CHAPTER 2
Ram Torres could barely keep his eyes open after his alarm clock went off at 0900. For whatever reason, after a brutal six-night op in the mountains of Afghanistan, his boss had ordered him into his office at 0915. What the hell! Eyes burning with fatigue, he threw on a clean t-shirt, grabbed a fresh, if rumpled, pair of desert cammo trousers, then pulled on his boots, and added his sidearm.
His stomach grumbled, echoing how he felt at the prospect of an official interview this damned early. Not only was he sleep-deprived, but every joint in his body ached and he desperately wanted to crash and burn. All he needed was another ten hours in the sack. Was that too much to ask?
Cinching up his webbed belt, he took a swipe at his short black beard, and ran his fingers through his shaggy hair, yanking open the door. His room was only a few steps down the hall from Wyatt’s office.
Absently, Ram wondered how the hell Wyatt could even be half alert at this point. Gritting his teeth, he knocked on the door and silently told himself, Cool down, Ram. Being an asshole won’t get you anywhere with this guy.
A beat, then two. “Enter,” Wyatt drawled.
Ram pulled the door open. Lockwood was bent over one of the many reports stacked in a wobbly pile on his desk. It looked like a bomb had gone off on that desk, but Ram knew his boss was always playing catch up. The snatch-and-grab teams at J-bad were on the job nonstop, and the paperwork trail lagged far behind.
“You wanted to see me?” he asked, grabbing a chair. He waited for Wyatt to motion him to sit down. Despite his annoyance, he had real respect for Wyatt and the job he did.
“Yeah,” Lockwood said, putting down his pen, “I do. Have a seat.” He folded his hands and gazed at Torres. “I want to speak to you about something that happened last night on that op.”
Ram sat down. He was taken aback. “Sure. What was it?”
“You and Montero were checking out our three Taliban captives sitting outside the hut. If you recall, they were already flex-cuffed with their hands behind their backs.”
Ram scowled. Lockwood had hauled his ass out of bed for a replay of last night’s capture? Rubbing his beard, he said, “Okay. So what?” Normally he’d have a debrief on the latest mission two or three days later because they were all whipped and exhausted. Why the hell was his boss bringing this up right now? It made no sense.
“So,” Wyatt said, “I looked over at you two and noticed you weren’t watching Montero’s back. It was her job to not only check that the cuffs were tight enough, but she also had to go through each man’s clothing looking for maps, photos, and anything else she could find. You were looking elsewhere when your focus should have been on her.”
“She didn’t need me. She knew what she was doing.”
“That’s not the point, Ram. You were chosen as a team to go do it together. One person searches, the other watches his or her back. You stood off, your rifle barrel pointed down at the ground. And you were staring everywhere else but at her.”
Snorting, Ram muttered, “And you got me out of my bunk for this?” He knew he was nearly overstepping bounds between a petty officer and a chief. A chief had a lot more clout than he did.
Lockwood’s mouth tightened. “I want to know why you weren’t focused on Montero and her activities.”
“She’s very capable. She didn’t need another set of eyes on her task.”
“And what if one of the prisoners had slipped out of those cuffs? What if he’d grabbed her? You were standing twenty feet away, looking elsewhere and paying no attention to her.”
Anger tinged his impatience. “She’s proven herself fully, one-hundred percent capable out here, Wyatt.”
“Hey, Ram. Remember this—we’re a team, and our strength comes from depending on each other so we can defend each other if needed.”
“What? Me looking here and there instead of at her was going to get her killed? Come on!”
“Stand down, Ram.” Lockwood was out of his chair now and Ram inched back a bit, surprised. “This isn’t the first time you’ve worked in this kind of situation, but the last time you were teamed with another guy. You performed very differently. I was there. That time, you were completely focused on your buddy.”
Ram was beginning to sense that he was in real trouble here. He rubbed his hands slowly up and down the pant legs of his trousers. “What’s this really about?”
Sitting back down in his chair, Wyatt shook his head. “Look, this isn’t the first time you’ve left Montero vulnerable. But I’m telling you now—it’s the last time it’s going to happen on my watch. If one of the tangos had grabbed her, you couldn’t have moved fast enough to help her. You let her down, you let me down, and you let the team down.”
That was the last straw. “Hell,” Ram exploded, “she’s totally able to take care of herself! She doesn’t need me around to coddle her.”
Drumming his fingers on the desk for a moment, Wyatt said, “You know, every time we talk and I bring up Montero, you go ballistic. Have you noticed that, Ram?”
Ram shrugged. “No, I haven’t.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Why don’t you tell me? You’re the head shrink around here,” Ram shot back. “Do you think there’s something wrong with my brain?”
Wyatt sat back, searching for the right response. “In a sense, I think there is, Ram. But the good news is, I think it’s something that can be changed.”
“Can you spell it out for me, Wyatt?”
He frowned and sat up, folding his hands on the desk. “What you’re doing psychologically is called ‘projection.’ Just about everyone does it, but if you become aware of it, you can catch yourself and stop it, instead of messing up an innocent party.”
Now, Ram was listening. Lockwood’s no-bullshit volley was getting him nervous. He’d seen others lose their rank for less than the resistance he’d just given his boss.
“Okay, I’m listening,” he conceded. “Since I’ve never heard of ‘projection’ before, maybe you can give me an example?”
Wyatt nodded approvingly. “Glad you asked. Since your personnel file is my business, I know all about your background up to when you joined the Navy.”
Instantly, Ram tensed. He knew Wyatt would never talk about anyone’s past with anyone else. But what exactly was he getting at here between the two of them?
“You distrust women,” Wyatt continued, holding his gaze. “It goes back to when your mother abandoned you as a kid. And it’s understandable, Ram.”
A piercing pain shot through Ram’s heart. His fingers curled around the arms of the chair and he sat very still. “So what! What does this have to do with projection?” he ground out. “Nobody said life is fair!”
Wyatt didn’t move, his eyes narrowing. “From that point on in your life, Ram, you saw every woman you met in that same light.”
“What? Did I think they were all bad mothers who would eventually abandon their kids?” Ram shot back.
“No, Ram. It’s not about that. It’s about trust. In your mind, no woman could be trusted not to hurt you.”
Pushing his fingers through his thick, uncombed hair, he muttered, “You’re saying I don’t trust women as a whole? Right?”
“Exactly. Which brings me to Montero. It’s pretty clear she’s a woman, and ever since she arrived on our team, you’ve made sure she doesn’t feel welcome. When this started happening, I didn’t step in right away because every team needs time to assimilate a female in its ranks. Some of the other men had a similar response to Montero, but after being with us three months, everyone else has folded her into our team, welcomed her, and trusted her with their backs. Except you. You do not trust Montero,” Wyatt added heavily.
“Hell no, I don’t trust her! I don’t care how well trained she is, how many languages she knows, or how good a sniper she is. She’s a woman!”
“And that’s where your projection comes in, Torres. You dump what your mother did to you onto her. Until now, you haven’t realized that you’re doing it, but now there’s no more excuse. Montero is as much my business as you are, and if you’re unable to get your act together, we’ll have to find another assignment for you.”
Ram’s breathing became fast and shallow and he found himself gripping the arms of the chair so tightly he wondered if he was leaving dents in the aluminum. “I did not intend to leave her vulnerable, Wyatt.”
“I know that. But it doesn’t excuse what you unconsciously did.” He jabbed a finger at him. “I want you to get on top of this projection shit that you’re putting on Montero because she does not deserve it. She’s been nothing but professional and fully capable since she joined our team. And she deserves all your positive energy to reject this attitude you’ve had toward women. I want you working on this 24/7/365 until you stop treating her like your mother treated you. Start having her back and protecting her as well as she’s already protecting you.”
Ram glared back at him, trying to subdue his raging adrenalin. Lockwood was giving him an ultimatum. “And if I don’t believe in this mumbo jumbo you’re throwing at me?”
“Then I’m reassigning you to another platoon. I won’t have you on my team,” Lockwood said. “You cannot leave one of the team members wide open and without back-up. If it happens again, I’ll be signing papers to release you from this platoon.”
Ram sat there for a long time, trying to sort all this out. “And how the hell do I go about fixing this? How am I supposed to fix what I don’t even see? You can’t blame me for something that I’m not aware of.”
“You’re aware now,” Wyatt said firmly, underscoring the word, now. And I know you aren’t always going to catch yourself at first. But the more you stay on top of it, Ram, the faster you’ll change this pattern and get rid of it. Start treating Montero like any other member of our team. She’s already proven she can do the job as far as I’m concerned. And everyone else on the team, except you, has embraced and trusted her fully. You have to learn to watch her six, protect her when called for, and trust her.
“Shit, I’ve never met a woman who is trustworthy!”
“Yeah,” he drawled, “I got that message from you in spades. Has Montero ever caused you to distrust her? Give me one example of when she did something.”
Ram stared down at his knees. His heart was pounding and he felt panic set in as Lockwood kept coming at him. Damn that woman! he thought, transferring his anger and guilt on Ali Montero. This was her fault! Finally, he lifted his gaze to Wyatt, who sat staring expectedly at him. “She’s made mistakes on every op we’ve been on,” he lied.
“Bullshit! You own this one, Torres. Both of us know she’s been exemplary. And you know that if something had gone wrong, I’d have seen it or heard about it. Nobody gets a free pass here, including you.”
Ram sat there, feeling humiliated. It brought back all those times when, as a child, he’d been told he’d never be good enough.
He shook himself, realizing what he was at risk of losing. This was his family, dammit! This team was the only family he’d ever known, and Lockwood was like the father he’d always wished for. There was too much to lose! He was stunned to think that Wyatt would release him from the only family he’d ever had.
“Look,” Ram muttered, lifting his hands in surrender. “I-I know this is serious. You’ve never threatened to boot me off the team before.” Searching Wyatt’s grim face, he muttered, “I’m no psychologist. I didn’t realize I was doing that to Montero. I do want to fix it, but I’m telling you, I feel damned scared. I’m afraid I’ll fail and you’ll kick me out anyway.”
“Don’t even go there,” Wyatt warned. “I’m giving you one chance to fix this situation if you want to. You know what you’re doing to her, and why you’ve been doing it. Now, go fix it! No one says you have to be best buddies. Just stop treating her like the enemy and give her the respect she deserves—the respect she’s earned from everyone else.”
“I got it,” Ram mumbled. “But I still don’t understand this projection shit. She isn’t my mother. I know that. And I’m having a helluva time trying to understand the connection.”
“Then don’t try,” Wyatt said. “If you don’t grasp it, that’s fine. Just change your attitude and your behavior, and if you don’t and I find out you’ve left her unprotected, you’ll be out of here before you can pack your stuff. Got it?”
“Yeah,” he rumbled, “I got it.” It felt as if someone had cold cocked him with a sledgehammer, his head reeling, his heart thudding with terror. He couldn’t lose the only family he’d ever known! These men genuinely cared for him. He needed this team more than Lockwood or anyone else would ever know. “May I be dismissed?”
“Go,” Lockwood said, gesturing to the door. “Get some shut-eye and sleep on our conversation.”
How the hell could he sleep? Anger toward Montero rushed through him. He wanted to blame her for this. Had she complained to Wyatt? Most likely—but maybe not. He just didn’t know. Scratching his head, he slunk back to his room. There was no way he could sleep right now. He’d go over to the chow hall and grab breakfast. His gut was rumbling, but not from hunger. He knew it was upset. Who wouldn’t be at the prospect of losing his position on the team? And now he had to make nice with Montero! He didn’t trust her. He just couldn’t! There wasn’t a woman alive that was trustworthy, that was for damned sure.
He was in such a foul mood that he barely paid attention to the morning sunlight warming the enclosed compound. He could hear Apache helos taking off in twos for an op. At the airport runway, a C-130 Hercules was landing, probably with more supplies for the base and all the other black-ops groups who were deployed to it. There was the nose-wrinkling smell of jet fuel and kerosene in the air. He was shuffling along in his boots, the dirt rising in puffs, when he saw something moving between several wooden pallets haphazardly stacked beside the path. Then, he heard whining.
It was a puppy.
Halting, Ram scowled and focused on the three stacks of pallets.
Another whine. Then, a cry. A pitiful one filled with pain.
Curious, he strode over to the area. His eyes widened. There was a puppy, probably no more than six weeks old, with its front paw trapped by a fallen pallet. The poor creature looked starved, its ribs poking through its matted coat.
The puppy looked up at him, its brown eyes huge and pleading.
“Okay, okay,” Ram muttered, moving around the pallet. He slid his hand beneath the belly of the puppy and freed its paw, then quickly lifted it out. Grimacing, he saw the paw was bloodied. The dog clearly needed a vet. Exhausted, it collapsed into Ram’s large palm.
Turning, Ram changed course and went over to the medical facility. It was a small, rectangular one-story concrete building with a couple of windows. Often, they were blown out by mortars hurled from over the wire and onto the base by the Taliban.
The pup whined weakly, resting its head against Ram’s shirt, eyes closed.
Mounting the steps, Ram pushed the door open and jerked to a halt. There was Ali Montero behind the desk, dressed in civilian jeans, and a loose pink top with capped sleeves. Her black hair was down. He blinked twice, stunned that she was here, of all places. She looked up and her gold-brown eyes flared, first with shock, and then surprise, as her gaze flew to the puppy in his hand.
“Oh, dear,” she said, as she came around the desk and approached him. “What happened?”
“I—uh was walking to the chow hall and I heard something crying. I found this pup with its paw caught beneath a pallet.” He could smell her scent and it stirred him. Because Ali was in black ops, she used only Afghan lye soap to wash with. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, trying to stop his body from reacting to the fact she was an incredibly beautiful woman.
“Oh, I volunteer to do office work for the staff here. They’re short-handed. I usually take calls, make appointments, greet patients coming in, and stuff like that.”
His flat black brows drew down. “You do? He realized he sounded incredulous.
Ali gently stroked the puppy’s head, its eyes barely open. “Yes. Listen, bring the puppy back to an empty room and I’ll get some water for her or him.”
He nodded, following Ali. “It’s a her,” was all he said. It was one thing to see Montero in combat gear, but a whole different experience seeing her in civvies. She had an incredible rear end, a nice, swaying walk, and all his hormones went from zero to a hundred as he watched her long, black hair moving like a shining blanket across her shoulders and halfway down her back. Having seen her only in combat gear, he’d had no idea how hot she looked when she was out of it!
She halted at the second room, opened the door, and stepped inside. By the time he arrived, she had placed a white towel on the aluminum gurney.
“Set her there, okay?” She quickly gathered an eyedropper and a small jar with sterilized water in it. “First things first. Let’s hydrate her.”
Automatically, Ram held up the pup’s head so she could gently ease the eyedropper of water into its little mouth. She squeezed it and instantly, the puppy began to weakly try to drink.
“Ohh, that’s a good sign,” Ali said, her head bent, her long hair framing her face. “Let’s try another dose.” She sucked more water into the dropper.
Ram watched how gentle she was with the animal, and how the puppy responded to her. It drank ten droppers of water before it was sated, then it began to wriggle around, a lot more energetic than before.
“Good,” Ali praised, giving Ram a quick smile of triumph, “let me get Dr. Abraham Samson. He’s an MD, but he’s the doc who knows how to take care of animals, too.” She reached out, briefly touching his lower arm. “I’ll be right back, Torres.”
Still stunned by all that had happened, Ram decided the combo of barely sleeping for six days out on the op, Lockwood’s threat to send him out of his family, and Montero being here unexpectedly, made him feel dazed. He was never quick with words, always thinking about them before replying. Ali was the opposite. She was a fast thinker and a fast communicator.
The door opened and a short, thin man in a white coat, stethoscope around his neck, came in. “Ali, what do we have here?” he asked. Turning to Ram, he said, “I’m Dr. Samson.”
“Petty Officer Second Class, Torres, sir.”
“This your little lady?” Samson asked, going over and giving the pup a critical look.
Ram explained how he’d found her. He saw Ali stand aside, hands clasped in front, her gaze on the puppy.
“I see,” he murmured. “Let’s take a look at that paw, shall we?”
Ram stood uneasily next to the examination table, Ali at the other end of it, trying to avoid the odd looks she gave him. His discomfort rose.
“I’d say we need to x-ray her paw. Can you get Sloan from x-ray and tell her what’s up, Ali?
“Yes, sir, I will.” She hurried out the door and closed it quietly behind her.
Samson listened to the pup’s chest and sides. “Got a name for her?” he asked, smiling up at Ram.
“Uh, no sir.”
“You keeping her?”
“Well . . . ”
The door opened and Ali poked her head inside. “Dr. Samson? Sloan says she’s ready. Do you want me to carry the pup down or do you want to do it?”
“No, I’ll do it. I’m not sure she hasn’t fractured the lower bone of her leg, too.”
“Ooh,” she murmured, giving the puppy a regretful look. “Sloan said she has some milk in the fridge. Could we give her some? She looks terribly thin.”
“Yes, good idea,” Dr. Samson said, easing his hands beneath the pup.
“I need to get going,” Ram told them abruptly. Being around caring people bothered the hell out of him. It turned him into a ball of unraveling yarn and he hated feeling vulnerable.
“Oh,” Dr. Sampson said, tucking the pup against his chest, both hands around her. “Aren’t you going to keep her?”
“No, there’s no room in my place.”
“There is room, Torres,” Ali shot back, her voice firm. “You’d throw this puppy away? Then why did you bring her in here?”
Stung, he glared at her and pushed past the doctor. Ali automatically opened the door and stepped aside, matching his hard look with her own. Making a left turn, he strode angrily down the hall and out the door.
“What was that all about?” Dr. Sampson asked, walking with Ali down the hall toward the x-ray room.
“Oh,” she sighed, “we don’t get along.”
“That was pretty obvious.”
She managed a wry smile. “Yeah. He doesn’t like me. Never will.”
“Because you’re in the team—and a woman?”
Ali opened the door that led to where Sloan was waiting at the x-ray table. “Yes. Plus, there’s a personality conflict the size of the Grand Canyon between us.”
“I see. Well, what are we going to do with this pup? She’s going to need a place to stay. We can’t just let her go.”
“I’ll take her,” Ali said quickly. “Ram was fibbing. Our rooms are ten by ten, and I’ll get a rug, a nice little warm blanket she can snuggle under, and I’ll take care of her.”
“Good. You’ve got a soft heart, Ms. Montero. Must be that Yaqui blood in you. Native Americans are always close to animals.” He placed the pup on the x-ray table and Sloan went to work.
Ali had always loved Dr. Samson. He was the reason she’d begun to volunteer here. J-bad was a small but vital black-ops base and there were a lot fewer military folks in the country now. The doc didn’t have the staff he needed, and Ali was fast on a computer and a whiz at typing patients’ reports. Besides, he reminded her of her father, Diego, who was born in Mexico.
Diego had attained his green card and become a naturalized American citizen when Ali and her sister were young. He, too, loved animals, loved the land, and was now the manager at a huge pecan farm near Marana, Arizona. She missed him and her mother terribly—and of course her baby sister, Cara, who wasn’t really a baby anymore. Her team’s deployments were six months long and then they’d rotate back to the San Diego SEAL base where they’d stay another six months. Then, they’d rotate right back here to J-bad.
After the x-rays were taken, Dr. Samson gestured for her to pick up the puppy, while he studied it carefully. Ali nestled its tiny, thin body into her hands, while Sloan ran to the fridge and grabbed the bottle of milk and got a small saucer. Together, they set the milk and saucer down in a corner and Ali knelt, gently placing the pup close to the dish. Smelling the milk, she dived head first into the bowl, drinking hungrily.
Ali and Sloan clucked and made sympathetic sounds. Sloan grabbed some squares of gauze while Ali held up the pup, wiping its face free of the milk splattered all over it. The pup’s tiny pink tongue was furiously licking as much of the milk as she could get off her fur.
Dr. Sampson came over. “Why not try an empty syringe, Ali? Fill it with some milk and give it to the pup by mouth. I think she’s a little too young, she’s got a broken foot, and she’s probably used to her mama, not a saucer.”
“That’s a good idea!” Sloan said, leaping to her feet. “One syringe coming up!”
Dr. Sampson gave the pup some lidocaine to numb the injured area so he could clean it up, while Ali held the pup between her hands. She loved its light-brown eyes sparkling with awareness. “We need to name her, Dr. Sampson.”
“Go ahead,” he urged, cleaning the dried blood off the paw. “Something brave and stubborn. She’s been without food or water for days, from the looks of her.”
Sloan came back with a syringe filled with warmed milk. Ali guided the plastic opening into the pup’s mouth and she instantly began to suckle on it as if it were her mother’s teat. Ali gave Sloan a happy grin.
Sloan laughed. “Great idea, Doctor!”
Dr. Sampson watched for a moment. “She’s a survivor. Look how strong she’s suckling. Have you thought of a name yet, Ali?”
“No. I really think I want to go back and talk to Torres about it. He saved her life. And my gut tells me he really wanted to keep her.”
“He looked pretty upset about something,” Dr. Sampson agreed.
“I know. I think I owe him an apology. I came on to him like a Mack truck.”
“You? No, not our Ali. All our patients say nothing but kind things about you.”
“Thanks, Doc. But as soon as we get done with the pup, I’ll take her back to our place and get her settled in. Then, I’ll see if I can hunt down Torres.”
“Okay, but she’s going to need some serious care for a bit.” Dr. Sampson warned, spraying the pup’s paw with antiseptic and wrapping gently.
“I’ve seen Torres with the little boys in the villages and they dote on him. I don’t know if we were just too much for him, or if he’s wiped out from that op we just came off. He’s probably sleep deprived, too, making him more grouchy than usual.”
“You’re sleep deprived yourself,” Dr. Samson noted archly. “And you’re not biting off peoples’ heads.”
“No, but not everyone’s like me. Besides, I think he hates me because I’m a woman but I’m not giving up my place on the team just because he feels that way.”
“He’s pretty good looking,” Sloan said, giving her a sly smile.
“I really hadn’t noticed,” Ali said, petting the pup and watching it gulp down the last of the milk in the syringe that Sloan had in her hand.
“Wow, are you blind?” Sloan teased, laughing. She took the syringe back and pulled more milk into it.
“No, I’m just not interested. I’m not in a position within the team to be drawn to anyone. Besides, half the guys are either married or engaged, which is good.”
“No one hits on you?” Sloan slipped the tip of the syringe into the pup’s mouth, and she eagerly latched onto it, suckling hard and noisily.
“No, thank goodness, they don’t. I’m not here to find a relationship. I’m here to fight for our country. I hate the Taliban. I hate what they do to those poor people in these villages. I’m only too happy to help America get rid of them.”
Sloan became sober. “I know. I’m hearing more and more from the fire bases around the province that they’re now stealing children and selling them as sex slaves across the border in Pakistan.”
Shivering, Ali whispered, “What you heard is right. Lockwood has several missions coming up to take out the sex-slave traders. We’ve been able to ID them and now we’re going after those sick bastards. Nothing makes me happier.”
Sloan perked up. “Hey, maybe if you sweet-talk grumpy Ram Torres, you might get him to take his little puppy back. He did look like he cared for her.”
“I know. That’s what bothers me. Why did he just blow up and march out of here if he cared enough to rescue her? I’m going to find out, one way or another. I don’t want to force the puppy on him if he really doesn’t want her but if that’s the case, then I’ll take care of her myself.”
“Well, if you do, can I come over and see her? I miss my dogs so much! I can take care of her while you’re on ops.”
Giving Sloan a warm smile, Ali said, “Of course you can. I’ll be in touch. And thank you for saying you’d take care of her when I’m on a mission.”
“Of course I will! I’d love to!”
“Great. That’s a load off my shoulders.”
“Well,” Sloan murmured, gently petting the puppy’s scruffy head, “I love taking care of babies of any kind, two-legged or four-legged.” She laughed.
Ali laughed along with her. “You’re just like my little sister, Cara. She’s studying to be a kindergarten teacher at the University of Arizona in Tucson. She’s so mothering. Just like you.”
Sloan preened. “She sounds great! I hope I get to meet her someday.”
“I hope you can meet her, too,” Ali sighed, smiling, feeling her heart swell with love for her sister. “Are we done here?” she asked the doctor who was pulling off his latex gloves.
“I’m done,” he said. “Take her home, Ali. Sloan will cover for you until you can come back and take over the front desk.”
“Thanks, Doc.” She gently wiped off the pup’s mouth and tucked her inside her arm and against her body to keep it warm. She said goodbye and left the medical building. Her first order of business was to find “the grump,” as she privately referred to Torres. He was always glaring at her, watching her, always making snarky remarks to her out of earshot of the other team members. There was no such thing as being PC or sociable around him. And yet, in the three months she’d been in his team, he got along famously with the rest of the members. It was just her!
Wyatt’s explanation for the way he treated her was never far from her mind. Had the chief’s talk with Ram made a dent in his consciousness? Would he start trying to treat her differently? She didn’t know.
She had a thick hide because she’d weathered a lot of guff from Marines in general, especially when she’d gone to sniper school. But there was something about Ram—and she couldn’t put her finger on it—that tore at her heart. Sometimes—not often—when they were resting at the compound or out in the big room cleaning their weapons and other equipment together as a group, she’d catch him looking sad and lonely, and it just about broke her heart. He seemed to be grieving something.
Maybe Torres had always been this way. He certainly hadn’t changed since she’d come on board. How she wished she could make peace with him! Lockwood was giving him one more chance to treat her like one of the boys, and for some reason, she envied the others.
Ram had also warmed up to the children in the villages. There, he smiled, reached out and hugged them, allowed them to gather around him and knew enough Pashto to speak with them. The boys hung around even after he’d distributed candy among their small, outstretched hands. Somehow, the children made him feel good, because it was the only time she saw him truly relax. The hardness that was always in his face melted away as Ram drank in the boyish smiles of the children dancing around him, welcoming him back to their village.
She saw that there were two sides to Ram—the warm friend to hundreds of boys in the different villages, caring for them, holding them, giving them horsey rides on his back, and trading smiles with them.
And then, there was the Torres she worked with out on ops. He never gave her anything but cutting looks, and she could feel that hostile energy pouring off him, keeping her at a distance. She sure hoped that Lockwood had convinced Ram to give her the respect he showed everyone else. Because she had to admit, she really didn’t want him to leave if the reason had anything to do with her.