Dangerous Territory: An Alpha Ops novella (7 page)

“I have another question for them,” Josh said without looking at Grace. “Can you ask them if they have a satellite phone, or any other way of communication?”

She did, or at least he presumed she did, because the room went silent. Interesting.

Then one word.

“Um, he said ‘no,’” Grace said.

“And do you believe him?” Josh asked, casting a fast look around. In war, silence unnerved him just as badly as gunfire.

“All signs point to no. Not so much,” she said through a smile.

Good for her. At least she was trying to hide their conversation, and at least she was as suspicious of that answer as he was. So they answered that one. Somewhere in the village was a way he could communicate with his team, who must be shitting bricks at his disappearance. He felt a little relieved that somewhere here was a phone or a radio, but still, his heart beat fast with the sure knowledge that none of his team would have slept last night, and every second he was out of contact, they were probably risking their lives looking for him.

They could have been out there being shot at while he was having sex. Fucking great sex, but sex nonetheless, with the reporter he was sent to rescue.
Stop it.
He couldn’t think about that shit now. If he let it fester in his mind, everything he knew was true about his devotion to the pararescue, his strict adherence to their rules and the rules of combat, would become less clear.

He fastened the two parts of the forearm splint around the boy’s leg, tightening it with a bandage until he felt the leg bone shift into place. He grimaced as he did it, knowing that even in the fog of morphine, the kid would probably still feel it. He was right. A moan.

He used the splint to brace the leg in one place and rewrapped the bandage around the two pieces tight enough that it would support him, but not so tight that it would cut off the blood supply.

He rifled in his bag a little more and brought out a tiny bottle of codeine. He hoped neither he nor Grace would need it as he handed it to the woman at the head of the bed.

“Half a tablet every twelve hours,” he said to Grace. He waited as she translated, and the woman nodded. He repacked his bag and stood. “So what now?”

“There’s another bad sandstorm coming. That’s what they were discussing when I asked them about the hospital. We need to stay here at least until it’s over.”

She turned to them and spoke quickly and earnestly with the men.

“They have a house for us. Well, a room, I think they mean. They say we should stay here until it passes. I think they’re right.”

Shit. He knew they were, but it didn’t make him feel any more comfortable staying there and not making contact with the guys. Although it was true that no satellite phones would work in a sandstorm.

As if it understood him, the first howl of wind and splatter of sand pelted against the mud walls of the hut.

The village elder said something to Grace, and she said, “We’ve got to get to our room, or we’ll be stuck in here.”

Josh slung his pack on his shoulder and gave one last look at the boy. “Tell her to come get me if he wakes or needs anything.”

Grace touched the woman’s hands and presumably translated for him. The woman nodded and sat on the floor next to her son’s bed.

He reached for Grace’s hand. “Ready to go, wife?”

She looked worried, and he wondered why. But she nodded and grabbed his hand right back, sending a totally inappropriate feeling through his limbs. Shit. What was it that had her making him feel like a freaking teenager? It was disconcerting. And warm. He squeezed her hand reassuringly and followed the men out into the storm. Grace pulled up one side of her scarf to cover her mouth and nose, and he followed suit.

The men shouted at Grace in the wind, and she directed Josh to an adobe hut with reeds for a roof. He hoped they kept the sand out, but figured these locals must know how to do that.

He opened the door and they rushed through, eager to shut it and keep the sand out. The roundness of the little room, or hut, seemed to amplify the sound of the howling winds and beating sand. It was almost too loud to talk without shouting. So strange.

A small bed, made of filled sacks and old blankets, lay in the center of the room, with tiny candles melted against the beams that held up the room and the walls. They looked like the spokes of a bicycle. He watched as Grace pulled a lighter from the front pocket of her backpack and slowly lit the candles as the light from the one tiny window faded into the brownout of the blowing sand.

Each flickering candle illuminated her face. He imagined her presiding over a Shabbat ceremony. His heartbeat slowed with every candle and every gust of wind. He almost felt light-headed. Everything was FUBARed. Everything.

She didn’t care a bit about him, and that made it okay, she told herself, lighting the candles. She wasn’t attached. She wasn’t harboring a dream of white picket fences. Nothing. So this was all right. The fact that her heart was beating in time to the gusts of wind and the smatter of sand pellets was neither here nor there. She tried going to her happy, calm place. Except that didn’t work anymore. Her fantasy one-night stand was no more. She could no longer visualize him in the Four Seasons. He was right here, and she wanted to wrap her body around his until he absorbed her completely.

Surrounded by other huts, other people, it didn’t matter that they were at war. The PJ had treated the little boy as if he were one of his own.

“What are you thinking about?” he whispered in the flickering light.

Busted. “Just work.” She tucked the lighter back in her bag. She tried to layer the admission with an air of breeziness, but the second it came out, she saw his face close up.

“Just how much of this adventure are you planning on writing about?” he asked through tight lips.

She gazed at him, wondering if he would ever understand her. If he would ever ask her why she did what she did. If he would just admit that he was the same as her in every way. Of course he wouldn’t.

“I won’t know until I file my story.” She wafted her hand aimlessly over the candles’ flames, one by one, for want of something to do in the sparse room. “I never know until then.” She looked up, almost urging him to understand. “I only share what is important to tell the story, to reflect the theme.”

“And what is your theme?” he asked, throwing first his bag, then himself onto the bed. “What is your story?”

“I don’t know yet. What do you think it should be about?”

“I don’t think you should write a story at all. This isn’t story time here. We’re trying to do a job.”

“And that’s what I’m trying to convey to the people back home. Has nothing you’ve done here, no lives you’ve saved been noteworthy? Should the people who have died in this country go unaccounted for? I don’t understand your reluctance to be a part of the history of this war.”

“I don’t understand your need to publish this war as if it were, I don’t know, some kind of action adventure, with all the scandal of a reality show.”

“Don’t you get it? This
is
a reality show. I’m trying to cover the reality of war, not the whitewashed version everyone wants to read about.”

He was silent for a moment, looking at his boots as he untied the long laces and freed his aching ankle. “I don’t see it. I just don’t understand the mind-set of someone who wants to be exposed to this and wants everyone else to be exposed to this.”

Grace squatted with her back against the curved wall, directly opposite him. She rested her arms on her knees and wondered how to convince him. And then wondered why she wanted to convince him. Why not just stay silent? Silence is the friend of reporters. And then she realized why he wouldn’t look her in the eye.

She scrabbled over and knelt in front of him. “I won’t get you into trouble. That’s not my intention. Although, I don’t think that anyone would judge what we did…” She hesitated for a second when his face screwed up as if he couldn’t bear the thought of it. “With the Taliban outside our cave.”

“Can we not talk for a while? Or can we talk about something else?”

“Do you hate me? For what I am, or who I am?”

His stare shut her up, but as she continued to watch his face, his expression softened. She opened her mouth to ask him again, but he shook his head.

Silently, he took her hand and placed her palm against his cheek. A shimmer of something foreign flowed through her veins. A feeling of security and comfort. She wanted to hold this vision, this feeling forever. To remember for years to come. Because she knew after today, or maybe tomorrow, she would probably never see him again. She banished that thought.

He pressed his lips against her palm, and the heat from his breath warmed her whole body. She wanted to be with him. Forever. Just for today. It didn’t matter, because right in that silent moment, he was all she felt.

She needed a new fantasy to hold on to. One that didn’t end with her passing out. One that would sustain her throughout her next deployment and the next. She blinked and shook that image from her head. When would it end? Would she ever find love, settle down?

“What’s the matter? Your expression just went very dark,” Josh said, sitting up.

“I just… I just don’t know what I’m doing here.” She sat back on her heels in front of him. “I feel like there might be something broken in me.” Her eyes welled up at the admission.

Jesus. Why did I say that?
“I’m sorry. It’s nothing. Really. I’m fine.”
Please buy that. Please buy it.

His eyes softened as he stroked her face. “I’m here. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I’m good at my job. I promise.”

Grace half laughed, half sobbed. “I know you are. This isn’t about—”

“Turn around. Put your back here.” He slapped the side of the bed between his legs.

She eased herself back, feeling his strong thighs hold her to him. Firm hands started massaging her shoulders, and her head dropped forward in acquiescence. Bliss.

One by one her muscles softened under his touch, and when his fingers pushed against the base of her head, she couldn’t help but moan as the stress of the past few days, and maybe months and years, flowed out of her.

Heat tingled through her body with the touch of his fingers on her head and neck. Shivers transformed into a languid, warm softness rolling through her. She wondered if he felt it, too. She tipped her head back to look at him, and he immediately kissed her forehead and then nuzzled the side of her head.

Grace turned and slipped onto her knees before him. Just one more time. Let her feel him just this last time. His eyes searched hers, looking for what, she didn’t know.

She waited for him. She wanted him to make the move. Wanted him to come to her this time.

“What do you want from me?” he asked in a low, hoarse voice.

She swallowed back everything she knew she shouldn’t say or think: a future, a possibility, a life in a town in the United States, a puppy, a hope. She knew those thoughts were a product of adrenaline and of being alone in a sandstorm. Probably. “Just this. Just this… memory.” She wasn’t going to confess to anything that would make him pull away. They probably just had this night. Maybe one more. But she was determined to make an amazing memory.

He searched her face one more time and touched his thumb to her cheek like he had the first night they’d met. “There’s nothing broken in you. You’re just sad. Still. After all this time.” This time he didn’t wait for a response. He kissed her lips very gently.

Her lips quivered at his tenderness, heat spreading through her. His tongue touched hers slowly, and she moaned. Wrapping her arms around his neck and head, she knelt up and pressed as much of herself against him as she could, forcing herself against his mouth and kissing him feverishly.

He stood up, grabbing her with him, and spun her onto the bed. For a second she just looked at him, desire making her brain fritz. Eyes intently on hers, he pulled his BDU blouse and tan T-shirt over his head in one swipe. The sight of his hard, ripped chest nearly made her moan out loud. She sat up on her elbows and watched as he dropped his pants. He moved toward her, but she held up her hand.

“Wait,” she croaked, before clearing her throat. “I want to remember how you look right now.” She jumped off the bed and stood before him. She took off her jeans and top and left her underwear on. She reached her fingertips to his chest and stepped close enough to enable her fingers to roam the broad expanse. Oh so slowly, she walked around him, touching and lightly kissing a path around his body. She wanted to plant the memory of his body deep into her brain.

His skin shuddered under her touch when she pressed her body against his back, kissing his shoulder blades and then pulling back to draw a light hand down his spine.

“Have you seen enough?” he ground out as she made her way back, facing him.

“For now,” she said, meeting his eyes, then dropping them brazenly to his hard dick. She reached out, but he grabbed her arm.

“Take them off. Now.”

She cocked her head at him in a tease as she reached between her breasts for the clasp. He watched her with an intensity that sent her heartbeat racing. Just with that fierce look, heat pooled between her legs.

Grace unclipped her bra and let it fall to the floor. She shimmied out of her panties, knowing the little hip shake would give him a good visual, too.

“You deserve a good spanking for that,” he said, humor sparking in his eyes.

“Really?”
Interesting.

“But not now.” He picked her up and tossed her on the bed like an oversized ruck. She squealed and giggled until he started kissing her leg, from her ankle up to her thigh. His lips slid lightly over her skin, pausing, nipping, and biting occasionally, sending spikes of heat and exhilaration through her. She knew how wet she was for him.

“Touch me. Please,” she moaned between gasps.

As her eyes closed, his entire hand cupped her. “Like this?” he whispered.

She wriggled against him in answer. A finger slid down her heat, spreading her lips and making her hips buck off the bed. It glided around her as he maneuvered himself up beside her. Propped up on one elbow, he kissed her shoulder, a tender kiss. Her eyes opened and found his looking down on her. She thought he was about to kiss her, and her eyes fluttered shut.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart. I want to watch you.”

As they opened again, he slid a finger inside her. She gasped, and her entire body felt as if it were wrapping itself around that finger. Her hips tipped up as he slid in a second finger. All the while, he watched her, examining her expressions. She couldn’t look away from his hypnotizing eyes. It felt almost too intimate.

His thumb found her clit as his fingers moved inside her. Her breath came in heavy pants. She was so ready for him. But she wanted more.

“I want you inside me,” she said.

Silently, he withdrew his hand, and with an economy of movement, slid over her and between her legs. Braced on his strong, muscled arms, he lifted his hips. Still watching her, he pushed the tip of his dick against her. She lifted her hips to him, urging him. “Please,” she said softly.

With one firm stroke, he entered her, filling her entirely. A second of complete bliss. Not euphoria, just of completion. As if he completed her in this moment, in this place.

Her hand touched his cheek, wanting to prolong the intimacy. He turned his face to kiss it as he began to slowly move within her. Instead of a flash flood of desire, this time her need for him transcended the physical. A slow-motion wave swept through her like ripples on water. Every part of her pulsed hot as they moved in tandem. A sheen of sweat appeared on his brow even though he moved so slowly. With every thrust, more of her self-control slipped away. Tingles spread over her body.

Josh stopped for a second and knelt between her legs, still inside her. He gathered her to him, lifting her so she sat on his thighs. He kissed her gently and then started to move again. She wrapped her legs around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder. He slipped his hand between them, and as she met him thrust for thrust, he stroked her clit, pressed it, ran his finger in circles around it.

Grace’s breath became shallow and fast as everything in her body tightened in anticipation of her orgasm. She teetered on the edge for a second, and then gave in to the spiraling sensation pulsing through her. She called his name as she plunged over.

Instantly, he started moving faster, groaning on every stroke. His fingers dug into her back as he came, shuddering into her. His teeth rested on her shoulder, biting slightly as he caught his breath.

“God, Grace. You’re going to kill me. I’ve never felt so…” He took a deep breath. “I don’t even have the words for it.” He eased her off him and lay down next to her, drawing soft fingers around her languid body.

“Me either. And I’m supposed to be a writer.” She smiled up at him, feeling absurdly shy under his gaze. “I’m so happy we found each other again.” She reached up to stroke his face. “Well, you definitely found me again, at least.”

“We found each other,” he murmured, pulling her head onto his chest and cradling her next to him.

As his breathing grew steady, she wrapped a leg over his and an arm over his chest, and felt completely protected. She wished it could last forever.

*     *     *

When he woke, she was no longer in the room. Shit. She must be a stealthy riser. How did she get past him? He of the lightning-fast reflexes.

Yeah, right.

He hated what she did to him. He felt cheated of a just-awake moment when he could have curled his arms around her and touched her luscious body again. Just the thought of that made parts of his body stir, so he flipped his thoughts to field stripping his weapon. Slide, barrel, recoil assembly, receiver, magazine. Slide, barrel…

That was much better.

The room was strangely silent, which meant the sandstorm had stopped. There was only one tiny, very dirty window, so it appeared still dark. He pulled on his BDUs and opened the door into day. Morning had brought light but no sun. The sky was a buttery brown color, the remnants of sand hanging in the clouds. He rubbed his eyes and felt minute scratches as he did. This wasn’t his first rodeo; he’d seen sandstorms in Iraq that lasted three days.

Female voices, including Grace’s, came from a nearby hut. He went back in to grab his gear and then made his way there, hoping he wasn’t about to commit some international faux pas incident by going into an all-women enclave.

The door was open and he went in. All eyes went to him as he stood in the doorway. Silence invaded the room as he tried to take in the dozens of people packed into the tiny room.

His eyes first picked out Grace, sitting cross-legged on a purple cushion, with a smile on her face that would rival Helen of Troy’s. Well, at least Diane Kruger playing Helen of Troy. There were the same three men that had greeted them in the village the day before, sitting on the other side of the room, also on brightly colored cushions. But the best sight of all was the little boy, who, with pink cheeks and a smile, was playing some kind of card game with Grace. His splinted leg stuck out awkwardly, but he didn’t seem to be in much pain. He’d seen that before. In the same way that his sister’s kids never seemed to feel the cold, some children had a much better tolerance for constant pain.