At the light touch, Devon’s nipples drew up tight, a slurry of goosebumps racing along her skin. “Hmph,” she grunted, tugging the ends away from his teasing fingers. “No take-backs.”
He grinned before leaning against one of the pallets, hands stacked behind his head. “So. Now that we’ve covered the human body’s various functions, what’s our next topic of conversation?”
Devon mirrored his pose, just on the opposite pallet, and she stretched her legs alongside his. Suddenly she wanted to know everything about him—his likes and dislikes, favorite foods, movies, if he was a cat or dog person.
This isn’t a date, girl. Jesus.
“I’ll go first, then,” Rhys said when she stayed silent. “Do you have any siblings?”
“Nope, just me.” She picked at the shemagh, wrapping the fringe around and around her fingers. “My mom didn’t want any more, even though my dad originally wanted a big family, I think.”
“Were you lonely?”
“Maybe a little, but my mom and I were fairly close, especially since it was just me and her most of the time.” Devon hesitated, then blurted, “The thing is, she wasn’t cut out to be an aviator’s wife.”
“Really?” Rhys’s eyes were solemn. “It’s definitely not an easy life.”
“Yeah, she didn’t cope well with the long absences, and of course back in those days there wasn’t such a thing as email or cellphones. Half the time she didn’t know where he was or when he’d be back.” Devon stared down at the shemagh. “Eventually she started drinking, having affairs. I’d see it, hear it, then have to pretend I didn’t whenever my dad was home.”
“God, that’s rough,” Rhys said, his voice sympathetic. He shifted his legs so his boot was touching hers. “I know how that feels, though. My mom always had a new guy onboard before she got rid of the old one. Made for some nasty-ass scenes over the years.”
Devon shrugged. “My dad was no saint either, Rhys, a girl-in-every-port type of thing. Neither of them tried to hide it, not really, now that I look back on it. I’ve pretty much come to the conclusion that I was an accident, and they got married so my mom and I would have the military bennies.”
“Are they still together?”
“Yep. Rattling around in a big old house. My dad’s retired now but still very involved in the military flight community. My mom has her own friends and does her own thing. Separate but together, more like friends than spouses.” She broke off, bracing herself for the pity, the judgment.
There was no trace of either on Rhys’s face. “Well, whatever works for them, right?”
Devon relaxed. “Exactly. They might be a little unconventional, but I know they love me. And they’re very supportive of my career.” She hesitated. “Is your family supportive?”
“Fuck that,” Rhys scoffed. “They probably don’t even know where I am, nor do they care.”
The words I’m sorry sprang automatically to her lips, but like her, she knew Rhys wouldn’t want or appreciate them.
Their boots were still touching, so Devon moved hers just the tiniest bit closer to his. His face smoothed out as he looked at her, lips curving. “You know what? You are way, way too easy to talk to.”
“So are you.” Devon idly tapped their feet together. “I’ve never in my life told anyone about that period incident. Who would understand?”
“Someone who had to sit next to someone else’s pile of crap all day, that’s who.”
They both made gagging faces, then sat gazing at each other, smiling. Right then Aaron appeared between the two pallets, leaning his shoulder against one and crossing his arms over his chest. “And what’s going on here?”
As Devon’s and Rhys’s eyes met, they burst into laughter.
“Nothing you’d want to hear about,” Rhys assured him. “Trust me.”
“Well, whatever.” Aaron jerked his head toward a group of guys sitting cross-legged around what looked like an ammo crate. “Gettin’ together a poker game. You in?”
“Hell, yeah.” Rhys pushed to his feet and looked down at Devon. “Coming?”
“Nah. Think I’ll just kick back for a while.”
Rhys hesitated, as if he was torn between sticking around and going to play poker, at last deciding on the game and leaving her with a wave.
She waved back. She was starting to like him way too much. Stop it.
Stop what? argued a little voice in her head. He’s attractive, smart, a total badass...yet he left a snack for an old stuffed bunny. What’s not to like?
Devon jumped to her feet to wander around the cavernous plane cabin, which was big enough to carry a tied-down helicopter. Across the way, Rhys threw his head back in laughter at something Aaron said.
It’s not so much that I like him, it’s that he’ll never like me back. Not in that way. Because men are like goddamn parking spaces, remember?
On her second circuit, she caught a glimpse of Shane sprawled out on one of the webbed seats lining the wall, staring intently at something on the opposite side. When she followed his gaze, she smiled.
Matt had slung a hammock between two different pallets and was sound asleep in it, his body swaying gently with the movement of the plane. On impulse Devon stopped next to Shane.
“Mind some company?”
“Not at all.”
Shane looked up at her, and all the breath involuntarily left Devon’s lungs in a whoosh. This, without a doubt, had to be the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. With his sparkling blue eyes, high cheekbones and strong jaw, he could’ve been a model—the kind whose face gazed down upon ordinary mortals from some fancy-ass billboard overlooking Times Square.
“Have a seat,” he said warmly. “I’ve actually been meaning to have a chat with you.”
“Yeah?” Devon lowered herself down warily. “Why?”
“Just curious. I was telling my sister about you the other day and she ordered me to find out more. ‘A woman SEAL? You gotta get the dirt, Shane!’”
Devon couldn’t help but giggle at his exaggeratedly high-pitched tone. “Why is she so interested?”
The smirk on Shane’s face died away to be replaced by something that looked a lot like grief. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “My niece, her biological dad was a SEAL. I’m one. My—” He broke off.
My ex-boyfriend is one.
Devon felt a wave of sympathy go through her at what he didn’t say, and she cast a glare at the sleeping Matt. These two idiots needed to figure their shit out, and fast.
“I think she wants to tell Libby—my niece—that it’s possible for her to follow in the family footsteps someday,” Shane said. “I had to tell her that you weren’t actually a SEAL, but I did say you can do a lot of cool stuff.”
“How old is Libby?”
“Four.”
Devon chuckled. “Well, by the time she’s grown up, I’m sure there will be women SEALs. Just not me. I’ll leave that trailblazing up to women a lot braver and a lot tougher than I am.”
“Huh? What do you mean, tougher than you are? You’re plenty tough. The way you drive, the way you jump out of airplanes...” He shuddered. “Super tough. Practically a SEAL.”
“No.” Devon’s emphatic tone made Shane glance at her. “I haven’t gone through BUD/S, and unless I do, I have no business even comparing what I do to what you do. Someday a woman will crush BUD/S, and no, they won’t have to lower their standards, and no, they won’t have to ‘dumb it down.’ She’ll have earned that Trident.”
Shane quirked his lips, and his voice was amused as he said, “I think I need to introduce you to Lex. I have a feeling you two would get along just fine.”
“I’d love to meet her.” Devon hesitated before asking, “You said Libby’s dad was a SEAL. Is he—”
“KIA,” Shane said briefly. “Right before she was born.”
So around four years ago. Devon flinched. The same time as...
She firmly shoved that thought away.
“I’
m sorry for your loss,” was all she said, and Shane shook his head.
“It was the SEAL community’s loss. Not Lex’s. Not mine. But thank you.” He made an effort to smile. “Okay, so tell me more about the CST program. I have my orders.”
She’d just launched into a brief overview of her job when she noticed Matt sitting up in his hammock and rubbing his eyes. Next to her, Shane stiffened, his attention clearly diverted.
Matt swung his legs over the side and sauntered toward the back of the plane where the urinal was, completely ignoring Shane, who muttered something. He turned determinedly back to Devon.
“You were saying?”
“Forget it,” she said, amused. “I’ll tell you later.”
Shane didn’t stop her as she got to her feet and wandered toward the poker game, trying to ignore the sudden pressure in her own bladder. Besides the reeking urinal, there was also a crude toilet mounted onto the bulkhead, but using it would mean dropping her pants in full view of everyone on the plane if they should choose to look.
Not gonna happen.
The more she tried to ignore it, though, the more the urge built. Rhys glanced over at her, then got up and approached her, concern on his face.
“What is it?” he asked quietly.
Devon bit her lip and squeezed her legs together. “Just remembering the time I was stuck on a troop transport and the driver said we would not stop for anyone to take a piss, that we should all just go in a bottle. Fine for the guys, not gonna work for the girls. Eight hours of holding it later, this chick a few rows behind me finally yelled ‘Fuck it’ and peed all over herself, her seat and her seatmate.” She glared at him. “You all have these convenient little hoses and...”
“Whoa. Little?” Rhys raised an eyebrow. “Hold on there.”
Words failed her, and Rhys laughed. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. C’mon, I’ll act as your privacy screen.”
By then Devon was too desperate to protest. She did her business as quickly as possible while Rhys stood facing away from her, his big body blocking everyone’s view. When she was finished and back at his side, he offered her a squirt of hand sanitizer from the tiny bottle in his pocket.
“Thanks,” she said.
“You’re welcome. Anytime.” He elbowed her gently. “Just be careful with the ‘little’ remarks from here on out, though, would ya? Fragile egos ’round here.”
Rhys grinned to show he was joking, and Devon’s heart gave an inconvenient thump. “Noted. And my apologies.”
He went back to his game. Devon lay down on her woobie, thankfully managing to doze off until the stomach-dropping sensation of the plane descending jolted her awake.
Once on the ground and gear unloaded, they were bussed to a training camp a short distance from Fort Bragg to receive their role-playing assignments.
The senior noncommissioned officer in charge, a Sergeant First Class named Tudrick, looked at Devon like he’d never seen a woman before.
“A female?” he said dubiously. “What y’all bring a female out here for? We don’t need nurses.”
“I’m not a nurse.” Devon looked him in the eye. “I’m here to provide cultural support.” She tried to launch into an explanation of what she did but the guy didn’t seem to be listening.
“We don’t have accommodations for females,” he kept saying. “No bathroom facilities or anything. What about, um, you know, hygiene?”
Devon rubbed her temples. “I don’t need ‘hygiene’ accommodations,” she said evenly. And she didn’t. She could absolutely piss in the woods behind a bush, a rock or a tree. Hanging her ass out on an airplane full of bored, restless men sitting a few feet away was something else entirely.
Finally Tudrick gave in. “I don’t really see what use she’ll be,” he said to Bradley, speaking over her head like she didn’t exist, “but fine, whatever.”
She tamped down her fury and did her best to ignore him.
By luck of the draw, she was assigned to be part of the guerrilla force, while Rhys and Shane went over to the mercenary side. Matt ended up a guerrilla, too, and he and Devon gave each other triumphant fist bumps.
The mercenaries were handed bundles of clothing, and they headed off to change, only to reappear dressed head-to-toe in black fatigues.
Snorts went around the circle of “guerrillas.”
“What a bunch of ninja rejects,” someone muttered.
With laughter, hoots and more than one obscenity, the mercenaries hopped into the beds of some nearby pickup trucks and roared off.
“All right, people, let’s get out of here,” Tudrick snapped. “We got a long day and a helluva long hike ahead.” He waved them toward a beat-up old van. “It’s a couple of hours drive out to the trailhead.”
Devon glanced around at the thick forest—the towering pines—and an involuntary shiver went through her.
This isn’t eastern Afghanistan. It’s North Carolina.
As she climbed into the van, Devon tried not to think about the fact that, in the end, she’d been safer out in those dark, enemy-filled woods than she’d ever been on her own fucking base.
Chapter Nine
I’ve forgotten how much it sucks taking a crap out in the woods.
Rhys hit Send on the text and grinned up at the ceiling of his pup tent, picturing Devon’s reaction upon getting it. He laid the phone on his chest and waited. Soon enough it vibrated with a reply, and he snatched it up.
Nice visual. Thanks.
They’d been texting back and forth all day long, probably in violation of the rules, but Rhys didn’t care. So far the exercise had been boring as hell, with nothing going on except tramping through the cold, wet forest.
Now that the mercenaries had pitched their small tents and eaten an MRE, there wasn’t shit to do except wait for morning.
Sounds like you’re having a lot more fun than I am, he texted. I wish I was a guerrilla.
LOL. Sneak over and switch sides.
He was seriously tempted. All afternoon Devon had been describing their activities, which included a grueling hike up to the top of a mountain to establish their camp. Then they’d gotten to sit around a nice, warm fire and make up individual backstories to regale the Special Forces guys with when they arrived.
They’re supposed to make contact with us tomorrow, Devon said. And start training us to resist the current regime. Unconventional warfare, man.
Rhys scowled. He really wanted to be a guerrilla.
So what’s your backstory? he asked.
Get this. I’m an activist whose husband was murdered by government forces in order to send me a message. Instead of beating me down, I’ve turned into one of the leaders of the resistance!
With a snort, Rhys typed, And here I am...just a ninja reject.
He could just feel Devon’s laughter through the phone. Poor baby. Stop pouting and get over here!
I would, but I don’t think I’m gonna desert my men quite yet. I’ll let you know.
After exchanging good-nights, Rhys turned his phone off to conserve what little power was left and shoved it in the cargo pocket of his pants. He stacked his hands under his head and closed his eyes, grimacing as his back protested the cold, damp ground. Thinking about how nice Devon’s fire must be, he dozed off, only to wake a few hours later with rain on his face. Great. The shitty tent was leaking. Just perfect.
Grumbling, he dragged himself outside and dropped to sitting next to Shane, who looked as scruffy and miserable as he felt.
They bumped knuckles wearily.
“Ready for this?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
The next several days were long, cold, wet slogs. Despite the discomfort, after the action finally got going, Rhys found himself invigorated by the challenge. He and the rest of his mercenary team planned recons, sorties and assaults designed specifically to keep the SF guys on their toes.
They harassed them, kept them on the move and, most satisfying of all, recruited some of the “gue
rrillas” they were trying so hard to train over to their side.
He texted Devon as much as he could, depending on the level of cell service they had. His battery was dying, and one night as he huddled in his tent, he regretfully told her this was probably the last time they’d be able to talk until the exercise was over.
Yeah, me too, she said. Battery’s in the red.
Well, let’s talk until they die. What’d you do today?
Ugh. Learned something I’ve never in my life wanted to learn.
Yeah? What’s that?
A long pause, and then the text popped up: Learned how to kill a rabbit.
Ah. Learning how to trap, cook and eat small animals was an important evasion and survival skill. Unpleasant at times, but necessary. He knew Devon understood that, though, so he just waited her out.
The first guy that tried it fucked it up so badly that I had to go off by myself to cry afterward.
A picture formed in Rhys’s mind of a derelict plane and Devon cradling a ragged stuffed bunny in her arms. He himself had seen his fair share of botched rabbit executions, and he winced.
Ah, hell, I’m sorry, he said. I know that’s rough.
Luckily Matt grew up on a farm and he was able to show us how to do it quickly and painlessly the next time. UGH.
Rhys knew her well enough by now to suspect she was beating herself up for crying about a rabbit in front of the guys.
You okay?
Sort of.
After a second of hesitation, Rhys typed, Can I call you?
Nothing for a minute, and then she said, Yeah, let me get somewhere I can talk. Call you in a few.
When his phone buzzed, he answered softly, “Hey. Anything I can do?”
“Nah.” Devon sounded tired and a little congested. “Just feeling like an asshole, to be honest. Crying over a damn rabbit.”
“Hey, nobody likes to see a living creature suffer. If the guy fucked up what should be a humane kill so badly, he’s the asshole, not you.”
“Everyone was upset about it,” she admitted, “but nobody cried. Just the female.” Her voice wobbled a little. “Typical, huh? Stupid.”
“I don’t think so.”
She gave a watery snort. “Have you ever cried over a rabbit?”
Keeping a Warrior Page 11
