Saddam in that spider hole, causing him to be shipped out to Afghanistan.
Then a month after that, she’d been rotated out to Heidelberg, and suddenly his e-mails seemed to all land in a black hole. He’d even used one of those phone cards USO handed out to call her, but her tone had been distant. Almost remote.
No. Not almost. Really, really remote.
Which could only mean that his feelings had been one-sided. Oh, he didn’t believe she’d just been a Night Stalker groupie. While they might not get the press that the SEALs or D-Boys did, a SOAR pilot never left a bar alone unless he wanted to.
No. Captain Kirby Campbell hadn’t been a groupie.
But, apparently, all she’d wanted from him were a few laughs and a lot of sex.
The ironic thing was that at any other time in his life, he’d have been singing hosannas to find a multiorgasmic woman who only wanted his body.
But, dammit, Shane had wanted more. Which was why he’d decided to find her and convince her they belonged together.
Bygones, he told himself as he dragged his mind back to her refugee camp he hadn’t even been aware of being carried through when they’d arrived.
Jeezus. There was a reason this was regarded as the most armed region in the world. Instead of Game Boys or basketballs, even the kids were lugging around AK- 47s and ammo belts. It only took one look at the all the guns in the camp to totally wake him up.
And, here was a big plus, all the adrenaline racing through his veins numbed the pain.
“You gotta give me back my gun,” he said as they began forging their way through the crowd.
Not a single person moved to stop them. But their eyes were hard. And deadly.
Tremayne looked down at him. “You sure?”
“Do tangos shit in the woods?”
Tremayne shrugged and handed him back his M4. “That doc’s good,” he said.
“The best,” Shane said.
“And hot,” McKade volunteered, even as his head kept moving, scanning the crowd, watching for the slightest movement.
“Which explains why, when you woke up enough to recognize her, little red hearts started doing the South Carolina shag in your eyes, flyboy,” Tremayne said.
“Ha ha ha,” Shane said, even as he suspected that accusation might be true.
Like every pilot who’d spent thousands of hours listening to radio traffic, he’d learned to tune out what was unessential, while immediately catching what affected him. He’d been drifting in and out of consciousness, only vaguely aware of people talking around him when that one all-too-familiar voice cut through the clutter.
Shane decided that the little spurt of lust he’d felt when Kirby had bent over him was proof he was going to live.
“Tangos at nine o’clock,” Tremayne said quietly.
Quinn’s head didn’t move, but Shane knew they both were checking out the terrorists Kirby had told them about.
“You going to try to snatch the kid?” Shane asked.
“Any other time, I would,” Tremayne answered. “If I could manage it without getting the doc killed. See what he knows, maybe even use him for a bargaining chip. But right now our mission is to get the hell out of here without any more lives lost.”
“What if they shoot first?”
“We shoot back. But I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“Why not?” Shane tilted his head just enough to the left to see the group of tangos in question. They sure as hell didn’t look harmless.
“First of all, they’ve got the kid to protect. If we try to grab him, they’d go off, all guns blasting. Then again, if this place turned into the O.K. Corral, which we’d make damn sure it did, how’d you like to be the guy who has to explain to Imam Jalaluddin that you’d gotten his kid killed?”
“Heads would probably roll.”
“Literally,” McKade said.
“Besides,” Tremayne continued, “the guy in charge realizes that all we want is the same thing they want. To have our wounded patched up and get the hell out of here.”
That made sense, Shane
Then a month after that, she’d been rotated out to Heidelberg, and suddenly his e-mails seemed to all land in a black hole. He’d even used one of those phone cards USO handed out to call her, but her tone had been distant. Almost remote.
No. Not almost. Really, really remote.
Which could only mean that his feelings had been one-sided. Oh, he didn’t believe she’d just been a Night Stalker groupie. While they might not get the press that the SEALs or D-Boys did, a SOAR pilot never left a bar alone unless he wanted to.
No. Captain Kirby Campbell hadn’t been a groupie.
But, apparently, all she’d wanted from him were a few laughs and a lot of sex.
The ironic thing was that at any other time in his life, he’d have been singing hosannas to find a multiorgasmic woman who only wanted his body.
But, dammit, Shane had wanted more. Which was why he’d decided to find her and convince her they belonged together.
Bygones, he told himself as he dragged his mind back to her refugee camp he hadn’t even been aware of being carried through when they’d arrived.
Jeezus. There was a reason this was regarded as the most armed region in the world. Instead of Game Boys or basketballs, even the kids were lugging around AK- 47s and ammo belts. It only took one look at the all the guns in the camp to totally wake him up.
And, here was a big plus, all the adrenaline racing through his veins numbed the pain.
“You gotta give me back my gun,” he said as they began forging their way through the crowd.
Not a single person moved to stop them. But their eyes were hard. And deadly.
Tremayne looked down at him. “You sure?”
“Do tangos shit in the woods?”
Tremayne shrugged and handed him back his M4. “That doc’s good,” he said.
“The best,” Shane said.
“And hot,” McKade volunteered, even as his head kept moving, scanning the crowd, watching for the slightest movement.
“Which explains why, when you woke up enough to recognize her, little red hearts started doing the South Carolina shag in your eyes, flyboy,” Tremayne said.
“Ha ha ha,” Shane said, even as he suspected that accusation might be true.
Like every pilot who’d spent thousands of hours listening to radio traffic, he’d learned to tune out what was unessential, while immediately catching what affected him. He’d been drifting in and out of consciousness, only vaguely aware of people talking around him when that one all-too-familiar voice cut through the clutter.
Shane decided that the little spurt of lust he’d felt when Kirby had bent over him was proof he was going to live.
“Tangos at nine o’clock,” Tremayne said quietly.
Quinn’s head didn’t move, but Shane knew they both were checking out the terrorists Kirby had told them about.
“You going to try to snatch the kid?” Shane asked.
“Any other time, I would,” Tremayne answered. “If I could manage it without getting the doc killed. See what he knows, maybe even use him for a bargaining chip. But right now our mission is to get the hell out of here without any more lives lost.”
“What if they shoot first?”
“We shoot back. But I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“Why not?” Shane tilted his head just enough to the left to see the group of tangos in question. They sure as hell didn’t look harmless.
“First of all, they’ve got the kid to protect. If we try to grab him, they’d go off, all guns blasting. Then again, if this place turned into the O.K. Corral, which we’d make damn sure it did, how’d you like to be the guy who has to explain to Imam Jalaluddin that you’d gotten his kid killed?”
“Heads would probably roll.”
“Literally,” McKade said.
“Besides,” Tremayne continued, “the guy in charge realizes that all we want is the same thing they want. To have our wounded patched up and get the hell out of here.”
That made sense, Shane
Similar Books
