composure.
“Da!” Drawn by his father’s voice, Harry toddled into the hall and threw himself at Charlie’s shins.
“Hey, little dude.” He picked up his son. “I missed you.” His voice cracked. Hastily Charlie handed Viv the baby and turned away. Viv was choking up herself. Glancing helplessly at Ross, she saw his face was completely expressionless. How did he do that?
“Go find Salsa,” he said to Harry.
“Dog?” Harry wiggled down from Viv’s arms and she pulled herself together.
Back still to them, Charlie knuckled his eyes dry. “Where’s Tilly?”
“In the garage breaking the news to the guinea pigs,” said Viv. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of her niece yet. Without an audience she’d recovered remarkably quickly.
“I don’t want her seeing me upset.”
“You go,” she encouraged, gently pushing him towardthe front door. Her brother-in-law may have bought the switch but it would be stupid to spend more time with him than she absolutely had to. “Call me later when you know what’s going on. And don’t feel you have to see the kids over the next few days.”
Charlie stiffened. “I’ll always find time for my children, Meredith. They’re the most important thing in the world to me.”
“Of course.” In her hurry to rectify her mistake Viv overcompensated, by adding, “And obviously, if there’s anything I can do, just tell me.”
“Seriously?” His gaze softened. “I mean I gave Ross some stuff…you could help him with that. Mum liked things done right and you’re such a terrific organizer.”
Viv exchanged horrified glances with Ross.
“I can handle it,” he said tightly.
“Not the feminine touches,” said Charlie. He gave Viv a pleading look. “Mere, I know it’s a big ask, given our situation. And you and Mum didn’t get on. But I need to do this right. I’d be in your debt. I really would.”
Oh, hell.
Behind Charlie, Ross frowned and shook his head no.
“Happy to help,” she said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“PE4 IS A CHALKY-COLORED solid plastic explosive with a more rapid detonation rate than C4. We’re talking 8210 meters per second as opposed to—”
Turning from the electronic whiteboard, Staff Sergeant Ken Worrell caught sight of Ross who’d paused at the open door of one of the SAS Group Headquarters’s meeting rooms. His face split in a welcoming grin. “You wanna answer that one, Sergeant?”
“Eight thousand and forty meters per second.” Ross nodded to the SAS’s newest recruits. En route to an informal interview with the commanding officer, he’d looked in out of curiosity. A month ago, he’d been roped into the DS—directing staff—basically as a checkpoint monitor during the nine-day selection course. He was curious to see how many of the eighty soldiers had come through.
Those who stumbled exhausted across the finish line were rarely the biggest or fastest or toughest soldiers. Success came to the stubborn bastards who could call on will-power when their bodies failed. And the last day endurance test—a sixty-kilometer walk, with pack, to be completed within twenty hours—had been designed to ensure their bodies did fail.
In the SAS, self-motivation was everything.
He saw six trainees and recognized two. So an above average intake then. And they’d probably lose a couple more during the nine-month training cycle these soldiers had topass before they graduated. Not for nothing were the SAS called one-percenters.
They returned his nod respectfully. They knew who he was. Just as he’d known everything about his superiors when he’d been a raw recruit. And in each man’s eyes he saw the same hope he’d had—to emulate, to attain, to prove themselves worthy of the elite badge. Can I do it? Am I good enough?
“Staff,” they chorused. If they passed cycle they’d call him Ross. There was no distinction made for rank or background among the SAS.
He also saw sympathy in a few gazes. With a farewell nod to Ken, he
“Da!” Drawn by his father’s voice, Harry toddled into the hall and threw himself at Charlie’s shins.
“Hey, little dude.” He picked up his son. “I missed you.” His voice cracked. Hastily Charlie handed Viv the baby and turned away. Viv was choking up herself. Glancing helplessly at Ross, she saw his face was completely expressionless. How did he do that?
“Go find Salsa,” he said to Harry.
“Dog?” Harry wiggled down from Viv’s arms and she pulled herself together.
Back still to them, Charlie knuckled his eyes dry. “Where’s Tilly?”
“In the garage breaking the news to the guinea pigs,” said Viv. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of her niece yet. Without an audience she’d recovered remarkably quickly.
“I don’t want her seeing me upset.”
“You go,” she encouraged, gently pushing him towardthe front door. Her brother-in-law may have bought the switch but it would be stupid to spend more time with him than she absolutely had to. “Call me later when you know what’s going on. And don’t feel you have to see the kids over the next few days.”
Charlie stiffened. “I’ll always find time for my children, Meredith. They’re the most important thing in the world to me.”
“Of course.” In her hurry to rectify her mistake Viv overcompensated, by adding, “And obviously, if there’s anything I can do, just tell me.”
“Seriously?” His gaze softened. “I mean I gave Ross some stuff…you could help him with that. Mum liked things done right and you’re such a terrific organizer.”
Viv exchanged horrified glances with Ross.
“I can handle it,” he said tightly.
“Not the feminine touches,” said Charlie. He gave Viv a pleading look. “Mere, I know it’s a big ask, given our situation. And you and Mum didn’t get on. But I need to do this right. I’d be in your debt. I really would.”
Oh, hell.
Behind Charlie, Ross frowned and shook his head no.
“Happy to help,” she said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“PE4 IS A CHALKY-COLORED solid plastic explosive with a more rapid detonation rate than C4. We’re talking 8210 meters per second as opposed to—”
Turning from the electronic whiteboard, Staff Sergeant Ken Worrell caught sight of Ross who’d paused at the open door of one of the SAS Group Headquarters’s meeting rooms. His face split in a welcoming grin. “You wanna answer that one, Sergeant?”
“Eight thousand and forty meters per second.” Ross nodded to the SAS’s newest recruits. En route to an informal interview with the commanding officer, he’d looked in out of curiosity. A month ago, he’d been roped into the DS—directing staff—basically as a checkpoint monitor during the nine-day selection course. He was curious to see how many of the eighty soldiers had come through.
Those who stumbled exhausted across the finish line were rarely the biggest or fastest or toughest soldiers. Success came to the stubborn bastards who could call on will-power when their bodies failed. And the last day endurance test—a sixty-kilometer walk, with pack, to be completed within twenty hours—had been designed to ensure their bodies did fail.
In the SAS, self-motivation was everything.
He saw six trainees and recognized two. So an above average intake then. And they’d probably lose a couple more during the nine-month training cycle these soldiers had topass before they graduated. Not for nothing were the SAS called one-percenters.
They returned his nod respectfully. They knew who he was. Just as he’d known everything about his superiors when he’d been a raw recruit. And in each man’s eyes he saw the same hope he’d had—to emulate, to attain, to prove themselves worthy of the elite badge. Can I do it? Am I good enough?
“Staff,” they chorused. If they passed cycle they’d call him Ross. There was no distinction made for rank or background among the SAS.
He also saw sympathy in a few gazes. With a farewell nod to Ken, he
Similar Books
