Read Online Tactical Strike by Kaylea Cross - Free Book Online

“Some of my men have reported seeing
American and British teams scouting out the valley with the old Soviet
airstrip,” Nasrallah continued. “This may be the start of the offensive they
intend to launch. We will head there immediately—bring your men up as fast as
possible. I’ll be in contact once we’re in position.”
    Several of his men were watching him as he conversed with
Nasrallah, though none of them could understand the English being spoken. Yet
another advantage Khalid had over the others, one he’d learned from another
American many years ago before they pulled out and let Afghanistan be plunged
back into the Stone Age in the wake of the Soviet invasion. How strange and
wonderful were the workings of Allah. “I will move out within the hour.”
    Tucking the radio into his waistband, he huddled deeper into
the folds of his coat and rejoined the others at the fire. The teenagers and
handful of old men from his village watched him expectantly. Trusting his
guidance, his judgment. He would not fail them.
    “Something very exciting is about to happen,” he told them in
Pashto. “Some of our men are taking the fight to the enemy’s doorstep. We’ve
been asked to move down into the valley to wait for the Americans in preparation
for their attack.”
    Cheers and praise for Allah rose into the biting wind that cut
through the rocky crevices. The men doused the fire and scrambled to gather
their weapons, ready for the long, difficult march down the mountain. Khalid
took the lead down the narrow trail at the front of his men, certain of two
things.
    The Americans would be crawling all over these mountains within
hours of the attack. And as of right now, there was no turning back for any of
them.
    * * *
    Maya slowed the treadmill to a fast walk for her cool
down and took a couple of swallows of water before wiping her face and neck with
the hand towel she’d slung around her shoulders. The gym was empty, which was
weird, but she actually enjoyed the added solitude. This particular gym on the
eastern side of the base was smaller than the others and usually less busy,
which was why she mostly worked out here after her shifts. It had been too cold
for a run outside this morning, even for her.
    Once her heart rate was back to normal she stopped the machine
and climbed off to stretch her hamstrings and quads. Releasing her left ankle to
drop her foot back to the floor, she caught movement in her peripheral vision.
Following it, she stilled in surprise. That PJ, Jackson, was coming toward her.
And he was holding a bouquet of what looked like wildflowers in one fist.
    You have got to be shitting me .
    Very slowly, she straightened and removed her earbuds as she
groped at her waistband where her iPod was clipped and shut it off. Her eyes
dipped to the flowers clutched in his hand then strayed up the wide expanse of
his chest covered by his jacket and to the strong planes of his striking,
bronze-toned face. Mediterranean heritage? Native American, maybe? Unflinching
dark eyes stared back at her, giving nothing away about his intentions.
    Interesting . She never would have
guessed he’d have the balls to single her out like this, even though there was
no one else here and nothing on her clothing to give away her superior rank. She
licked her lips and arched one eyebrow in challenge, trying to figure him out.
He was damn good-looking, though she’d never admit it to anyone. “Those for
me?”
    A faintly embarrassed expression stole across his face. “Uh,
no, ma’am. They’re for your friend, Ace. From Ryan.” His Texas drawl slid over
her senses like a slow caress.
    Her other eyebrow rose to join its twin. Even more interesting . “So why are you bringing them to me?”
And how had he found her?
    “Ryan got called to a briefing at the last minute. I went to
your hut, but no one answered when I knocked. Figured I might find you
here.”
    If he knew to look for her here, he’d been watching her a hell
of a lot