by Radclyffe
Rachel focused on the other man in the room—the one who sat beside the desk with his hands clasping his crossed knee. He was not wearing a uniform, although his desert camos resembled those of most of the people Rachel had passed. The first thing she noticed about him was his cool blue eyes. Max’s eyes, as deep blue as a night sky, carried heat Rachel could feel from yards away. This man’s gaze left frost on her skin.
The man behind the desk stood. “Ms. Winslow. Please, have a seat.”
Chapter Eighteen
Rachel held out her hand to Captain Pettit. “Captain, I want to thank you and your troops for everything you did for us. I hope any injuries sustained are not too severe and everyone recovers quickly.”
“No thanks are necessary, Ms. Winslow. We’re out here to protect our citizens and allies.” His handshake was firm, but not overbearing, his palm rough and dry as befit a man who did more than sit behind a desk. His eyes, a light shade of green, held hers for a moment with genuine warmth. “I trust you’ve had everything you need here.”
“Major Newton has been very accommodating.” Rachel glanced at the man sitting next to the captain’s desk. He was watching her but made no move to introduce himself. His gaze, unlike Pettit’s, was chilly and remote, rather like a glacier viewed from a distance. Flat, hard, and cold. She wasn’t intimidated by men who attempted to intimidate her. She’d spent her life around powerful men and women who were experts at the game of silent intimidation, subtle innuendo, and verbal jousting. She smiled. “I’m sorry. I’m Rachel Winslow.”
He rose, slowly and surprisingly gracefully for a man who must have topped six-four. His frame was remarkable in its absolute symmetry and proportion, almost as if he’d been fashioned from an anatomical drawing—shoulders just the right width to balance his tapering torso and narrow but not too narrow hips. Thighs that were neither too bulky nor too thin. His uniform, for that’s what it was despite the absence of identifying patches or insignia, fit him so impeccably she suspected it was tailored for him. Who tailored BDUs? What kind of man needed that kind of control over every small detail?
Rachel held out her hand. Your move.
The handshake felt more like a test than a greeting. His grip was just a little firmer than polite, in case she’d missed his position of power, and he held her hand just a little longer than might have been socially acceptable. The signals were subtle, so if she didn’t know better she might have thought she imagined his show of dominance. She wasn’t imagining his thumb briefly sweeping over her knuckles in what under other circumstances might have been a caress. She kept her eyes on his until he loosened his grip, and then she withdrew her hand.
“Michael Carmody,” he said as if that was all that was necessary.
No rank. No affiliation. Intelligence. Considering where they were, most likely CIA. She turned back to the captain, dismissing Carmody, knowing he wouldn’t like that. Good. She didn’t like being a pawn in anyone’s game, and she was feeling that way more and more every moment.
“There is one thing,” Rachel said. “I haven’t had a chance to find a phone. I’d like to check with the rest of our delegation. Are they here?”
“The medical team has been transported to the French embassy,” Pettit said. “We’re awaiting instructions from the other embassies as to the plans for the rest of the aid team.”
“Everyone is well?” She decided not to inquire about Max and Grif until she got some idea of what these men—no, not these men—what Michael Carmody was after.
“Yes,” Pettit said. “A few minor injuries, nothing serious.”
“Thank goodness.” The murder of the security guards was horrible enough. Rachel was just grateful it hadn’t been worse. “I’m sure you’re very busy, but if you could arrange for me to have access to a phone?”
“Of course,” Captain Pettit said. “If—”
“That will have to wait for just a bit longer,” Michael Carmody said, interrupting the captain without the slightest hint of apology. “Have a seat, Ms. Winslow. I’m sure you must be tired.”
Was he really expecting her to admit to any kind of weakness as he moved his chess pieces onto the field of battle? She could refuse, but that would gain her nothing. Of course she was tired. When the last molecules of adrenaline burned away, she’d probably collapse. A physical standoff was out of the question, and she’d learned from watching those in power that the appearance of cooperation often gave one the advantage in the long game. She sat in the only unoccupied seat in the room, a plain armless wooden chair that faced the captain’s desk. Crossing her legs, she sat back. “I’m sure at some point I’ll feel like sleeping for a day, but thank you, I’m fine.”
“Perhaps,” Carmody said in a slow, nearly hypnotic drawl, “you could tell us what happened at the aid camp.”
A distinct look of displeasure crossed Captain Pettit’s face and was quickly smothered. His distaste for whatever was going on reaffirmed Rachel’s assessment that Carmody was the one behind this not-so-subtle grilling masquerading as a debriefing session. She angled her body slightly so she faced Carmody. “I would have thought you already knew that.”
“It’s always nice to have a firsthand account,” he said with a thin smile.
“I’m afraid mine might be a bit jumbled. A great deal was happening all at once, and I’ll readily admit, I was too frightened at first to pay much attention to the details.” She’d been too damn busy running for her life. “If you gave me some idea what you were interested in?”
“One never knows what’s important, does one?”
She could really come to dislike this man quite a bit, with his superior attitude and faintly sexual appraisal. “Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes I think one does.”
His eyes grew even colder if that was possible. “What time did the attacks start?”
Rachel folded her hands in her lap to hide the involuntary trembling. She didn’t want him to know that thinking about what happened stirred a cascade of adrenaline-fueled fear. Of course, if he was who she thought he was, he would already know that. “I can’t tell you precisely, but near dawn.”
“After dawn or before?”
Dawn. The thunder of explosions catapulting her from sleep into awareness. Her heart racing, her limbs frozen in the first seconds of instinctual panic. Opening her eyes in the dark, breathless with the instant rush of night terror, cornered and helpless in the face of whatever monster was coming for her. She clenched her hands and her nails bit into her palms. She wished she couldn’t remember but knew she’d never be able to forget. “If it matters, I think just before.”
“And no one in the camp appeared to have any concerns that something was about to happen?”
“Not that I was made aware.”
“No increased security? No precautionary measures?”
“As I said, I am unaware of what anyone in the camp might or might not have known.”
“And what about you, Ms. Winslow?” Carmody asked. “Were you aware that an attack was imminent?”
She didn’t know whose side this man was on and she wasn’t about to provide him with ammunition. She didn’t want to lie, either. She’d heard of too many people strangled in their own webs of deception. If she only had some idea what he wanted. Who he wanted—Dacar, Max, her father? Her? Had her father breached security by contacting her the night before? But that made no sense—everyone involved here at Camp Lemonnier knew of it—the security level couldn’t have been that high. And why not inform her? She would have known when the Black Hawks arrived less than ten hours after her father’s call. “I had no idea the attack was coming. If I had, I assure you I would not have gone blithely to sleep and waited for it.”
“How long have you and your team been out there?”
Another matter of record. Nevertheless, telling him what he already knew cost her nothing. “A little over two months.”
“And you’ve had no trouble from rebels?”
“No, none.”
�
�And what about your supply lines. How often do you see Americans?”
Rachel frowned. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. We don’t see who delivers the supplies—as least, I don’t. The closest road, if you can call it that, ends in the nearest occupied village about twenty miles away. Some of our people make the trip by UTV and pick up our supplies at that point. The bulk of our camp—tents, foodstuffs, medicine, and equipment—was airlifted and set up before I arrived.”
“You’ve never accompanied anyone from your camp to this village?”
“No. It’s usually an all-day trip and I have other duties.”
“And you’ve never seen any Americans accompanying anyone at the camp?”
“No.”
“What about Somali locals? Anyone strike you as unusual or a frequent visitor?”
“Unusual? I don’t think one ever gets used to starving men, women, and children, but no—nothing stands out that I recall.”
“How about men with rifles?”
Rachel smiled. “That has become a little more usual.”
“How much contact did you have with the rebels between the attack and the time of your rescue?”
Rachel stiffened. “None, thankfully.”
“You never saw anyone near the camp?”
She was staring through the tent flap again into the blinding sun, holding an unfamiliar weapon while a man who tried to save her life writhed in pain behind her. The jungle closed in around her, filled with ominous shadows. She saw monsters everywhere. “No, no one.”
“How about Commander de Milles? How often did she go out to meet someone?”
Ice cascaded along Rachel’s nerve endings. The jungle receded, the heavy air lifted, and she could breathe again. Think again. The enemy was no longer faceless. She was looking at him. “Never.”
A carefully arched brow, one she swore had been waxed to a perfect line, twitched upward. “Never? She never left the camp?”
“That’s not what you asked me. Yes, she checked to see that we were not in immediate danger from rebels close to the camp.”
“And how do you know she didn’t meet anyone?”
“I never heard gunfire, and if she had run into rebels, there would have been.”
“Well, that assumes she ran into an enemy.”
“And,” Rachel said, wishing she had that rifle back again, “I know because I followed her.”
Captain Pettit coughed softly.
Carmody stared at her, a flat appraising gaze that looked a lot like the way a snake regarded a mouse right before it struck. “You followed her into the jungle. Where you could have run into landmines or rebel forces?”
“I’m afraid I wasn’t thinking about that at the time. But yes, I followed her.”
“That was very brave of you.”
“What exactly do you think happened out there, Agent Carmody?” Rachel said, tired of his games.
“I think you’re very lucky to be alive,” he said softly.
“I wouldn’t be if it weren’t for Commander de Milles and the others.” She shifted her attention from Carmody and faced Pettit. “I’d like to use the phone now, and I’d like to see Commander de Milles and Lieutenant Griffin. I owe them my life and I’d like to thank them personally.”
“I’ll see that you’re given privacy for your call,” Captain Pettit said.
Rachel rose, pleased that her legs were not shaking. “Thank you.”
Pettit reached for a phone on his desk. “Chief, could you please take Ms. Winslow to the com room.” Pettit hung up and addressed Rachel. “When you’re finished, someone will escort you to the hospital.”
“Thank you once again, Captain, for all you and your troops have done for me and my team.” Rachel let her gaze pass over Carmody, who stared back, before walking to the door.
The chief petty officer led her through another series of hallways into a large room where half a dozen people sat in front of computer terminals, large maps, and monitors showing aerial views of what looked like miles of uninhabited jungle and desert. The detail of objects on the ground was startling—she could practically count the branches on some of the trees. She’d been out there somewhere just hours before. She wondered if the people in this room had been able to see her.
“This way, ma’am.” The chief took her to a small room separated from the larger one by a plain wooden door in a windowless wall. The room held a desk, shelves with stacks of papers and field manuals, and a landline.
“You can call direct on that, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Chief. And how might I get to the hospital?”
“I’ll arrange for a driver to wait out front, ma’am.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He left, shutting the door behind him, and Rachel slumped onto the metal chair behind the desk. She stared at the phone and wondered how secure it might be. Strange, she felt less safe here surrounded by those she was supposed to trust to keep her safe than she had in the jungle with only Max between her and all the demons that surrounded them. Max. Now Max might be in danger, maybe Grif too. A wave of hot fury washed through her. She reached for the phone and dialed her father’s direct number. He always had his calls forwarded to his cell no matter where he might be. She needed information, and he was never out of the loop. She couldn’t fight an enemy she couldn’t recognize, and it was her turn to stand between Max and whatever lurked in the shadows.
Chapter Nineteen
“How’s Grif?” Max asked as Tim McCullough, the corpsman on duty who’d walked in while she was hunting for her clothes, taped a square of gauze over her IV site.
“They just finished working on him a couple minutes ago.” The red-haired, blue-eyed, fresh-faced twenty-year-old looked like he belonged on the porch of a fraternity house somewhere, drinking beer and bothering girls, not out here putting together the maimed and the mutilated. His eyes when they met hers were the age of someone who’d already seen too much and knew there was worse to come. “You ought to stay here for a couple more doses of IV antibiotics.”
“Just give me the pills.” She could tell when she moved her arm the wound was just soft tissue. Painful but not a long-term problem. She wanted out of the hospital so she could find Rachel, or at least find someone who would know if she was safe somewhere, and she wanted out from under prying eyes and questions. Her nameless friend from the morning would be back, and before she answered any more questions, she wanted to talk to the other team members and find out what the hell was going on. She couldn’t do any of that lying on her back with an IV line running into her arm. “And tell the AOD I’ll take full responsibility.”
McCullough barked out a laugh. “Fuck that. If I say you’re good to go, he won’t argue. If I was you, I’d want out of here too. Just take the fucking pills.”
“Thanks. I will.” Her stomach tightened. She didn’t remember the last half of the flight back, but she remembered taking fire. “Did they bring any of the civilians in here?”
“No. You and Grif were the only casualties from that run. He’s still in recovery from the leg wash out. Probably won’t be awake for a while.”
Max exhaled slowly. “How are the guys from earlier?”
“Everything was pretty minor—Burns will be heading home for shoulder reconstruction. The others will recoup here for a few days and be back on active in a week or so.”
“Good.” She was just as glad Grif wouldn’t be talking for a while. Maybe by the time he came around, whoever had sent her visitor would have gotten what they wanted and called off their dogs. “What was the name of the guy who was in here earlier?”
McCullough shook his head. “He didn’t say.”
“Who brought him?”
Another head shake. “He just walked in. Had a vehicle out front and a base pass from the CO. Said he wanted to talk to you in private.”
“Did he say anything about Grif?”
“Wanted a sit rep. We gave it to him. Sam
e I just gave you.”
“Okay. Do me a favor, if he comes back to see Grif, call me.”
“I don’t think you want to get in the middle of that.”
Max smiled. “Yeah, but I do. Where’s Grif now?”
“I’ll check.”
Max pulled on the clean BDUs McCullough had left on the bed and had just managed to get the fly buttoned when he returned.
“Grif’s pretty zoned. Like I said, he won’t know you were there.”
“Yeah,” Max said, “he will.”
McCullough shrugged. “Come on.”
Grif looked disconcertingly vulnerable with the tubes and lines attaching him to monitors and IVs. She gripped his hand and leaned close. “Hey, Grif, it’s Deuce. You’re back at base, in the hospital. You’re doing fine.” She wondered when he’d be transported to one of the regional hospitals. A wave of loneliness caught her by surprise. Rachel was already gone, and soon Grif would be too. She cleared her throat. “Oh, and your equipment all checks out. Laurie will be happy about that. Just make sure you get your ass out of bed and get through rehab quick so you can get home where you belong.” She released his hand and straightened. “See you, buddy.”
She walked out just as the sun came up. She’d been right the night before. By dawn, it was all over.
*
“Dad, it’s me.”
“I was informed you were all right.”
Rachel almost laughed. She supposed she was all right, by all ordinary criteria. Physically, she was bruised and scraped and scratched and sore, but nothing that wouldn’t mend with some sleep, good food, and a week or so of anti-inflammatories. Somewhere inside, though, she was bleeding. That would mend too, but she wondered about the scars. When she looked in Max’s eyes, she realized the shadows she saw were really scars. “I am. I’m fine. Thank you.”
“We’ve been in touch with the embassy. Arrangements are being made for your transport stateside. I imagine we can get you headed home in the next twenty-four hours.” He paused and when Rachel didn’t reply went on with the merest hint of irritation. “Is there something else you need?”
