Wings of Gold Series

by Tappan, Tracy

  Remote outpost was no joke.

  “I have a visual of the landing pad at my twelve o’clock,” he said. “Rolling in on final approach.” He descended. “Be advised, three souls onboard, all wearing Pakistani clothing.”

  “After landing,” the voice on the other end ordered him, “shut down, and put your hands in the air until cleared.”

  “Copy,” Jason said just as he performed a small flare for a smooth set down. An incredibly smooth landing, considering this was a strange aircraft and his nerves were probably shot to hell. Scratch probably. Definitely. Although he would feel it later.

  He shut down, and nearly broke into song when the annoying fucking strobe finally stopped its annoying fucking pulsing. He slipped off his helmet. “Hands up,” he told Farrin as he put his own in the air.

  Four man-shaped shadows—two with rifles pointed directly at Jason’s chest—appeared out of the night and stealth-stalked toward the Eurocopter. They were wearing helmets on their heads, NVDs covering their eyes.

  Farrin’s door was slapped open. A fist reached in, grabbed her by the front of the blouse, and hauled her out of the cockpit.

  “Hey—!” Jason’s protest was cut short when he underwent the same treatment, ending up with his left cheek smashed into the dirt, both of his arms wrenched behind him, and an unyielding knee pressed into his lower back, an act of aggression that made his recent spinal injury throw a conniption fit.

  He heard the helo side door open, a groan, then a shuffle.

  “Chief Naize?” Shane said. “Is that you, man? What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Mad Dog,” a deep voice greeted. “I was called in to take your place on station.”

  “Shit. What? I’ve been replaced already?”

  “We got intel about the Taliban planning to publicly string up the dead SEALs from the helo crash, so we needed to move in fast to retrieve the bodies. Couldn’t wait for you to be undead, Madden, although I’m glad to see you’re alive. We just completed the mission.”

  “Thank fuck,” Shane growled. “Couldn’t stand the thought of—”

  “Mad Dog,” Jason bit out. “Do you think maybe you could catch up after you’ve cleared us?”

  Shane snorted. “Yeah, let ’em up. Is that you, Tripwire? Dude, you’re kneeling on a lieutenant commander, and one who happens to wear a trident. Casanova there flies SPECOPS aviation.”

  It was the first time Shane had ever referred to Jason’s job title without a sneer attached to it.

  The pressure on Jason’s back let up.

  He pushed to his feet, swiping the dirt off his cheek.

  The owner of the bass voice stepped forward, a rifle held crosswise in front of him. “Commander. You said something about hot intel,” the chief prompted.

  Jason didn’t answer. Even though the intel was time-critical, he first walked over to Farrin. “Are you okay?”

  She was brushing herself off. “Yes. Thank you. Excuse me, but I need to see to Shane.” She rushed over and tried to inspect the site of Shane’s new bullet wound. It was pretty dark, though. “Do you have any medical supplies here?” she tossed over her shoulder at the chief.

  Naize narrowed his eyes on Farrin. She’d pulled off her helmet, exposing her Muslim-looking scarf.

  “She’s a doctor,” Shane explained. “An American doctor.”

  “Just basic first aid,” Naize answered. “I’ll call in a dustoff28 for Mad Dog. The Mercy is floating nearby. They’ll patch him up.”

  Naize set everything in motion.

  Several of the other SEALs shoved the Eurocopter out of the way—not easily, since it sat on skids, not wheels—to make room for the MEDEVAC bird. Farrin stayed with Shane, applying pressure to his wound while Jason pulled aside the chief to brief him on the four hostages: the last place Jason spotted the Americans, plus as much as he knew about PAF base logistics, the number of Taliban he’d been dealing with over the past week, and anything else he could remember.

  The MEDEVAC helo landed, and Jason helped to get Shane on a stretcher and load him on the aircraft.

  Shane levered himself up on an elbow. “That was some beast flying earlier, Casanova,” he shouted to be heard over the whirling rotor blades. “You saved us from a serious potential ream-job.”

  Jason curled his upper lip. “You know I hate that call sign, right?”

  Shane’s face split into a broad grin. “Yeah.”

  Jason snorted. “Stealing a Pakistani bird will be one helluva story to tell our kids someday, won’t it?”

  “Fuckin’ A it will.” Shane held Jason’s gaze for a long moment.

  He nodded slowly. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

  “Not if I see you first, bitch.”

  Jason punched Shane in the foot, then jogged over to where Chief Naize stood with Farrin near the HESCO barrier. Jason signaled the pilots cleared for takeoff. The helo flew away, and the three of them watched it go.

  Once the sound of the rotors faded, Naize turned to them both. “Follow me.” The chief led them past the HESCO barrier, through a gate built of solid wood four-by-fours, then into the forty-by-forty. They immediately entered a kitchen, where Jason got his first good look at Naize.

  A rough stubble of black beard darkened an iron-willed jaw, and as the chief pulled off his helmet, he exposed medium-length hair as black as his beard, and piercing blue eyes. And Jason did not use the term piercing lightly. Being under this man’s scrutiny was a physical stab.

  Off to the left of the kitchen was a community room strewn with weaponry, equipment, and tools, radios on chargers lining the far wall. The room was currently roiling with SEALs, six or more, busy prepping to deploy on a redo of OPERATION PRIDE to save the four American hostages.

  “Down there”—Naize chopped at a short hallway next to the radios—“are the showers. Conserve water. I’ll dig up clean clothes for you both. Help yourself to any food in the galley. There”—he gestured at another hallway off to the right of the kitchen—“is the CO’s quarters. He’s off post, so, ma’am, you can use his room for privacy. I’m going to put in an order for you to be airlifted out of here tomorrow morning at oh-eight-hundred. You’ll be taken to the base in Jalalabad, where you can catch a flight back to the States. You, Commander, can bunk in the CHU.”

  “Roger that,” Jason said. “Before you leave with your men, can you hook me up with some comm? I need to contact my ship, let them know my current status.”

  “Can do. Ma’am?” Naize spoke to Farrin. “Do you have any questions?”

  Shaking her head, she pressed a hand over her mouth, tears glistening in her eyes. Not sad tears, but happy, relieved tears.

  He knew how she felt. Food, shower, clean clothes, safe shelter.

  The slightest of sideways smiles shallowed one of Chief Naize’s whiskered cheeks, lightening up the I want to eat your brains expression he constantly wore. Although not by much. “Welcome to our small corner of America.”

  Were there any better words? Jason fought the urge to fall down on his knees and kiss the floor. He drew in a very long, deep breath.

  He met Farrin’s gaze and smiled. “It’s over.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Farrin was clean.

  She’d had to take a “navy shower,” turning the water off and on while she washed instead of basking in a steady flow of hot water like she’d ached to do, but such a thing was a minor inconvenience. Hair, teeth, body—all of her was finally clean. It was such a relief to be free of sweat, dirt, and grime that she’d nearly wept in the bathroom. All right, she had wept, but quietly.

  It’s over.

  She headed out of the private quarters she’d been given—swish-swish-swish—and shuffled into the kitchen. Chief Naize had unearthed the smallest T-shirt and cargo-style, desert-camouflage-patterned pants he could find for her, but still…the T-shirt was voluminous as a toga, and although the trousers fit her through the hips, the pant legs were so long she dragged the cuffs with a sw
ish wherever she went.

  Of course, the chief didn’t have female undergarments to offer, so she washed out her bra and underwear in the shower, then laid them out to dry in her bedroom. She was now walking around without benefit of undergarments. What was that called? Going commander? Whatever it was, she’d never done it before. She was also shoe-less, which, in a strange way, seemed just as brazen.

  In the kitchen, she opened twin cupboards, stretching her arms wide, and inspected the contents. There was a great deal of protein-rich canned food along with high-carb snacks stored in huge tubs like one might find at Costco. It looked like enough food to feed an army, not a small outpost. The care and feeding of a US Navy SEAL must be an enormous expense.

  She closed the cupboards with a thud, then pulled open a drawer. Silverware clattered. Everyone was gone, and it was such an odd, echoing feeling, being alone. She hadn’t been by herself at all during this past week.

  “Hey.”

  She whirled around, clutching her throat. A lone military man stood in front of her, dressed in full desert camouflage—button-up shirt and cargo pants—plus hefty black boots. “Oh, my goodness, you startled me. I thought everyone was gone. Hello, I’m—” She stared openmouthed. “Heavens, Jason?”

  Smiling ruefully, he passed a hand over his hair. “Do I really look that different?”

  She chuckled. “I’m afraid so, yes.” Talk of clean. The man was scrubbed spotless, chin shaved smooth, and wet hair neatly combed. She cast an eye over his face. Had he always been this handsome? She didn’t remember the cut of his jaw being so well-defined, or the planes of his cheekbones quite so strong. She let her interest wander down his body, then flow back up, settling her focus on the lapels of his shirt. Her pulse quickened. She remembered the sight of his bare chest, though—oh, that memory was especially clear.

  What would it be like to touch all those muscles? Her cheeks and belly heated at the same time. “Um…” She tossed a clumsy gesture at the cupboard behind her. “I was searching for tea.”

  Humor crinkled his eyes. “In a SEAL kitchen?”

  She laughed. “No?” The warmth in Jason’s expression liquefied the heat in her belly. Cold Jerk Jason was long gone. She wasn’t sure what had happened between Choha Khalsa and Islamabad, but during that time the barrier he’d erected between them had come down. She’d spent two days at Usman and Afia’s discovering more of noble, empathetic, heroic Jason, and she now, at last, felt close to him. He understood her, supported the decisions she’d made in life, and many other things, subtle and beyond language, which drew them into an intimacy that maybe had been there all along, hiding beneath their secrets.

  “There’s coffee,” he told her. “I had a cup while you were in the shower. It’s good. I feel human again.”

  “No, thanks. It’s too late in the evening for me to drink coffee, but…um…” She trailed off. A tingle of anticipation rippled through her. Noble, Heroic Jason was now Clean Jason, and that seemed to erase a final hindrance for her.

  And.

  No one was at this post.

  And.

  She had a private bedroom.

  She didn’t see any further impediments to having sex with him…besides her own inexperience. She bit her bottom lip. How did a woman go about getting a man to make love to her? With flirty signals? Although, er…what were flirty signals? Winking and lash fluttering? She nearly rolled her eyes. She’d make a fool of herself.

  Maybe she should come right out and ask. “Are you…uh…?” Horny? A blush scorched her cheeks. The day she used that word would be the day she went skinny-dipping in the Caspian Sea on vacation with her family. “…hungry?”

  “I’m okay. You?”

  “No, I’m just…” Horny. She blew out a breath. Wonderful. If only Raham hadn’t turned her into such a tongue-tied ninny.

  Raham…

  And there it was: the key, deciding factor. No matter how she managed it, she must press ahead with Jason. It was long past time for her to free herself from Raham’s hold. “Could I…?” She gestured at the hallway off the kitchen, more clumsiness. “I was wondering if you could accompany me to my room for a moment.”

  “Sure.”

  She walked down the hallway, swish-swish-swish, feeling the promise of things to come melting down her spine and fluttering in her belly.

  * * *

  Sheets of unfinished plywood made up the CO’s quarters, with no effort put into covering up any of the unattractive, splintery walls, except for on one, where a three-foot-long rectangular map of Afghanistan was thumbtacked up. The room was large enough to fit a double-sized bed—currently unmade—with about two feet of space around it, one olive green foot locker—showcasing a bra and panties on top of it; an incongruent sight—a set of five tall metal shelves holding the odd book on Arabic culture, a white coffee mug with a SEAL Team Four patch emblazoned on it, a pair of cracked goggles—but basically empty. Finally, there was a small lamp table by the bed.

  Jason checked out the lamp. It was on. So Farrin didn’t need him to hunt down a light bulb for her. What, then? He swept the room, searching for anything in need of repairing. Because why else would she ask him to her room, if not to fix something or help with a menial task?

  “I don’t know how to say this,” she said. “So I’m just going to say it.”

  He swung his attention over to her.

  Her fingers were tangled at her waist and she was twisting them together. It looked painful, what she was doing.

  When she didn’t speak right away, he peered into the far corner of the room. Maybe she’d spotted a spider or a cockroach…

  “Would you make love to me, Jason?”

  He slammed his focus back to her. What?! He blinked. Had he heard right?

  Her face was red as a stoplight.

  Holy crap. He had heard her right.

  “I need…” She stopped.

  He waited for her.

  The next sentence came out in a rush. “I would like to have a new memory for sexual intercourse.”

  He lifted his eyebrows up, then felt his mouth twitch. Sexual intercourse. Why, how clinical of you, Dr. Barr.

  “That is…” She cleared her throat. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  Mind? He did smile now. He’d decided way back at Usman and Afia’s that he wanted her this way. He’d just never dreamed she’d offer him such a gift. “There’s nothing else I’d rather do, Farrin, but only if you’re sure.” She was leaving first thing tomorrow, and one-night stands weren’t her usual modus operandi, he’d bet, as much as they generally weren’t his.

  Her chest expanded on a big breath, and when she exhaled, some of the tension left her shoulders. “I’m very sure.”

  He believed her. Her body language spoke as loud as her words. Well, damn. He stood there, grinning like a knucklehead.

  A radio from the community room scratched once, then fell quiet, the outpost once again settling into absolute silence. Not even crickets chirped. The presence of SEALs must have scared even them off.

  “Um… You’ve been very non-sexually assertive with me all along, Jason, and I’ve appreciated it. But now…” The expression that touched her lips was a nervy, lopsided thing. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to take the lead.”

  He chuckled. “No problem.” He was actually at his best for rocking a woman’s world when he was the one in charge—the role of leadership, no matter how much he wanted to deny it, apparently came naturally to him. It was also good to know how she wanted this to go. He hadn’t been sure, what with the baggage she carried from her creepy little fuck of an ex. I was fifteen and he was sixty.

  Yeah, and no wonder she wanted new memories.

  He walked up to her, keeping his stride unhurried. He stopped close. Farrin’s scent was now dewy and fresh, still recognizably natural at its core, tantalizing to his senses. “I’m thinking…” He touched a wayward strand of black hair resting against her cheek. “What do you say we leave the lights on so
we can see each other? It’s really hot.”

  Her gaze softened. She knew what he was doing.

  Something happened to me in the dark a while ago.

  “I’d like that,” she said.

  “Excellent.” There was nothing more to say that he could think of, so he went straight for undressing, unbuttoning his camo top, then shedding it along with his undershirt.

  Some air leaked out of her. She peered up at him, anime-enormous eyes again.

  He didn’t remove his pants. Okay, he was wrong. Something else needed clearing up. “You look nervous.”

  “I…” Her cheeks grew red.

  Shit, it was probably her Muslim upbringing getting in the way. How did the saying go: a leopard can’t change its spots? “You know, maybe we shouldn’t—”

  “No!”

  He hiked his eyebrows up high.

  She worked her lips together. “I don’t want you to let me off the hook this time. I realize I’m being awkward, but… That’s what I’m nervous about. I don’t know what I’m doing. I have very little experience in this area, and… I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint you.”

  He felt the pull of a smile. “Are you kidding me? No way. I just want to be with you, Farrin. I don’t care how it works out. I really don’t. There isn’t a single preconceived expectation in my head. All right?”

  She hesitated, then nodded, although her body was still a bit stiff. “Okay. Then don’t stop.”

  Chuckling, he said, “Roger that,” then reached out with both hands and filled his palms with her hair. Very soft. Glossy, too. “You clean up incredibly well, Dr. Farrin Barr.” He let her silken hair cascade through his fingers. “And, by the way, you’re the one who’s actually in charge. Anything you don’t like, say so, and we’ll switch it up.”

  She nodded.