by HELEN HARDT
“Can you get a shot of his face on your cell?”
“Working on it.” He scooted around the perimeter of the hangar, hanging in shadows whenever he could. “Stand by.”
He caught a lucky break when one of the machinists called to the “soldier” from his perch on a ladder next to the copter’s rear rotor. The tech needed a special wrench from the tray right in front of the guy. Sneaky Boy was forced to come out of his corner. As he lifted the tool to the tech, Garrett captured three decent shots of his features. Though the asshat didn’t get the wardrobe right, he was spot-on with the guise from the neck up. He was clean-shaven, and beneath his work cap his haircut looked like a flawless high-and-tight.
“Got ’em,” Zeke confirmed less than two minutes later. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Thanks.” Garrett’s gaze swung outside again. Sage was still there and laughing with Archer. Six other guys from the team ambled over to join them. She greeted them with that stunning smile of hers, bouncing a little on her toes, adorable and impish even in her one-piece yellow-and-black jumpsuit. Archer must’ve scrounged that up from somewhere as a cute little gift, damn him.
She was beautiful. Golden. Glowing. Happy. She hadn’t looked like that since the moment he’d cut off her gag in the jungle, half a world away. The realization twisted through him like a poison vine from that jungle, turning his heart just as deep and deadly a shade of green.
“What are you going to do now?” asked Z.
Garrett fought to cut back the vine. He battled hard, damn it. He told himself this wasn’t the time or the place to be a mindless caveman.
None of that seemed to matter when he spat his response to Zeke.
“I’m going to negotiate.”
He clicked the call off before his friend could utter a word of repercussion.
Chapter Ten
“Hell.”
Before she even turned, Sage sensed what Ethan’s tight utterance referenced. More accurately, to whom it referred.
Moments ago, she’d sensed a change in the air itself, a surge of strength that jolted the depths of her stomach and made her nerve endings burst in awareness. When she’d gotten the same rush ten nights ago in Thailand, she’d written it off to her terror as well as the gun battle fireworks outside King’s hut. No terror now. No guns going off now. There was only one common factor to both situations. One person. Only now, his entrance carried one distinct change.
Garrett was a more magnificent sight this time around.
She struggled to keep in mind that his conqueror’s stride and his granite-hard glower were likely—probably—the result of his wrath with her. Major failure on that front. All she could fixate on were how long his legs looked even in his baggy camouflage pants and how incredible that black T-shirt defined the perfect male V of his torso. She didn’t dare let her gaze travel along his biceps… Another major flop. God, how she looked at him, enduring another attack of oh-my-God-he-isn’t-real because of it. And of course, Hades take him, he’d slipped on his all-man, battle-toughened work boots before chasing after her, too.
Yeah, chasing after you, remember? Not here to pick you up for lunch, not here to bring you some flowers. He looks like a gladiator, but he’s pissed as a lion, girl—and his claws are aimed your direction.
She suddenly craved some cat scratch fever, lion style.
The sunlight hit the top of his head as he stepped clear of the hangar. His hair, still damp from his shower, literally glittered in the sunlight. Before he jerked his sunglasses back over his eyes, the blue flames in them licked out, incinerating what was left of her logic.
She was in deep shit. On a bunch of crazy levels.
She opened her mouth to say something, but not a peep spilled out. She sure as hell wasn’t going to feed his misplaced rage with an apology. They were barely still engaged, if that was what they were still calling it. But a “hey, how’s it hangin’” wasn’t going to help the situation, either.
Garrett handled the dilemma for her. Sort of. From the inside of his jacket, he pulled out a sheaf of papers. “I think you dropped something.”
Her heart thudded in her throat. The Jump School insignia practically lifted off the top page like a magical curse, searing into her conscience. “Thanks.”
His only reply was to glance back into the hangar, as if he’d left something behind himself. Sage gulped and kicked the ground. Was this actually an awkward silence, when engines, trucks, and repair machines ripped up the air around them?
Ethan got noble about smoothing things out. “Sage? Everything okay?”
“Yeah.”
“No,” Garrett said at the same time. Though his tone was simple as a comment on the weather, Sage knew better. It meant the opposite. He added a grim smile while adding, “No, it’s not, Corporal Archer, so I’ll thank you to step the fuck back.”
Ethan pivoted to Garrett and actually saluted him, which rammed Sage’s heart to her stomach. Guys on a Special Forces team didn’t have time to stand on ceremony, and everyone here knew it. Ethan’s move, while wrapped in the ribbons of military respect, might as well have been a knee in Garrett’s crotch. A Special Forces version of the Unfriend button.
“With respect, Sergeant Hawkins, the training flight has been cleared.”
“I’m aware of that, Archer,” Garrett retorted. “I was the one who first heard the Otter would be here for hiking season support, as well as training flights for the team. Or did you think I just moseyed over to base because of my keen spidey sense and a desire for some tasty brunch in the mess?”
Sage empathized with the tension behind Ethan’s glower. The guy dipped his head of thick chestnut hair, unable to argue with a word of Garrett’s statement. The respect memo somehow hadn’t gotten through to the smartass just behind him, though. Sage barely held back a groan as Tait Bommer and his mischievous eyes, silken smirk, and surfing idol looks ambled into the conversation with a smooth chuckle.
“‘Tasty brunch in the mess.’ Ha. Good one! Hey, we’ll come join you, Hawk. I’ll save some mud off my boots, and we can have it for dessert. It’ll be better than the mush they’re trying to pass off as pudding, and there’s that cute little mashed potatoes server girl I’ve been meaning to talk to again.”
“Hey, Tait?” The query was issued by the next guy who came over, the dark-eyed counterpart to Bommer’s beach god gilt. Kellan Rush was Tait’s polar opposite in looks, temperament, and dating tastes, which made him T-Bomm’s perfect flank, both on and off duty. “I’d suggest you shut up.”
“Good suggestion,” Garrett growled as he tilted his head at her again. Sage still couldn’t see his eyes behind the glasses but didn’t need to. His scrutiny bathed her from head to toe in uncomfortable, incredible heat. “So you’re still thinking of going Airborne, huh?”
“Yeah.” Despite her discomfort, she gave him a tiny smile of gratitude. He’d remembered—though it wasn’t simply that. He’d remembered, and he knew, how important this was to her. Regrettably, it didn’t look like his own stance on the subject had changed much over the last year, and she was now the subject of his taut scrutiny about the matter.
“You that hot to get to Fort Benning for sixteen weeks?” he issued in a grim mutter, toeing at the ground. Sage copied the gesture.
They’d always laughed about sharing that little habit, though she always nearly fell over when she did it in heels. Today, neither of them chuckled. Sage felt her smile faltering.
“Maybe I am.”
She couldn’t filter out the wistful threads in the assertion. Oh, screw wistful. Her tone planted itself right over the line into needy, and she didn’t care. If she had to go invisible Whack-a-Mole hammer on his damn stubborn head, so be it. You don’t want me to go, Garrett? Then give me a reason to stay. Give me a reason to look at our home as something more than house arrest now! “The Airborne squads need medical members right now.” She nearly stammered it out, but the silence needed filling. Bad. “And…so…”
“So you found out about this little field trip”—he cocked a condemning brow at Ethan—“and got yourself added to the flight roster somehow, despite that on most of the paperwork, your ashes are still at the bottom of Puget Sound.”
Sage jammed her toe down harder the next time and left it stuck that way. She was certain if she lifted it again, she’d drive it into Sergeant Hawkins’ right shin. So much for trying to maintain her smile—or any shred of the fantasy she’d been entertaining about getting her hands underneath his T-shirt. “And I see your head is still wedged in the bottom of the funeral urn,” she flung. As she forced herself to step closer to him, a now-familiar heat threatened the backs of her eyes. Damn it, was she now destined to cry every time they spent more than five minutes near each other? “I hope it’s nice and dirty and dark down there too, you shithead.”
“Sage!” Ethan’s panicked burst layered atop the other guys’ gasps. “Maybe a little restraint would be—”
“It’s okay, Ethan. According to him, I’m still a ghost.” She lifted her gaze, facing her reflection in those sun-drenched panels that sealed off his eyes from her. Guess he’d just pulled a few extra barriers out of his heart for the job. The man had plenty of personal walls to go around these days. “So I could call him a paranoid, close-minded, overprotective bastard right now and still be perfectly fine.”
She was more right about that than she wanted to be. Besides not reacting to her insult, Garrett didn’t even seem to hear it. Instead, he jerked his head right and then left, like a combat dog picking up a strong scent. “Fuck,” he muttered, his gaze probing back into the hangar. “Fuck.” Hot on the heels of his cuss fest, his cell buzzed. He slammed a finger to his earpiece. “Talk to me, Z.”
Boots crunched on the ground next to Sage. Ethan moved up again, his GQ-ready features compressing with a bloodhound concern of their own. “Guys.” It was a reprimand at Tait and Kellan, who’d started exchanging Angry Birds strategies, complete with screeching sound effects. “Guys, stuff it!” He leaned closer to Garrett, listening carefully. As Sage watched his stance tighten, tiny hairs along her nape stood on end.
It was the same feeling she’d had after Garrett’s gorilla tirade on the pier at home.
What the hell was going on?
She concentrated harder on Garrett too. For once he wasn’t paying attention to anything she did. If it were possible, the tower of his body coiled tighter. “Okay,” he uttered. “Got it. Yeah, man, of course I hear you. I’ve got three of them circling our position like buzzards, with a possible confirm of a fourth. We’re goddamn candy on a playground out here. You said base police are alerted? Well, they aren’t moving their asses fast enough. I know, Z. Shit, I hate it when I’m right about stuff like this.”
“About stuff like what?” Sage wasn’t able to constrain herself anymore. She moved up between him and Ethan.
“Check,” Garrett muttered like she’d disappeared instead. “I’ll keep you updated. Thanks, Z.”
He ended the call with a hard exhalation. On the same breath, he dipped his head a little at Ethan. The pair of them had totally dropped their pissing match of five minutes ago, which would’ve made Sage proud if the motivation didn’t seem so ominous.
“What’s up?” Ethan asked.
Garrett nodded his head again, this time at the twin-engine plane on the runway. “How soon can the Otter leave?”
“As soon as we want it to.”
“Good. That’s good.”
“Why?”
Garrett flicked a glance back at her again. Sage thought she’d fallen off his radar, but that action told her the situation was exactly the opposite. The prickles in her neck tumbled through her body. She squinted back toward the hangar but saw nothing different than the hustle and bustle of the work crews, same as before.
Her attention was yanked back by Garrett’s pull on her arm. “Don’t look there again.”
“Why?”
He dropped her arm and raised his sunglasses. No smoke in his gaze now. Fire had taken over, a searing cyan, clutching her heartbeat in its terrifying flames. He answered her query by giving her another order. “Stay.”
Sage wasn’t sure she could defy him if she wanted.
He pivoted to Ethan next, pulling the corporal several steps away. Damn it. She couldn’t hear a word of what they were saying, and thanks to the training they’d had to make them lethal opponents in a poker match, she couldn’t discern anything from their posture or frowns, either.
Finally, Ethan gave Garrett a brisk nod. “Got it, Hawk.”
He came back toward her again on wide, determined strides.
“Ethan, what the hell is—”
“Not now.” He issued it in a stern tone. His gaze swept the hangar and the tarmac now. Giving her a completely fake smile, he asked, “So you ready for an adventure?”
Sage blinked at him. “You mean we’re still doing this?”
“Yes.” That came from Garrett. His voice brooked less backtalk than Ethan’s response. He scooped up one of her hands in a steel-reinforced hold, though he nodded toward Ethan. “You got the set-up, Archer. Tell the other guys I need hustle on this. I’ll take Sage over like I’m giving her a last high-five for good luck.”
“Right,” Ethan returned. “I’ll be out of my uniform by then.”
“Excellent. We’re about the same size. Should fit me no problem.”
That caused Sage’s confused gaze to flip even faster between the two of them. “Out of your uni—huh?”
The men were back to pretending she hadn’t spoken. Ethan took off at a jog for the airplane. Tait, Kell, and the other five jumpers were at his heels. On the flip end of behavior, Garrett adopted a casual stance that made her feel like they stood on a high school lunch patio instead of an army-base tarmac. He added to the impression by beaming a full grin down at her. But his next statement sure as hell wasn’t charming quarterback. More like obey-me-now detention monitor.
“Follow me to the plane, sugar. No more questions, no more rebellion. Please, Sage. Not now.”
Please, Sage.
He hadn’t used the phrase once in the last ten days. Now that he had, it drew out mixed feelings. The tenderness in his voice was like a precious thread resewn between them. But that bond had been stitched with a needle of urgency and knotted off with dread.
“All right,” she told him. “Let’s go.”
He ambled out to the Otter with her, though once more she got the impression he barely refrained from a sprint. Sure enough, as soon as they circled around to the plane’s door, Garrett turned into the same daunting soldier she’d seen in Thailand. He swung up into the cabin in one smooth sweep. Once in, he strode directly to the back. Ethan was there already, and sliding out of his top. The olive and tan garment barely saw air before Garrett jammed his arms down the sleeves and then started zipping up. If their plan wasn’t clear to Sage before, it was now. Garrett was jumping as her tandem partner instead of Ethan, for reasons clearly above her pay grade. It seemed she was the first ghost in history bound to a security clearance.
Her mental trip into snark-ville didn’t stop her from staring at the two of them and attempting to read their minds—though maybe that wasn’t such a great move, either. Just getting into the plane had jumped her adrenaline a little higher, but now…
Oh, hell.
Ethan had already been pretty dashing in his combat top and bottoms, but the skintight brown T-shirt he wore beneath only amped the man’s irresistible factor. His chest was a defined sculpture of muscle, and the long ropes of his arms continued that chiseled trend. All that hard-hewn glory, yet the man was always ready with a gentle smile and a mischievous twinkle in his forest-green eyes.
Sage let out a conflicted sigh. Ethan was already dancing on the edges of flirtation with her, but just looking at him next to Garrett crystallized an epiphany for her. While Ethan was nice on the eyes and easy for companionship, turning her attention to Garrett did something…more.
Even looking at him was a lesson in being consumed. From the moment they’d met, Garrett Hawkins was the blaze in her blood, the smolder in her sex, the molten magic in her heart. He was her fire. Period.
And damn it, she doubted if she’d ever be able to extinguish him. Or ever wanted to.
She found a seat, slid into it, clicked in, and ducked her head so she could clench back the fresh slam of tears. Shit, she was a mess!
“Suck it up,” she whispered fervently. “Do it, Weston. Get your shit together.” You want to make it as Airborne? There’s no crying in Airborne!
When Garrett took the seat next to her, she compelled her head back up. Well, at least enough to look at his knees instead of hers. She longed to wrap her hand around the inside of that knee, using it to pull herself over and curl against him. But rules were rules. And if crying wasn’t allowed in Airborne, breaking the personal affection parameters really wasn’t.
Still, in that sixth-sense way of his, Garrett leaned a little closer to her. He angled his body, completely protective about the pose and not seeming to care who saw. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” She glanced up in time to see Ethan make his way over. “But I’d be better if I knew what the hell this is all about with you two.”
“Not gonna happen.” Garrett and Ethan retorted it in unison. They followed that by locking palms in their gruff version of a handshake.
“Hey,” Garrett stated. “I owe you, Runway.”
Ethan chuffed. “You owe me shit, boss.” He cocked a sideways smile at them both. “See you at the pit. Have fun, Sage.”
She tossed back a grin of her own, but the expression faded as soon as the plane accelerated, gained air, and began to climb into the clear summer sky. She kept glancing at that sky, trying to think of how much it looked like Garrett’s eyes, struggling to take strength from that as the earth began to resemble a watercolor below. Structures and landscape blurred together, a beautiful but daunting reminder of the fact that they were rapidly climbing to ten thousand feet—and that she’d be traveling back through that distance by hurling her body through it.
