“No, I think she’d be grateful.”
Travis pushed the baseball cap back on his longish black hair. “She’s a fine-lookin’ woman, Tarik. How’d you fall into that pot of honey?” He grinned.
“It’s no pot of honey,” Mike warned him, resting his arms on the rail.
“Never realized there were women in black ops,” he drawled.
“It’s coming,” Mike said, not wanting to give away any info on Operation Shadow Warriors.
“Your lady can do the job,” he said, watching the horses. “You see the look of an eagle in her eyes. Back home, on my dad’s ranch, we had a pair of golden eagles that made their nest in a one-hundred-year-old cottonwood tree out by the bunkhouse. I used to watch those two eagles, and I saw them up front and close a few times.” He shook his head. “Your woman has that same look, Tarik. Doesn’t miss much of anything.”
“She’s not my woman, Travis.”
“Hmm,” he said, giving him an appraising look. “Coulda fooled me, bro. When she looks at you I see her face go soft. She looks at anyone else, that hard alertness is there instead. Women are like a campfire. You have to tend them regularly.”
“Well,” Tarik muttered, uncomfortable, “she did save my sorry ass, and I did spend two nights with her up in that cave of hers. You know she’s a sniper?” He turned to see Travis’s reaction.
“No.” And then he shrugged. “Figures, though. She’s got that look.”
“You have it, too, and you’re a sniper.”
Travis nodded. “She’s not very laid-back, pardner. Most snipers are pretty easygoing and patient,” he observed. “She kinda reminds me of a person who lets in too much reality, so there’s no room left to dream.”
Mike couldn’t disagree with him, but Travis didn’t know her background like he did. “Well, she’s a helluva shot. She was taking Taliban out at fourteen hundred yards. That’s nothing to sneeze at.”
“No, that’s damn fine shooting. She carry a .300 Win Mag?”
“Yeah.”
“Where you takin’ her this afternoon?”
“To Bagram. Gotta replace gear for her,” he said.
“You’re going to be gone three days,” he said, giving him a raised eyebrow look.
Mike knew just as Travis did, that it didn’t take long to get gear replacement. It was a half-day turnaround trip from Bagram back to Bravo. “Chief wants to get her some downtime,” he explained.
“She’s lookin’ mighty thin,” Travis agreed. “Maybe workin’ too hard out there?”
“I think so,” Mike said. Travis missed nothing. No sniper ever did. “I’m hoping the rest will help her recoup.”
“Well, like us Texans say, a good huntin’ dog is hard to keep on the porch. If she’s good at what she does, then her handler is probably abusing the privilege of her. What she needs is a partner. Someone who can take over for her when she needs to rest and catch some downtime. Hell, I’m fine sniping alone, but when we’re out on a weeklong op, I like having one of the other snipers with me. That way, we can trade off, sleep while the other keeps watch through the scope.”
“Well—” he sighed “—she isn’t ours to handle or direct. She’s overseen by people far above us over at J-bad.”
Travis snorted and kicked some dirt clods with the toe of his combat boot. “Pity, because that gal of yours is lookin’ like she’s on the edge and you know? Being a sniper is hard work, but it’s like quicksand. You don’t know how deep you’re in until it’s too late. Hope whoever has responsibility for her reels her in a bit for her own good.”
Mike said nothing. Leave it to Travis to observe Khat and evaluate the dilemma in a split second, just as he had. Mike wasn’t a sniper, but he’d had two nights alone with her to observe her in her environment. They had both come to the same conclusion. He slapped Travis on the shoulder. “I’m going to get my TAD orders from the chief and head out. Thanks for taking care of her horses. Can I bring you anything from Bagram?”
Travis grinned. “Man, if you could find a coupla cases of Lone Star beer, I would be beholden. It’s a crime for a Texan to drink anything else but Lone Star,” he chortled. “Have fun at Bagram. You’re one lucky son of a bitch.”
Mike laughed. “I’ll see what I can do. Later, bro.”
*
“READY?” MIKE ASKED as Khat sauntered into the big room. She had a small duffel bag over her shoulder.
“Yes.” Khat saw the room was empty save for Mike doing his patrol planning. Her heart opened as he unwound from his chair and gave her a warm smile. She’d been chewing on the eval interview, and he automatically lifted her spirits with that slow, heated smile of his for her alone.
“We’ll head over to my tent first. I’ll collect my gear, and we’ll be off.” He patted the TAD orders for both of them in his shirt pocket. “Chief gave me our orders, so we’re good to go.”
“I just met Travis Cooper out at the corral with my horses. He’s a nice guy.”
“Yeah, he’s our Texas boy. He’s one of our snipers. Did you know that?”
Nodding, Khat said, “Yes, we started talking about horses. He was in the corral working the puffiness out of Mina’s front legs. He knows their anatomy, too.”
Mike opened the door for her. “He’s a good person. Someone you can count on. He’ll take care of your girls while we’re gone,” he promised.
Khat didn’t know where Mike’s tent was, but it was located on an avenue near SEAL HQ. It looked like all the rest, a desert camouflage color. The tent was set upon a thick plyboard floor, keeping it off the ground. She peeked inside as he got his M-4, pulled on his Kevlar vest and other gear he had to wear. Any helicopter flights over Afghanistan meant full combat gear and weapons in case it crashed and they survived it. The country was never safe.
Mike pulled his floppy bucket hat onto his head, slid on his sunglasses and hauled his duffel bag over his left shoulder. He saw Khat’s expression held some excitement. Her eyes looked more clear, less worried than before. He stepped out of his tent and said, “Let’s rock it out.”
“We can get your gear replacement first,” he told her as they walked toward Ops. “We can stow it at the SEAL HQ at Bagram in a locker and then pick it up on the way back to Bravo.”
“Good,” Khat said. And then she smiled a little. “I’m really looking forward to meeting Emma and Khalid Shaheen.”
Nodding, Mike said, “I think you’re going to enjoy staying at their villa.” And then Khat could get some desperately needed sleep. Would it be enough to bring her back from that edge she walked on? Mike didn’t know. Desperate to help her, he felt like he was walking on another kind of edge—balancing gaining her trust and trying to rein in his personal need for her as a woman. Nothing in life was ever easy.
CHAPTER NINE
KHAT SAT WITH Mike opposite Emma and Khalid Shaheen at their dinner table that evening. She could hardly contain her excitement with the couple who ran a charity organization for the border villages.
Khalid was intense, lanky and had dark blue eyes and military-short black hair. Like his wife, Emma, they wore jeans and T-shirts, so she didn’t feel underdressed for dinner.
“When you were at Princeton, Khalid, did you miss Afghanistan?” Khat asked.
Khalid cut into the succulent lamb on his plate. “I always missed Afghanistan.” He shared a warm look with his wife. “It’s the blood. Even though I’m only fifty percent Afghan through my father, and my mother is Irish, my soul is here.”
“How do you cope?” she wondered.
“It’s not easy,” he murmured. “We live in a war-torn country. I worry about Emma. We’ve agreed not to have children while living here. I want my wife and my children safe, in America.”
“I was born and grew up in America,” Khat said, “but when I was sixteen, I began feeling like I was lost. I didn’t feel a part of America as I should, I guess.”
Emma said, “Maybe it was your Afghan blood calling you home?”
Khat truly liked red-haired, green-eyed Emma. She was tall, lean like her husband and had that look of alertness in her eyes. “Yes, it was. I didn’t understand it until I took my feelings to my father, Jaleel. He laughed at me, thought it was funny. He told me my soul was pining away for Afghanistan.” She saw Khalid dip his head in understanding. She cut into the spicy lamb and said, “My father said that yearning would always be there in my heart. He said it never left his heart, but he wasn’t going to come back here.”
“Because he wanted something better for you,” Khalid said, “and for his wife. I’m sure he made that choice because it’s much safer to live in America.”
Emma took a bowl and added more couscous to her plate. “Khat, are you intending to stay here when your military service is up?”
“I am.”
Mike said nothing, learning by listening. Khat was intrigued and animated by the couple. She was trying, perhaps, to understand herself through the experiences of Khalid, who was like her: half-Afghani.
“Do you have plans?” Khalid asked.
“No. I thought I might hook up with an NGO, but most of them have left because of the danger to their volunteers.”
“What about your parents?” Emma asked gently. “Do they know of your wish?”
“I haven’t told them yet.” Khat shrugged, frowning. “My father is not at all happy with my career choice. Nor does he want me doing what I’ve been doing for the past five years.”
“You’re his child,” Khalid remarked in a kindly manner. “You live a very dangerous life, Khat.”
“I’m used to it,” she said. “I enjoy what I do.”
Emma said, “If you feel like it, tomorrow afternoon I’m taking some clothing donations to two women’s charities in Kabul. Want to come along? See what we do?”
“I’d love to,” Khat said. “I was so excited when Mike told me about your charity. It’s inspiring. You’re helping so many.”
Mike heard the emotion in Khat’s voice. He reached over and squeezed her hand. “Maybe Afghan blood is fierce, but it’s also generous.”
Khat squeezed his fingers, his touch unexpected, but welcome. “I’m still finding out who I am.”
Kahlid smiled sympathetically. “I was a lost wanderer in my early years, too,” he said. “I was a half and half. I felt like I had a mission in life, but I honestly didn’t start finding it until I was allowed to join the army and flew Apache helicopters.”
“Just as I became a Marine Corps sniper.”
“Sometimes,” Emma said softly, “to understand peace, you have to experience war.”
Mike saw the expression on Khat’s face. The words sank deep into her, and she was digesting them. “Some of our greatest peacemakers were in the military first,” he added.
“Well,” Khalid said, “it gives you a unique look at what war does to everyone. No one is left untouched or unchanged by it. When you see that, I think many turn to peace as the only real answer.”
“I guess I haven’t reached that point,” Khat admitted, finishing off the food from her plate. “All I see is Khogani murdering my people, and I want vengeance.”
“An eye for an eye,” Khalid said. “And sometimes, you have to wage a war against someone like him. They’re never going to come to the peace table and talk.”
“Aren’t you lonely out there by yourself?” Emma inquired, handing her plate to her Afghan housekeeper.
Khat rolled her eyes. “Well, before Mike came along, I wasn’t lonely.” She gave him a warm look. “Now…well, he’s reminded me of many things I stuffed down inside me in order to do my job.”
“Mmm,” Emma said, grinning as she got up, “none of us go through life alone.”
Mike watched Khat color prettily. She had allowed her long, red hair to hang loose, a gleaming crimson cape about her proud shoulders. The jeans she wore made her long legs look even more tempting to him than before. She’d worn a dark green T-shirt with a light green long sleeved blouse over it. Khat was also wearing a pair of what looked to be very old, antique Afghan earrings that hung nearly halfway to her shoulders. She looked exotic, tempting, and he wanted to kiss her until they melted together.
The housekeeper brought over a special dessert, strawberries that were grown in the large garden within the villa walls. They were piled high on shortcake and smothered with whipped cream. Emma helped the housekeeper clear the dishes from the table. When Khat started to get up, she waved her down, saying, “You need to just rest.”
Khat looked at Mike with question in her expression. Had he told them about her?
He gave her an amused look. “I didn’t say anything to them.”
Emma came back and set a bowl with the dessert before Khat. “You’re too thin, Khat. You need to put on twenty pounds, at least. That mission is wearing you out. Literally.”
“I might be thin, but I’m strong,” she said.
Khalid said, “Emma wasn’t being unkind, Khat. She’s a big, nurturing mother to everyone who comes here.” His blue eyes sparkled. “And believe me, she’ll pile the food on your plate if you don’t tell her to stop.”
Emma laughed and brought the desserts to the men. She sat down and placed the linen napkin across the lap of her jeans. “Well, Khat, he’s right. That’s why I love this charity so much. We can reach out to the children and improve their lives. I love children, and I suspect you do, too.”
Khat felt her heart swell with happiness. “The children are our future. And like you, I’m a mama bear of sorts myself.”
Mike heard the passion in her husky voice, saw the fierce look come to her green eyes. “Come on,” he teased, “eat this strawberry shortcake or I’m going to swipe it from you.”
Khat’s pulse bounded with the intimate look Mike gave her. Having him at her side made meeting two strangers easy for her. She picked up the strawberry and tasted it. She made a purring sound in her throat and said, “This is wonderful, Emma.”
“I love strawberries, so I nagged Khalid into getting me some seeds from America. Our plants are three years old and what we can’t eat, we freeze. Some things about America I miss, and this is one of them.”
“After coffee or tea,” Khalid said with a smile toward Khat, “would you like me to show you more about our charity and what we do?”
“I’d love it, Khalid, thank you.”
Emma gave Mike a grin. “You want to play a round of chess? I know you’re good, and Khalid hates the game.” She held up her hand. “I have to keep sharp, and you’ll give me a run for my money, Mike.”
“You’re on,” Mike said. “But I’ve played you before, and you’re a lot better than you think.”
Khat smiled. “Chess player? I didn’t know that about you.”
“You didn’t have a chess set in your cave,” he said drolly, chuckling. “Or I’d have challenged you to a game.”
Khat laughed.
*
EMMA WAS SITTING with Mike at the cleared dining room table with the chessboard. Night had fallen, and she had put on some classical music in the background. They had been sitting for about half an hour when Emma said, “Khat is in terrible shape, Mike. What’s going on with her?”
He looked up and made his move on the chessboard, telling her what he could about Khat not taking leave or going Stateside when she should have. He finished up by saying, “Khat doesn’t see it. She’s got tunnel vision.”
“Damned Afghan blood.”
Mike looked up, surprised at her statement.
Emma sighed. “Khalid’s the same way. His Afghan blood runs him. He doesn’t see it, either.”
There was frustration in Emma’s tone, her green eyes dark. Mike waited for her to study the chessboard. “You’ve been married three years. The charity seems to be growing, and you’re doing good work here.”
“That’s all true,” she admitted, making a move.
He rubbed his chin. “Why are you upset, Emma?” She had always been the quiet, stable one in the marriage, a rudder. Or m
aybe an anchor.
Pushing her red hair off her shoulders she sat up and said in a quiet voice, “Because those two feel guilty. Guilty that they had it better, that they made it out of this pit. I see it in Khat’s face. I see it in Khalid’s. It wasn’t their fault who they were born to, but their damned Afghan blood makes them want to do something…anything, to atone for who they are and what they have.”
Mike scowled, her words hitting him hard. “Why don’t they orient to their Irish or American mother, instead?”
“Because America is the land of plenty. I watch Khalid go back to Ft. Rucker, Alabama, to take upgrade training on the Apache helo, and he always comes back depressed. He sees that people in America having so much, and the people here having nothing.”
“I worry for Khat,” Mike admitted, picking up a chess piece, deciding where to put it. “She’s passionate.”
Snorting, Emma said, “Those two are fanatics. Only they didn’t turn into terrorists, they turned into saviors for the weak, the downtrodden and the women of this country.”
“There’s plenty of fanatics in the world,” Mike murmured. “Look at the SEALs. We’re fanatics.” He grinned a little. Emma looked distressed. “So why are you worried? What’s going on?”
“Khalid promised me that by our third wedding anniversary, we would be moving back to the States. His military contract is up in three months, and I just wonder if he’s going to re-up for another six years.” She gave Mike a brooding look. “I want children, Mike. I’m thirty-two years old now. I can’t wait much longer.”
“Khalid’s caught between two worlds?”
“Precisely. Some days I wonder if he had to make a choice, who would he choose? Afghanistan or me?”
Mike reached over and touched her hand. “He loves you so damn much. That’s obvious.”
“He may love Afghanistan more. I’m racking my brain, trying to come up with a workaround plan. We can hire an ex-military pilot to fly the Chinook. Hell, we could hire anyone to do what we’re doing right now. He’s a multimillionaire so many times over, money is not an issue.” Rubbing her brow, Emma muttered, “I miss my family. I miss the US. I don’t mind doing my part over here, but I’m lonely for my sisters and my parents.”
Taking Fire Page 14
