Add in her administrative duties on mental health evaluations and sometimes, she didn’t know which day of the week it was.
“Does it ever end?” she whispered, suddenly feeling overwhelmed at the stack of files on her desk. Each one represented a person. A soldier. A life under pressure.
Lives she did everything she could to save.
Olivia shrugged. “Not really.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got a nine o’clock legal brief with the boss. You okay?”
She offered a weak smile. “Yeah. Have to be, right?”
Olivia didn’t look convinced but didn’t have time to dig in further. In the brief moment she had alone, Emily covered her face with her hands.
Every single day, Emily’s faith in the system she’d wanted to help weakened. When officers like Jenkowski were threatening kids who just needed to take a break and pull themselves together to find some way of dealing with the trauma in their lives, it crushed part of her spirit. She’d never imagined that confrontation would be a daily part of her life as an army doc. She’d signed up to help people. She wasn’t a commander, not a leader of soldiers. She was here to provide medical services. She’d barely stepped outside her office so all she knew was the inside of the clinic’s walls.
She’d had no idea how much of a fight she’d have on a daily basis. Three months in and she was still shocked. Every single day brought something new.
She wasn’t used to it. She doubted she would ever get used to it. It drained her.
But every day she got up and put on her boots to do it all over again.
She was here to make a difference.
A sharp knock on her door had her looking up. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the single most beautiful man she’d ever seen. His skin was deep bronze, his features carved perfection. There was a harshness around the edge of his wide full mouth that could have been from laughing too much or yelling too often. Maybe both.
And his shoulders filled the doorway. Dear Lord, men actually came put together like this? She’d never met a man who embodied the fantasy man in uniform like this one. The real military man was just as likely to be a pimply-faced nineteen-year-old as he was to be this…this warrior god.
A god who looked ready for battle. It took Emily all of six-tenths of a second to realize that this man was not here for her phone number or to strip her naked and have his way with her. Well, he might want to have his way with her but she imagined it was in a strictly professional way. Not a hot and sweaty way, the thought of which made her insides clench and tighten.
She stood. This man looked like he was itching for a fight and darn it, if that’s what he wanted, then Emily would give it to him.
It was just another day at the office, after all.
* * *
“Can I help you, Sergeant?”
Reza glanced at the little captain, who looked braced for battle. She was cute in a Reese Witherspoon kind of way, complete with dimples and except for her rich dark hair and silver blue eyes. If Reza hadn’t been nursing one hell of a bad attitude and a serious case of the ass, he would’ve considered flirting with her.
Except that the sergeant major’s warning of don’t fuck up beat a cadence in his brain, so he wouldn’t be flirting anytime soon. Besides, something about the stubborn set of her jaw warned him that she wasn’t someone to tangle with. She didn’t look tough enough to crumble a cookie, and yet she’d squared off with him like she might just try to knock him down a peg or two. This ought to at least make the day interesting.
Reza straightened. She was the enemy for leaders like him, who were doing their damnedest to put bad troops out of the army. People like her ignored the warning signs from warriors like Sloban and let spineless cowards like Wisniak piss on her leg about how his mommy didn’t love him enough.
This wasn’t about Sloban. He couldn’t help him now and that fact burned on a fundamental level. He released a deep breath. Then sucked in another one. “I need to know if Sergeant Chuck Wisniak signed in to the clinic.”
“I’m sorry but unless you’re the first sergeant or the commander, I can’t tell you that.”
Reza breathed hard through his nose. “I’m the first sergeant.”
Her gaze flicked to the sergeant first class rank on his chest. He wasn’t wearing the rank of the first sergeant, so his insignia was missing the rocker and the diamond that distinguished first sergeants from the soldiers that they led. Sergeants First Class were first sergeants all the time, though.
Her eyes narrowed. “Do you have orders?”
Reza’s gaze dropped to the pen in her hand and the rhythmic way she flicked the cap on and off. He swallowed, pulling his gaze away from the distracting sound, and struggled to hold on to his patience.
“First sergeants are not commanders. We don’t have assumption of command orders.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Ma’am, I just need to know if he’s here. Why is this such a big deal?”
“Because Sergeant Wisniak has told this clinic on multiple occasions that his chain of command is targeting him, looking for an excuse to take his rank.”
“Well, maybe if he was at work once in a while he wouldn’t feel so persecuted.”
The small captain lifted her chin. “Sergeant, do you have any idea what it feels like to be looked at like you’re suspect every time you walk into a room?”
Something cold slithered across Reza’s skin, sidling up to his heart and squeezing tightly. “Do you have any idea what it feels like to send soldiers back to combat knowing they lost training days chasing after a sissy-ass soldier who can’t get to work on time?”
A shadow flickered across her pretty face but then it was gone, replaced by steel. “My job is to keep soldiers from killing themselves.”
“And my job is to keep soldiers from dying in combat.”
“They’re not mutually exclusive.”
Silence hung between them, battle lines drawn.
“I’m not leaving here without a status on Sarn’t Wisniak,” Reza said.
Captain Lindberg folded her arms over her chest. A flicker in her eyes, nothing more, then she spoke. “Sergeant Wisniak is in triage.”
“I need to speak with him.”
Lindberg shook her head. “No. I’m not letting anyone see him until he’s stable. He’s probably going to be admitted to the fifth floor. He’s extremely high risk. And you’re part of his problem, Sergeant.”
Reza’s temper snapped, breaking free before he could lash it back. “Don’t put that on me, sweetheart. That trooper came in the army weak. I had nothing to do with his lack of a backbone.” Reza turned to go before he lost his military bearing and started swearing. She’d already elevated his blood pressure to need-a-drink levels and it wasn’t even nine a.m.
He could do this. He breathed deeply, running through creative profanity in his mind to keep the urge to drink at bay.
Her words stopped him at the door, slicing at his soul.
“How can you call yourself a leader? You’re supposed to care about all your soldiers,” she said, so softly he almost didn’t hear her.
He turned slowly. Studied her, standing straight and stiff and pissed. “How can I call myself a leader? Honey, until you’ve bled in combat, don’t talk to me about leadership. But go ahead. Keep protecting this shitbird and tie up all the counselors so that warriors who genuinely need help can’t get it. He doesn’t belong in the army.” He swept his gaze down her body deliberately. Trying to provoke her. Her face flushed as he met her eyes coldly. “Neither do you.”
* * *
Emily sucked in a sharp breath at Iaconelli’s verbal slap. In one sentence, he’d struck her at the heart of her deepest fear.
It took everything she had to keep her hands from trembling.
Her boss Colonel Zavisca appeared in the doorway, saving her from embarrassing herself.
“Is there a problem, Sergeant?”
Sergeant Iaconelli turned and nearly collided wit
h the full-bird colonel, who looked remarkably like an older version of Johnny Cash.
Sergeant Iaconelli straightened and his fists bunched at his sides. “You don’t want me to answer that. Sir.”
“I don’t think I appreciate what you’re insinuating.”
“I don’t really give a flying fuck what you think I’m insinuating. Maybe if your doctors did their jobs instead of actively trying to make my life more difficult, we wouldn’t have this problem.”
“What brigade are you in, Sergeant?” her boss demanded.
She watched the exchange, her breath locked in her throat. The big sergeant’s hands clenched by his sides. “None of your damn business.”
Colonel Zavisca might be a medical doctor but he was still the senior officer in charge of the hospital. Emily had never seen an enlisted man so flagrantly flout regulations.
“You can leave now, Sergeant. Don’t come back on this property without your commander.”
The big sergeant swore and stalked off.
Emily wondered if he’d obey the order. She suspected she already knew the answer.
Her boss turned to her. “Are you okay?” he asked. Colonel Zavisca’s voice was deep and calming, the perfect voice for a psych doctor. It was more than his voice, though. His entire demeanor was something soothing, a balm on ragged wounds. His quiet power and authority stood in such stark contrast to Sergeant Iaconelli.
Men like Sergeant Iaconelli were energy and motion and hard angles. And he was rude. Colonel Zavisca was more like some of the men at her father’s country club except without the stench of sophisticated asshole. He was familiar.
“I’m fine, sir. Rough morning, that’s all.”
Emily stood for a long moment, Sergeant Iaconelli’s words still ringing in her ears. He had no idea how much his comment hurt. She didn’t know him from Adam but his words had found her weakness and stabbed it viciously.
In one single sentence, he’d shredded every hope she’d held on to since joining the army. She’d wanted to belong. To be part of something. To make a difference. He’d struck dead on without even knowing it. Her family had told her she’d never fit into the military. She fought the urge to sink into her chair and cover her face with her hands. She just needed a few minutes. She could do this.
The big sergeant didn’t know her. His opinion did not matter. Her parents’ opinions did not matter.
If she kept repeating this often enough, it would be true.
Her boss glanced at the clock on her wall. “It’s too early for this.”
She smiled thinly. “I know. Shaping up to be one heck of a Monday. Is triage already booked?”
He nodded. “Yes. I need you in there to help screen patients. We need to clear out the folks who can wait for appointments and identify those who are at risk right now of harming themselves or others.”
“Roger, sir. I can do that. I need to e-mail two company commanders and I’ll be right out there.”
“Okay. Don’t forget we have the staff sync at lunch.”
Even this early, the day showed no sign of slowing down and all she wanted to do was go home and take a steaming hot bath. She’d been trying to work out a knot behind her left shoulder blade for days now and things just kept piling up. She needed a good soak and a massage. Not that she dared schedule one. She’d probably end up cancelling it anyway.
“There’s that smile. Relax. You’re going to die of a heart attack before you’re thirty. The army is a marathon, not a sprint.”
“Roger, sir.” She waited until he closed the door before she covered her face in her hands once more. She could do this. She just needed to find her battle rhythm. She’d get into the swing of things. She wasn’t about to quit just because things got a little rough.
Her cell phone vibrated on her desk. Oh, perfect. Her mother was calling. Not that she was about to answer that phone call. She couldn’t deal with the passive-aggressive jabs her mother was so skilled at. Besides, she was probably just going to press Emily to give up on—as she put it—slumming in the army and come home.
She’d worked too hard to get where she was and she damn sure wasn’t about to go limping home. How could she? Her parents had looked at her like she was an alien when she’d told them about Bentley. As though she had somehow been in the wrong for her fiancé’s betrayal. As though, if she’d been woman enough, he never would have strayed.
If she ever went home again, and that was a really big if, she would do it on her own terms. She’d walked away from everything in her life that had been hollow and empty.
She was rebuilding, doing something that mattered for the first time in her life. Every day that she avoided calling home or being the person her father and his friends wanted her to be was a victory. No one in her family had supported her when she’d needed them. She might not have found her place yet in the army but just being here was a start. It was something new and she wasn’t about to give up, no matter how much Monday threw at her.
Tuesday really needed to hurry up and get here though, because as Mondays went, this one was already shot all to hell.
Chapter Two
The text message of doom vibrated on Reza’s phone as he pulled into his company ops parking lot. Reza was wanted in the sergeant major’s office.
He did his best to avoid the brigade headquarters. There were too many names memorialized on the walls. Too many ghosts that walked the halls, overshadowing everything they did. Demanding that Reza do better. Train harder. Do more to bring their boys home.
He swallowed, gripping the steering wheel as his phone vibrated in his lap again.
He supposed he couldn’t avoid the sergeant major forever.
Maybe today the ghosts would leave him be.
He walked down the long hallway of the Reaper Brigade headquarters, fear choking him as the memories of lost friends hung like empty, cold spaces in the sterile, buffed hallway. He wanted to keep walking but his boots slowed, stopping in front of the memorial for their fallen brothers and sisters. Smiling faces. Easy grins.
They’d had no clue that the photos on the wall would be how they were memorialized for all eternity. His gaze landed on his old first sarn’t and his throat tightened. Story’s loss was still fresh enough to hurt.
Reza scrubbed his hand over his mouth, swallowing, trying to push the lump down.
“Ornery bastard,” he muttered, staring at Story’s pic. Story hadn’t smiled in his picture. He’d never smiled, that Reza could recall. But that had done nothing to dampen Reza’s loyalty to his friend. He clenched his fists by his sides.
Funny how he’d gotten so used to seeing “private” or “sergeant” as the rank of the dead. First Sergeant…
He’d served with Story as a drill sergeant back at Sand Hill eons ago, when they’d both been more motivated, less cynical. Before the war had chipped away at their humanity.
His eyes burned and he blinked rapidly. Shit, he couldn’t go into the sergeant major’s office all misty-eyed. He’d never hear the end of it.
Reza didn’t have time for long chats. He had men to train. They were about nine months out from another deployment—Reaper’s 4th tour into Iraq—and that meant that there simply weren’t enough hours in the day to get everything done. He hoped Foster had moved on with the weapons training without him. It was better to suffer during training than bleed in war.
The sergeant major knew that. So why was he wasting Reza’s time with an office call? Probably some spouse complaining about Tricare again or something else that the military couldn’t fix for them.
Reza was of the mind-set that if the army had wanted you to have a family, it would have issued you one. He stayed single for exactly that reason. There was no end to the number of soldiers he had to pick up at the R&R Center because they’d married the first girl they’d lost their virginity to and that girl had turned out to have the heart of a pit viper.
Reza walked into the command group. A skinny private who looked like he needed to repor
t to the dermatologist motioned for him to head straight in. Sucking in a deep breath and shoving away the sadness that always shadowed him when he was in the headquarters, he rapped on the door frame.
Sarn’t Major Giles glared up from his computer. “Get your ass in here, Ike.”
Sarn’t Major Giles was not a friendly man. There was no teddy bear hiding beneath his tough, sandpapery exterior. As far as Reza knew, the man didn’t have a heart and his veins were filled with pure meanness. He’d told Reza once that all that kept him going was training his troopers. That would explain why he was on marriage number four but hey, Reza wasn’t there to judge.
But no matter how much Reza liked to avoid him, there was no one more effective at taking a scared nineteen-year-old private and giving him the confidence to be the first man in the stack to kick in a door. Giles might not be nice but he was effective.
“Iaconelli,” Sarn’t Major said, kicking his feet up on his desk. “What happened at the R&R Center today?”
Reza frowned. “Nothing significant to report.” It was his way of trying to brush off answering the old man. He really didn’t feel like rehashing the entire conversation with the doc and then her boss. Sergeant Majors tended to get cranky when sergeants stepped out of line—something Reza was prone to do more often than not.
Giles chomped on the cigar in his mouth, his eyes pitiless and cold. “I’ll give you one more chance,” he said quietly. “Explain to me why I’ve got a full-bird colonel calling over here, pissing on the boss’s leg about you.”
Ah, hell. Reza clenched his fists at the small of his back. “I got into it with one of the docs over there. She wouldn’t confirm whether one of my dudes was there or not.”
“So you cussed out her boss?” Deadly, quiet words.
A chill slithered up Reza’s spine and settled around his shoulders.
“I may have uttered a creative turn of phrase, Sarn’t Major.” He’d made it his life’s work to try and get the sarn’t major to crack a grin. He’d never once succeeded. Not once.
A slow flush crawled up Sarn’t Major Giles weathered neck. Today was not that day, either.
All for You Page 2
