Tactical Strike (3 page)

She drew a breath to do just that but got sidetracked by those
full lips in the midst of his short beard as he chewed. Nice lips. The only soft
thing about him that she could see. And he had a nice smile. His teeth were damn
near perfect.

She clamped her lips together. It sucked that he was basically
a nice guy and that Devon adored him. Made it that much harder for Candace to
keep her guard up. Under different circumstances he might have grown on her. But
not here.

Realizing she’d just been staring at his mouth, as he’d no
doubt intended, she pushed her plate toward him and stood up. “Here. Have at
it.”

She’d been so stupid to think he’d be any different with her
just because of their civil conversation that day. The man sitting across the
table reminded her too much of the caring, compassionate one who had comforted
Devon in the hospital after her helo had been shot down. Too bad, because
Candace had really liked
that
guy. This cocky alpha
male intent on driving her nuts? Not so much.

Standing at her full height, she met his gaze head on. If he
kept pursuing her she could report him, but she refused to stoop that low.

With an innocent smile that grated on her nerves, Ryan accepted
her plate and picked up her fork. “Not hungry anymore?”

“No.” She was still starving, actually, but going hungry for a
few hours was worth it if it meant being able to avoid him. “Bye, Sergeant.” Not
that the formal tone seemed to have any impact on him. She grabbed her coat and
looked at Maya. “Coming?”

Her friend paused with her spoon between her lips then quickly
pulled it out and swallowed her mouthful. “Guess so.” She actually had the
audacity to smirk at Ryan as she stood.

Without waiting to see if Maya would follow, Candace turned her
back on them and started for the door at what she considered a highly dignified
pace, far too aware of the weight of Ryan’s stare pressing against her spine. He
rattled her way too easily.

She’d taken two steps when she spotted Cam, Devon’s fiancé,
sitting at the next table. He offered a smile when he saw her and nodded.

See? Now that was an appropriate greeting from a
non-commissioned officer to a captain in a public setting. Polite and
respectful. She answered in kind. “Good morning.” Why the hell did his friend
have to be such a jerk?

Cam’s blue eyes were full of good-natured exasperation as they
swung from Ryan then back to her. “If you’re leaving because of him, don’t. Go
back and finish your breakfast. I’ll handle him.”

She didn’t need anyone to
handle
him for her. “No, it’s f—”

“Hey, Went,” he called out, twisting around in his seat. “Stop
being an ass and get the hell over here.”

The blood rushed back into her cheeks. Oh yeah, just what she
needed—Ryan thinking he disturbed her to the point that she needed help in
dealing with his advances. Yes, he unnerved her, but she could put him in his
place on her own. “Thanks, but I was done eating.” Before leaving she aimed a
nod at Jackson, another PJ seated beside Cam. He returned it, but his gaze
shifted over her shoulder as Maya came up behind her.

“Morning,” he said to Maya, his voice laced with a heavy Texas
drawl.

Never one to shy away from a challenge, Maya made eye contact
with a firm nod and kept walking past. “Morning.”

Candace followed in her wake, listening to her friend mutter
something under her breath in Spanish as they stepped out into the cold morning
air. Although Candace wasn’t fluent in Spanish, she knew enough to pick out a
few cuss words. Whatever Maya was saying about Jackson, it wasn’t a
compliment.

Candace pulled the collar of her coat up higher to cut the
light wind. When Maya fell silent, Candace spoke. “At least Jackson’s not
disrespectful.”

Maya’s dark turquoise eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Since when
are you on a first-name basis with him,
Captain
?”

She bit back a chuckle. “Fine, you want me to call him Sergeant
Thatcher then?”

“I don’t care what you call him.” She tossed her head back
again, something she did when she got annoyed. Which was pretty often. “All he
does is stare at me, never says a word. It’s weird.”

“I just heard him say hello to you. Be thankful he doesn’t get
in your face all the time and fraternize in plain view of the entire base.” Like
some people she could mention.

Maya grinned. “Damn right he doesn’t. His stupid staring’s bad
enough. Don’t stare at me unless you can back it up. And he’s always reading or
doing a crossword. So not my type.”

Candace laughed softly. “He’s smart. He just doesn’t talk much
to you out of respect for your rank. Which only proves he’s got much nicer
manners than his friend.”

“Manners? Honey. That PJ stares at me but doesn’t have the
balls to back it up. That combat controller? Does. And then some. He’s hot for
you and wants in your pants, pure and simple.”

The thought was both thrilling and horrifying. “Hey, how come
the guy interested in me wants in my pants, but the guy interested in you is
merely annoying? Maybe Jackson wants in
your
pants,
pure and simple. Ever think of that?”

Maya cast her a
get
real
look. “I know when a man is coming on to me.
That one isn’t. I have no idea what the hell he wants, but if he keeps up the
staring I’ll be having words with him.”

The threat didn’t faze Candace. Maya might be badass, but
underneath all the bluster she had a soft heart she didn’t want anyone to know
about. But what to do about Ryan? Candace winced at the thought of the entire
mess hall watching him flirting with her. How mortifying and unprofessional did
that seem to her colleagues? “How many people saw all that, do you think?”

Maya rolled her eyes. “Does it matter? You didn’t do anything
wrong, and if you really want him to leave you alone, either report him or just
act like he doesn’t bug you. He’ll get bored and lose interest soon enough.”

“You think?” Oddly, part of her objected to him losing
interest. Was it too much to ask for him to actually be nice instead of needling
her all the time? God, she was seriously messed up about him. The sweet version
of Ryan might be even more dangerous to her than the annoying one.

“I
know
,
chica
. Believe me, I know his type.”

Maya might have a point. And God knew, the woman had plenty
more experience with men than she did. “I don’t think I can pull that off
convincingly if he keeps it up. He makes me so...
mad
.”

Her friend raised a perfectly arched brow. “Really?”

“What’s that tone supposed to mean?”

“It means that instead of getting all worked up about him,
maybe you should start trying to figure out why he bothers you so much.” Her
meaningful smile was too irritating for words.

“I am so
not
attracted to him, if
that’s what you’re trying to say.” It was a total lie. One she fervently wished
were true.

“Okay.”

She whacked Maya’s arm. “I’m not! Yeah, he’s good-looking and
basically a stand-up guy, but that’s as far as it goes. Rules and regs aside,
he’s not even close to my type.” Big, bad and dangerous was not for her, even
off base. The softer side of him though...
That
version drew her in and would be damn hard to resist if he persisted. She’d have
to be careful he never figured that out.

“Okay.”

The placating tone made her mouth quirk. “You know, with Devon
recovering stateside and all, as my closest friend on base it’s your job to
defend me and be sympathetic to my plight.”

Maya thumped her on the back. “You know I’ve got your six,
girl. I’ll defend you when you need it, but I’m not Devon. I happen to think it
would be good for you to face why he gets under your skin so easily, and then
find a way to, uh, work it out of your system.”

Candace was so shocked she stopped walking and gawked at her.
This was Maya’s idea of backing her up? “I know you didn’t just imply I should
sleep with him.” She couldn’t disguise the horror in her tone.

A soft laugh answered her. “Ace, I love you, even though you’re
way too uptight about regulations sometimes.”

“Ha! You’re a Security Forces officer. You live and breathe
regulations.”

Maya cut her a bland look. “And I would never tell you to sleep
with someone, let alone
him
. You’re a big girl. You
can make those kinds of decisions for yourself.”

“Yeah, because theoretically, if I
were
interested, a court martial and a dishonorable discharge sounds
like a whole lot of fun to me.” She couldn’t think of anything worse for her
family, short of her dying. Actually, death might be preferable. “My family
would disown me.”

“Oh, they would not. And you’d never let a scandal happen in
the first place because you’re smart enough to be discreet and not get caught.
Besides, when I said working out of your system I meant exercise, not sex. I was
going to offer my services as a running and workout partner. Jeez, talk about
having your mind in the gutter.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” she said with a laugh.

Maya hooked an arm over Candace’s shoulders, the gesture a bit
awkward because she was five inches shorter. “Come on. Let’s go back to our hut,
where you’ll be safe from all the wolves prowling around here.” She shrugged.
“He’ll be going out soon enough anyway, and then you won’t have to worry about
him embarrassing you anymore.”

“Yeah.” Who knew when she’d see him again? Or if she ever
would?

Rather than soothe her, the thought sent a thread of unease
through her. She’d seen him on the ground in combat once, from the cockpit. She
knew exactly what sort of dangers he faced when he went outside the wire. Just
because her crew had saved his ass the last time didn’t mean someone would be
there to save the day the next time he needed it. Inappropriate flirt or not,
she didn’t want anything bad to happen to him.

Huddling deeper into her coat, Candace let her gaze stray out
to the snow-capped peaks of the Hindu Kush far in the distance and suppressed a
shiver, thinking of what had happened to Dev. The wolves on base didn’t worry
her half as much as the human predators waiting out there in the mountains.

Chapter Two

Khalid finished his morning prayers quickly and sat
back on his heels to look around the freezing hovel, where he and the others had
stayed the night. It was difficult to concentrate on what needed to be done with
the incessant pain of the half-healed bullet wounds in his right arm and the
inner demons clawing at him. The anger and frustration he’d struggled with for
so long grew more each day. A deep, insidious hatred that ate at his soul.

The sound of shuffling feet brought his head around. One of the
other survivors from the last campaign limped over, his head and shoulder
bandaged. His sunken posture made him look like a whipped dog. All the men felt
demoralized. Even him, as much as he hated to admit it. The humiliation at how
easily they’d been defeated—at the way they’d been wasted—still crawled through
his veins.

The responsibility lay with Nasrallah. The arrogant ass had put
them up against impossible odds and left them exposed to be slaughtered like a
flock of sheep. Khalid was lucky to be alive. The American gunners firing from
the helicopters had hit him twice, and only by Allah’s grace had he managed to
find a hiding spot and wait out the rest of the battle. Most of the others
hadn’t been so fortunate. Including Sadiq, the general’s brightest young star.
The vast majority of the survivors were still in no shape to fight.

“Khalid.”

He looked over his shoulder at the man standing in the doorway.
“What?”

“The general wants to see you.”

It irritated him how the others spoke that title, as though
they revered him. Could no one else see what Nasrallah had done to them? He rose
and brushed past the other man on his way into the main room of the mud-brick
safe house they’d marched all of yesterday to reach. The shabby dwelling held
only three rooms, and two of them were carved out of the side of the mountain.
The rickety wooden door had done nothing to keep out the bitter wind during the
night. They’d had to resort to sleeping pressed together in groups, something he
would never have consented to if he hadn’t been afraid of freezing to death
overnight.

He found Nasrallah seated at a crude table with a tin mug of
steaming tea. He could smell the fragrance of cardamom and cloves from where he
stood.

The general looked up when he entered. His sharp
caramel-colored eyes slid over him, down his bandaged arm. “Your hand is still
quite swollen. Do you require more medical care?”

“No.” He could still fire a rifle, and that’s all that
mattered.

The man nodded once, marking an end to the pleasantries.
“Please, sit.”

“I will stand.”

The general paused a moment before speaking, then finally
lowered his gaze. “The reports coming in have told me the Americans are about to
launch a great offensive in this area. We have managed to recruit a few dozen
men from some of the local villages, but you must be aware our numbers are very
depleted.”

And
why
is
that
,
I
wonder
? He barely held the retort in check.
“And?”

Nasrallah raised his eyes once more, and Khalid saw both the
growing anger and disquiet in the older man’s stare. “You have proven yourself
as a good fighter. I have need of men like you. As such, I have made the
decision to promote you to serve as one of my advisors.”

Not by choice though. Khalid knew that for certain. “Because
Sadiq is dead?”

His expression tightened. “Not only because of that, but yes. I
don’t need to remind you of how valuable he was to our operations.”

And
to
you
, Khalid thought in disgust. Thankfully Sadiq had
died before he’d seen the truth about his mentor. But Khalid knew. “What
authority would this grant me?”

“Some command responsibilities. Intelligence gathering.
Possibly helping with the planning of operations.”

It gave Khalid a measure of satisfaction to know the old man
must have felt sick saying those words aloud. “I want my own men.”

Nasrallah’s expression hardened. “I beg your pardon?”

And
so
you
should
. “Your strategy to mass men has already ended
in disaster. If I stay under your command, I want my own group of men to perform
guerrilla attacks away from the main body.”

The general maintained eye contact as he took a sip of his
steaming chai. He set his cup down, his expression holding a sardonic edge as he
answered in English. “What makes you think I trust you enough to allow that kind
of operational latitude?”

“I don’t need your trust,” he pointed out. “I can recruit my
own army if need be.”

“To fight with the Taliban?” His laugh was humorless. “To
torture and control our own people who have been fighting for their freedom for
centuries?”

At least they operated their network effectively. “I will do
whatever is necessary to win this war.”

Nasrallah shook his head as though disappointed. That was
nothing new. Khalid had spent his entire bastard existence as a disappointment
to others. The old man’s voice held a weary note when he spoke again. “Do not
let the anger in your heart overrule your head.”

“Allah guides me, and He alone.” The frustration of waiting and
doing nothing was too much. At this point he didn’t care if Nasrallah cut him
loose.

He could find his own men elsewhere and fight the way they
should have all along. Hit the enemy hard and then disappear like ghosts into
the hills, the way his people had for centuries against invaders. Set up
ambushes and booby traps. Fight battles that they
could
win, not massing the men together for a suicidal rush against
superior numbers and firepower.

It sickened him that Nasrallah could consider himself a
military leader after the carnage of the last battle. And all because he’d
insisted they capture the female pilot they’d shot down. For publicity and some
misguided sense of mercy toward the woman. If Khalid had been in charge, she
would have died that night, along with the others. Instead, more than half their
force was dead or missing. Another quarter were wounded, most of them out of
action for the winter at least.

In the dim lighting the general regarded him closely for a few
moments, but Khalid remained unaffected by that icy stare. The old man’s reign
of power and influence was coming to an end. Nasrallah had to adjust along with
the rest of them, adapt with the ever-changing flow of this war or accept
defeat. And the hint of unease in those light brown eyes said he knew it as well
as Khalid.

“Well?” Khalid prompted, sensing his advantage.

A muscle flickered beneath his bearded jaw. “I have been
fighting this war since before you were born,” the general reminded him in a
scornful tone. “You would do well to remember your place.”

Khalid narrowed his eyes and thumped the tip of his left index
finger against his chest. “My place is inflicting fear and death on the
Americans and their allies. Not hidden away, cowering from their planes and
satellites.”

Nasrallah’s skin paled beneath his salt-and-pepper beard then
flushed a bright, outraged crimson. “Do not dare to question my actions. Do.
Not.
Dare
.”

The anger and frustration continued to build, swirling and
expanding in his gut. Khalid fought it back with effort. “Do I get my men or
not?”

The silence thickened in the tiny room, building with the
sudden rise in tension. Khalid didn’t move. Didn’t even blink as he held
Nasrallah’s gaze, refusing to back down now. The general would respect the show
of defiance at least. As the seconds passed, a sense of power began to rise up
above the anger. The old man knew he didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t afford to
lose him, no matter the threat Khalid posed to his authority with the
others.

Finally Nasrallah jerked his head toward the door, breaking the
tension. “Go, then. Pick twenty men and take them with you. But know this.” His
eyes hardened like amber. “I will be watching you closely, and there is no place
in these mountains where I will not be able to find you.”

A threat? Khalid almost laughed. “I am not afraid to die,
whether it comes by your hand or the enemy’s.”

A tiny smile curved the edges of the man’s lips in a grudging
show of respect. “Nor am I. But you are willing to die for the wrong reasons.
And we need every man we have.”

Without bothering to reply, Khalid turned and strode from the
room, his heart beating a rapid rhythm against his ribs.

He’d done it.

He stepped out of the house into the cold mountain air. It bit
through his clothing and into his skin like tiny needles, but he barely felt it.
His boots crunched in the snow as he walked toward the group of men squatting
around a warming fire. They all looked up at him as he approached, their gazes
expectant. As though they intuitively recognized something important was about
to happen.

Something was.

Khalid drew in a breath, feeling like he was standing on the
edge of a great precipice. “My brothers, it is time to make the Americans taste
the fires of Allah’s retribution. You are my men now. Follow me, and I will lead
you well.”

Their eyes lit up as he spoke, and a sense of elation swept
through him. This was the turning point. He finally had the chance he’d always
wanted. He would not waste it. At last, he would fulfill his true purpose.

* * *

Some of the SF guys were in the equipment room finishing
cleaning their weapons when Ryan came back from hitting the shower. “Aren’t you
guys done yet?”

“We’re heading for some chow,” Park, the Korean-American medic,
said. “Wanna come?”

“Nah, but thanks.” He wanted a few hours to himself.

“Got a hot date or something?”

Ryan grinned. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

The medic chuckled and shook his head. “Yeah, okay then. See
you in isolation.”

Ryan was halfway to the door when Cam came through it.

“Hey,” Cam said. “Just get back from the range?”

“Yeah. You coming or going?”

“Going, to the USO.”

“Want to grab a snack first?” Ryan suggested.

Cam laughed. “Seriously? You just ate, like, two hours
ago.”

He patted his abs. “Need to keep my strength up.”

Cam threw him an
oh
,
please
look. “I promised Thatcher I’d help him with
the set up for the concert.”

“For the Thanksgiving thing?”

“That’d be the one. You in? He’s in line, getting us
coffee.”

Why not? “Sure.” A jolt of caffeine would be welcome right now.
He pulled on his jacket to ward off the chill and walked out the door. “How’s
Dev doing these days?”

“Better. Rehab’s coming along, and she’s already got full
extension in her knee. Tibial plateau fracture’s going to take a while to heal
though, because of the pins and that bone’s poor blood supply.”

“You shoulda been a doctor.”

Cam only smiled. “Nah, that’s Thatcher’s deal. I’m in this for
the rush and the awesome pay.”

Ha, weren’t they all. “How much longer until she can fly
again?”

“Another nine to twelve months or so. If she doesn’t push
things too fast. And if she doesn’t get an early discharge first.”

“Ah. I wondered how you guys were going to handle the whole
engagement thing.”

Cam smiled. “Yeah, no getting around regulations. She knows I
want to stay in, so she’s willing to get out early on disability. If she decides
to get out, we’ll tie the knot next year. If she wants to stay in, we’ll
probably elope and keep it on the down low until her enlistment’s up. My CO’s
fine with it. It’s her commanders she’s worried about.”

“If she requests to leave and it’s granted, will she get out
for good?”

“Yeah. She’s already got a few civilian job offers.” He
shrugged. “I’ll be honest, I’d rather have her fly as a civilian back home than
out here, where some tool with an RPG can get lucky with a shot at her. Don’t
want to go through anything like that ever again.”

Ryan completely understood why Cam would feel that way, though
he had to wonder how he’d handle that situation if he were involved with
someone. Say, a certain Spooky pilot he was more and more interested in, for
instance. Damn, he had it bad for her.

Unfortunately she didn’t seem to reciprocate the sentiment. The
only comfort he had was when he’d caught a glint of female interest in her eyes
a time or two during their encounters. Not that it helped his cause any.

Jackson was already waiting in line at Green Beans coffee shop
when they joined him. As Ryan stepped up beside the other PJ with Cam, a jolt of
excitement ran through him when he spotted a statuesque blonde second from the
front. Ryan craned his neck around to get a better look at her, hardly able to
believe his luck. It was Candace.

And this time, she was alone.

The moment she finally noticed him staring she froze for a
split second before acknowledging him and the others with a polite nod and a
tiny smile he wanted more of.

Ryan took an automatic step forward and ran straight into Cam’s
restraining hand.

“Whoa, boy,” Cam said with a laugh. He shook his head. “You
already scared her off once this morning. Give her a break, man. What the hell’s
with you?”

Grinning good-naturedly, Ryan eased back and waited for her to
order her coffee, tamping down his impatience. She felt the pull too, right? He
wanted to make her soften, even if only a little. Just enough that he knew she
wasn’t indifferent to him, that there was at least a chance for him to break
through that defensive barrier she’d put up. Something about her pride and
carefully masked vulnerability brought out all his possessive instincts and made
him want to stake his claim.

As she moved toward them with her coffee, he expected her to
pass by without a word, but she surprised him by pausing. “Hi again.” Her tone
didn’t invite friendly conversation, though she spared another smile for Cam.
Lucky bastard. She was stunning when she smiled. Her honey blond hair was pulled
back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, like always. He wanted to undo
it, pull the bun apart just to find out how long it was, run his fingers through
its softness. In his fantasies it came past her shoulders, falling over her
breasts in curling waves as she rode him with her head tipped back, lips parted
on a breathless moan.