by Desiree Holt
“That’s all we need. It has to get us out of town and to the extraction point. Will he give you trouble if you ask to borrow it?”
“No. He uses my truck sometimes. We help each other.” His face turned hard as stone. “And we don’t ask each other any questions.”
Marc wondered what had prompted Ibrahim and his cousin to do whatever they did in their own war with ISIS. They had to know discovery was always imminent and the results wouldn’t be pretty.
As if he’d read his mind, Ibrahim turned to look at him. “We have paid dearly because of ISIS. Any little thing we can do to help in the fight against them is an honor.”
Marc could see Slade knew better than to ask anything else. Ibrahim’s face was stone cold but there was a wealth of misery in his eyes.
Slade looked at each member of the team. “Okay, here’s the plan. We’ll stay here at Ibrahim’s until it’s full dark, then head to the house on foot. We’ll have one chance to do this, so let’s not fuck it up.”
Marc knew the plan was chancy, but so was everything else they did. Besides, it wasn’t like they had a choice.
“When do you want me to call for extraction? What’s our zero hour?”
As the comms man on the team, it was his responsibility to maintain communication with the brass at the Forward Operating Base and to let them know when they needed the pickup.
“Tell them our target time for extraction is twenty-two hundred. We’ll confirm one hour before.”
“Is that enough time for the Night Stalker to get here?” Marc asked.
“Yes. But remember. Every bit of this is split-second timing and things can go wrong at any point in this op.”
Beau gave a short laugh. “Just like all our missions, yeah?”
“That’s right.” He allowed himself a tiny chuckle. “Nothing new here, right?” He looked back at the diagram. “Let’s go over this once more.”
By the time they looked at it and discussed it six ways from Sunday, each man had the diagram etched in his brain. Marc knew how important that was. Once the op began, there would be no margin for error. They couldn’t control outside activities, which had fucked up their planning more than once. But knowing every detail allowed them to adjust for those circumstances.
Ibrahim brought them tea and rice shortly after dawn. After that they took turns napping, knowing they needed to be fully alert for the night ahead. By the time it was full dark again, they were more than ready. Marc had radioed the extraction information and Ibrahim’s cousin had agreed to provide a distraction, something that would draw the attention of the terrorists away from their little compound.
Ibrahim was gone for an hour while he worked out the details with his cousin. When he returned, he was driving a sorry-looking panel van. Marc didn’t care, nor did the others, as long as it got them to where they were going.
Then it was time.
Ibrahim had provided all the members of the team with boubous, the long, flowing robes many of the men wore, and geles, headdresses with ends that could be wrapped around the face so only the eyes showed. Beneath them they wore their desert fatigues and all their gear. But their weapons were arranged beneath the voluminous fabric for quick access and execution. It was crucial that they blended in with other men heading home at that hour, but mission critical that their weapons be instantly ready.
Worried about being out in the open, they took their time snaking between houses and along the streets. Blending in with others on foot, they made their way to the destination. Marc thought it was a good thing they’d spent so much time memorizing the route because every damn fucking house looked like every other. While the others took their places behind the building, Beau climbed to the flat roof of a house across from them, stretched out and sighted his rifle, which was fitted with a suppressor. Marc had seen him like that so many times he could imagine it now. The planned diversion should draw at least one of the terrorists outside and Beau could pick him off, and anyone who followed him.
They passed by the rear of the target house, not wanting to risk the terrorists spotting them before things got hot and hairy. Trey paused only a moment to press a small amount of Semtex against the rear door. They stood in darkness, waiting for their signal to move. Marc checked his watch, then began silently counting down in his head, just as he knew the others were.
Bang!
The explosion two streets over erupted in the night air. At the same moment, Slade detonated the small amount of Semtex on the back door and blew it open, the sound barely seconds behind it. Then they were in the rear room of the house, a room as barren as the one at Ibrahim’s. The two hostages, a man and a woman, huddled together in a corner, looking both terrified and bewildered. Both appeared disheveled and each of them sported bruises on their arms and their faces.
Bile rose in Marc’s throat, as it always did when he saw how human beings had been unnecessarily abused. Once out of here and back at the FOB, they’d get proper attention. Right now, though, the only focus was getting the fuck out of here.
This was always the hairiest part. They had scant seconds to pull it off. Slade held up a finger to his lips to signal silence, then mouthed “US Army.” He and Marc pulled the hostages out through the back door, silent as ghosts. Trey had his gun out, ready to hit anyone who came through the door from the front of the house, and Beau was set to take his shots from his position on the roof. In seconds, they were all out in the alley behind the house where Ibrahim, good as his word, now waited in his cousin’s van. Seconds later, they were all inside. Down the narrow street and around the corner. They stopped only long enough for Ibrahim to get out and melt away. If he was caught driving them, he and his family would be annihilated.
Then Slade took over and they headed hell for leather out of town.
The hostages sat silent and petrified in the middle seat, sandwiched between Trey and Marc. They clung to each other as if that contact was their only salvation.
“I know you can’t figure out what’s happening,” Trey said, his voice soothing. “All you have to know is you are with American soldiers and in less than thirty minutes we’ll all be out of here.”
Still neither of them spoke. Marc could imagine the treatment they’d suffered, the way their captors had terrorized them. But at least they weren’t screaming and trying to run away from the team, or doing anything else to hinder their departure. Beyond a cursory examination to make sure the two were mobile and didn’t need to be carried, the team had not questioned them.
“Still all clear back here,” Beau said from the third seat. He was on his knees, his rifle pointing out of the window of the rear hatch door.
Marc knew he had one order to execute. If anyone came up behind them, shoot and keep shooting. Marc kept checking his watch, counting down to when the Night Stalker would be there. So far so good. They were out in the desert now, the driving slow going through the sand.
They were almost at the extraction point when Beau hollered back to them.
“Enemy vehicle on the horizon. Right on our tail.”
The MH-60 M Black Hawk zoomed in and hovered just past the van, skillfully handled by its Night Stalker pilot. Marc helped hustle the aid workers out of the van and into the chopper, handing them up to the two men crouched in the open doorway. Sand kicked up everywhere from the rotors, even getting into their eyes and teeth.
Beau was the last one in, crouched in the open doorway, positioned with his gun. Just as they lifted off, the four-wheel drive vehicle made it to the outskirts of Agadez and came plowing through the sand. The man riding in the rear began firing the vehicle-mounted machine gun while two others climbed out and started firing assault weapons at the chopper.
The pilot banked to the left, away from the line of fire, even as Beau fired steadily at the men below. Then they were out of range, rising higher until the desert was far below them.
Beau tumbled back into the cabin and Marc moved out of his way. Trey, their team medic as well as Beau’s spot
ter, was checking over the aid workers, giving them a cursory look to see if they needed medical attention at once. There were no seats in the cabin of the helo, so they sat on the floor, still looking traumatized but otherwise unharmed.
Marc sat back, leaning against the metal of the cabin wall, coming down from the adrenaline high he found himself on after every mission. Usually he just switched off, separating himself mentally from the team, and made his mind a blank. Today his mind was doing its own thing, with pictures of a petite doe-eyed blonde nurse flashing one after the other like a continuous slide show.
The feeling was so weird. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had pleasant images of a female running through his brain. Usually he tried to blank everything out, not leave himself vulnerable to the soul-scorching image of Ria, high as a kite, naked, sprawled beneath their neighbor as he pounded into her.
Today, he didn’t think he could call it up even if he tried.
Instead there was Nikki, with her gentle touch and her soft voice and the anguish always lurking in her eyes. He had seen her twice more before the team had left Texas for this mission. Teo had given him the keys to the ranch truck. Slade was camped out with his lady, Beau had found himself a woman to hang with and Trey was…off doing something. Thank god for that. There was no one to question him and Teo swore his lip was zipped.
His mind drifted back to that last night in Nikki’s apartment.
Although he’d spent two nights with her, they had not had sex. As a matter of fact, they’d both seemed to shy away from it, as if taking that step would bring them into a relationship neither of them was sure they were ready for. Talking consumed all their time together. She’d told him all about her fiancé and, in the predawn hours one morning, he’d finally blurted out the details of his disastrous marriage. They had both dumped their personal hell on the table and neither had run screaming into the dawning day.
But then…
He’d leaned back against the arm of the couch, a beer bottle loosely held in the fingers of one hand. He’d been awed at the easy way they were able to talk to each other. For the first time since the disastrous blowup of his marriage he was able to speak about it in detail and see where he should have paid more attention.
Nikki just made talking so easy. No pressure. No censure. No criticism.
He couldn’t believe he’d had two overnights with a woman and sex hadn’t even come into the picture. Not that he didn’t find her attractive. On the contrary, the curves of her body begged for his hands to trace their lines. Her mouth, so soft and full, had kiss me written all over them. But he was so damn out of practice. The only partner he’d had in two years was his right hand, and that couldn’t be called sex even on its best day.
But sitting on the couch with her next to him, knees drawn up and hands clasped around them, he’d wanted nothing more than to run his hands over her and see if she felt as soft as she looked. Tasted as good as she smelled, the soft scent of jasmine she wore so incredibly tempting.
Before he’d realized what he was doing, he’d set his empty bottle on the side table, reached out and taken one of her hands. At first, she’d started to tug her hand away, but then, for whatever reason, she’d stopped and linked her fingers with his. Heat unlike anything he’d felt in a very long time had zapped his body, making his nerve endings sizzle and his cock jump to attention. Yes, jump.
Down, boy!
‘This is nice,’ he’d said at last. ‘Just sitting here like this with you.’
‘Yes. It is.’
She’d wet her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue, and it had been all he could do to restrain himself. Where the hell had all this come from? Up until this week, a five-star beauty queen could have danced naked in front of him and it wouldn’t have elicited a physical response.
Of course, five-star beauty queens didn’t do it for him. Not anymore, anyway.
He’d debated with himself whether to make a move, afraid he’d destroy the fragile relationship they seemed to be building. Would I even know what to do after all this time?
He’d given a tentative tug on her hand. If she’d pulled her hand away, he’d stick to conversation. But if she’d leaned toward him…
She’d moved, shifting her body so she was now leaning into him in the curve of one arm. God, she’d felt so good against him. Placing two fingers beneath her chin, he’d tilted her face up to him.
‘Fair warning,’ he’d told her. ‘I’m going to kiss you, Now’s the time to tell me to get lost if that’s not what you want.’
Although conflicting emotions had swirled in the smoky gray of her eyes, she hadn’t moved away. He’d lowered his mouth to hers, brushing against the velvet surface. The surge of electricity that had powered through him had consumed his body. When he’d stroked her lips with his tongue, a soft moan had drifted from her throat. Encouraged, he’d pressed his tongue harder until she’d opened for him and he could slide inside.
Holy fucking shit!
This kiss had electrified him more than full-out sex with other women. He’d probed, licked, teased, and her small tongue had answered. He’d taken it slow, not wanting to spook her, holding her head in place so he could plunder her mouth at will.
When he’d lifted his head at last, looking into her eyes to read her expression, he’d been stunned at the heat flaring there.
‘Nikki?’
‘I-I know. I was sure I’d never respond to anyone ever again in my life.’
‘I have to touch you, but understand at any moment you can tell me to stop and I will.’
She’d run that sexy pink tongue over her bottom lip again and once more his cock had sent him an urgent message.
Pressing his mouth to hers again, he’d slid a tentative hand down her back, easing it beneath the soft material of her sweater. He’d caressed her satiny skin just beneath her bra, half-lost in the kiss, half on edge waiting for her to push him away. When she hadn’t, he’d moved his hand to cradle one breast in his palm and…holy shit! Her nipple had been rock-hard, poking at the silky fabric.
He’d lifted his mouth from hers and slid his lips along the line of her jaw to just beneath her ear. Nibbling the lobe, he’d pinched the pebbled tip of one breast, heat rushing through him as she’d gasped and arched to press more fully against his touch.
He’d fumbled slightly as he unhooked her bra and loosened it. A tiny sound had escaped her mouth and he’d paused, wondering if he’d gone too far. But then she’d nipped his jaw and licked the spot where her teeth had been and need had flooded him. He’d palmed the bare flesh of her firm breasts, squeezing it and stroking the tip with his thumb.
Unable to help himself, he’d tugged up her sweater to give him better access and taken the tip of her breast in his mouth. When he’d sucked it hard, Nikki had moaned and arched into his touch. Emboldened, he’d slipped his hand down over her warm abdomen and flipped open the button on her jeans, then slid down the zipper. Still holding her against him with his other arm, he’d eased his hand low between her thighs until he’d reached her sex and the silky fabric covering it. Pushing the fabric aside, he’d moved his idle finger between the swollen lips, aroused even more to feel how wet she was.
‘If you want me to stop, tell me now.’ He’d almost growled the words.
‘No.’ Her breath had been a soft whisper as she’d hummed the word.
‘No what?’ He’d had to be sure.
‘No, don’t stop. Please.’
He’d strummed her clit with the tip of his finger, holding her against him. Her soft little moans had aroused him to the point where the press of his shaft against his fly had been almost painful. The more he’d stroked, the wetter she’d become. He’d slipped two fingers inside her and she’d clamped down on them at once, riding them with short, jerky movements.
He’d captured her mouth again and pinched one nipple at the same time. Hard. She’d gripped him with her inner walls, pushed down on his fingers and come apart. Her inner muscles had cl
enched and released, her body had strained against his, and he’d captured her moans with his mouth.
The spasms had subsided, but Marc had kept his fingers inside the heat of her sex, stroking them in and out, until she’d gone limp in his arms. Marc had eased his fingers from her body and very deliberately licked each one until he’d swallowed every drop of her delicious cream.
Limp then, she’d relaxed against him in the cradle of his arms, pressing her face to his chest. Marc had stroked her back, sprinkling gentle kisses on her face, wondering if he should say something or let her take the lead. He’d had plenty of sex in his life but there had been something almost mystical about this, even if his own needs had been shoved into the closet.
At last she’d stirred and with a deep sigh had pushed away from him. Marc hadn’t wanted to let her go, but he hadn’t wanted to hold her against her will either. Is she sorry? Does she regret this? Does she want me to leave right away?
She’d looked up at him, her eyes still slumberous. Her lips had curved in a tentative smile.
‘I, uh, haven’t done anything like this in a long time.’
He’d chuffed a short laugh. ‘Me neither.’ He’d stroked her cheek. ‘But I’m not sorry. Are you?’ He’d held his breath, waiting for her answer.
She’d shaken her head. ‘No. Not even a little.’ She’d nibbled her lower lip, a gesture that made him even harder, if that was possible. ‘I’m sure it’s obvious but in case it’s not, you might as well know now I haven’t been with…a lot of men. Before Jon, there were only a couple. Then I was with him for a long time. I can’t imagine what you must think.’
‘I think you’re a woman who is passionate and giving and that passion’s been buried for a long time. And’—he’d held up a hand as she opened her mouth—‘I think I’m a lucky bastard that I’m the one you choose to let your guard down with.’
‘I haven’t—’
He’d shaken his head. ‘Not done. I don’t want just some quickie on the couch with you, Nikki.’ He’d blown out a breath. ‘Jesus. I haven’t had honest to god sex for so long I’m not sure I remember how to do it.’
