. In a combat zone. All the more reason to make damned sure the place was secured and locked down tight. He understood intellectually that military husbands and wives now entered combat together. The new face of the modern military. That didn't make any of it one damned bit easier.



Big picture war plan, this would go fast, efficient. Once the SEALs secured the hostages, the Rangers would be dropped in and have the whole place secure in twenty minutes. Tops. But there was still the wild card of the lone straggler hiding out in a hole, ready to pop a passing soldier or to launch an infrared missile at a landing plane, refusing to surrender even with certain death staring him in the face.



Shit. He had to quit thinking like this and get his mind on his job. "Go grab something to eat. It's going to be a long night and who knows when you'll get another chance."



"I'm heading to the mess hall after this." She nodded, but didn't move.



"I'll see you soon." He tore himself away from the temptation of hanging around for more of Monica.



"Jack!"



She wasn't going to make this easy for him. And he needed easy today or he'd never make it through worrying about her. He couldn't go deep with heavy thoughts tonight. Stakes were already high enough for him when it came to this woman.



He pulled a smile and pivoted back to her. "Come on, Mon, this Casablanca stuff isn't your style."



Biting wind plastered her flight suit to her body, streaked her hair behind her, leaving everything about her there for him to see. Her shape. Her face.



Her fear.



Still, she boldly strode toward him. "I just figured since the secret's out about us being together again, there's no reason to hide anymore."



"Hide what?"



"This."



Looping her arms around his neck, she urged his head down to hers, kissed him, full, hard, thorough, with open mouth and open emotions, all that fear and worry for him pouring from her into him. And just that fast—or was it longer but simply never long enough with this woman—she pulled away.



Monica backed from him, gusts lifting her hair and her words. "I could really love you someday, Jack Korba. So cover your ass and make sure you're still around for us to find out."



She hesitated at the door, her eyes all over him as if to imprint a last image before she slipped inside, her hands already gliding up to start securing her hair. The door eased shut, closed her away from him.



"Hey, uh, Cobra?" Rodeo's call from the back of the military truck yanked him back to the present. "You about ready to roll, dude?"



Hell, how long had he been standing around like an idiot? Jack jogged the last few feet, the truck chugging exhaust into the dusky night, and vaulted into the back to sit beside his copilot.



"Damn, Cobra." Rodeo inched over on the bench seat. "That was one helluva goodbye. Guess she forgave you for spilling the beans to me about the Elvis chapel."



"Seems so."



Rodeo frowned. "Uh, are we okay? You and me? I really didn't mean anything with the dedication. That lady of yours must have read something on my face or whatever. Chicks have a way with that laser look. It's like they've got some kind of interuterine lie detector."



A smile twitched Jack's face. "Monica would pin you in a heartbeat for a sexist comment like that." The truck jolted forward. "But, yeah, man, we're okay. Although I figure you owe me a beer next time we're in Ireland."



"Done deal. And for what it's worth, I swear I haven't told a soul about, you know, the Elvis deal." The truck jarred along potholes and ruts. "But even if folks don't know all the details, I'm glad at least you've quit trying to hide your relationship."



"Yeah, great to have things out in the open now." Great, my ass.



"Isn't love grand?"



Love? Of course, right. She'd said she could love him. He should be punching the air with a victory shout. This was exactly what he'd hoped for with his strategy of using their time together. He'd won.



Oh, damn. Realization hit. He hadn't said it back.



He scoured his memory and...no. He really hadn't said it. Dumb ass. Hell, he'd told her he loved her at least a hundred times before they'd tied the knot in Vegas. But he'd held the words inside ever since.



Because she needed space, right? He didn't want to scare her off. Okay. Logical. So why not say it now when she'd opened the door wide?



The answer nailed him nose-on like a missile hit. Their marriage rocked him as much as it did her.



He hadn't held back the words for her. He was doing it for himself. He'd denied any deep-waters crap because he was scared as shit of risking a repeat of losing someone he loved.



Damn it all. He did not need these kinds of thoughts seconds before flying into combat. Thank God none of the other crew members could peek in his head or they'd be booting his butt off the truck onto the tarmac.



Plane drawing nearer, he worked to get his head on straight. All right. So he loved her. Really loved her.



The hell of it was, acknowledging the emotion didn't make him feel one bit better. But it sure made the prospect of flying into combat a lot less daunting in comparison.



"You gonna eat that?"



Monica stared across the chow hall table at Crusty already scooping up her chocolate-chip cookie. "Not anymore."



Not at all, actually, since her stomach was turning flips, but Captain Junk Food didn't need to know or he'd clean her out of even the things she might be able to choke down tonight.



"Thanks," he said as he jammed the whole cookie into his mouth.



Sitting beside him, Max Keagan ate silently, moving his cookie to the far side of the tray away from Crusty while the rest of the medivac crew and medical staffers took their seats in the nearly deserted mess hall. Quiet that should have been peaceful only served as an echoing reminder of crews and Rangers in the air. Monica shoved her tray aside.



Across the room, a lone figure peeled away from the food line with her meal. Yasmine stood solitary, holding her tray with her guard three steps behind her.



Did she have to look so damned pathetic searching for which of the hundred empty seats she would select?