Danger Close (Shadow Warriors)

by Lindsay McKenna

  Cathy flashed him a brief glance. “I’ve always been. Just because you extroverts run the world.”

  Jim laughed softly as they passed a number of doctors and medics coming from the opposite direction. “Being shy or introverted is a cross to bear,” he agreed. “If you’re quiet or more comfortable in silence or small groups of people, the extroverts think you’re being a loner or being antisocial.”

  “You understand,” she said in awe.

  “Why not? I make it my business to know what makes people run inside and out. One of the men in my own personal recon team, Billy, is like you. He’s an Arkansas razorback who turns beet-red if you make him the center of attention. And yet, nobody cares more than Billy.”

  Cathy’s heart went out to Billy from Arkansas. “He’s lucky to have you as his commanding officer. I wish…”

  “What?”

  With a shrug, Cathy tried to dismiss what she had almost said out loud. Boland was too easy to talk with. And, worse, she was beginning to trust him. How many times in the past had she trusted a person too easily with miserable results? “Nothing,” she said more sharply than she intended.

  Boland looked down at her guarded features. Her eyes were very large and green. He fought the impulse to continue to stare at her. “What I don’t understand is how a shy violet like yourself heads up a squad of women and is able to function so well in a combat situation.”

  “Very carefully,” she assured him drily. “Are you saying introverts can’t take combat?”

  “No. It’s just that in my experience with men who are introverts, they have a worse time getting rid of, or expressing, all the horror they’ve seen. I was just wondering how a woman introvert would handle it. In the Recons, we don’t have women—yet….”

  Cathy’s mouth quirked. “What do extroverts do?”

  “Cry. Get drunk. Fight. Make love. Work out until you’re ready to drop. If one considers those outlets.”

  A tentative smile stalked her lips. “Crying is healthy. And so is working out.” She deliberately didn’t touch his making-love statement.

  “You mean you wouldn’t tie one on?”

  “Sure, why not? Anything to numb the pain I feel, Captain, would be positive.”

  “Are you sure that’s true? If you want to get rid of the pain you’re carrying, why not drugs?”

  “Not my style. I like natural highs.”

  “Such as?”

  She smiled, a faraway look in her eyes. “Trout fishing in a cold, high mountain stream. Sitting undetected up in a tree watching a buck pass beneath me. Or watching a golden eagle climbing into the clear blue sky, her scream echoing off the walls of a mountain valley. Those kinds of highs.”

  “I like your highs. Can I come and share them with you?”

  Cathy laughed at his teasing. “Anytime, Captain. I owe you one, anyway.”

  Jim pulled her to a halt, his hand closing around her elbow. The corridor ended and led to a long, downward flight of stairs to the road below. Although the morning was already growing humid, the fresh air felt good as it flowed strongly past them. “You’re paying me back right now,” he told her, studying her upturned face. When he saw puzzlement written in her eyes, he went on to explain. “Being with you, as a woman, is a high for me. You have a commendable streak of sensitivity and brains to boot. Not a bad combination.”

  Nothing could have prepared Cathy for his compliment. The look in his eyes told her he meant every word of it and she grew panicky. Jim Boland had just touched the very chords of herself that she most valued. How was it possible that he knew her so well? He was the opposite of the men she had experiences with and he seemed to revel in her complexity. She could see it in the undisguised warmth lingering in his dark gray eyes and hear it in the timbre of his voice as it flowed through her.

  “Come on,” Jim coaxed, keeping his hand on her elbow, “let’s tackle these stairs. If you get weak as we go down them, tell me.”

  Mutely nodding, Cathy was grateful for his support. The stairs were steep and her legs were shaky by the time they reached the bottom. This was her first look at the rear area and she stood there, at his side, absorbing all the sights, sounds and colors that bombarded her senses.

  Jim stood patiently while she drank in the panorama around them. Helicopters were whapping heavily through the morning air, almost drowned out by a convoy of trucks that began gearing up to leave the supply depot to their left. Hundreds of male and female Marines could be seen moving around them, many carrying their rifles, others with rucks in hand.

  “What are you doing?” he asked her quietly.

  Cathy barely turned her head, acutely aware of her legs trembling from that small amount of exertion. “Feeling. It’s what I do best.”

  “Sensing?” he guessed, trying to understand.

  She nodded and flared her nostrils, taking in a deep breath. The drier air of the Khorat plain, the odor of diesel mingling with kerosene aviation fuel, touched her nostrils. The red earth was flat and not chewed up, as was the regimental area. “Major Lane would tell you I’m more of a hunting dog than a woman.”

  And then she smiled shyly. “When I look at something, I see more than just what’s there. I see the shadows, the slight change in coloration. Furthermore, I like touching things, feeling the differences in textures. Maybe the major is right. I’m perfect for combat because of my heightened senses.”

  Jim nodded and guided her toward a huge, tented area in the distance that had lines of Marines leading into it. “What does Cathy Fremont have to say about her talents? I disagree with what your major has said. No one is ‘perfect’ for combat. Or for any war, for that matter.”

  Taking the cap, she placed it on her head, squinting against the early-morning rays of the sun. After being in a Quonset hut for four days, the raw sunlight proved too much for her eyes. “I used my senses in my paramedic work. I’m a year away from my R.N. degree and I want to work in maternity after I graduate. I love children and I think the mothers-to-be could use a little mothering themselves. I’m good in a support role.”

  “Mothering?”

  “Helping other people. I’d like to think that my presence in their life, no matter how long or short, makes a difference.”

  “I see. So, you apply that philosophy to your own squad?”

  Cathy stepped close to Jim as a truck roared by, billowing dust kicked up in its heavily treaded wake. So much for her feeling of cleanliness after that marvelous shower earlier. She hesitated in answering his question.

  “I had my squad up until two weeks ago when the major transferred me to point position in another one.”

  They continued toward the mess tent, the odor of freshly cooked eggs, salty bacon and fragrant coffee wafting on the air. Jim tabled his next question, noticing that Cathy slowed her step as they neared the milling men and women who stood in two lines with aluminum trays. They were all waiting to be served by the cooks who stood behind tables that held huge containers of hot food. Boland felt her tense and slow almost to a stop, as if threatened.

  The curious Marines stared openly as he and Cathy moved closer to them. She trusted him, but not the line of Marines. They chose a spot at the end of the shortest line, and Cathy kept her head bowed, eyes downcast and staring at her booted feet. Jim could feel the natural warmth of her body and, for a moment, a delicious, heady female fragrance that was her.

  He handed Cathy a tray as they inched closer toward the cooks ladling out breakfast foods. She shifted uncomfortably from one booted foot to another. He found her reaction fascinating, given the fact that out in the bush, she must function on a completely different level. After breakfast he was going to have to tell her that she had been transferred to Alpha. He couldn’t wait any longer and she appeared strong enough to deal with the news. He hoped.

  Boland chose a table that had just emptied of Marines. If she was hungry, why did she pick at her food?

  Jim looked across the table at her. “You can’t blame these grunts
for looking at you. It isn’t often they see a good looking WLF woman up here.”

  Cathy shrugged, pushing the freshly scrambled eggs around with the fork. “I hate getting stared at it. I’d rather face a rocket attack.”

  He laughed softly. “I wouldn’t. Come on, it’s all right. They’re friendly and curious, that’s all. They aren’t a threat to you.”

  Gradually, Cathy allowed Boland’s coaxing to ease her discomfort. Using her old method of coping with stares, she deliberately focused every sense on her food and the process of eating. All her life she had forced herself to shut out offending events and concentrate solely on the task directly in front of her.

  Jim watched her covertly. It hurt him to see her wolfing down the food like a famished animal. Occasionally, her gaze would dart about, missing little, and then she would begin to eat again. Twice, he got up and refilled her glass of fresh, cold orange juice before her thirst was sated. She was more relaxed afterward, holding a cup of steaming coffee between her long, expressive fingers that bore recent pink scars from the long, sharp-bladed elephant grass that all the squads had to work through on a patrol.

  “I’d forgotten what hot food tasted like.”

  Jim had trouble keeping the irritation out of his voice. “I don’t see why your major wouldn’t rotate you women back here for a hot meal every once in a while. I rotate my men to the rear whenever possible to give them a day’s break. It’s just good mental health.”

  Cathy smiled. “Sound emotional health, too.” Looking around, she met his gray gaze once again. “Still, it’s been a nice reprieve from Delta.”

  Boland steeled himself internally, holding the tin mug more firmly in his own hands. “Want to extend that reprieve?” he ventured quietly, watching her.

  Her brows dipped. “I don’t understand.”

  “How’d you like to spend the next thirty-five days with my company before going back to Delta?”

  Cathy’s heart started a slow pound as she stared at him. “What are you talking about, Captain?”

  Jim slowly turned the mug around, holding her wary gaze. He told Cathy of the recently approved orders, leaving out the real reasons for getting her transferred to Alpha. He saw the color drain from her face, leaving her eyes wide, frightened jade pools. His mouth tightened as he finished the explanation.

  “Well? What do you think?”

  Cathy swallowed hard, breaking out in a cold sweat. She touched her brow with trembling fingers. “I don’t believe this…I don’t…how could Lane…I mean…”

  He heard the raw fear in her voice. Was she going into shock? Why should the transfer upset her so much? “What are you talking about?” he demanded.

  Cathy suddenly stood up. She wanted to run. To hide. Turning on her heel, she began walking away from the chow tent. Tears blinded her and everything blurred as she headed back in the direction of the medical facility. The warning honk of a truck didn’t even impinge on her shocked senses. Seconds later, a hand closed over her arm, jerking her backward.

  Boland cursed richly as the vehicle roared by, missing Cathy by a few feet. Dust choked and swirled around them as he allowed her to fall against him. He steadied her. “Dammit,” he growled, “you almost got hit!”

  Cathy pulled out of his grip, stumbling backward. She stood tensely, legs apart, hands drawn into fists at her sides. “They had no right to transfer me!” she cried hoarsely.

  He froze, holding her anguished green gaze. “Why should you be so upset about this? It’s going to give you time to get back on your feet. I sure as hell don’t push my people like your major does. It was the only thing I could think of to help you.”

  She fought back the rage, the tears and the fear clawing up through her.

  Boland blurred before her eyes and Cathy whirled around and crossed her arms tightly against her breasts. Despite the chaos in her, she felt Jim approach, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders.

  “You shouldn’t have,” she whispered achingly. “You don’t understand. Oh, God, you don’t understand….”

  “I’m trying to. Now turn around and talk to me.” Jim forced her to face him. Wincing, he tried to ignore the very real suffering in every feature of her face. “You act as if I’ve sentenced you to death, Cathy.”

  “You have! Major Lane would never let any of us work with Marines, unless there was an underlying reason. Don’t you see?” She shut her eyes tightly, feeling dizzy and nauseous. “Did Lane talk you into doing this?”

  Jim took off his cap, running his fingers through his black hair. “No. Why should she?”

  “Because she’s wanted to get rid of me for a long time, Captain. That’s why.”

  Opening his hands, Boland lowered his voice. “Wait, don’t blow this out of proportion. I lied to her, all right? I told her anything she wanted to hear about how the press would be good for her and the WLF if we took you into Alpha. Look at me, Cathy. Come on….”

  She raised her lashes, staring mutinously up at him.

  “I’ll level with you,” he whispered harshly. “When I picked you up out of that river after you fainted, I couldn’t believe it. You were nothing but skin and bones. You were underfed and—it was sure as hell obvious to me—overworked. I found out you’d run over sixty patrols in a month. That’s too many.” He voice became guttural. “You pride yourself on taking care of your people. Well, so do I. But I’m also a sucker for the underdog, too. I sat with you for that first night, and I listened to you talk in your delirium. I had good intentions, Cathy. I wanted to give you that rest you deserved. I wanted to give you that freedom you told me you wanted. Do you remember that? I asked you what you wanted and you told me ‘to be free.’ Well, I’ve gotten you a certain amount of freedom. Alpha doesn’t run like Delta.” He rolled his shoulders and tried to throw off the accumulated tension in them. “I don’t know why you’re upset about it. You’ll be given less patrols, less responsibility and more rest.”

  Cathy wrestled with her terror and thought about Jim Boland’s explanation. In her heart, she felt he had done it out of genuine concern for her. But the fact that Lane had even allowed him to do it hung like a sword over her head.

  Ingram’s snarling threat came back to Cathy. Captain Ingram had come to her hootch and nailed her right after a patrol.

  “You’re screwing up, Fremont. The major wants more bodies.”

  Cathy sat there, exhausted. She placed the M16 in her lap, automatically starting to field strip it.

  “I do my best, Captain.”

  Ingram’s eyes narrowed dangerously and her hand shot out, gripping Cathy by the collar.

  “Now you listen to me, bitch,” she breathed, her face inches from Fremont’s. “You either get your act together and start killin’ more LA or someone’s liable to find you dead out in the bush. The major won’t tolerate your methods of patrolling any longer, Fremont. You either wise up or you’re out, permanently. Do I make myself clear?”

  Cathy blinked, tearing herself out of that harrowing exchange with Ingram. First, the officer’s threats, then a week later, she was demoted, her squad taken away from her. Now, Lane had signed orders to get her out of Delta. The handwriting on the wall was very clear to Cathy. Lane wanted her out of Delta and conveniently dead. The thought left her mouth dry and heart pumping hard. She rubbed her brow and took several steps away from Boland in order to try to sort through her emotions. With a helpless wave of her hand, she whispered, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, Captain. It’s just that…”

  Jim took two steps forward, inches separating them as he studied her frightened green eyes. “What?” he demanded tightly. “Tell me what’s bothering you. I care. You’ve got to realize that by now.”

  A lump formed in her throat and Cathy turned away. She absently dug at the dirt with the toe of her combat boot. “I can’t. I can’t say anything. If I do, it could make things worse for my friends over in Delta. Or for myself.”

  He gripped her arm gently. “Major Lane
does not run Alpha. Whatever you say to me, stays with me. Understand?”

  God, how she wanted to believe him! “I—I can’t.” And then her voice cracked. “Let me get back to the hospital, Captain. I’m not feeling very well.”

  Jim kept his hand on her elbow. “I’ll walk you back.” He kept looking down at her, alarmed by her reaction to the transfer. Cathy didn’t strike him as the hysterical or dramatic type. For her to have that kind of violent reaction confirmed that something far greater than any of them had suspected was wrong over at Delta. He kept his voice neutral when he broke the silence.

  “Would it be personally distasteful to you to work with my men for a month?”

  Her mouth compressed. “You tell me, Captain. How are your Recons going to take a woman in their ranks?” Even though it was supposed to be a gender-neutral military now, that was a joke. Yes, Lane knew how to manipulate any situation and place her in a dangerous position. Lane wanted her dead.

  “I’m going to put you in my personal Recon team, if that makes you feel better,” he told her tightly. “These men have worked with me for two years. They’re all vets. If anything, you’ll be safer.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said dully, turning away. “Nothing matters anymore….”

  Jim tensed, hearing the ache in her voice. “You matter. Do you hear me? You’re important, Cathy. I do care what happens to you even if your major doesn’t.”

  Her eyes were filled with sadness as she looked up at him. “I’m tired, Captain. Tired clear to my soul. I don’t have anything else to give to you, to your men or even to myself. Do you understand?”

  Boland stood there, watching her slowly make her way up the stairs. His mouth compressed into a tight line of frustration. He wanted to wrap his hands around Mackey and Lane’s throats. But, first, he wanted to kick himself. Cathy was running so scared that she jumped at her own shadow. He saw her disappear into the medical facility without so much as a backward glance. Did he expect her to be grateful? He’d just shafted her. And if the terror he saw in Cathy’s eyes was any barometer of how she was feeling internally, he had also just gutted her. Christ!