by Rachel Grant
She ran a hand over the hard planes of his bare pecs. Perfect sculpted muscle. She traced his shoulder, those biceps that had carried her to safety.
He lifted his mouth from hers. She opened her eyes to meet his gaze. There was no softness in his eyes. Desire? Yes. Anger? Yes. Tenderness? Not even close.
“I’ll talk to my XO,” he said. “Stay here. I’ll be back in less than an hour.”
The sun sets quickly at eleven degrees north of the equator, and it was dark by the time Pax returned to Morgan’s CLU, orders in hand. He was glad to see she’d untied his shirt and it was neatly buttoned. The tails flapped loosely, almost reaching her knees.
She looked like she’d borrowed his shirt after a fuck, triggering another wave of possessiveness. He wanted to see her that way. Wanted to claim her.
He felt strangely caveman about her. An ironic notion considering tomorrow she was going to take him to see her very own caveman, Linus.
“We leave tomorrow at oh-seven-hundred.” He shoved a copy of the signed orders in her hands, then turned on his heel and left. He could feel her staring at his back as he headed to his own CLU at the far end and around the corner.
He wouldn’t spend an extra minute in Morgan Adler’s company, because if he did, he had no doubt he’d end up buried deep inside her, which would be a huge fucking problem. Not only would he be taking her beyond the gates and into what amounted to a war zone tomorrow, but also his damned CO had just made him her bodyguard for the duration of the time she was in Djibouti.
While his A-Team was out doing the job they’d been sent here to do—molding the locals into guerilla fighters—he was going to be Indiana Jones’s fucking sidekick.
Chapter Seven
“So this is how we’re going to do things on the other side of the gate,” Pax said as soon as Morgan settled in the passenger seat of the SUV. “You will do what I say, when I say it. No argument. Got it?”
“But—”
“What I say. When I say it. Or we’ll come straight back to the base.”
He still hadn’t told her that if she decided to stay in Djibouti, she would be stuck with him for the duration. It wouldn’t be an issue because he intended to convince her to leave, which should be easy considering she already wanted to go home.
She glared at him but gave a sharp nod.
She’d washed most of the blood from her field clothes and looked shiny and beautiful in the morning sun. She’d pulled back her blonde hair in a neat French braid, the kind his little sister made him learn how to do when she was eight because she couldn’t braid behind her head herself. The weave revealed the layers of highlights in her long hair, a rainbow of gold and yellow with darker amber streaks thrown in.
Last night, he’d buried his fingers in the silky soft strands as he’d taken her mouth in a hot, angry kiss that had kept him awake half the night. He frowned. “Do you have a hat?”
“It blew up.”
“You don’t have a spare at your place in Djibouti City?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“We’ll get you one today.” Great. He’d just added clothes shopping to the to-do list. No. Forget shopping. She didn’t need a new hat, because she was getting the hell out of Djibouti. Period.
It took a full twenty minutes to be processed through security and drive through the serpentine gate. “I’ve never been on a base with this much security,” she said after they finally cleared the last checkpoint.
“We’re a stone’s throw from Somalia and Yemen, and neither country is pleased with the drones that may or may not originate from here.” He glanced sideways at her. “Somalis have developed a nasty habit of abducting Westerners and dragging them over the border, and American military personnel are considered the ultimate hostages. Successful extraction is nearly impossible. For that reason, no one leaves the base unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“How did you manage to convince your XO to sign the orders to take me off base?”
“There’s been friction between Major Haverfeld—our commanding officer—and the skipper.”
“Skipper?”
“Sorry. Base commander Captain O’Leary is also referred to as the skipper. Because of that friction, I told Captain Oswald—my XO—this would show cooperation between the two commands and make our Special Forces team in particular look good.” But then Oswald had brought the CO into the conversation, and Major Haverfeld had liked the idea so much, he’d seized control over Morgan’s heretofore nonexistent security detail and made Pax the head of the team.
Pax had no qualms with the idea she needed security. Yesterday had proven that. But marines should be assigned to protect her, not SOCOM. He told Morgan none of this and wouldn’t until after she’d made her decision. If she knew she had a Special Forces operator providing security, would she choose to stay?
“I’m sorry if I caused problems for you.”
She didn’t know the half of it. He just gave her a curt nod in reply. “Will your crew have gone to the site today?”
She shrugged. “I have no idea. I hope so. We should look for them there first.”
He reached back and grabbed a map from the backseat and dropped it on her lap. “Where is the site?”
She pointed to the location, but he only glanced briefly, keeping his eyes on the road. He could have requested an escort but hadn’t wanted to draw attention, not when no one knew they’d be heading out, let alone their itinerary. If she stayed in Djibouti they’d need to switch up the routes. Bravo one day, then Charlie, then Alpha. There were four routes onto the base. They’d utilize them all, randomly.
Except that wouldn’t happen, because no way in hell would Morgan Adler stay in Djibouti. She was going home, and he was returning to his team to do the job he’d come here for. Planning tomorrow’s route and security detail was a waste of mental energy.
They neared her rental car—a shattered heap that had been pushed to the side of the road. It would be picked over for salvage by the locals, but otherwise would likely remain there, a reminder of Etefu Desta’s ruthlessness.
He drove past without slowing.
“So what kind of name is Pax for a soldier anyway?” she asked after a long stretch of silence.
He cut a glance sideways. “No one wants peace more than a soldier.”
“True, although I sometimes wondered if my dad was the exception there.” She turned in her seat, so she faced him more than the road. He kept his focus on the ruts in front of him. The fact that he wanted her was a dangerous distraction outside the gate. “But seriously, is Pax your real name? Is it short for something?”
He debated telling her the truth. Ah, hell, why not? “The name on my birth certificate is Pax Love Blanchard.”
She let out a sharp laugh. “You’re shitting me. Your name is Peace Love?”
He nodded.
“Oh my God. You had hippie parents, didn’t you?”
“Yep. My sister is named Gaia Love.”
“How does the son of hippies become a Green Beret?”
“How does the daughter of a hard-ass general become an archaeologist?”
“In my case, rebellion.” She turned in her seat again, facing the road. “My father had dreams of me being the first woman on a special forces team. I can shoot—”
He coughed politely at that.
“Hey! I’m out of practice. And I did hit him.” She paused. “How is he doing?”
“He survived the night. That’s all I know.”
She turned silent.
Pax missed her chatter. He wanted to know more about her relationship with her father, especially if he was going to convince her to go against her dear daddy’s wishes and leave Djibouti. “What else can you do—besides shoot with questionable accuracy, I mean?”
She snorted. “Martial arts training began in elementary school—before the shooting lessons started. I can defend myself in a fight. I did ROTC, but it became pretty clear that while I had skills, I didn’t have the strength necessary t
o keep up with the big boys if I was going to make it through any kind of special forces training. I also lacked the drive.” Her voice lowered, losing the upbeat tone. “At the same time, I realized my dad would never be proud of me if I didn’t achieve his goal for me. Nothing I did was ever enough for him. Becoming a soldier in his Army but falling short of special forces would’ve been viewed as a failure, forget that no woman had ever done it. It would have been yet another disappointment after the massive blow of his only child being born with a vagina. So my freshman year in college, I quit every activity he’d insisted I do. I dyed my hair pink and pierced my nose.”
He glanced sideways and saw the faint divot on the side of her nose.
She caught his look. “I’m a wuss, and it hurt too much. I decided rebellion should only hurt my father, not me, and let it close a week later.” She tilted her face toward the sunshine streaming through the window. “The general cut me off financially when I dropped ROTC, but I had financial aid and a willingness to take on a massive debt load, so for the first time in my life, I was free to study what I wanted. Anthropology was like finding home.” She offered a faint grin. “Plus the anthro majors were the closest things to hippies on campus, guaranteed to make my dad shudder in horror.”
He smiled. “I wasn’t allowed to play with toy guns growing up. Any toy that I made into a gun became forbidden. Sports were discouraged because they rewarded aggression.”
“I was the Western Pennsylvania Bullseye Confederation junior champion when I was fifteen,” she said with more than a hint of pride, telling him she’d quit shooting to anger her dad, not because she didn’t enjoy it.
He flicked a glance sideways. “When we get back to the base, we can go to the practice range and have a little competition of our own.”
Her laugh was throaty. Sexy as hell. “Oh no. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”
Her cocky words turned him on even more. He was in trouble.
She’s an officer’s daughter. He’d made that mistake once already.
“So how did you end up in the Army?” she asked.
“On my eighteenth birthday, I told my parents that I loved them very much, but it was time for me to be who I am. I think they hoped I was coming out, but no such luck.”
She snorted. “No way would anyone think you’re gay.”
“Don’t underestimate the blinders of wishful parents.”
“Do they accept you? As a straight soldier?”
“Yeah. My parents had their rules and their beliefs, but the core of their philosophy has always been about loving people for who they are. If they’d rejected me, they’d have been denying everything they stood for. I’m not saying it was easy for them to accept having a soldier for a son, but their love never wavered.”
“I’m envious,” Morgan said with raw honesty.
He placed a hand on her knee. It was supposed to be a casual, comforting gesture, but he’d forgotten about the combustion factor of touching Morgan.
He removed his hand without a word, glad they neared her project area. The sooner they completed the site visit and got back on the base, the better.
She gave him directions that took them deep down unmarked tracks that passed for roads. She gasped when they rounded a bend and a vehicle parked to the side came into view.
“Is that good or bad?” he asked.
“Good. It’s Ibrahim’s car. Three of my five crew members don’t have cars. They give each other rides. So at least Ibrahim is here, but there might be more.”
Pax parked the SUV and caught her hand as she reached for the door handle. “We’re doing this my way, remember? Just because one car is here doesn’t mean they’re here.”
She frowned. “True, but if you walk out there looking all intimidating—”
“Tough. That’s what I’m here for. I will intimidate. I will menace. I will scare the ever-loving shit out of them if I have to, and I will find out if they had anything to do with that bomb being planted under your car yesterday.”
“You wouldn’t—”
“I would and I will. You’re going to wait here while I check out the site. Get in the backseat, where you’ll be harder to see.” When she didn’t move, he added, “If you don’t cooperate, we’ll go back to the base right this minute.”
She glared at him but said, “Fine,” and climbed over the seat.
“Where will I find them?” he asked.
She settled in the back. “There’s a trail between those boulders.” She pointed through the windshield and described the path.
With a sharp nod, he pressed the car key and a two-way radio he’d acquired for her from the base into her palm. “This is set on the channel I’ll use. If it’s safe for you to come to me, you’ll hear me say ‘Peppermint Patty’ three times. If I want you to go to the base immediately, I’ll say, ‘Snoopy.’” He’d decided to use Peanuts-related code words with her. She’d remember them, and they wouldn’t be confused with other chatter on the airwaves.
“If you hear gunfire,” he continued, “I want you to get in the driver’s seat and drive a klick east. Pull over and listen to the radio. ‘Woodstock’ means all clear. If it’s safe for you to return, I’ll say ‘Woodstock’ three times. Again, if I want you to go to the base I’ll say ‘Snoopy.’ Snoopy always means return to the base. If you don’t hear from me at all within five minutes, hightail it back to the base.”
She frowned. “I can’t leave you.”
“You will. You’ll promise me right now, or we’re heading back. Swear it.”
The way she glared at him with flaring nostrils made him want to kiss her, but today he was a soldier, not a randy teenager, and he had a job to do.
“I swear.” Her jaw was tight, but she said the words without flinching.
“Good. Okay, repeat the code words and what they mean.”
She recited the instructions back to him.
“Perfect.” He pointed to the radio frequency. “Don’t change the setting, but remember it. I will always use that channel frequency with you.”
She nodded. He climbed out of the vehicle and opened the rear door to grab his gear.
“You’re going to scare them if you go down in full gear with your M4.”
He grinned and donned his helmet. “That’s my plan.” He then gave in to the stupid impulse and cupped the back of her head, pulling her to him for a quick kiss. Where the hell had his self-control gone? He closed the door and faced the trail.
Time to find out whose side Morgan’s crew was on.
She never should have agreed. Mouktar was nervous enough. After yesterday’s scare, he might’ve returned with a weapon and could shoot first and ask questions later. But maybe Mouktar wasn’t here at all.
She was tempted to follow, to stop Pax from intimidating the crew, but that could backfire when everyone was jumpy. Plus, she didn’t doubt his threats for a second. He’d haul her back to the base, and she’d lose her chance to make an informed decision. After seeing firsthand the rigmarole required just to exit the base, it was clear she wouldn’t have another opportunity.
Five minutes ticked by, and she dripped with sweat. The windows were cracked and there were open side vents, so she wasn’t quite up to baking temperature yet, but she’d probably only last another few minutes before she’d have to turn on the air-conditioning.
The radio crackled. “Peppermint Patty,” was repeated three times. Thank goodness.
She opened the door and jumped out of the SUV. Making a beeline for the narrow path between boulders, she muttered under her breath, “Please let everyone be okay. Please let everyone be here.” Yesterday had been terrifying; she didn’t blame the men for fleeing. But she hoped they came back.
She slipped into the slot between boulders. Her braid caught on something, forcing her to an abrupt halt. She reached back to disentangle her hair, when she felt fingers—not hers—snarled in her long braid.
A hand gripped her throat.
Adrenaline pulsed throu
gh her, slowing time. Slowing breath. Eclipsing thought. Muscle memory thanks to years of martial arts training kicked in. She used leverage to dislodge the hand from her throat and twisted sideways as she let out a scream that echoed down the trail and she hoped into the wide canyon below. She smashed the arm into a boulder. Before he could withdraw, she kicked backward, landing a blow on the man’s knee. He grunted in pain. His hot breath on her ear told her his position. She elbowed him in the windpipe and twisted around to finally see her attacker.
She’d never seen the man before; he wasn’t one of the men who’d run her off yesterday. She kicked him in the chest, and he fell backward, landing on the AK-47 that was slung over his back. He must not have expected she could fight him, or he would’ve used the gun instead of a barehanded grab. But then, she’d always counted on men underestimating her. Twice she’d been attacked behind the bar as she walked to her car after a late night waiting tables, and twice she’d sent her attacker to the hospital.
The man flailed for his gun, so she charged him, kicking him in the chin. His head snapped up, then flopped to the side. He was unconscious or dead. She was breathing heavily and staring at him as a chill settled over her.
Holy hell, what would have happened if she hadn’t been able to fight him? What if he’d used the assault rifle instead of simply trying to grab her?
Footsteps sounded behind her and Pax shouted, “Morgan?”
She didn’t dare turn her back on the downed man. What if he was faking? There’d been others yesterday. Where were those men now? “Pax! Help!”
“I’m coming!” His reply bounced off the boulders that defined the narrow passage.
She pressed her back to a boulder, her gaze fixed on her assailant. Was he breathing?
At last Pax was by her side. She wanted to thrust herself into his arms, but that was stupid. She’d just saved herself. Why turn all damsel-in-distress needy now? Besides, if Pax had his arms full of her, he couldn’t be checking to see if the guy was dead or alive.
She nodded toward the man and said, “He grabbed me from behind. So I, um, fought him.”
