“Are you okay?” he asked.
She absorbed the strength of his hand around her arm. Greedily, Bay sponged in the concerned look Gabe gave her. The air crewmen were climbing out of the helo, the medevac pilot following. “Yeah, fine...I’ve got to go with the copilot. The doctors need to know—”
“I’ll wait for you in the E.R.”
Choking back a sob, Bay nodded. Gabe’s voice was husky and she saw something in his eyes—care for her. He knew how upset she really was. Grabbing her ruck, she whispered, “Asifa?”
“I’ll take care of her,” he gently reassured her. “You take care of the copilot. Meet me in E.R. when you’re done.”
His words were like a blanket of balm soothing her growing grief over Asifa’s unexpected death. Swallowing hard, Bay nodded jerkily, not daring to look into his eyes again. If she did, she’d start to emotionally unravel. She wanted to wail out her animal-like grief over the unfairness of such a young life being taken. Moving out of the helo, her ruck over her shoulder, M-4 in her left hand, Bay followed the orderlies and gurney into the E.R. Above her were the cold white stars blinking silently in the sky. They had witnessed all of this. What did they think? Her mind was turning cloudy, no doubt from shock. Battle induced it. She was no stranger to it. Only this time, she’d almost died. This time, it was different.
* * *
GABE WATCHED AS Bay emerged from the elevator into the E.R. about an hour later. Her face was dirty and blood streaked, and strands of her hair, caught up in a ponytail, stuck to the sides of her temples. He quickly assessed her from where he stood near the sliding doors that led out of the hospital. Her beautiful blue eyes were raw and shadowed. Her mouth, usually soft and full, was thin and pursed. She moved stiffly and he knew the crash was really beginning to affect her. When she spotted him, her eyes widened for a moment, her lips parted. It sent a good feeling through him as he waited, the M-4 safed and lying across his left shoulder.
“How’s the copilot?” he asked as she drew near.
“Going to be okay. A torn artery. The ortho surgeon said the bullet missed his femur, which is good news. It could have cost him his leg instead.” She stood there, a few feet between them. “You seem so calm.”
He gave her a slight, one-cornered smile. “I’m at my best in a gunfight. I live for it.”
Nodding, she pushed some of her dirty strands off her cheek. “You SEALs are amazing.”
“Let’s go outside,” Gabe urged, nodding toward the glass doors.
Bay walked out into the night with him. It was much warmer at Bagram than at Camp Bravo. The base sat on the desert, north of Kabul, the capital. She saw the silhouette of his powerful body, his broad shoulders, and followed him out until they were swallowed up by the shadowed side of the building. Where was Gabe going? Her mind was still foggy and exhaustion stalked her in earnest. All the adrenaline had left her system. Now the adrenaline crash would come, shakiness and bone tiredness setting in.
Gabe halted by the corner and pulled her into the shadows where they could not be seen. He kept his hand on her upper arm. “Listen, I have a good friend who has a villa near Kabul. I’m always welcome there. I want to get you off this base, Bay. Give you some time to collect yourself. There are two bedroom suites. Each has a bath and shower.” He looked into her widening eyes, seeing utter fatigue in them. “This is on the up-and-up,” he told her. “I’ll be near enough if you call me and need help. Okay?”
The words barely sank into her. She frowned and looked deeply into his darkened eyes. Gabe’s hand was stabilizing, and right now she needed that. “It sounds wonderful. But how?”
He smiled a little. “I’ll tell you after you get a good hot bath, get some sleep under your belt. Okay?”
Too tired to resist, she nodded. “It sounds too good to pass up. Let’s go.” She had no idea where the women’s barracks was located on this huge Army base. His plan sounded much simpler and she trusted Gabe with her life. Literally. “I’ll be all right,” she assured him, following him toward an area unseen ahead of them.
“I know,” he said, looking down at her as they walked at each other’s shoulder. “You were good out there tonight, Bay. We wouldn’t be here right now if you hadn’t held your position in that gunfight.”
Shrugging, she said, “I didn’t like the alternative.”
Gabe’s mouth hooked into a grin. “You gotta love a woman who can shoot straight and has a dark sense of humor....”
Bay knew between the two of them, they had fought off the majority of Taliban. It was sniper-quality shooting on both their parts. They could have been overrun. The only reason they weren’t was their professional calm and collective focus. It had saved most but not all the people tonight. Without Gabe’s experience at calling in for air support and directing the Apaches, they’d be dead. She’d never been this close to her own death before.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
BAY STUMBLED INTO the villa owned by Captain Khalid Shaheen and his American wife, Emma Trayhern-Shaheen. The villa sat on a hill, ten-foot-high walls with razor-sharp concertina wire on top. As she emerged from the car driven by the Afghan driver who worked for the military family, Bay saw alert Gurkha Indian sentries at strategic points within the fortified compound.
It was dark and she felt Gabe’s hand against the small of her back, guiding her up the walk lined with fragrant jasmine vines. Inside, a shy Afghan housekeeper greeted them, never meeting their eyes. She showed them to the two suites down one wing of the massive home.
Gabe opened the door to her suite. “Everything you need is in there,” he told her, holding her darkened gaze. If you can just drop your dirty clothes on the bed, I’ll come by later and pick them up. The housekeeper will wash them tonight and we’ll have clean ones to wear tomorrow morning.”
Nodding, Bay looked around, standing in the doorway. “It’s...beautiful. I feel like I’ve stepped back into the 1930s in America.” There was a colorful quilt on the large bed.
Gabe said, “Khalid went to a university in America. He loves quilts and the Depression-era period antiques of our country.”
“My mama makes beautiful quilts,” Bay murmured, looking at the immaculately appointed room. There was a flowery-covered couch, an overstuffed chair and a small coffee table in one corner. To her right was a large bathroom.
“Khalid’s a good guy,” Gabe assured her. He saw the exhaustion in every line of Bay’s body. “Look, get undressed, take a shower or bath and then hit the rack. Sleep in. The housekeeper will make you breakfast whenever you get up.” He smiled a little. “Khalid has taught her how to make a good cup of American coffee, too.”
Pushing some strands of hair off her brow, Bay said, “What about you?” She lifted her gaze, meeting his eyes. “How are you doing?”
“I’m good.”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe it. I feel like I’ve got a mountain of reactions and they’re just hanging over my head and they’re going to explode any minute in me.” She was finding that SEALs always said they were good, even if they weren’t. What was it about them to not show weakness or admit fatigue?
Gabe kept his hands at his sides, remembering that he’d promised to keep things clean between them. Though it was obvious that Bay needed his care. Just the weariness and grief on her face tugged powerfully at his heart.
“Listen,” he said gently, “you went through a lot tonight. If you can cry, do it. It helps clean out the soul a little. If you need anything, I’m right across the hall from you.” He pointed to the door opposite of where they stood.
“I always have a letdown after a firefight, so don’t mind me. I’ll be okay. Good night, Gabe....”
“Good night.” God, the last thing Gabe wanted to do was leave her alone. Bay looked stricken and the shock appeared to deepen in her by the second. Whether she knew it or not, s
he needed some help, some human support. And he wanted to be there for her. Reluctantly, Gabe turned away and opened the door to his suite.
* * *
SOMEHOW BAY PULLED off her Merrill boots, shucked off the dirty cammies and dropped them all on one corner of the bed. Looking at her naked body, she saw the many bruises and scratches. Her major joints ached because of the helicopter crash. Bay shuffled into the bathroom, in pain. The shower stall was huge, all glass.
She picked up a bar of soap. It smelled like the jasmine blooming along the walk outside the villa. There was a pink washcloth and a bath towel large enough to wrap around her body twice. A second, smaller towel was folded next to them and she imagined it was to dry her hair.
Inside the cream-color-tiled shower, Bay found shampoo products on a small ledge. She was glad that the housekeeper had been so thoughtful. All Bay wanted to do was get clean. She could smell the fear sweat on her body and she wrinkled her nose.
The glass-enclosed shower was large enough for two people. The water coming out of the large overhead round nozzle resembled soft raindrops. Within moments, Bay stood in the heat and gathering steam, allowing the rivulets to move across her hair, face and body. A ragged sigh slipped between her lips as she scrubbed her skin free of tonight’s memories.
The shampoo was jasmine scented, too, and it felt so good to scrub her hair free of the dirt and sweat from the firefight. The perspiration peeled away, but the flashes of trauma wouldn’t leave her. Bay sat on the tile bench, the shower enclosing her in its liquid warmth as she scrubbed her feet and between each of her toes. It felt delicious to be really, truly squeaky clean.
Bay had no idea how long she was in the shower. Her skin was free of the experience. She looked at her trembling hands, the small bruises and cuts across the backs of them. Closing her eyes, she let the water stream over her head, plastering her shoulder-length hair against her neck and shoulders.
But then, in the peace, she was caught off guard as violent, sheering emotions erupted from deep within her. Reeling with exhaustion, she leaned against the warm tile wall, her hands covering her face, the streams of water falling gently around her.
Asifa’s face appeared before her tightly shut eyes. Bay’s lower lip quivered and she fought against the grief welling up within like a relentless fist shoving up through her chest and into her throat. Gulping several times, she tried to tamp it down, but it was impossible. Somewhere in her faltering mind, Bay knew she was in deep shock. And shock always played tricks on the mind and the emotions of a person. With a groan, she slowly slid downward and sat on the tile floor, pulling her legs up against her chest. She wrapped her arms around them and rested her cheek on her knees.
The first sob ripped out of her. She couldn’t stop it. Her body shook from the release. Water trickled around her, keeping her warm as the icy coldness swept through the center of her body. The second sob sounded like an animal wailing to her ringing ears. Her hearing was dulled because of all the explosions and gunfire. Bay lifted her face, eyes closed, her mouth contorted as more sobs wrenched out of her.
Overwhelmed by the crash, the firefight and finding out Asifa had been killed, Bay finally gave in to the churning mix of virulent emotions. She allowed herself to cry, to feel. The water provided her a little bit of protection in a world where there was none.
* * *
ALREADY SHOWERED, GABE knocked firmly on Bay’s suite door. He waited, a thick white towel wrapped around his waist, another one across his shoulders. Barefoot, he’d walked across the tiled hall to pick up her dirty clothes for the awaiting housekeeper to wash.
“Bay?” he called.
No answer.
Figuring she was still in the bathroom and couldn’t hear his call, Gabe eased the door open. And then he heard her sobs. Frowning, he looked toward the bathroom, the door ajar. On her bed were the filthy cammies.
“Bay?” he called more strongly. “Are you all right?” Gabe hesitated. Her weeping continued. Damn. He was torn. Bay needed help. He understood better than most what had happened. Bay was crying now because of everything she’d experienced tonight.
Moving toward the open door, Gabe saw the steam was so thick he could barely make her out on the floor. Grabbing the huge pink bath towel from the counter, he opened the door. The steam escaped, revealing Bay naked, her legs drawn up against her body, her face buried in her hands. Her dark hair was wet and ropy around her face, her naked shoulders hunched and shaking.
“Hey,” he murmured, “Let’s get you out of here.” Gabe turned off the faucets. Leaning down, he placed the towel around Bay, covering her so she wouldn’t be embarrassed. Her skin was slick and wet, turned pink by the heat of the shower. When Bay lifted her face, her eyes widening with realization he was crouched down in front of her, she blinked and stared at him in disbelief. Her lower lip trembled. Tears mingled with the water from her wet hair.
“Come on, I’m getting you out of here, Bay.”
She felt as if she were in a slow-moving nightmare where pieces of her reality were separating and spinning out of control around her. Bay had never experienced this before, and it frightened her. Only Gabe’s concerned face before hers, his strong, caring hands wrapping her snugly within the plush towel, registered. She felt him pull her to her feet, an arm around her waist to steady her.
A ragged sigh escaped her as Gabe guided her out of the shower. Her feet wouldn’t do what she wanted them to, and she leaned heavily on him for support. He smelled clean. She weakly rested her head against his chest, feeling the warm hardness of his muscles beneath her cheek. Closing her eyes, Bay wanted only to be held by him.
Gabe slowly guided her to the bed. Holding her and the towel with one arm, he leaned down and pulled back the sheet and covers. “Come on,” he rasped, “you need to sleep, Bay. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Dream or nightmare? Bay’s mind stopped functioning. She had no more tears left to cry for Asifa as Gabe guided her into the bed and pulled the covers up to her shoulders. Just having him near helped her whether he knew it or not. Turning onto her side, drawing her legs up into the fetal position, Bay felt a helplessness she’d never before encountered.
Gabe walked into the bathroom, retrieved the smaller pink towel and brought it out. He slid his hand beneath Bay’s neck, gently lifting her head off the pillow and placing it beneath her damp hair. He crouched down, aching to comfort her. “Go to sleep, Bay.”
Gabe watched her lashes close, her hands tucked against her chest beneath the covers. God, how he wanted to slide into that bed next to her. It wasn’t about sex. It was about holding her safe because she’d been through so much in so short a time. Resting his hand on her blanketed shoulder, Gabe whispered unsteadily, “You’ll be okay, baby....”
Bay barely raised her lashes, pulling her hand out from beneath the covers. She fumbled awkwardly, seeking and finding his hand on her shoulder. “Th-thanks....” And it was the last thing Bay remembered as the horror of the night spiraled her into a deep, healing sleep.
GABE WAS EATING breakfast in the dining room the next morning when he saw Bay slowly emerge from the hall. She was dressed in her clean cammies, her curly hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her eyes looked lifeless as she walked over to the table. He got up and pulled out a chair next him.
“How you feel this morning?”
“Like hell. How about you?” Bay sat down and thanked him. She eyed him with curiosity, maybe because he hadn’t had the same reaction as she had. The housekeeper came over.
Gabe sat down. “She doesn’t speak English.”
Nodding, Bay switched to Pashto and greeted the small woman who wore a set of brown slacks, a white blouse and comfortable sandals.
“I just need some coffee, please?” she asked the maid.
“Of course,” the housekeeper said, bowing and turning away.
&
nbsp; “Nothing to eat?” Gabe asked, finishing off a plate of a dozen eggs, a dozen pieces of bacon and six pieces of toast.
Rubbing her face, Bay shook her head. “N-no. I’m afraid if I eat, I’ll throw up.”
Gabe kept his hand where it was. “Yeah, it hits all of us like that sooner or later.”
She snorted softly. “I’m glad to know I’m not the only one that has that kind of reaction.” Being with Gabe made her feel stable and protected. Last night, he’d protected all of them. Her heart opened up with a fierce emotion she could only identify as love for this man. Gabe was truly a hero. To look at him, his demeanor, he seemed unaware of the vital part he’d played in rescuing so many. First, on the battlefield, and then rescuing her from the shower last night.
“We all do, Bay. It’s just a question of when it’s going to hit us, is all. It happens sooner or later.” Gabe finished off the eggs.
The housekeeper brought over a cup of coffee, and Bay thanked her. She felt chilled and wrapped her slender fingers round the warm cup. “I’ve never felt this way, Gabe. Not ever. I’ve been in any number of firefights before.”
To hell with it. Gabe reached out and pulled one hand gently away from the mug. “Listen to me, will you?” He held her cloudy blue eyes. “You forget we had three things in a row hit us last night. You’ve never been in a helo crash. Then our lives were on the line with the Taliban coming to finish us off.” His hand tightened around her icy fingers. “I did the best I could to hide Asifa.” Gabe shook his head, his voice lowering with emotion. “There was so much lead flying last night, Bay, I didn’t think she’d make it. Hell, I didn’t think we’d make it. It was dicey. And while you functioned just fine in combat, something this intense is bound to hit you sooner or later when it’s over.”
She turned her hand, lacing her fingers through his. It was so hard to speak. She felt her throat closing up with tears once more. “When you put it like that, it is a lot,” Bay admitted hoarsely. “I just feel so torn up inside, Gabe....”
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