Chapter Twenty-One
“N ow, Doc, no need to be like that,” Sharp said to her.
What was that smile doing on his face? The one that made him look like he’d won a lottery.
“I’m sick, remember?” she said, and worked on finishing her food. Right now, sleep sounded like the safest thing she could do for her mental health.
Sharp suddenly straightened and turned to face the tunnel. The other soldiers quickly followed suit and within a second or two, all of them were on full alert, weapons in hand.
CIA emerged out of the dark, breathing a little too fast, his face a little too pale.
“Are we blown?” Sharp asked him, getting to his feet.
“No,” CIA panted. “Worse. The dead village your men were guarding came under attack by a large group of extremists. We’re not clear on which group it is, but all contact has been lost.”
“Fuck,” Sharp swore. “Leonard was there with Bart and Lee, along with some of Marshall’s men.”
“A group of Afghan soldiers has also gone missing.”
“Missing?”
“There’s been no contact from them in more than twenty-four hours.”
“Why is that relevant?” Falcon asked.
“Their last known check-in was only about forty kilometers from the village, farther north and west toward Tajikistan.”
“I don’t understand,” Grace said, unable to read the expressions on the men’s faces to figure out what was going on.
“Extremists have been moving around that part of the world,” Sharp explained. “From Syria east through Iraq, Iran and toward Afghanistan. They’re gathering strength in Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, and Tajikistan.”
“If a group came into Afghanistan from Tajikistan, hit that Afghan patrol and your village, it could mean the beginning of a new offensive of extremists.”
“They sure as heck don’t want the current government to succeed,” Sharp agreed. “Killing a bunch of American soldiers and making Afghans disappear gives them credibility and power with locals and other groups.” He turned to CIA. “Has anyone or any group claimed responsibility for any of this?”
“No, but an unknown militant group has demanded that all American troops leave the country immediately or the Afghan troops will be executed.”
Grace listened to the men discussing these latest developments, but remained confused by them. The anthrax attack seemed unconnected to these acts. They were days apart, for one thing. The disappearance of the Afghans appeared to be politically motivated, while no one had even mentioned the anthrax attack, for another.
So why did something about all of this feel off?
“Who’s in command of American troops in this part of the world?” she asked of no one in particular.
“General Stone,” Sharp said.
“The same General Stone who is enroute to FOB Bostick?” she asked. “To straighten out the communication mess between me, Max, Marshall, and the Special Forces?”
“He’s there now,” Falcon said. “Arrived about two hours ago if he kept to his schedule.”
“And what would his first priority be once he got there?” Grace asked.
“He’d send more men to reinforce our military presence at the village,” Falcon responded.
“And if a bunch of our allied soldiers just happened to disappear? What would he do?”
“He’d send out search-and-rescue.”
“Holy shit,” Sharp said, staring at Grace like he’d never seen her before. “You think Bostick is going to be the next anthrax target.”
Max stopped pretending to work and walked up to the plastic wall separating him from the rest of the cave. He stared at Grace with a horrified expression. “What better way to demoralize our troops than to take out a large number, along with their commanding officer?”
“It makes sense. Sick sense, but still...” Falcon said.
“Grace,” Max ordered. “You need to take your men and few of mine, go to Bostick to either stop that attack or get everyone out. General Stone will listen to you.”
“I thought I was too sick?” she asked. Either she was useful or not. This business of being around only when someone wanted her did not sit well with her.
“You are too sick, but you’re the only one with the knowledge to convince General Stone, and I think, to talk Marshall off of the ledge he’s put himself on.”
“Marshall tried to kill her and the rest of us. Why the hell would you want to help him?” Sharp demanded.
“Because he’s a victim, just like the rest of us. Right now, he’s in a place where the pain is constant and he can’t see a way out. He’s not thinking clearly,” Max replied. He glanced at Grace again. “I think Dr. Samuels can patch up some of those wounds, if she’s given a chance.”
“So, you know what caused his—” she searched for the right word to describe Marshall’s behavior “—fury?”
“I haven’t come right out and asked him, but I did do a more thorough look into all of the personnel present two years ago,” Max said.
“I wish I had done that before I went to Bostick,” she said. “I would have dealt with him differently. I don’t think I can salvage the situation.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Sharp asked her and Max, his voice a cool growl that made her wince.
“It’s a long story,” Grace said, “but the short version is, Marshall blames me for the death of his son. And—” she took in a deep breath “—he might be right.”
Everyone stared at her for a long moment.
“Bullshit,” Smoke said, the word slicing through the silence.
“Smoke’s right,” Sharp said. “There’s no way. You’re one of those people who wouldn’t think twice about throwing themselves on a grenade to save someone else.”
“Two years ago,” Hernandez said, joining the conversation for the first time, “when you earned your Star?”
She nodded, but didn’t say anything further.
“She saved two men who were bleeding out and shot two extremists who were taking turns shooting anyone who moved,” Max said. “What most people don’t know is that she was also shot during the event.”
“It was just a scratch,” she said, her teeth clenched so tight together her jaw hurt. “And I’m no hero, I was doing my job. If I could give that medal back, I would.”
She turned to Max. “What should we do?”
He glanced behind him at the equipment. “I’ve started the sensitivity testing and it’s got to cook for at least several hours. I can’t go, but you can.”
Sharp pushed his way between Grace and the plastic wall Max was behind.
Was he trying to protect her?
“And do what?” he asked. “We don’t know if our situation has changed.”
“We brought enough aviation fuel to get your helicopter to Bostick. So get going and call on the way. If General Stone has been there a couple of hours already, that arrest order has been rescinded.”
“Jamal?” Falcon said to CIA. Only his name.
“Officially, the arrest order is gone, but unofficially—” CIA looked at Grace “—there’s still a price for her.”
Max’s eyebrow went up. “Interesting.”
“That’s not what I’d call it,” Sharp growled, still staring at her like it was all her fault.
“Stop staring at me like I’m some sort of evil genius. I didn’t ask for all this.”
“Sharpshooter,” Max barked.
Sharp responded, “Yes, sir.”
“Stop arguing and start moving. You and the men you choose to take with you, along with Grace, have two objectives. One, warn General Stone. He and the base are the most likely targets of our bug baker. Two, find the damn cook and kill him.”
Sharp smiled a shark’s smile. “Yes, sir.” That grin died as he glanced at Grace. “Sir, about Grace—”
“She goes with you. Not negotiable. You may need her, and we both shouldn’t be in the same place in case things go...bad here.”
“Understood.”
“Grace, I left some oral antibiotics for you on your pack.”
“Wonderful. I hate IVs.” She got up and went to the alcove where her pack rested and found the pills.
Movement behind her caught her attention.
Sharp crouched in front of her. “I’ll take your IV out.”
She held out her arm silently, and he pulled the plastic catheter out of the vein on the back of her hand. His thumb pressed a piece of gauze down on her tender flesh, then he put a Band-Aid over it to hold it in place.
“Let’s see your leg.” His tone allowed for no argument.
She silently pulled off her pants. Again. “I should have listened to my grandmother,” she muttered. “She always told me to stash a clean pair of underwear in one of my pockets in case shit hits the fan.”
“Really?”
“She was a WASP, an Air Force service pilot during World War Two. It’s how she met my granddad. She’d be disappointed in my lack of preparedness. But it’s not like I’ve had time to change my underwear, and far too many people have seen...mine.”
He leaned close and said quietly, “The only people who’ve seen your underwear are Max, me, and our guys, and they were very careful not to look.”
She froze and slowly met his gaze.
His grin was pure sin. “I’m becoming enamored with the color pink.”
“Isn’t that against the Special Forces soldier rules?”
“Not when that’s the color of your girl’s panties.”
“Your girl?”
His grin got wider and he said, “Let’s see those stitches.”
She slid her pants down and exposed the wound.
He reached out with his hands to remove the bandage.
“Gloves,” she reminded him.
He grabbed a pair from her pack and peeled the bandage away. While still red and puffy, the swelling had gone down and the stitches seemed to have stopped weeping and were scabbed over.
“How many doses have I had of antibiotic?” she asked. She could have slept through one or two depending on how often Max had ordered them.
“Two.”
“This looks good, then. The pills should be all I need.”
“How do you feel?” Sharp asked as he took off the gloves and threw them in a makeshift garbage can.
“Tired, but not light-headed or achy like I did before.”
He stared at her hard, like he was trying to decide if she was telling the truth or not.
“I’m okay,” she told him, putting her hand on his, which still rested on her leg. “I’m not great, but I’m okay.”
“You will tell me if you feel any worse than okay.” It was an order.
“Of course, and I’d like you to do the same. Don’t ignore it if the pain in any of your wounds gets worse. Pain is the body’s way of telling you there’s a problem.”
“Deal,” he said, holding out his hand.
She took it, expecting a professional, impersonal handshake.
What he did was yank her up against him and kiss her. Hard. His lips gave no quarter, his tongue no escape.
She didn’t want to escape. Her heart sped up and her breathing got choppy, and all she wanted to do was get closer to him. When he kissed her, no pain could reach her, and no memory could destroy the pleasure and peace his touch inspired.
What was she doing? Anyone could walk past and catch them.
When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed, like he needed time to collect himself before facing anyone else. Had they kissed for two seconds, two minutes, or two hours?
His eyes opened and he stared at her, the expression on his face changing from dangerously hot to plain dangerous. “When I get you naked, you’re going to stay that way for a month.”
“We shouldn’t...,” she whispered. “It’s not...professional.” Though the idea was shockingly tempting. She could picture herself and Sharp, naked and wrapped around each other in a bed, the pillows and sheets spilled onto the floor. She let out a shaky breath and said, “No, we can’t.” She waved a hand between them. “Isn’t a good idea.”
He snorted. “None of this is a good idea.”
She opened her mouth to explain further, but he shook his head. “No, I get you. Common sense says not to go there. The thing is, my heart doesn’t give a shit.”
Oh . Happiness and desire bubbled through her blood. “Mine too,” she said in a very small voice.
He stared at her, his gaze so deep he had to be seeing all the way to the bottom of her soul.
“We’ll be heading out in a couple of minutes,” he said as if the last few minutes of their conversation hadn’t happened. “Remember, you’re human and you’re not indestructible.”
There was so much they needed to talk about, but there wasn’t time. As she finished getting her pants on, she said, “Pot. Kettle. Black.” She grabbed her antibiotics, her pack, and moved to get up, but Sharp hadn’t moved and didn’t seem interested in getting out of her way. “Sergeant, do I have to order you to stand down?”
“No, ma’am.” His face was shuttered, but there was an edge of violence in the set of his jaw and narrowed eyes.
She put a tentative hand on his shoulder, met his formidable gaze and said for him alone, “I promise I won’t do anything to jeopardize myself or anyone else unless I have no other choice. I’ll be careful and I’ll be smart.”
“It’s killing me knowing the danger that’s ahead. The guy behind this biological weapon is nuts. He’s like a loaded handgun with no safety. One squeeze and there’s no calling the bullet back.”
“Are you saying I’m not capable of doing what might be needed?”
“No, that’s the problem,” he said in a tone that sounded casual when the words were the opposite. “How fine is the line between a situation you can salvage and one you can’t?” He stood and left her considering her answer.
She didn’t know.