by Pamela Clare
Women poked their heads out of their rooms to see what was happening. Some gasped when they saw him, disappearing quickly behind closed doors again. Others pulled scarves over their faces, their eyes wide.
Hell.
He couldn’t be here. If villagers believed midwives were keeping company with unrelated men, it could put their lives, as well as Derek’s, in danger. He headed outside again to find the security guard standing there, fury on his face.
“It is not proper for you to be in there! This is for women only! You will have to speak with your sister outside.”
“My apologies.” Derek wouldn’t pretend that he couldn’t read the sign on the door, given that he spoke Dari. “In my impatience, I didn’t think.”
Farzad seemed to accept this. “Let us get out of this cold and have some tea.”
The snow had picked up, icy flakes falling hard and fast as Derek followed the man out of the compound toward the concrete building that was the guards’ barracks. Inside, it was warm and well lighted. The hospital compound had been built with UN money and, unlike much of the countryside, had electricity, a backup generator, and running water.
A dozen men in uniforms sat together on the carpeted floor, some wrapped in patoos—traditional woolen shawls—weapons propped against the walls behind them. They fell silent as soon as they saw him.
Farzad introduced Derek, told the men why he’d come. “Like his sister, he speaks our tongue, so watch what you say in front of him.”
The last part was mostly meant as a joke—but not entirely.
Derek pushed a grin onto his face, sat beside his host, and accepted a cup of steaming kahwah. “Tašakor.”
Thanks.
A basket of naan sat on a low table beside a dish of dried dates, empty bowls stacked to one side.
“Dawar, bring our guest a bowl of lamb stew.”
Derek wasn’t hungry but didn’t say so. Hospitality was the cornerstone of Afghan culture. Until he persuaded Jenna to go back to D.C. with him, he was stuck here. He needed to cultivate goodwill among these men, get them to trust him. He also needed to check each one of them against Cobra’s database of suspected Talibs, escaped IS fighters, and al-Qaeda sympathizers.
The youngest of the men stood and hurried off toward what must have been the kitchen, returning almost immediately with a bowl.
Derek thanked him, reached for a piece of naan, and used it as a spoon. The stew was hot and savory. He nodded his approval, bringing grins to the men’s faces. “Mmm.”
“Are you a soldier?” Dawar asked.
“Dawar!” Farzad admonished him. “Let our guest eat.”
This was a question Derek wanted to answer. He didn’t want rumors getting out that a U.S. soldier was hanging around the clinic. It might bring the Taliban or one of the provincial militias down on their heads.
“I’m not a soldier,” he told Dawar between bites. “I am a security guard like you.”
That wasn’t exactly true, but it was close enough.
“You came to take Miss Jenna home?” Dawar asked.
“Yes. Her father—my stepfather—wants her to come home. He is afraid for her safety if she stays here. He knows the Talibs have killed midwives.”
Dawar and a few of the others looked insulted by this, their protests overlapping.
“We would not let that happen!”
“We watch over her and the others!”
“The Talib scum are no match for The Lion and his men!”
Then Farzad told them that Jenna had refused to go, raising eyebrows.
“Can you not simply command her to go with you?” Dawar asked.
Derek wanted to laugh. He hadn’t spent more than a minute with Jenna, but years of covert operations had made him a good judge of people. No one commanded Jenna Hamilton. “Under our laws, women are as free as men to live as they please. My sister must decide for herself.”
“What will you do?” asked a guard who said his name was Hamzad.
“I have no choice but to stay here to watch over her and hope I can change her mind.” He let the men digest this bit of information while he finished his stew, mopping up the juices with another piece of naan.
That’s right. I’m not leaving. Get used to the idea.
“But there is no need,” said Farzad. “We are here.”
There were murmurs of agreement, and Derek knew he was risking offense to his hosts if he implied that they were incapable of keeping Jenna safe themselves.
“Her father is grateful to you and to The Lion for watching over her, but he is still a father. Is it not a father’s nature to worry?”
This earned Derek a few sympathetic smiles.
He went on. “I stay because if I return to my country without her, I will have to admit to her father that I failed.”
In truth, he could deal with Hamilton, but he knew his words would strike home for Farzad and his men. Admitting failure was something no Afghan man wanted to do.
The men’s smiles faded.
Farzad gestured at the room around them. “Miss Jenna has been good to our women and children. You can sleep here where it’s warm. We have a spare bunk.”
Derek managed another smile. “Tašakor.” Thanks.
Staying here in the barracks would put him right where he needed to be—close enough to Jenna to keep her safe and close enough to these men to make sure they were all who they seemed to be.
Jenna dragged herself out of bed at six, walked down the chilly hallway to the only shower in the dorm, and turned on the spray, washing quickly because the water was never truly warm. She tried to visualize the water rinsing away her exhaustion and the sadness that had followed her through the night, but it didn’t work.
Shima, a girl of only fourteen, had arrived at the clinic late last night after two days of labor with her second baby. Jenna had quickly confirmed that the baby was transverse, which made a vaginal birth impossible. With the girl’s mother-in-law acting as the go-between, she and Marie, the clinic’s French OB-GYN, had pleaded with Shima’s husband, a man in his forties, to allow a C-section, but he had refused. Jenna hadn’t been sure the mother-in-law was explaining things to him accurately, but custom forbade Jenna or any of the other women from talking with with Shima’s husband.
They had managed to turn the baby—an agonizing ordeal for Shima—but by then it was too late. The little boy had slipped lifeless into Jenna’s hands.
It was hardly the first stillbirth Jenna had attended here. Still, the senselessness of it ate at her. Shima was too young to be married, too young to give birth to her second child, too young to endure so much suffering and loss.
Stop. Don’t do that. Don’t dwell on it.
She’d go crazy if she did. Things were what they were. She had known what to expect before she’d come here.
They had at least been able to save Shima’s life—and insert an IUD. When her mother-in-law had stepped out of the room, the poor girl had begged Jenna for contraception, something her husband wouldn’t discover. Jenna had taken the unusual extra step of trimming the strings to be safe.
That was all she’d been able to do for Shima.
Jenna finished her shower and dried off. She didn’t feel more awake, but at least she was clean. She hurried back down the hallway to her room, put her hair into a ponytail, and dressed—long underwear, turtleneck, blue scrubs, a long white coat, and, of course, her headscarf. Though the hospital was heated, it never felt warm.
In the small kitchen, she found Delara making tea for everyone. Though a small all-woman kitchen staff made food for the patients, the midwives and students cooked for themselves.
“Good morning.” It had been Delara’s turn to take the night shift.
“How was it?”
“Quiet.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
A loaf of roht, a kind of sweet bread, sat on the table. Together with tea and the occasional egg, that was breakfast.
Delara handed Jenna a cup of
tea, then sat and took a piece of roht, whispering a prayer before eating. “Bismillahi wa 'ala baraka-tillah.” In the name of God and with God’s blessing.
Jenna sat, too, and drank. The tea was hot and sweet, bringing her back to life.
One by one, the student midwives drifted in, books under their arms—Guli, Nahal, Chehrah, Lailoma, Mahnaz and her sister Mina, Zari, Ruhkshana, and Parwana. They talked about their lessons, asking questions.
Nahal looked down the length of the table to Jenna. “Who was that strange man last night, the one who came into the dormitory?”
The kitchen fell silent.
Oh, God.
Jenna had forgotten about Derek Tower. “I apologize for that. He is my half-brother. My father sent him to talk me into coming home. He didn’t know that he couldn’t follow me inside.”
He almost certainly did know, but it hadn’t stopped him.
Now all of the women were staring at her.
Delara’s eyes had gone wide. “You are leaving us?”
Jenna gave Delara’s hand a squeeze. “No, I’m not. He’s leaving. I’m staying.”
Smiles of relief.
Jenna finished her breakfast and decided it was time to send Derek on his way. She put on her winter coat, adjusted her headscarf, and went out the back entrance. She found him carrying gear from his Land Cruiser to the men’s dormitory outside the concrete walls that surrounded the hospital and women’s dorm.
Was he moving in?
She called to him in English. “I thought you would be on your way by now.”
He stopped, turned toward her, those blue eyes seeming to pierce her. “I’m not leaving without you, sister dear.”
Was he crazy?
“Just so you know, I signed on for two years, and I’ve been here for six months. I hope you like lamb kebabs and naan because you’ve got a long wait.”
“Then I guess the two of us will get to spend some time together.” With that, he turned and walked away, giving Jenna a view of his backside.
Oh. My. God.
She’d never actually seen a man’s butt fill out a pair of pants like that before, his buttocks shifting with each step. It all but made her mouth water.
3
Derek climbed into the Land Cruiser, shut the door for privacy, and called Corbray on his secure satellite phone. “She won’t come back with me.”
“No big surprise there. Do you have a plan?”
A plan? Hell, no, he didn’t have a plan.
“I’ve told everyone I’m her brother to ensure that I have easy access to her. I’ll stay a week and do my best to get her to trust me and change her mind. After that, I’ll fly home and tell her old man that she refused to come.”
“Hamilton won’t like that. He’ll make trouble for us in the Armed Services Committee.”
Didn’t Derek know it? “What the hell can I do? She signed on for two years and is determined to stay the remaining eighteen months. I won’t abduct her. If he wants someone here playing bodyguard that entire time, he’ll need to find somebody else.”
Derek had a business to run.
“You knew her brother, right? Can you play on that relationship and sweet talk her into coming back?”
Derek had already thought about that. “Given that he died taking bullets meant for me, I’m not sure I’ll win her over by bringing her brother into this.”
“Think about it. If there’s any way to complete this mission…”
“Did you get anything back on those names?” He’d sent Corbray a list of the hospital staff, including Farzad and his security team, earlier today so that Corbray could run them through Cobra’s database of known assholes.
“One name popped. Hamzad Shah. As a boy, he attended a madrassa in Punjab that was shut down last year for suspected extremism. That’s all we’ve got on him—no arrests, no known terrorist affiliations.”
“Thanks.” It wasn’t much, but it gave Derek reason to keep a close eye on Hamzad. “Anything else?”
“We got word of some extremists who are posing as local militia in the northern provinces. They’ve been roving around the countryside, intimidating villagers in rural areas, taking their food and weapons, killing men here and there, and abducting women. So far, they’ve kept a pretty low profile. Their leader is reportedly Uyghur.”
Derek wondered if Kazi knew about this. “I’ll find out what I can.”
“How did your meeting with Kazi go?”
“I gave him the full ATF treatment—a crate of whiskey, cigarettes, and firearms. He seemed pleased. He lives like a king these days.”
“I don’t trust him.”
“Neither do I. I’ll check in at this same time tomorrow.”
Derek ended the call, taking a few minutes to think through what he’d learned about Jenna. She was intelligent, educated, and reportedly good at her job. She didn’t care for her father. Who could blame her? She’d come to a country with terrible maternal and infant mortality rates to save lives, but he didn’t take her for a self-righteous do-gooder. She was direct, truthful, sincere. She believed she could make a difference here, and she was willing to risk her life to do it.
He could only admire her for that.
She knew the dangers, so there was no point in trying to frighten her into coming back to the U.S. She wasn’t close to her father—an understatement—so there was no chance she’d head home out of concern for him. She spent long days taking care of others, but what did she do to take care of herself? Was she lonely, homesick?
Maybe if he took a softer approach, showed her sympathy, became her friend, he’d have a better chance of getting her to change her mind.
Shifting tactics was no more complicated for Derek than changing clothes. As a Green Beret, he’d often spent months behind enemy lines, working with local assets, doing whatever he needed to do to get the desired outcome. Assassination, manipulation, intimidation, feigned friendships—it came easily to him.
Hey, whatever works.
As for Jimmy, he had no idea how Jenna felt about her brother’s death or the fact that he had saved…
“Sniper!”
Jimmy slammed Derek to the ground just as the Dragunov opened up, the body blow knocking the breath from his lungs, driving his cheek into a rock.
Rat-at-at-at!
Derek’s breath froze in his lungs, his body rigid.
One of the other members of their squad had taken the sniper out in a hail of bullets, but it had been too late for Jimmy. That volley had hit him in the helmet.
Blood. Brains. Bits of bone.
Son of a bitch.
Derek squeezed his eyes shut, drew a breath, locked that memory away.
He didn’t do weakness.
Jimmy had spoken with his little sister via the Internet or on the phone as often as he could, and it had been clear to Derek that the two were close despite an age difference of almost ten years. He’d noticed it because it was so different from his own experience. He’d grown up with no true siblings, no real mother or father, no sense of family.
The back door of the hospital opened, and Jenna stepped out into the cold wearing only her headscarf, scrubs and white lab coat. She saw him but didn’t approach the vehicle. She didn’t call for Farzad either. Maybe she just wanted some fresh air.
Derek had only ever seen photos of her—a skinny kid with a big smile, green eyes, and auburn hair. It was clear that she and Jimmy shared DNA. Yeah, she was a hell of a lot prettier than her brother, her features delicate and unmistakably feminine, but the resemblance was there.
Was her hair long or short? Derek had no idea. The layers she wore hid the details of her body but didn’t entirely conceal her curves. All those layers did more to provoke his imagination than prevent sexual thoughts, which was their purpose.
Where the hell are you going with this, dumbass?
He hadn’t flown all this way to check Jenna out. He was here to protect her.
What was Jimmy’s nickname for her?
>
Punk.
That’s right. He’d called her Punk.
And that gave Derek an idea.
He punched in Corbray’s number again. “Hey, man, there’s something I need you to ship to Mazar-e-Sharif right away.”
He told Corbray where to find what he needed, glancing over at Jenna in time to see her wipe tears from her face with the loose end of her headscarf.
Derek saw his chance. “Got to go.”
Jenna drew another breath of cold air and was about to go back inside when Derek climbed out of his Land Cruiser and walked toward her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
He must have seen she was crying.
Damn.
“It’s nothing.”
He touched a hand to her sleeve. “It’s not nothing if you’re in tears.”
Instinctively, she drew away. She hadn’t been touched by a male—not even to shake hands—since she’d arrived here. Religious law dictated that she couldn’t speak with or be alone with a man who wasn’t immediate family. The only exception was Farzad, and that was out of necessity. She had learned to be careful.
Then again, Derek was supposed to be her brother, right?
“We had a rough night last night—just a hazard of the job.”
Keeping names confidential, she explained what had happened—how the baby had been turned wrong, and the father had refused to let the mother have a C-section. “So, long, terrible story short, the baby was stillborn, but we saved the mother. It was her second baby, and she’s just fourteen.”
Derek’s brow furrowed, his eyes warm with sympathy. “I’m sorry. That’s rough.”
“I’ve been trying to help a new mother—only sixteen, by the way—with breastfeeding, but her mother-in-law refuses to allow it, insisting on giving the baby vegetable oil or melted butter instead. I guess there’s some superstition about colostrum—a new mother’s first milk—being dangerous for babies or something. It makes me so angry. Both the girl and her baby are badly malnourished. Sometimes it just feels hopeless, as if nothing we do…”
Her words faded at the horror on Derek’s suddenly pale face. “Don’t tell me that a big, bad Green Beret is afraid of obstetrical talk.”
