Two Cowboys in Her Crosshairs [Hellfire Ranch] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (2 page)

Aldren shrugged. “Yeah, I’m good. I promise. I’m not going to let you down.”

Jake grasped Aldren’s shoulder. “I believe you.”

Aldren smiled briefly then slipped away. “Night, Sarge.” He settled onto his cot with his back to the room, which effectively cut off any further conversation.

Jake let the man rest. Aldren had been through a worse hell than any of them in the last four days after accidentally shooting one of the local kids. The incident happened so fast that no one could have prevented it. The kid had come screaming out of a house with a machine gun aimed straight at Aldren. His marine had done the only thing he could do. He fired at the kid.

Fortunately his aim had been true, and he’d tagged the boy in the shoulder, which disarmed him and ended the threat. But the incident sent Aldren into a spiral of stress and horror. Jake hoped talking with the chaplain helped Aldren wrap his head around the shooting. He needed him whole for the next two months.

“Hey, Sarge, come here, would ya?” Colby Briggs and Jason Yu were bent over a small mound of dirt that looked like it wiggled.

“What is it?”

Yu pointed to the mound of dirt. A small hole formed at the top, and grains of sand trickled over the sides. All three men stepped back.

“Some kind of critter,” Briggs said. His thick Alabama drawl wrapped around the words with gentle amusement. “Find me a coat hanger, and I can dig it out.”

“Leave the hole alone,” Jake said. “Whatever’s in there is smaller than all of us.”

“Could be twice as deadly though,” Yu fretted.

Briggs nudged him. “Toughen up, junior. I’ll put my trunk over it if it’ll make you feel better.”

Jake walked away so his tired smile wouldn’t betray him. Yu’s relief was almost palpable. The kid really did need to develop a skin. He was so raw the other guys alternated between teasing him and shielding him.

The curtain that separated the men’s sleeping area from the two women in their battalion twitched then shoved to the side.

Jake’s smile disappeared, and tension reared its head once more, but it was a false alarm. Connie Bransom strode through with a towel in one hand and a shower caddy in the other.

“Lights out in thirty,” he told her.

She nodded. “Got it, Sarge.”

Jake sank onto his bunk and looked around their space. As barracks went, it wasn’t the biggest or the most comfortable, but it was adequate. They slept on half-assed beds instead of dirt. The tan canvas covering kept out the majority of the dust and heat. Sixteen bunks with matching foot lockers marched in perfect symmetrical order along the two walls and ended in a small space near the door that held the sole table and chairs where his men played poker.

They didn’t have much, but they didn’t need much. They were marines.

Shag groaned then tossed his cards down and rose from the card table. “I’m tapped out, guys.”

As soon as he stood, Briggs took his place and tossed down some coins. He rubbed his hands together. “Good, now I can take your money.”

The others hooted. Briggs’s ineptitude with cards was well known.

Jake was about to stretch out when Shag caught his eye. The tall man looked nervous. He motioned at Jake to stay.

He watched Shag head for his footlocker, open it, and withdraw a small, cloth-wrapped bundle. The man shot a twitchy stare over his right shoulder toward the card game, but no one paid him any attention.

He clutched the object as he approached Jake. “Sarge,” he said in a whisper. “I have something you need to see.” Shag held out the bundle.

Jake frowned as he took it. The object was heavier than it looked like it should be. “What is it?”

Shag shook his head. “Hurry up and look at it,” he muttered. “I found it in Briggs’s locker.”

Jake rose swiftly and shoved the still-wrapped thing at him. “We don’t snoop. Put it back.” Anger vibrated in his voice and carried through the tent. The room grew quiet.

Shag’s eyes grew wild. “You don’t understand,” he said urgently. “This is important. I think he’s stealing from the locals.”

Before Jake could stop him, Shag unwrapped the piece and held it up.

“Everything okay, Sarge?” Boone called.

“Yeah,” Jake said. “I got it.”

Boone’s dark-black eyes were as implacable as ever. He wore his Native American ancestry like a shroud no one could penetrate. That, combined with Boone’s natural arrogance, irritated the hell out of Jake.

“You sure?”

“He said he’s got it, Shepherd,” Taggart Cain snapped. “Pay attention or get the hell out of my game.”

“
Your
game?”

Jake sensed a brawl brewing. “Can the crap. Lights out in fifteen. Last hand.”

“Perfect timing,” Fischer said. “I’m winning.” He brushed lank brown hair from his forehead and squinted around the room. His gaze seemed to linger on Shag’s back for a moment too long and with too much intensity.

Jake frowned then looked down at the piece in Shag’s hands. “What is it?”

“I don’t know, but it looks important. It looks old.”

Jake turned it over several times. The statuette depicted a woman in garb that reminded him of a belly dancer’s clothes. Tiny gold chains fitted at her wrists met in a golden collar around her neck. A ruby winked from her navel. Gold slippers with pointed toes adorned her feet. She stood on top of a crocodile. Or it could be a goat. He wasn’t certain. The statue didn’t hold any machine markings he could find. It
did
look old. It was weathered from exposure and time. He couldn’t even tell what it was made of but thought maybe some kind of clay. He wasn’t any sort of historian, but he knew enough to realize this piece probably wasn’t found in one of the local markets as a souvenir. He had a feeling it was much more important than that.

He just didn’t know how. “Give it back to Briggs,” he told Shag. “We’ll sort it out tomorrow.”

“But, Sarge, he didn’t have it this morning. It wasn’t in his locker. Then he and Fischer went out this afternoon for a recon. Just the two of them. That’s when it appeared.”

“Shag, what the hell are you doing going through his locker?” Jake’s anger surged. The day had been a bitch as it was. He didn’t need a nosy private causing trouble where none needed to be. “I ought to write your ass up.”

The man looked hurt but resigned. “Sorry, Sarge, but something is going on.”

The mulish determination in Shag’s expression made Jake pause. “Yeah, it’s called a freaking war.”

“No.” Shag shook his head. “It’s something more. Something un-American, and Briggs is involved up to his Southern red neck. I’m going to find out what it is whether or not you want me to.”

Jake crowded the man and poked his finger into his chest. “Listen to me, you little shit. We’re in a fucking war zone. We only have each other to depend on. You start messing with that trust by snooping and you’ll end up with a one-way ticket back to the States and your ass will be bounced from the Corps.”

Shag’s stubborn expression didn’t fade. “Something’s wrong. You need to fix it.”

Jake inwardly groaned. “Or what?”

“Or I’ll go to Colonel Reed.”

Great, just what he didn’t need. “Fine,” he snapped. “Put the damn thing back where you found it, and I’ll talk to Briggs in the morning.” He stepped back and swept his gaze over the men who all stared at him with varying degrees of interest. Fischer, he noted, didn’t look a bit perturbed. A small smile hovered at the edges of his thin lips, and he rolled a coin over his fingers.

He nodded and tossed a two finger salute at Jake then rapped the table. “You heard the sarge, gentlemen. Last hand. Ante up so I can wipe you all out.”

The door to the barracks opened, and First Lieutenant Brian Weathers stepped inside. He stood at pristine attention. “Colonel Reed. A-ten-hut!”

Everyone scrambled to their feet as the colonel entered the room. He waved his hand. “At ease. Just a friendly visit.” A fat cigar hung from the corner of his mouth. Smoke curled up and into his salt-and-pepper hair. Assessing blue eyes squinted against the wisps as he looked around the room.

Jake knew the minute the colonel spotted him. Reed marched forward with an agility and speed that belied his fifty-plus years. Reed was an active participant in their daily physical training routines no matter how grueling that PT could be. The men respected him for his willingness to slog through putrid mud or choking dust right along with them. Only his face showed signs of age and a taste for scotch. His forehead remained perpetually creased with lines that were echoed in deep grooves along his flaccid cheeks. His jowls shook as he moved, and his nose was an unbecoming shade of maroon. Drinker’s nose, his dad had called it.

“Logan,” Reed said as soon as he reached them. He barely spared a nod for the frozen Shag. “Soldier. Excuse us, won’t you?”

“Sir, yes, sir.” Shag shoved the statue back into Jake’s hands then hightailed it away.

Reed rolled the cigar from one side of his mouth to the other. He squinted down at Jake’s hands, looking like nothing more than a wrinkled Shar-Pei.

“What’s that?”

Jake shrugged and tossed it to the bed. “Something of Briggs’s from what I gather.”

The colonel seemed to lose interest. He plucked the cigar from his mouth. “Listen up, Logan. We’ve got intel coming in fast and furious about some movement a hundred klicks away from us.”

Jake stiffened as every sense went on red alert. “What kind of movement, sir? Insurgents?”

“Don’t know yet. Still getting info. I want your men to be prepared.” He looked around the room and his jaw clenched. “You know my philosophy, Logan.”

“Yes, sir. One weak link breaks the chain.”

Reed shoved the cigar back in his mouth and clapped him on the shoulder. “Damn right. I know there are
no
weak links in this unit. That’s why I personally selected every one of you.” His blue gaze moved to the curtain at the back of the barracks. “Even Martinez and Bransom. They’re invaluable to us. To you. Don’t forget that.”

Jake remained silent but reeled inwardly. Did the colonel know of his attraction to Olivia? No. The colonel wasn’t the kind of man to let something like that go without addressing it. His unit was run his way, no questions asked.

Jake liked the old man. He was honest, blunt, and a damned fine strategist. He couldn’t ask for a better commander. He knew the others in the Hellfire Battalion felt the same way. That was one of the reasons they all worked so hard for him.

“Get some rest,” Reed said gruffly.

Colonel Reed marched back up the aisle and out the door held open by his ever-present assistant. Weathers was a little prick with a big attitude. He lorded his position over all of them. The man seemed to forget he’d once been a grunt, too.

Oorah
was nothing more to him than an outdated motto.

Jake found it odd the colonel kept him on, but he must be valuable in some area besides ass-kissing.

Weathers smirked at them after Reed departed. “Sleep tight, gentlemen. Bed. Now.”

Taggart flipped him off, and Fischer and Briggs followed suit.

The assistant’s face grew red and hot, but he didn’t challenge any of them. He didn’t need to. Jake had a feeling they’d find themselves on latrine duty in the next couple of days.

Weathers spun and huffed away.

“God, what an ass,” Taggart muttered.

“Yeah,” Briggs agreed. “That boy is so dumb he didn’t just get beat with the stupid stick, he done got slammed by the whole durn tree.”

Everyone laughed.

“Well put,” Fischer said. “Who’s bet?”

“Lights out in five,” Jake reminded them. “Finish that hand or I get everything.”

Fischer’s eyes widened, and then he nodded quickly. “Let’s go, let’s go.”

The door opened again, and Olivia and Connie walked into the room. They both had wet hair and scrubbed faces, but only Olivia’s drew him with its combination of innocence and sensuality. Her body thrummed with a palpable energy that beckoned his fingers like steel to a magnet. He bent and picked up the statue to distract himself.

“Sarge, you gonna give it back?” Shag asked as he sidled up to him.

Jake shoved it toward the other man. “No, you are,” he ordered. “Remember what I said. Stateside and out in less than twenty-four if you do it again.”

Shag narrowed his eyes. “Yes, sir.” He spun on his heel and walked away.

Jake exhaled deeply as he dropped to his bunk. He lowered his head and massaged the back of his neck and scalp. Slowly the stress eased. He stared at the brown-and-black dirt on the floor of the barracks. June in this part of Afghanistan was brutal. The days blazed with heat and the occasional rainfall while the nights were filled with unidentified sounds.

No one ever slept well here. He was no exception.

Jake unlaced his boots and set them at the foot of his bunk before stretching out. This place was nothing like Texas. Though the heat could be equally bad, Jake never minded it. He’d grown up baking in the Texas sunshine and riding through wet winters that did little more than gloss the roads.