They took a water break; chugging water was so important that they stopped even more than she would have thought necessary. Jina dropped to the grass, twisted the top off her water bottle, and chugged half of it at one go. Levi sat down beside her and said, “Hold out your hand.”

She paused with the water bottle still to her mouth and gave him a narrow, sideways look. “Why?” she asked suspiciously, scowling at him. She’d been through this routine before. Two brothers had taught her to never trust that what they put in her hand would be anything she wanted; it had almost always been something gross, like a dead mouse or fake poop. One memorable time the poop hadn’t been fake. Jordan and Taz had both got in trouble for that. Not only were those memories still sharp, but she figured any time Levi gave her his direct attention something was up, and she never liked it.

His gaze was cold and exasperated. “Are you going to question every order you’re given?”

His tone was a warning, loud and clear; she had to trust them, and if she didn’t, that was a big hurdle. Stopping to second-guess team members who actually knew what they were doing could get someone killed.

“Are you going to put a rat in my hand?” Around her, she heard the other guys start snickering, but she didn’t look at them. Never take your gaze off the enemy, and maybe Levi wasn’t exactly her enemy, but neither was he her friend. The philosophy held good for her.

Levi didn’t think it was funny. “I don’t waste my time with juvenile stunts.”

Or anything resembling a sense of humor, either. Warily, ready to jerk her hand back at the least touch of anything furry or icky, she held out her hand. Palm down.

He made a frustrated growling sound deep in his throat, seized her hand, and turned it over. She had a sharp impression of heat, strength, a calloused palm, then he slapped something metal into her palm and dropped her hand. She blew out a mental sigh of relief. Thank God, it was metal, though she supposed he wasn’t about to waste time with a dead mouse.

She looked down. The thing was about the size of an M67 grenade, and she was proud of herself for knowing that. She was also astonished at herself, for the same reason. What she was holding was army green and had a clam shell covering. It was a compass. “It’s a compass,” she said, then curled her lip at him. “What do I want with a compass? I have my phone. My phone even has someone inside it who talks to me and tells me when and in what direction to turn. I don’t need no stinkin’ compass.” Computers. She was comfortable with computers. Compasses were . . . kind of rudimentary. Never mind that Columbus and thousands of others had sailed the ocean blue with nothing but a compass, and an astrolabe or two. Hey, she could put that to music:

She even sang it for them, though the tune wasn’t noteworthy.

The other guys were outright laughing now, but Levi’s expression said he didn’t find either her song or her reasoning very funny. “You need a stinkin’ compass when there’s no cell service, or when you have to take the battery out of your phone so you can’t be tracked.”

“What will I be doing that I need a compass?” That was the main point, and one that alarmed her.

“Never can tell,” Trapper put in. “We never know where we might get sent. We all have one.”

Okay, there was that. It just felt discordant; what she would be doing with the team was high tech, so suddenly being forced to rely on a compass to get her to wherever she was supposed to be likely meant that everything had gone to hell in a handbasket—a situation she hoped never happened. She wasn’t equipped to handle hell, whether it was in a handbasket or not.

“You’re going to learn how to navigate by a compass,” Levi said, telling her what she’d already surmised. “Then I go into the woods, call in the coordinates, and you have to find me.”

She looked up at him, resigned. “Oh, freakin’ joy,” she muttered. “If I don’t find you, do you stay lost?”

“No, but you crap out of training.”

Well, losing him had been worth a shot.

She hadn’t used a compass in years. She opened the case and examined the one in her hand. This was a serious piece of work, not something bought from Walmart. It had 360 degrees on the rotating bezel, a declination arrow, meridian lines—the whole deal.

“Have you ever used one before?” Levi asked, his tone resigned, as if he hoped for nothing more than total ignorance.

“Of course. I was in Girl Scouts.” That was a lie. But her brothers had both been in Boy Scouts, and they had thought it was great fun to take her into the woods, give her the coordinates for home, then run off and leave her. At least they’d taken the time to teach her some about how to navigate by compass, though what had really saved her bacon a time or two was her own sense of direction, which was pretty damn great.

Another of those cool looks from him. “There wasn’t anything about Girl Scouts in your file.”

“Why would there be? I listed all my technological training, not my childhood extracurriculars.”

“I wasn’t talking about your application.”

Oh. He meant file. Duh. Of course all the trainees had been investigated; she should have thought of that. Rather than trying to continue bullshitting her way through the conversation, she shrugged and got down to business. “You have a map?”

He pulled one out of the cargo pocket on his right thigh and handed it over. She examined the map; it was a detailed topographical map, with all the necessary declination and longitude/latitude markings. “Give me a refresher,” she said. “It’s been a while.”

He got on one knee, to her right, and she did likewise, resting the map on her right thigh. A good compass did more than just point toward magnetic north, which wasn’t true north anyway. With the compass and a good map, she should be able to find her way to any particular point.

Levi gave her terse directions, leaning closer and watching sharply as she followed his instructions. He was so close that her shoulder was pressed against his rib cage. She could actually feel his heartbeat, strong and slow and steady.

Just like that, an avalanche of information overwhelmed her senses: the smell of sweat and dirt and man; the musk of his skin mixed with gunpowder from the live-fire exercises they’d run through earlier; the heat of his body, scalding her skin more than the prickling heat of the sun. It was somehow too much, too intimate, that she could feel his heartbeat. For a second she felt dizzy from the overload, then she took a deep, quiet breath and pushed all that away so she could concentrate on what he was saying.

He had her plot a course to something she could actually see, which was the main training course, a good half mile away. Some of what her brothers had taught her came back, and that was an easy test anyway, so she nailed it.

“Maybe you were a Girl Scout,” he commented, narrowing his eyes as he glanced up at the sun.

“I lied,” she said nonchalantly. “My brothers were in the Scouts, and they taught me.”

He rubbed between his eyebrows, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Plot another one.”

He could have skimped on the instruction, made it more difficult for her to successfully do the task, but he didn’t. Jina was still sharply aware of how much he didn’t want her there—he made that plain every day, in a hundred ways both large and small—but she couldn’t accuse him of undercutting her with inadequate training. Taking it easy on her would have been the fastest, easiest way to get rid of her, but he hadn’t taken it. She had to admit to a grudging respect for the strength of character he revealed every time he barked at her to go faster, run longer, to dig for resolve and second wind. If she crapped out of training, as he put it, the fault wouldn’t be his.

While she was working out a new course, he and Boom had a quiet side conference, maybe deciding whether or not they’d bother looking for her if she got lost.

He checked her results and nodded. “Okay, let’s do this. You have a time limit,” he added, glancing at the watch on his left wrist. “You have to find me in time for us to walk out before dark. If you’re slow, we’ll keep repeating the exercise until you get it right.”

“Tonight?” she asked in horror, because the afternoon was already half over and she didn’t like the idea of running around in the woods at night. That was a good way to break something, not to mention woods equaled snakes, and in the darkness she might step on one. No way would she ever admit it to them, but she was also a little night wary. She could sleep in the dark now, but growing up she’d needed a night-light, and she’d endured endless teasing about being a scaredy-cat. She knew she’d have a flashlight, but still.

He seemed to be reaching for patience. “No, not at night.” Then he looked thoughtful. “Not now, anyway. We might do a night exercise later.”

She should have kept her mouth shut.

One of the instructors drove up in a utility vehicle. Levi swung aboard, and she turned her back to him as they left. “Is there more water?” she asked the guys as she went over to the big cooler that was usually kept packed with water and ice. Normally the cooler was replenished about every hour, but according to the schedule they should be almost finished with all the PT so maybe it hadn’t been.

There was still plenty, though; she drank another bottle while she was standing there, because the heat and humidity sucked the moisture right out of her. Some days she felt as if she couldn’t physically drink enough water. She began scrounging around for something to put the extra bottles in, and Snake tossed her a small canvas bag that smelled like six-month sweat and man funk. It also looked as if it had never been washed. She didn’t care. She’d gotten used to grungy men.

While she was waiting for Levi’s location coordinates to come in, she sat with the compass and map and worked out some more plot courses.

Voodoo said snidely, “Don’t forget to take a flashlight.”

Meaning he didn’t think she could locate Levi and get back before dark. She shrugged and said, “Good idea.” If he thought he could get under her skin, he’d have to do better than that.

As the minutes ticked past, she got more and more worried. The farther away Levi chose to be, obviously the longer it would take her to get there and for them to get out, and sunset was getting closer and closer. He wouldn’t sabotage her like that, would he?

As soon as she had the thought, both her phone and Boom’s dinged with an incoming text: Levi’s coordinates.

Her instinct was to hurry, but she pushed that away; being accurate was most important right now. She took the topo map and found his location, then double-checked. She studied the map, then used the compass to plot two courses. He was diabolical. The most direct course, according to the topo map, was also the most difficult, with some steep hills to climb, dense vegetation, and a creek that might or might not be easy to ford. The longer route would bypass most of those difficulties, though that damn creek managed to get in her way.

She didn’t ask Boom or Snake, the two friendliest guys, to check her work. She either did this on her own or she failed. She folded the map and stuck it in the zippered pocket on her thigh, slung the bag strap around her neck on the diagonal, and set off at a brisk lope. Running flat-out in this heat would exhaust her fast, but she didn’t have the luxury of taking her time, either.

Her feet pounded the pavement as she cut across the parking lot; cutting through the training area would have been faster, but there were people on-site executing training exercises; suddenly darting through the middle of one of them would be a good way to get several people hurt. Leaving the training area behind, she cut through a small field that was knee-high in weeds, then stopped to take her bearings again.

She hadn’t gone far enough west to skirt the roughest terrain. She set off again.

At the edge of another field, the weeds disguised a drainage ditch that she didn’t see in time to jump it and instead plunged in with both feet. She wasn’t hurt, but the green, slightly slimy water in the ditch came almost to her knees and immediately gushed inside her boots, soaking her socks.

“Damn it,” she groused as she grabbed a clump of greenery to haul herself out of the ditch. A briar jabbed into her palm. “Son of a bitch!” In too much of a hurry to stop and hack the offending bristly plant to pieces, she clambered out, sat on the ground to pull off her boots and empty them of water, then started out again.

A quarter of a mile later, she stopped for another compass reading. This time, she’d gone far enough west. Now she needed to head due north. According to the coordinates he’d sent, Levi should be about five miles straight ahead.

Five miles. She could do that, even though the terrain of the course she’d chosen wasn’t as challenging as the most direct route, but neither was it flat. Two months ago she couldn’t have done five miles, at least not at the speed she needed, but that was two months ago. This was now, and she was all “I’m Woman, Hear Me Roar.” Uh-huh. As if she’d have enough breath for roaring.

Then she hit the woods. She stopped long enough to cut herself a nice, sturdy, five-foot-long stick, both for extra support on the uneven ground and for a means of dealing with snakes. She drank some water, because sweat was pouring off her in rivers in the steamy humidity, and set out again. Gnats swarmed around her head. One actually got in her nose and she had no choice but to stop, because she was jumping up and down and cussing and trying to blow her nose to get the damn thing out. When she finally had her nose gnat-free, she could only thank her patron saint—she assumed everyone had one, whether they were Catholic or not—that she was alone and none of the guys saw that particular spastic fit. She’d never have lived it down. They might have changed her nickname from Babe to Gnat, in honor of the occasion.

As bad as Babe was, she preferred it over Gnat.

With an estimated three miles to go, she realized she had a problem.

Her wet socks and wet boots were doing their best to take the skin off her feet. She could feel the blisters forming on her heels and across her toes as her feet moved up and down inside the boots—and these were her good boots, the ones that fit the best. Damn it, damn it, damn it. She had run miles in these boots, probably a hundred miles, and this was the first time they’d given her any trouble. Of course, this was the first time both the boots and her socks were waterlogged. There was no telling what kind of germs were in that drainage ditch, either. A quick personal inventory told her that she hadn’t automatically stuck any adhesive bandages in her cargo pockets, either, not that they’d stay stuck considering how wet her feet were.

There was nothing to do but keep on. She had to keep pounding, pushing through brush, climbing over rocks and fallen trees. Turning back would mean she failed to accomplish the mission, and she couldn’t trust that she’d get a second chance. She had to find Levi; then and only then could she worry about her feet.

But, damn, every blister was a hot and growing point of pain. Clenching her toes to move the pressure around didn’t help. She thought of stopping just long enough to take her wet socks off, but that would make her feet move around inside the boots even more. All she’d get for that was new blisters.

She stopped to take another compass reading and drink more water. That was two bottles down, and two left. Sweat drenched her; her olive drab tee was as wet as her pants and boots. Her hair clung to the back of her neck, and her eyes stung from the salt in her sweat. Being tough was not for the fastidious, but this was one of those times when she’d rather be fastidious than tough.

By mile four, she was using the stick to help bear her weight. A check of her phone told her she’d been fairly fast, even hampered as she was with painful blisters; she’d get to Levi in time for them to walk out before dark. She wasn’t certain how she’d manage the five miles back to the training site, but she’d worry about that after she found him.

The last three-quarters of a mile were the hardest. The terrain roughened from just forest to uphill forest, with boulders and rocks and fallen trees, and thicker underbrush where the fallen trees had let in more sunlight. Climbing up a slick rock face wasn’t fun, because if a snake was going to sun itself anywhere, on a rock would be the place. Once her boot slipped on some moss and for a moment she thought she was going to slide all the way down, but she managed to catch herself within a foot or so. She skinned one elbow and her hand, but that was it.

Once on the other side of the rock, the terrain smoothed out again. She checked her bearings with the compass, adjusted a little to the left, and five minutes later walked up on Levi, sitting on another large rock, a bottle of water dangling from one hand and a book in the other. He wasn’t reading, though; he was watching her approach.

“Whatcha reading?” she asked casually, as if she hadn’t almost killed herself getting to him in time.

Instead of answering he said, “You’re limping.” His tone was curt.

Why did every comment he made feel like a criticism? She tried not to bristle. “Blisters. My feet got wet. C’mon, let’s go, we have to get out of here by dark. Your rules.”

Instead of getting up, he dug his phone out of his pocket and sent a text.

Jina stared at him, feeling a flash of anger. Now he was going to sabotage her by deliberately delaying?

“If you make us late, that’s on you,” she said sharply. “Or I’ll leave and you can stay here. I’ve found you. If I make it back before dark, I’ve completed my mission, whether you’re with me or not.” She gripped her stick and turned around, not willing to waste another minute.

“Sit down and pull your boots off,” he ordered just as sharply. “I texted Boom to come pick us up.”

“What? No!” She gripped the stick tighter, ready to whale him with it. “I found you. I can make it back before dark. I won’t let you knock me out of this by—”

“Stow it,” he interrupted, dark eyes cutting through her. “I didn’t say we had to walk out, I said you had to find me fast enough that we’d have enough time to walk out. You did. I already had it set up with Boom to pick us up, though he can’t get all the way here. We’ll have to hike part of the way, so your feet need taking care of. Now pull off your damn boots and socks.”

She could have strangled him. She seriously thought about trying, except he’d take her down so easily it would be humiliating. Her stress level was through the roof, her common sense was trying to talk her temper down from the ledge, and she was so knocked off balance that she was dangerously close to crying. She might have cried a time or two once she was home alone, but she’d never cried in front of the guys and didn’t intend to start now, especially not with Levi.

“No point in it,” she muttered after a moment of struggle with her stubbornness. “I don’t have a first aid kit with me.”

“Maybe you’re not prepared,” he shot back, “but I am.” He pulled a small yellow kit from his left thigh pocket. She had one just like it . . . in her car. She didn’t carry anything she didn’t think she’d need, and she hadn’t thought to get it from her car before she started out. Of course, she hadn’t planned on stepping in a water-filled drainage ditch, either. And it was just like Levi to point out her error.

But her feet were hurting like blue blazes, and some bandages would keep the damage from getting worse. Scowling, she sat down on the rock and began unlacing her boots. She peeled off her wet socks and surveyed the blisters on both heels, and across the tops of her toes on both feet. “Crap.” This was going to be a pain for a couple of days.

She held out her hand for the first aid kit, but instead Levi crouched in front of her and lifted her right foot onto his knee. Her mouth dropped open, and a flurry of words crowded into her throat, fighting to come out. “What? Hey! I can do that!” That wasn’t all her words, but they were the coherent ones.

She tried to pull her foot back, but he closed his long fingers around her ankle and firmly held it in place. He flicked a glance up at her. “I’ve got it.”

Abruptly her heart was pounding like a sledgehammer. She stared at his big hand, feeling the heat of it burn through her skin. He was so big and muscled that he made her feel overwhelmed, as if he had her flat on her back—Whoa! She shut that thought down in a hurry, but she was so unnerved that her whole body jerked.

Again the cutting glance. His eyes were so dark she couldn’t tell the difference between his irises and pupils. “Be still,” he said, and there was something in his voice, some subtle inflection, that she couldn’t decipher but nevertheless went all the way to the bone and froze her in place.

Levi looked back down at the slender foot he held and concentrated on keeping all reaction out of his face. It was just a foot, for fuck’s sake—a girly foot, with bright pink polish on the toenails, and a glittery stripe painted diagonally across each nail, but still just a foot. The hard truth remained, literally, that he’d been less turned on by looking at a completely naked woman than he was by holding Babe’s bare foot. He was touching her skin. Not the skin he preferred to be touching, but still, her skin.

And it was skin that needed some first aid. The blisters on her heels had broken open and could easily get infected.

“How did your feet get wet?” he asked as he opened the kit and took out a squeeze-pack of antibiotic salve.

“Drainage ditch. I didn’t see it until I was in it.”

He gave a brief nod. Shit happened to everyone. He’d gotten his feet wet a time or twenty, about half the time on purpose. You had to plan for it, because dry feet were essential. All of them were former military, except for her. The importance of keeping their feet dry had been drilled into them, but he’d overlooked getting her in the same frame of mind. These blisters were his fault.

“I should have told you to always pack extra pairs of socks,” he said, trying to ease the curtness of his tone. He fought a constant battle when he was around her, and only by erring on the side of asshole could he keep things completely hands-off. Now, in spite of himself, he was touching her, just like when she’d started to fall off the rope and before he knew it he’d grabbed her to keep her from getting hurt. Keeping his distance was getting tougher by the day. He didn’t have a noble bone in his body; his dick was pointing at her like a bird dog toward a nice fat quail, and telling his dick no didn’t come naturally to him.

But she looked as if she’d jump like a scalded cat if he barked at her, or moved too fast, so he had to tone it down. Getting her feet taken care of was more important than keeping his distance. “My fault,” he said calmly. “I didn’t think about it. But in the future, always keep two or three pairs of socks with you if we’re in the field—as well as a first aid kit,” he added pointedly, squeezing the salve onto the broken blister on her right foot.

“I wondered when you’d get around to that,” she grumbled.

Deftly he plastered a bandage over her heel, then took care of the blisters on top of her toes, using one bandage to cover two toes, taping them together, then another bandage on the other two small toes on that foot. Only her big toe had escaped blistering.

On her left foot, all five toes were blistered. He shook his head. “If you’re in a jungle and don’t take care of your feet, you’ll end up with jungle rot, and that’s a bad deal.” As he bandaged that foot he told her about the time he’d overlooked taking care of his feet in humid conditions, how he’d spent six days in sick bay, completely pissed off because his team deployed without him. All the while he talked, in a separate part of his brain he was thinking what it would be like to crawl up between her legs and put her flat on the big rock. He already had her foot in his hand, all he had to do was move it to the side, stand, and he was there.

With his hands on her foot and ankle he could feel the fine tremors that were quaking her, though when he glanced up she was staring fixedly at her right foot as if she could will it to heal. Her cheeks were pink, though, and he could see her pulse fluttering at the base of her slender neck. Instinctively he looked lower, to where twin little points tented her tee, and his mouth started watering like a damn teenager’s. He wanted his mouth on those nipples. He wanted his mouth on her, period, wanted her under his hands, under him.

Fuck.

He set his jaw and finished slapping bandages on her left foot. Then, to give himself something to do, shifted around to sit beside her and picked up her boots, running his fingers around the inside to feel for any rough edges. Granted, her feet were soft, but she’d rubbed up those blisters faster than he’d have thought, even after getting the boots wet.

No seams or edges. He frowned and looked at her socks, noticed that they were oddly lumpy. He turned one inside out and pieces of foam fell on the rock. “What the hell?”

“Foam,” she said, picking up the pieces and slipping them into her pocket.

“I can see that. Why do you have foam in your socks?”

“To keep my boots from flopping up and down on my feet and rubbing blisters.” She scowled. “Doesn’t work when everything’s wet.”

She could effortlessly punch buttons he hadn’t even known he had. Just the idea—“Why the hell don’t you just buy boots that fucking fit?” he snapped. At first they’d all tried to watch their language around her, but as the days had gone by they’d slipped back into their old habits, and she never paid any attention to their language or reacted in any way. But sitting so close to her, being turned on by her and knowing she reacted the same way to him . . . saying fuck wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done, because it took his thoughts right back to the track he’d been trying to get out of.

She whirled toward him, amber and blue eyes spitting fire. “Because they don’t make these boots that fucking fit,” she snarled back at him. Then she caught herself and turned facing forward again. “At least not that I’ve found. I need size seven narrow, with extra narrow heels. These are medium width.”

They looked like a kid’s boots to him, but then he wore a size thirteen. Again he felt an unaccustomed surge of guilt, because he should have realized she wouldn’t know how to find the proper boots—though, damn it, she could have asked.

“How in hell have you been running?” Because she had. She’d had to work up to their stamina, but now she pretty much ran as much as the rest of the team, unless she was on drone training.

Defiantly she pointed toward the foam. “That and insoles. Low tech, but it’s mostly worked. I stuff the foam around my heels. I guess now I’ll start putting it over my toes, too.”

“No, now we’ll find you some boots that damn well fit. Where did you get these?”

“The mall.”

He muttered a few more cuss words. “Because it never occurred to you to ask us where to get boots that fit, huh?”

She bristled up at him again. Even though they were sitting side by side, the top of her head barely came to his chin, but that didn’t stop her. She had no common sense, he thought; most men wouldn’t cross him, but she didn’t hesitate. But maybe she sensed he’d rather break his own hands than hurt her. No, that wasn’t it, because she fired up at all the other guys, too, and as far as he knew none of them were tied up in knots over her.

“A: Y’all were gone. B: I needed them fast. Running in sneakers was hell, with sand getting inside them. C: I was too tired at the end of the day to do much more than eat a sandwich and take a shower. I found what I could find as fast as I could find it.” She bit the words off, clipping each sound with an audible snap of her teeth.

He could chew her out, argue with her, or just cut bait and move on. He decided on the latter, because she’d argue until nightfall. “All right. I’ll find you some boots that fit. In the future, damn it, tell me if you have a problem. I’m not a fucking mind reader.” Again that uncomfortable awareness at his word choice zinged through him. Fuck, was he going to have to stop saying fuck?

“Yes, sir,” she said so flatly he knew he’d be lucky if she so much as asked him what time it was.

He scrubbed his hand over his face and blew out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know how much good it did to put those bandages on your feet when you have to put those wet socks back on, but it’s either that or I carry you to the pickup point. Boom should be there soon.”

She muttered something that sounded like “cold day in hell,” but it was enough under her breath that he didn’t push her on it. Instead she picked up the socks and began working them on her feet. After packing the pieces of foam inside the socks, around her heels, she gingerly tugged on her boots and stood. She made a face. “Not great, but I can walk. It’s better than before.” Then she grudgingly added, “Thanks.”

Probably just as well he didn’t have to carry her; he’d have liked getting his hands on her again way too much. Better that they keep on the way they were, with her throwing up her temper as a way to keep him at a distance, and him locking away his impulses to go all caveman on her because, God, he’d like nothing better than to throw her over his shoulder and carry her to bed, or to the floor, or hell, against the wall.

And that would destroy the team. Even if the changed dynamics didn’t blow everything to hell, if he made a move on her himself after putting her off-limits to the other guys, their resentment would do the damage. He’d done what was safest for her and best for the team, and now he had to live with it.

He could hear the far-off rumble of an engine. Both relieved and annoyed, he said, “There’s Boom. Let’s move.”