Ethan ambled back to their table. Tolleson was grinning.
“A little excitement,” he said, sitting down.
“We get enough excitement out on patrols without this,” Ethan muttered. He pulled his black baseball cap out of his pocket and settled it on his head. “Later. I’m off to the showers to get this grit off my skin.”
Tolleson tipped the chair back, still smiling. “I’m right behind you. I’ll bet Blue Eyes thinks you’re a knight in shining armor, coming to her rescue. You were the first dude to stand up to stop those Delta guys.”
Snorting, Ethan shook his head. “Doubtful. She lumped all of us into that comment. Or did you not get that?” Judging from her demeanor and coolness under fire with the Delta guys, she didn’t need any hero to protect her. Nope, she was a Black Hawk driver and she risked her life, day in and day out, landing in hot landing zones, RPGs being thrown at her helo, to rescue wounded men or women who desperately needed medical help or would die in the battlefield. If anyone was a hero...it was her. “Later,” he murmured to Tolleson.
“We got mission planning at 0800 tomorrow,” the LPO reminded him.
“I’ll be there with bells on,” Ethan growled, sauntering out into the bright sunlight. The canteen was in the center of Camp Bravo. To his left, Ops and the runway. He heard a C-130’s whistling engines as it came in for a landing. The smell of kerosene aviation fuel used by the helicopters was everywhere; the wind carried it in his direction. Overhead, the June Afghan sun bore down on him like a heat lamp out of control. Already Ethan was starting to sweat again. The eight-thousand-foot mountain where the FOB was located was dry and freakin’ burning up under the heat. He was from Anchorage, Alaska—he loved the cold and hated desert infernos.
Ethan quickly walked down the avenues of camouflage tents sitting on concrete blocks with plywood floors. The dirt was fine and dusty and got into every crack, pore and crevice that a human being owned, not to mention his M4 rifle and the SIG pistol he always wore.
The sky was a light blue as he walked alertly down several other avenues, heading for the showers. There were only forty SEALs on this black ops FOB. They were a small but mighty contingent on this 24/7 base.
He turned down toward the main supply building, an area clear of tents and a shortcut to the men’s showers.
“You sonofabitch! Get
off
me!”
Ethan wheeled around toward the woman’s angry voice. His eyes widened when he saw Blue Eyes down in the dirt with an enlisted Army sergeant on top of her, groping at her flight suit. The sergeant’s big hand reached down and ripped open the front of her uniform. He held her down with his other hand, fingers closing around her throat.
Blue Eyes weighed a good hundred pounds less than the guy, but, as Ethan ran swiftly and silently up behind him, she was giving a damned good account of herself. The man’s nose was broken and bleeding, and he sported a black eye. SEALs made a living out of being shadows. With one swift movement of his fist, he coldcocked the unknown assailant in his left temple. The man went flying off her, knocked unconscious.
Ethan turned. “You okay?” he asked, kneeling down. She had blood on her cheek, and her nose was bleeding heavily.
“That stupid bastard,” she breathed angrily, trying to pull her torn uniform closed at her neck.
Her eyes were blue fury. Ethan glanced over his shoulder—the stranger was out cold. “He won’t bother you again,” he murmured, giving her a concerned look. Her hair was dirty, and blood ran down her lips and dripped off her chin. Digging out the dark green bandanna he always wore when out on patrol, he said apologetically, “It’s dirty, but maybe you can use it to stop your nose from bleeding?”
She gave him a mutinous look, grabbed it and pressed it against her nose. “Thanks,” she mumbled, rolling over to her hand and knees.
“Are you hurt? Can I get you over to the dispensary?” Ethan held out his hand, but she refused it.
“I’m all right!” She tried to rise, but her knees buckled beneath her.
Ethan moved swiftly, catching her before she hit the ground again. “Okay, look,” he coaxed in a low, even voice. “You aren’t in any shape to be going anywhere just yet. Did he hit you?” Dumb question: he could see she’d been struck. He was trying to talk her down so she’d become reasonable.
“Hell, yes, he hit me!” She glared up at him, breathing hard, gripping her uniform closed so he couldn’t see her bra beneath it.
“Where?” Ethan asked quietly, as if he were talking to a fractious horse he was trying to settle down. He knelt near but kept his hands off her. He didn’t want a broken nose.
“The head. He jumped me from behind, the sonofabitch!” She glared over at his unmoving body.
Ethan looked at her dust-covered brow and noticed swelling on her right temple. “He tried to knock you out.”
“Ya think?”
Ethan nodded, knowing Blue Eyes was in shock. Her hand trembled, and there were tears in her eyes. “Well, he won’t do it again,” he promised her. Assaulting any officer was a major offense, and the man would be going up for court-martial.
“I hope you killed him. I wonder how many other military women he’s stalked and jumped and then raped?” Her lower lip quivered with fury as she looked accusingly up at him.
Ethan saw Tolleson coming with a set of towels, a washcloth and soap in hand. He gestured sharply for him to get his ass over there pronto.
Tolleson skidded to a stop, his eyes widening as he looked down at them and then at the unconscious man. “What the hell happened?”
“The guy jumped Blue Eyes—I mean...” Ethan gave her an apologetic look, making a point of looking at the last name embroidered in black across the top of the left pocket of her flight uniform, “Chief Warrant Officer Benson.”
Tolleson nodded, stepped back and pulled a radio out of his cammie pocket. He called the military police and gave them their location. He looked down. “Do you need medical help, Chief Benson?”
“Hell, no! I just want to get out of here and get back to my tent.” She looked down at her dusty uniform.
Ethan felt sorry for her. She was angry and upset. He could see her tremble as adrenaline raced through her bloodstream. “I can walk you to your tent, Chief Benson. Tell me what you need?” She seemed to calm a little beneath his quiet tone. Tears splattered down her cheeks, making trails through the dust.
“Just help me up, will you? I need to get to my tent and get cleaned up.” She reluctantly held her hand out toward him.
Ethan stood up and wrapped his fingers around hers, gently pulling her to her feet. She wobbled on unsteady knees. Her attacker had nearly knocked her out. A dark fury moved through Ethan. Delta Dude and his team had remained in the canteen. Had this Army sergeant been waiting for the first woman who walked by to attack her? Had Blue Eyes been at the wrong place at the wrong time?
Ethan cupped her left elbow. “Come on,” he urged her quietly. “I’ll take you to your tent. Just give me directions.” He felt a shift, as if his whole life was about to change.
Chapter 2
S
arah felt her knees going. Again. God, why couldn’t she just tough this one out? The SEAL who had intervened and saved her hide swiftly reacted. In seconds, he’d picked her up and brought her into his arms.
“Put me down,” she ordered angrily.
“Can’t do it, ma’am. I’m taking you to the medical dispensary.”
Ethan’s voice was low and firm. His arms were strong. Sarah closed her eyes, fighting the urge to simply surrender to him. The rage she felt over the attack was dissolving as the adrenaline slowly left her system. She was exhausted and, worse, weak. A feeling she hated more than anything.
“You can relax,” Ethan told her, his lips near her hair. “There’s a time to fight and a time to take a step back and reassess the situation.”
Sarah also felt needy, which was so unlike her. His voice was soothing, and the anxiety rushing through her abated. He carried her easily, as if she were a feather, and yet Sarah knew she was no lightweight. As she held his green bandanna over her nose, the blood continued to leak out of her nostrils. Her nose burned like fire and her head throbbed.
She looked up at him. He glanced down at her. His beard, although well trimmed, made him look even more dangerous to her. His eyes were a light gray with large black pupils, like those of a raptor.
“Doing okay?” Ethan asked her in a conversational tone.
“I’ve had better days,” Sarah muttered. She saw the corners of his mouth lift slightly. There was such tightly held tension in him. She’d seen him move so damn swiftly when he saw what was happening to her; it left her stunned. He was grace, tension and power all in one decisive action. “You’re a SEAL?”
“Yeah.” Ethan laughed to himself. He hid a part of himself from his SEAL brethren; he journaled and, sometimes, wrote poetry to express what he saw or experienced. It was a way to get his emotions out instead of always putting them in his kill box, which was what all his brothers did.
She saw his focus. He was carrying her through rows of tents, alert and missing nothing. Intense. That was the word she’d use for this SEAL. Slowly, Sarah reluctantly relaxed into his arms. He had a powerful chest and a broad set of shoulders that looked like he could carry the world on them. Even though his face was hard and nearly unreadable, she sensed kindness in him. Maybe it was his full mouth, now pursed, holding back feelings she couldn’t even begin to decipher.
“You can put me down now. I’m okay.”
Ethan smiled at her. “Not a chance.”
“The pilots in my squadron will make fun of me. I really need to walk.” And she hated pleading, but she added, “Please?”
His straight black brows dipped a little at her request. There was hesitation in his gray eyes. Sarah touched her aching throat where the bastard had gripped her and held her down.
“Tell you what,” Ethan murmured. “If
any
of those Black Hawk drivers give you grief because I’m carrying you over to the dispensary, you let me know.” He gave her a slight grin. “I’ll settle it out with them privately and personally. Okay?”
Sarah sighed. “Are all SEALs stubborn?” She heard and felt him laugh.
“We’re a hardheaded bunch, I suppose. I’d like to think we’re focused and intense about our objective.” And right now, he couldn’t believe he was carrying Blue Eyes in his arms. He was in another kind of shock. A good kind, but he wasn’t about to share his euphoria with her.
Ethan turned a corner and up ahead was the two-story dispensary that had been built out of cinder blocks. It wasn’t very large, with only two Navy doctors and a small staff of two nurses and several combat medics manning it. When any serious medical issues came up, the person was flown directly to Bagram Air Base near Kabul.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, glancing down at her. She was very pale. Those beautiful blue eyes of hers were shadowed and frightened-looking.
“Whipped,” Sarah admitted, feeling safe enough in his arms. She would never admit that to the male pilots she flew with. They’d call her weak once they found out what had just happened to her. And then they’d brutally tease her or tell her it was her fault, that she’d invited the attack. She hated that.
“I’m Ethan Quinn. What’s your first name?”
She looked up and drowned in his soft gray eyes. Opening her lips and then closing them, Sarah felt an incredible sense of protection surrounding her. It was him. Reeling from the attack, she didn’t have her normal defensive walls in place. “Sarah Benson.”
He nodded. “My teammates call me Hawk.” And then he smiled a little. “You have a beautiful name.”
To go with your incredible blue eyes.
But he didn’t add that, seeing her eyes widen as if in wonder for a moment. There was a definite connection between them. He could feel it. The sensation, whatever it was, was palpable and it felt damn good.
Ethan knew where the E.R. was located; he’d been there the other day with Tolleson, escorting another SEAL because he’d twisted the hell out of his ankle.
He walked up to the sliding doors, then waited as they opened. Inside, there were a number of military guys waiting for medical attention at the clinic. They looked up in unison at him as he entered the air-conditioned dispensary.
Moving through another entrance, Ethan carried Sarah directly into the E.R. area.
It contained four curtained cubicles. A Navy nurse at the nurse’s station in the corner saw him arrive. She was older and had peppered hair of black and silver.
“Chief Benson needs medical attention right now,” Ethan told the nurse. “Which cubicle can I put her in?”
Sarah felt his authority even though he spoke quietly to the nurse. The older woman quickly looked her over.
“Cubicle one, Petty Officer.”
“One it is,” Ethan said.
The nurse called for an orderly—a young man—and by the time Ethan had gently deposited Sarah onto the gurney, a woman doctor had arrived. He stood back, letting the medical team help Sarah.
“What happened?” Dr. Johnson asked Sarah.
Sarah told her, mumbling through the bandanna. The doctor scowled, then glanced over at the SEAL and asked, “Who is he?”
“Petty Officer Quinn. He broke up the attack,” Sarah told her. “And he brought me over here. I’m not walking very well right now.”
“I see.” The doctor stared at Ethan. “You need to leave, Petty Officer. Thank you for your help.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ethan murmured, starting for the opening in the curtain.
“Wait,” Sarah called, gripping his arm as he passed her. She looked at him. “There’s going to be an investigation. Can you tell the MPs where I am? I know they’ll want my statement.”
Seeing the exhaustion settling into her blue eyes, Ethan nodded. “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll tell them and get things in order so you don’t get overwhelmed by the paper chase.” He gave her a brief smile and felt her hand drop from his arm. His flesh tingled where her long fingers had curved around his biceps. Ethan saw something else in her eyes, something he couldn’t translate. Her lower lip trembled as she took the bandanna away for a moment. He wanted to say to hell with it, slide his arms gently around her shoulders and just hold her. She needed that right now, and they both knew it. But it wasn’t going to happen.
“I’ll check in on you later,” he promised.
Sarah nodded, pressing the bandanna back to her nose, which continued to bleed.
As he stepped out into the E.R., Ethan noticed two medics carrying in the Army guy he’d punched. The man was semiconscious, muttering and cursing. Ethan stopped and watched where they put the bastard. Lucky for him it was cubicle four, as far away from Sarah as he could get. Flexing his fist, his knuckles swelling and bruised, Ethan wondered if he should stay. Just in case the Army jerk started to make more trouble for everyone. He was sure the assailant didn’t know he’d just brought Sarah in. The guy was ballistic in his opinion and not to be trusted.
Two Army MPs entered the E.R. Both had grim looks on their faces. They went directly to where the Army guy was being taken. Breathing a sigh of relief, Ethan knew the MPs would stand guard over him. He felt better about leaving Sarah alone now. Tolleson had done his job and gotten security in motion.
To say that security was in chaos was a mild understatement when Ethan arrived at the single-story building. Four Army guys, probably friends of the assailant, argued heatedly with a Army lieutenant, with an MP armband on his left arm, outside the office. They didn’t know he was the one who had decked their friend. He moved past them and went into the MP office. He spotted a young woman with red hair behind the desk. Ethan told her who he was and what had happened.
“You’re the guy we want to see,” she said, gesturing to an office on her right. “Lieutenant Taylor will want to take your statement. Can you tell me where Chief Benson is?”
“The E.R.,” he told her. “She’s pretty shaken up and she’s been injured.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, leading him to the office and opening the door. “I’ll go over in a while and interview her. I’m sure she’s feeling pretty ragged at this point.”
Ethan nodded. “Yeah, but the bastard that attacked her is feeling even worse.” And he smiled a wolf smile.
* * *
“Well,” Dr. Johnson told Sarah an hour later after examining her. “No permanent damage done, Chief Benson.”
Sarah was sitting on the gurney. “That’s good news. I have to fly tomorrow.”
“No way,” Johnson said. “I think you’ve suffered a mild concussion even though the X-ray came back normal. I’m giving you a sick chit for four days without flight duty. Then you will come back and see me on the fourth day. The nurse will give you an appointment.”
Stricken, Sarah slid off the gurney, her legs none too steady. Too fast a movement—her head began to throb. She touched the area where the man had struck her. “But...we’re short-handed in our squadron, Dr. Johnson. I
can’t
be put on flight waivers.” She gave the Navy officer a pleading look.
“No can do, Chief Benson.” Johnson handed her the chit, which would be given to her CO, Major Donaldson. “Rest,” she ordered. “Go over and spend some time with the Apache gals. I know you women are tight with one another. Catch up on gossip. Write some emails home. Things that won’t stress you out. Okay?”
Disheartened, Sarah glumly took the chit.
Dammit!
Angry at the Army sergeant who attacked her, she pursed her lips.
“Hop back up on that gurney. I want you to stay here for another half hour, and then we’ll see how steady you are on your legs at that time. You’re still not stable.”
“Okay,” Sarah muttered tiredly. Hell, she needed this like a hole in the head. They were already short two pilots, and medevacs were literally a lifeline to all the men out there hunting down the enemy.
Dr. Johnson gently patted the shoulder of her dusty uniform. “That SEAL was at the right place, right time.” She smiled a little. “He really did some damage to the guy who attacked you.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “He came out of nowhere.”
“Hope you get to thank him.”
Nodding, Sarah said, “I will.”
* * *
By the time Ethan got done with the process of the interview with the lieutenant, it was 1800, 6:00 p.m. He was starving, but he swung by the E.R. to see if Sarah was still there. She was gone, and no one would give him any information on her condition because he wasn’t married to her or a family member. Undeterred, Ethan decided to walk over to Ops to see if he could find her.
The thunking noise of Apache helicopters warred with the shriek of the twin-rotor Chinooks as they all slowly trundled down the helo strip to take off, one after another. Ethan popped into the main Ops building and headed for the desk. There was an Air Force tech sergeant manning it.
“Hey, I’m looking for Chief Warrant Officer Sarah Benson. Can you tell me where I can find her?”
The man nodded. “The medevac squadron office is right over there, to your left. Major Donaldson is in charge. He can probably answer your question.”
“Thanks,” Ethan said. The door to the medevac office was open, and he stepped in. An Army major in his mid-forties with gold wings on his chest looked up. His gaze narrowed speculatively as Ethan came to a halt in front of him.
“I’m looking for Chief Warrant Officer Benson.”
The man scowled, looking Ethan up and down. “Is it official business?” he demanded.
“No, sir, it isn’t.” Ethan could just about read the officer’s mind, thinking he was chasing Sarah.
“She’s not available,” he snapped.
Okay, so plan B. “Thank you, sir.” Ethan turned on his heel and left. Heading out of Ops, he found an Army driver standing near a Humvee. Drivers on the base knew the area like the backs of their hands. Ethan went over and asked what tent section the Black Hawk pilots were located in. The guy gave him specific directions, and Ethan took off, on the hunt.
The tents were all lined up on one dusty avenue, each one looking like the next. There were no names on any of them, and Ethan slowly walked down the road. A male pilot—a warrant officer—emerged from his tent. Ethan stopped him and asked about Sarah. Instantly, the pilot frowned. What was it about these Black Hawk drivers? They were all damned suspicious.
“I haven’t seen her,” he said abruptly.
“Look, she was in E.R. two hours ago. I’m just trying to find out how she’s doing.”
He squinted. “You the SEAL that saved her?”
Ethan nodded.
The pilot pointed to a tent down on the left. “That’s her tent. But you know the regulations—no man is allowed inside a woman’s tent.”
“I know the regs,” Ethan said.
“She’s sleeping right now. I’d leave her alone.” Ethan watched the pilot push by him, in a hurry, heading toward Ops with his helmet bag and kneeboard in hand. He was probably going on duty.
Ethan stared at Sarah’s tent. Okay, it was a dead end. His stomach growled. Rubbing his belly, he decided to call it a day and head to the chow hall. He glanced down at his Rolex watch, knowing he’d already screwed the pooch by missing the 1700 hours mission briefing for the op they would go on later tonight.
Ethan decided to swing by SEAL HQ. Tolleson understood why he couldn’t make the briefing, so there should be no recourse. Master Chief Gil Hunter wouldn’t bust his ass, either.