Taking Fire

by Radclyffe

  “What? No. I don’t need anything.” Home. She immediately thought of her tent and Amina sleeping across from her. Wasn’t home simply the place where you felt most yourself? She tried to imagine herself in her condo in Manhattan, making fundraising calls and organizing meetings with donors, or at a political gathering disguised as a dinner party at her parents’ mansion in Falls Creek, accompanied by a beautiful woman with all the right breeding and all the right credentials who was looking for just the right wife. Those places seemed more like a foreign country to her than the stark, arid plains and dense, overpowering jungles of Somalia ever had. The people here—Amina, Grif, Max—knew her better than anyone from her past. “Dad. I’m not leaving right away.”

  “What? You can’t be thinking about returning to the aid camp. From the reports, it’s been pretty much demolished and that whole area is a rebel stronghold.”

  “No, I’m not thinking about going back,” she said, and the words hurt. She’d accomplished something there, touched lives, made a difference. Now it was all lost. But that didn’t mean her conviction had been shattered. If anything, her desire to bring resources to those who had none was even stronger. “I want to meet with the organization directors in Mogadishu, and I need to see that the other members of the team are all taken care of.”

  “Rachel,” he said in that flat voice he used when he’d made a decision and didn’t see any point in further discussion, “there are certain circumstances of which you’re unaware—”

  “I think I know what some of those circumstances are,” she said, thinking of Carmody’s interrogation. She suspected some kind of interagency power struggle was going on, and she’d ended up in the middle of it either by virtue of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or because she was her father’s daughter. “I’d be happy if you filled me in so I’m not guessing.”

  “I’m afraid that’s something I can’t go into right now. Suffice it to say your continued presence in the area is not a good idea.”

  “Unless I’m given a credible reason to leave that doesn’t have to do with some kind of political agenda, I’m staying.”

  “I really don’t think it’s wise for you to linger. That entire region is not nearly as stable as you might think.”

  She did laugh then, a hollow sound that almost hurt. “Dad. I think I know that better than most. I just saw three of my friends murdered yesterday morning.”

  “I’m…sorry you had to witness that. Obviously the plan to get you out was not as well-executed as it should have been. Believe me, we’re looking into that.”

  “Dad, do you know someone by the name of Carmody?”

  “Should I?”

  “I think so.” She doubted Carmody was her father’s man—he’d never have interrogated her the way he did. So if he wasn’t on her father’s side, maybe he was against him. She’d probably already said too much on a line she couldn’t trust was secure. “He’s been around.”

  “Has he.” Her father’s voice had grown cold, and she could see the diamond edge to his eyes as he considered all the ramifications of a stranger probing into an operation involving not only his daughter, but security at the major US base in the region.

  “I spoke with him briefly earlier.”

  “Interesting. And perhaps another reason for you to reconsider your stay.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine. Could you put in a word for me with Captain Pettit for transport and that sort of thing?”

  “That’s already taken care of, but if you insist on staying, I’ll assign security to you. They can drive you and see to anything else you might need. Someone will be there before the end of the day.”

  “That’s not necessary—”

  “Rachel, there are times when I know better than you.”

  “Are there any times when you don’t?”

  He sighed. “I’d hoped this trip and a firsthand look at the realities of these situations would temper your enthusiasm, if not your stubborn streak. I can see that it hasn’t.”

  “No,” she said softly, thinking of the hours in the foxhole, peering into the dark—looking where she once would rather have looked away. She’d been changed, but not in the way he’d hoped. “I need to stay.”

  “Then I’m afraid you don’t have any choice. If you’re staying, you’ll have protection. Otherwise, you’ll be on a plane this afternoon.”

  He knew she’d accept. They’d played this game all her life. She had no choice and he knew it. She didn’t know the area, she didn’t have any personal resources readily available, and she couldn’t disregard safety issues. She wasn’t foolhardy about her own well-being, and she wouldn’t put her father and others in political jeopardy by making herself a target, even though she seriously doubted she was in danger. The best she could do was accept his compromise. All things considered, he was giving in without as much of a fight as she might have expected. “All right.”

  He paused. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “I love you. Say hi to Mother for me. Tell her I love her.”

  “Yes. Well. See that you take care of yourself.”

  “I will,” she whispered.

  The line went dead and she slowly set down the receiver.

  Her vision blurred. She was so very tired. All the false energy, and probably false courage, the adrenaline had provided had burned away now that she was safe. Safe was relative, she supposed, but at least no one was likely to shoot her here. The idea of curling up under the covers and closing her eyes was incredibly appealing, except she feared when she closed her eyes she’d be back in that hot humid tent, listening for the sounds of someone coming to kill her. She straightened and rubbed her tired eyes. Her weary, bruised, and battered mind could form only one thought. She wanted to see Max. With the world coming apart around her, Max was the only island of sanity.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Are you sure about this, ma’am?” the driver asked.

  Rachel stared at the sand-colored metal box and tried to imagine living inside it. She guessed it to be about twenty feet long—it would fit inside her family’s garage with room to spare for a few of their five cars. Two wooden steps without a railing led up to a single door with a shaded Plexiglas window. At about the midpoint of the long side, another window was filled by the rear end of an air-conditioning unit extending out several inches. The roof was flat. It looked like every other metal box in row after row of metal boxes lined up along dirt lanes just wide enough for two Humvees to pass in opposite directions. The stenciled black letters C-19 were the only things distinguishing it from the others. She swallowed. “Yes.”

  “Would you like me to wait?”

  She studied her surroundings through the front and back windows of the Humvee. She could maneuver the streets of an unfamiliar city with an unerring sixth sense of direction, but left alone in this repetitive maze she might just wander forever. “Where are we, exactly?”

  “At the northeast corner of CLUville—that’s what we call this part of the base.”

  “And where would headquarters be?”

  He pointed forward. “About twenty, twenty-five minutes in that direction if you’re a brisk walker and don’t mind the heat.”

  “I’ll be fine. There’s no need for you to wait.”

  He squinted past her at the living unit. “Yes, ma’am.”

  He sounded about as uncertain as she felt and his indecision was enough to spur her out of the vehicle. She needed to do this. “Thank you again for the ride.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She took a few steps away and paused, waiting for him to drive away. He hesitated, nodded to her, and finally left. Turning, she climbed the two stairs and rapped on the door. Nothing happened.

  She didn’t really want to call attention to herself since technically she wasn’t supposed to be wandering around the base. When she looked behind her, she was alone. She knocked again. “Max? Max, it’s Rachel.”

  Please, be here. I don’t know
where else to look.

  The sun beat down on the back of her neck, heating her already too-sensitive skin. She’d managed over two months in-country without getting a bad burn, but one day standing guard while Max dug the foxhole had put an end to all her care. The sunburn was a not-so-welcome reminder of where she’d been at this time the day before. She’d have to think about it sometime, just not right now. Right now she’d like very much to forget.

  “Max, please. If you’re there—”

  The door inched open and she stepped down to the bottom step to make room for it to swing by her. Max stood in the doorway in olive-green boxers and a matching T-shirt. A clean white bandage circled her right upper arm. Her hair was damp and wavier than Rachael expected, clinging to her neck in lazy curls that made her look sexy and unexpectedly carefree. Her long, lean legs were tanned, another surprise. Her feet were bare. A darker green oval between her small breasts indicated a spot she’d missed drying after her shower or maybe a trickle of sweat that had collected in the shallow valley in the center of her chest. Rachel had to drag her gaze away from that spot and the image of the soft curves of flesh on either side. When she looked up, Max’s eyes sparked with a quick glimmer of heat and something darker. Something hungry.

  “I thought you’d left,” Max said.

  “I didn’t.” Rachel’s heart pounded wildly. “I thought you were in the hospital.”

  “I was. How did you find me?”

  “I badgered the medic to tell me where you probably were.”

  Max smiled wryly. “Did you see Grif?”

  “I asked—he was still asleep.”

  “Yeah.” Max sighed and ran a hand through her hair, ruffling it further. “You okay?”

  “Not so much, really.” Rachel had never found asking for anything easy, but any pretense of being fine after all that had happened was wasted on Max. She had to know better. “Can I come in?”

  Rachel’s vulnerability caught Max by surprise and her first impulse was to pull Rachel inside and keep her safe. But they weren’t outside the wire now and things were a lot more complicated. Rachel had faint circles below her eyes and a weariness in their depths Max recognized and wished she didn’t. Her face was pale, except for streaks of sunburn over the arch of her cheekbones and down her neck. Her auburn hair shimmered with gold highlights, bits of sunlight trapped in the thick strands that made Max want to bury her fingers there to warm them. The khaki fatigues fit her surprisingly well, almost naturally, and when she squinted against the sun, tiny lines radiated out from the corners of her eyes. She was more beautiful even than Max remembered.

  “I can’t vouch for my housekeeping.”

  Rachel shaded her eyes. “Is it any cooler in there than it is out here?”

  “Maybe ten degrees.”

  “Sounds like heaven.”

  Max stepped back and Rachel climbed into her CLU. Other than Grif stopping by now and then for a quick drink after a duty shift, she’d never had a visitor. She saw it as Rachel must see it—stark and impersonal and empty. A lot like her inside.

  “This is my bunk down here.” She led the way past CC’s neatly made rack with the shelf above that held family photos and mementos from home to her own bare cubicle. She didn’t have any photos on the wall or other items from another life lying around. She smoothed the wrinkled blanket on the bed and kicked a pair of fatigue pants into the corner. An open bottle of whiskey sat on the floor, and since there wasn’t much to do about that, she just left it there. She pointed to the single chair heaped with clothes. “Sorry. Not much in the way of accommodations.”

  “This is fine.” Rachel stopped her in the midst of moving the pile. “Really. Any place that isn’t crawling with bugs where I’m not likely to be shot at works just fine for me. Do you mind if I just sit on your bed?”

  “No,” Max said, trying to figure out where she should go when Rachel sat on one end of her bed. Finally she just sat down beside her.

  “How is your arm?” Rachel asked.

  “Fine.”

  “I was surprised they let you out so soon.”

  Max grinned the grin Rachel recognized, just a little cocky and just a little bad. Rachel laughed and the bubble of happiness eased some of the ache in her chest. “Ah, I see now. They didn’t let you do anything. You strong-armed—”

  “Come on, it’s not quite that bad,” Max said. “We have kind of a treat ’em and street ’em attitude around here. Nobody wants to be laid up in a hospital tent, and unless an injury is so severe it’s going to require prolonged recovery and rehab, everybody is just as happy getting back to duty.”

  Back to duty, as if the danger and risk were just a normal part of life out here. For Max, the day before had probably been close to routine. What for Rachel would be a lifelong horrific memory was only one of hundreds of horrors that Max had seen. She touched Max’s arm. “When will you fly again?”

  “Maybe never, this time around. I’m due to ship back to the States in a few days, at least I was. I’m not so sure right now.”

  “Why?” Rachel asked.

  Max hesitated, and that was unlike her. Rachel had never known her to be anything but straightforward. She took a wild guess. “This have anything to do with someone named Carmody?”

  Max’s eyes narrowed. “Does he happen to be early forties, square top, cold eyes, definitely unfriendly?”

  “You forgot the snake in the grass part.”

  “Yeah, that’s him. He bother you?” Max’s tone was dark and tinged with belligerence.

  “Bother me.” Rachel smiled. For a moment, Max reminded her of a high school girlfriend wanting to protect her from the unwanted advances of the boys on the football team. A silly thought, but the idea pleased her. “Yes, I think you could definitely say that. Did he bother you too?”

  As if reading her mind, Max laughed and the darkness left her eyes. “Quite a bit.”

  Rachel sighed. She wished Carmody was as harmless as an adolescent boy with too much testosterone and an overinflated ego. Carmody wasn’t a nuisance, he was dangerous. “What do you think’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t give much away.” Max took her hand. “It shouldn’t matter too much to you, though. You’re a civilian, and I imagine you’ll be heading home pretty soon.”

  “No, not right away.” Rachel slid her fingers between Max’s, the connection so natural she almost didn’t realize she’d done it. “I want to go to our headquarters in Mogadishu. I need to follow up with the team to make sure everyone’s all right.”

  Max frowned. “You know, it’s possible that raid yesterday was aimed at you. Mog is still a pretty rough place. Maybe you should rethink that trip.”

  “I can’t imagine why I would have been a target. I’ve been out there for weeks, and no one paid me the slightest attention.”

  “You don’t know that. And these groups are unpredictable—you never know what they have planned.”

  “I won’t take chances,” Rachel said, appreciating Max’s concern. Max, unlike her father, hadn’t told her what to do, even though she could see Max was worried. “I promise.”

  “A lot of people seem to be interested in you.” Max rested their joined hands on her bare knee. “Who are you, Rachel?”

  Rachel met Max’s steady gaze. Her eyes were so blue, so easy to fall into. Rachel caught her breath. Who was she? That was the question, wasn’t it? To her father she was a stubborn, problematic daughter who wouldn’t embrace the party line. To her mother she was the disappointing daughter who rejected her mother’s values and refused to follow in her footsteps. To the women who purported to desire her, she was either a trophy or a stepping stone. Only out here had she’d ever felt like herself. Only Max had ever seen her. “You know who I am, don’t you, Max?”

  “Well, I know certain things,” Max said, feeling the weight of every word. Knowing somehow what she said mattered more than anything she’d ever said to anyone. The intensity in Rachel’s gaze was almost a plea. “
I know you’re not afraid to face danger. I know you’re stubborn and independent. I know you’re loyal to your friends and committed to your mission. And I know—” Max paused, searching for the lines she shouldn’t cross. She was tired but she’d only had one drink before she’d decided she’d rather think about Rachel than forget her, and she knew what she was saying. What she wanted to say. “I know you’re really beautiful. I especially like the way the green of your eyes changes when you’re angry or when you’re—” She stopped. Maybe that line wasn’t hers to draw.

  “Or what?” Rachel asked. “When I’m what, Max?”

  The whir of the air-conditioning unit sounded like the rasp of insects in the underbrush. The CLU was dim, the air heavy, like twilight in the jungle. They might have been a hundred miles away from civilization, just the two of them, alone, in a timeless, ageless world.

  Rachel’s lips parted and she moistened them with the tip of her tongue. Her gaze held Max’s and her fingers lightly brushed the bare skin of Max’s thigh. “Max? Are they changing color now?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you know why, don’t you,” Rachel whispered.

  Max swallowed. Her skin flamed where Rachel’s fingers rested and heat scorched along her spine and simmered in the pit of her stomach. Her fingertips, her lips, her nipples tingled. She was breathing too fast. Overdrive. Overload.

  “I need to kiss you.”

  Rachel’s lips lifted at the corners and the forest green of her eyes glinted with gold warmer than sunlight. “Do you?”

  Max leaned closer until her mouth was only millimeters from Rachel’s. “So bad, or else…”

  “Or…?”

  “Certain parts of me might burst into flames.”

  Rachel’s fingertips slid beneath the lower edge of Max’s boxers. Her palm pressed into Max’s thigh. Her chest brushed Max’s bare upper arm. Her lips skimmed over Max’s jaw. “You’re not supposed to incinerate until after you kiss me.”