Shattered (12 page)

“Well, former Captain Campbell,” Zachariah Tremayne greeted her. “We meet again.”

“It appears so,” she responded as her hand momentarily disappeared into his much larger, darker one.

The last she’d seen this man, he’d been climbing onto a Russian helicopter, risking his career and prison because of a brother-in-arms. She guessed he must not have ended up court-martialed and imprisoned in Leaven-worth, since he was here in the office of the chairman of the Armed Services Committee.

“Zach Tremayne,” he introduced himself. “I assume the senator’s filled you in,”

“He told me about Rachel.”

There was more. Kirby wondered if the president, as Commander-in-Chief, was actually bringing in the military. While personally she’d love to send in the SEALs, SOAR, Rangers, Delta Force, and all the Marines to save Rachel, surely there’d be a considerable fallout if the head of the country used the armed forces to rescue a member of his family.

“Mr. Tremayne is a former SEAL,” Sherman revealed. “Now a member of Phoenix Team.”

“I haven’t heard of them.” She wondered if it was some supersecret agency set up under the vast and complex Homeland Security umbrella.

“That’s because we’re private,” Tremayne said. “Real private. We don’t have a Web site, you won’t find us in the yellow pages, and we only work on referral. We fly beneath the radar, doing the jobs the military can’t, or won’t, do.” His eyes were flint, his jaw firm. “We’re also the best in the business.”

Having watched the way the men had maneuvered their way out of that refugee camp without a shot fired, Kirby believed him.

“And you’re going to get Rachel out of Monteleón?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “We are.”

Again, Kirby didn’t doubt him.

“Good. And I’m going with you.”

“What?” He shot a look at Sherman.

“Ms. Campbell,” the senator began in a cajoling voice.

“It’s too dangerous,” Tremayne said at the same time. “Besides, we’ve already got a doctor on board willing to work as team medic.”

“It’s not up for discussion.” Kirby met his frustrated gaze with a firm one of her own. “If you recall, Mr. Tremayne, I wasn’t exactly having high tea with the queen when we met. As an army physician, I was trained in self-defense and know how to handle a weapon.” Since the senator had given that card earlier, Kirby decided to play it.

“There’s also the fact that Rachel is my closest friend. And given the Special Ops motto to leave no man behind, I’m sure you’d agree that friends don’t leave friends in the lurch.”

“That’s why I brought you here,” Sherman said. “Since you and Rachel work together, you know the country better than anyone, including the ambassador, whom I suspect hasn’t stepped outside the city limits of Ciudad Libertad.”

“Not that I know of,” Kirby agreed.

“Which is why the senator thought you could fill me in on the particulars of the location of the clinic and all the players,” Tremayne said.

“Of course I will.” Kirby agreed. “On the way to Monteleón.”

“That’s not in the cards.” The former SEAL’s mouth grimly tightened.

Kirby could tell he was accustomed to people taking his orders without question. Tough.

“Then I suggest you deal yourself another deck, Mr. Tremayne,” she said sweetly. “Because I’m going back to Monteleón. With or without you.”

The back-and-forth motion of that wide jaw suggested he was grinding his teeth. Well, he could grind them to dust, but she wasn’t giving in.

“As Senator Sherman has just pointed out, I know the country better than most Americans, and certainly better than anyone else in this room. I know where the rebel camps and marijuana farms are.”

She folded her arms. No way was she going to stay behind. “I know the country. And I know the players. So whether you like it or not, Phoenix Team just took on a partner.”

He dragged his hands down his face. Then looked at her, hard, trying to stare her down.

His unblinking eyes were a compelling kaleidoscopic combination of slate gray and blue, with a touch of hazel around the rim. They were also rife with frustration.

Having not wilted before those Afghan terrorists armed with AK-47s, there was no way Kirby was going to cave in now.

She met Tremayne’s gaze. And waited.

His curse was brief and harsh and absolutely befitting the Navy SEAL he’d once been.

“You don’t intimidate easily, do you, Doctor?” he asked.

“I haven’t yet. And since we’re going to be working together, you might as well call me Kirby.”

“And you’re not bluffing about going down there by yourself, are you?”

“I never bluff. I always speak my mind. Which,” she admitted, thinking back to that dinner party, “has been pointed out to me isn’t always prudent.”

He studied her for another long time.

“If I allow you to come along, you’ll have to work as a member of the team.”

“Having spent the past several years in the Army, then working for WMR, I’m well acquainted with teamwork.”

“While you may have outranked me in the military, you’ve been knocked down to a buck private in Phoenix Team,” he warned.

“And here I’d always heard that one of the differences of the SEAL structure was that every member of the team is a leader,” she said.

“True. In a traditional military structure, officers give the orders, and if there are no orders, there’s no activity. In a SEAL platoon, the command is usually just ‘Get it done,’ and each member of the team sees what he needs to do to accomplish the mission, and does it.

“My point is that you are not a SEAL,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’ve never been one, and never will be. So, here’s how it’s going to work. . . .

“I give the orders, you follow. I tell you to jump, you say ‘Hooyah,’ and ask me how high. I tell you to stay put and shut up, you don’t even say ‘Roger,’ you just close your mouth and don’t move a muscle until I give you permission. Is that clear?”

She simply looked at him.

He rubbed his forehead. He was wearing a gold band on his left hand that he hadn’t had in Pakistan. Then again, it was unlikely a SEAL trying to blend into the local population would wear a wedding ring.

“Permission to speak,” he said wearily.

“Roger,” she said, snapping off a brisk military salute suitable for a four-star general.

His lips quirked, just a little. “Well, now that we’ve agreed on the rules of conduct, how soon can you be ready to leave for South Carolina?”

“As soon as I pick up my suitcase at the hotel, I can leave whenever you’re ready. But am I allowed to ask a question?”

He blew out a harsh, frustrated breath. “This isn’t a dictatorship, Doctor. Of course you’re allowed to ask a damn question. It’s just important I make sure, for everyone’s sake, especially Dr. Moore’s, that Phoenix Team isn’t stuck with a loose cannon. So ask away.”

“I realize you know more about covert activities than I do,” Kirby allowed. She’d always believed in giving credit where credit was due. “Which means I was more than willing to follow your leadership before you decided to play Captain Queeg.”

He still didn’t smile. But she did see a fleeting glint of humor in his eyes.

“I’m just wondering why we’re going to South Carolina.”

“It’s Phoenix Team’s home base. Where the rest of the team, as you and I sit here arguing, is making plans.”

“Well.” She stood up. “I take that to mean you’re ready to go.”

“Roger that.”

He said good-bye to the senator, assuring him that they’d do everything in their power to bring Rachel back safe and sound.

“I assume you booked a flight, knowing I’d be coming with you?” Kirby asked as they made their way down the green marble hallway.

“We’ve got a jet waiting to take us to South Carolina,” he said.

“A private jet?”

“It’s faster than waiting around a gate, hoping a flight isn’t canceled.”

“The security business must pay very well.”

He shrugged. “The guy who created Phoenix Team has deep pockets. He’s willing to spend when time is of the essence, like it is now.”

“God, I can’t believe this is happening,” Kirby said while they walked across the expansive, skylit atrium, forced to weave through a clutch of tourists listening avidly to a lecture about the centerpiece of the marbled atrium, which apparently depicted mountains and clouds.

He glanced over at her. “Given the situation in Monteleón, you can’t be all that surprised.”

“Well, actually, I suppose not. But still, although Rachel and I have had a few unsettling incidents, I don’t think anyone ever believes it’s going to happen to you or anyone you know.”

“Occupational self-denial,” he said quietly.

From his flat tone, as they continued out of the surprisingly modern building onto the street, Kirby suspected he might be thinking back to that day they’d met in Pakistani mountains.

“There’s something you should know,” he said, after she’d retrieved her suitcase from the hotel bell captain. “In case you want to change your mind about coming along.”

“That’s not going to happen. So what is it?”

“I got a call from Quinn McKade while you were picking up your overnight case from the bell captain. He’s the big guy who was with us that day.”

She nodded. While all the Spec Ops guys had been impressive, that particular man was not someone anyone would meet and forget.

“He told me Garrett’s signed on to be our pilot.”

Even as her heart stopped, Kirby wasn’t as surprised as she might have been. The men had undoubtedly had that band-of-brother thing going in order to make their way through those steep, snowy mountains filled with enemy fighters after the helicopter had gotten shot down. It only made sense that they’d continue such close teamwork in their civilian lives.

It would also mean that she’d have to put in the deep freeze whatever feelings she had for the man. Something she’d have to remind her heart, which had begun beating again. Too hard and too fast, but that was undoubtedly only from all the coffee she’d drunk on an empty stomach.

“Well, that’s reassuring,” she said mildly.

Zach looked surprised by her response. “You mean that?”

“Of course. If I’m going to be risking my life, why wouldn’t I want to fly with someone who can land a helicopter in a snowstorm after it has been hit by an RPG? He must be doing well,” she said with more casualness than she was feeling.

Although she’d wanted to be angry at him for sending her away, even though she’d guessed there was nothing Shane Garrett couldn’t handle, that hadn’t stopped her from worrying.

“Better than well. He’s kicking butt with his new leg. Actually, it’s kind of neat; he’s got different ones for various situations.”

“I’ve read the science is really taking off.”

She’d spent hours on the Internet and reading every article in every professional journal she could unearth. Unfortunately, the rush to improved technology was partly due to the numbers of amputees returning home. Body armor could, as its name implied, only protect the body.

“He signed up to be kind of a guinea pig for the researchers,” he volunteered. “Trying out some high-tech stuff that makes him a lot like the Six Million Dollar Man. Though with inflation, he’s probably worth a lot more.

“He’s back to running every day, working out, giving some lectures at ASMA—that’s a military academy in Somersett, South Carolina—and teaching flying.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“I figured you’d want to bail on the mission,” he admitted. “Given the way he treated you in Germany. Which, by the way, not that you asked, but I told him I thought sucked.”

At first she was surprised that he knew about that. Then decided that the fact that they were all still together in civilian life showed how close the men were.

“I told you. No way would I bail. As for Germany, it admittedly wasn’t the easiest day I’ve ever spent. But, putting it in perspective, it wasn’t the worst, either. And he’d been through a lot and was on heavy drugs when I showed up at Landstuhl. Plus, depression isn’t uncommon after an amputation. It’s perfectly understandable that tact wouldn’t have been a real high priority at the time.”

“Most women would be pissed off enough to still be holding a major grudge.”

“I’m not most women,” she said mildly, refusing to admit talking about that day still stung.

He shot her a look.

“I’m beginning to figure that out for myself,” he said.

Swann Island, South Carolina

The worldwide offices of Phoenix Team were set in the center of what Kirby guessed must be at least ten wooded acres on a bluff overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. A wall surrounded the property, and the tall iron gate opened only after a visual scan of the driver’s pupil.

The building itself was a surprise. Designed along the lines of a traditional Lowcountry house, it was set on piers, with a wide front porch boasting ceiling fans. The siding had weathered to a silvery gray, two stone chimneys rose high on either side of the house, and double dormers contributed to its homey appeal.

There was a helicopter landing pad to the right of the circular driveway and small parking lot, and basketball and racquetball courts on the left, suggesting that members of Phoenix Team took their play as seriously as their work.

Unlike its homey exterior, inside the metal and veneer furniture could have come from DOD procurement. It wasn’t any different from what she’d seen at military bases all around the world. Still, she supposed clients didn’t hire Phoenix Team for its decorating savvy.

The floor-to-ceiling windows, however, offered a dazzling view of the water. But she had to wonder, given the building’s purpose, if the glass was bulletproof.

“Bullet resistant,” Zach said when she asked. “There’s no such thing as true bulletproof glass. At least not yet. When the company was founded, no one wanted to get rid of the view from when this was used as a family home, so the glass was replaced for security reasons. But there are also metal shutters that instantly lower at the touch of a button. Even if the power’s off. Just in case.”

Kirby decided not to ask what that “just in case” might be.

He introduced her to a young man behind the front desk, whose high-and-tight haircut, and the way he’d leaped to attention as he informed Zach that the other team members were waiting in the conference room, suggested he might be a Marine.

A fact Zach confirmed as he led her down a hallway. “New hires always work the desk until they get into the swing of things,” he said. “But he proved his stuff with us up in the Kush. After his third tour, he decided he was ready for a new challenge. Since we currently have more work than we can handle, I think he’s going to be a real good fit.”

Kirby had assured herself during the hour-long flight here from D.C. that she was prepared to see Shane again. After all, forewarned was forearmed, and she’d certainly moved on with her life.

Well, okay, maybe moving on hadn’t included sex. She might have made a huge mistake with the too-sexy-for-his-Wranglers Night Stalker pilot, but if there was one thing medical school had taught her, it was to learn from her mistakes. Of course, there was the little fact that she hadn’t met a man she’d had the least interest in having sex with.

Until, heaven help her, she walked into the room, saw him sitting at the oval conference table, and felt her suddenly unruly pulse triple its beat.

His sable hair was longer than it had been in Iraq. Not as long as a lot of the Spec Ops guys had worn theirs, but still long enough to comb her fingers through. And to grab hold of. (Not that she had any intention of doing that.) It was streaked with gold she knew hadn’t come from a bottle, but from being outdoors in the sun.

His body, clad in jeans and a snug blue T-shirt with SOMERSETT COASTAL AVIATION above a plane logo, stretched over broad shoulders and a chest that appeared as ripped as it had been their last time together, in her Green Zone trailer, when it had been gloriously naked.

“Some of you probably remember Doctor Campbell,” Zach introduced her.

“There’s a lot of stuff I’ve worked to forget about that day,” Quinn McKade said. “But you’re definitely not one of them, Doctor. In fact, if my breath hadn’t probably tasted like a dead dog, I would’ve kissed you on the mouth.”

“Well, you certainly hid your feelings well.”

She couldn’t remember him revealing any emotion. The SEAL had been as inscrutable and rugged as the mountain peaks looming over the camp.

“You know what they say about timing.” His quick, sexy grin was nothing like the stone face she recalled.

“I certainly do,” she said.

Deciding that the time had come to face the inevitable, she turned her full attention to Shane, who was, for some reason, shooting a steely stare at Quinn McKade.

“Hello, Captain Garrett.” Even as she used his rank as a distancing device, Kirby prided herself on sounding supercasual, as if they were merely acquaintances who’d just seen each other yesterday. Rather than eighteen long months and fourteen days ago. Not that she was counting. “You’re looking well.”

Better than well. Dammit, he looked sinfully, unbearably good, his cowboy charisma oozing from every tanned pore.

“It’s former Captain,” he said, as if she hadn’t known he’d left the Army. “And I’m feeling great.” His Western baritone was still sexy as hell. “Thanks to you.”

When he skimmed a look over her, in much the same way she’d checked him out while trying not to, Kirby was all too aware of her dark suit and starkly tailored white blouse she’d chosen because she’d wanted to look professional, so the senators would concentrate on her words instead of her body.

Unfortunately, that attempted bit of camouflage had her looking as if she were auditioning for the role of Will Smith’s new partner in another Men In Black sequel.

“I was just doing my job,” she repeated what she’d said that day in Germany.

She’d managed to mostly convince herself that she’d put his rejection behind her. Moved on with her life.

But as she felt that painful crack in her unruly heart opening up again, Kirby realized she’d been wrong.

“So,” he said, “Quinn tells me you’re helping plan this op.”

She feigned calm. “I’m providing intel.” She paused, realizing he hadn’t been completely filled in. “Both here and in Monteleón.”

“No way.” He spun toward Zach. “She’s not going into the jungle.”

The other man shrugged. “Her information can be helpful. We need her on the team. Unfortunately, her staying behind in the States was a deal breaker.”

“No way,” Shane repeated. His biceps bulged as he folded his arms across his chest.

Grateful for the little flare of irritation that burned away her unexpected vulnerability, Kirby tossed up her chin.

“Way,” she said sweetly.

He turned back to Zach, as if a man, especially a Navy SEAL, would have more sense than a blond female. Even one who’d saved his damn life.

“She’s not going,” he said through clenched teeth. “It’s too damn dangerous.”

“She insisted,” Zach repeated. “Like I said, she can be helpful.”

“She could also end up dead. Or worse.”

“Excuse me,” Kirby said, waving a hand. “But she just happens to be here in the room. And she can speak for herself.”

It was her turn to fold her arms. If either of the men dialed up the macho level an additional notch, she’d be in serious danger of testosterone poisoning.

“If you’re through pounding your manly warrior chest,” she said to Shane, “I’d like to point out that, first of all, only a male would think there would be anything worse for a woman than death.

“I can tell you, as a physician, that dead is dead. And it’s final. So, putting that issue aside, may I point out that I’ve been living in that very same jungle for the past six months?”

“Yeah. And look what happened,” Shane argued. “If you’d been there when those rebels attacked the clinic . . .”

He paused. Drew in a deep breath, then let it out, as if attempting to garner composure.

“Christ, Kirby, if you hadn’t been here in the States, it could be you we’d be running off to Monteleón to rescue.”

Which was precisely what she’d been thinking about all the way on the flight from D.C. Instead of feeling relieved she’d escaped being taken hostage, she’d felt guilty for not having been there for her friend.

“Then it would be Rachel who’d be here helping you come up with a plan to rescue me,” she said, “And I know damn well she wouldn’t stay behind, either.”

Refusing to give him the opportunity to argue that point, she pressed on. “I’ve been in a lot more dangerous situations. In fact, that day you were brought into the camp I’d just finished operating on the son of Imam Jalaluddin.”

“Fuck that.” He turned to Quinn, as if for confirmation.

What? Did he actually think she’d make something like that up? Besides, he’d been there. They’d even spoken, and although she hadn’t mentioned the terrorists to him, surely the two SEALs had filled him in on their dicey situation as they’d made their way to the helicopter.

“It’s true,” both Quinn and Zach said at the same time.

“We saw him and his security force.” Quinn said. “You saw them, too. Even insisted we give you back your M4.”

“Shit.” Shane pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t remember anything about that.”

“Have you had such instances before?” Kirby asked.

“A few.” His tone suggested it wasn’t his favorite subject.

Too bad.

“I’m sure your doctors have explained you could easily have had a TBI during all you went through which could have caused memory loss,” she said. “Many people have head injuries and never realize it. Plus, it’s not uncommon to have retrograde amnesia after surgery, due to certain anesthetics increasing central serotonergic activity.”

“Yeah. That’s what I’ve been told. But the gaps aren’t that long and I can remember most of what went on.”

“They’re what’s referred to as memory islands. And usually the forgotten memories return. But not always.”

She wondered if he even remembered talking to her at the camp. And was it possible he’d forgotten sending her away? No. Not only would forgetting things that occurred after the injury involve anterograde amnesia, but Tremayne’s comment about the former pilot’s behavior having sucked indicated he’d shared their dismal conversation at Landstul.

Shane looked back at Zach. “I take it they didn’t try to stop us from leaving.”

“It was a Mexican standoff,” Zach answered. “If they’d tried to shoot us, they risked getting the kid killed, and if they survived the gun battle—”

“Which they wouldn’t have,” Quinn broke in.

“Not in this lifetime,” Zach agreed. “Still, things happen. They had a choice. Try to stop us from leaving in that CIA copter and risk heads literally rolling if they lost the kid, or stand down and save the battle for another day.”

Shane looked back at Kirby with that same admiration she remembered seeing in his eyes that first night, when he’d shown up in her ER and she’d given him the keys to her trailer.

She could still feel the heat of him, his taste as he’d soul kissed her, making her realize that she’d never been truly, thoroughly kissed before. Then he’d taken her into the tiny bathroom, barely large enough for two people to turn around in, where they’d . . .

No. She would not, could not remember that day.

The only reason they were back together was because of Rachel. So long as she kept that thought in the forefront of her mind, she’d be fine.

“If that kid in the camp had died while you were working on him—”

“But he didn’t.”

Shane rubbed his cheek, obviously uncomfortable with the idea of her being in danger.

“I treated Iraqis all the time in the Cash,” she reminded him.

“Sure. But you were surrounded by armed guards back in the Green Zone. Out there in the mountains you were on your own.”

“Exactly.” Check. And mate. She nearly smiled as he realized he’d just backed himself into a corner with that statement.

Satisfied she’d won that round, she turned to Zach, who’d taken his place at the end of the long table. “So, gentlemen,” she said, folding her hands on the tabletop. “What’s the plan?”

“Well, obviously we’re now going to be making some adjustments, since you’ve joined the team,” Zach said.

“Along with providing intel about the compound, I’ll be able to take care of any medical problems that might crop up.” Which, in the jungle, were too many to count.

“We won’t be needing your medical skills, Doctor,” he said. “We’ve already got a team physician.” He turned toward the man sitting next to Shane. “Doctor Michael Gannon.”

The name rang an instant and very loud bell. Surely there couldn’t be two men with that same name. Well, actually there probably could be. But what were the odds?

“Doctor Gannon? I thought you were a priest.”

After they’d gotten back to the compound, Rachel had told Kirby that the reason she’d lost the man she loved was because after returning from Iraq, Dr. Michael Gannon had entered a seminary.

In contrast to Shane’s well-muscled athleticism, the priest named for a fallen angel could have washed off the nave ceiling of a Renaissance cathedral. Lush black hair framed a poet’s face; his eyes, set above slashing cheekbones, were an intense blue; and his beautifully sculpted lips had been designed to tempt both sinner and saint.

One look at him and she understood why Rachel had fallen fast and hard. And, apparently, had never quite gotten over him.

And couldn’t Kirby identify with that?