Anything, Anywhere, Anytime (37 page)

And when she found out he'd messed up her handiwork... Damn. He would get an ass-chewing to go along with the ass-shooting.

Sooner, rather than later, since Monica stood outside the plane with her back to him. She braced a forearm on the side of the aircraft. Her forehead fell forward to rest on her wrist.

And then...hell. Indomitable Monica's shoulders slumped.

Fiery pain in his thigh faded and he picked up his pace toward her. The notches in her French braid had loosened over the hours, straggles teasing free with the bulk of her hair still contained enough that the vulnerable curve of her neck showed in the midmorning sun.

He cruised to a stop beside her, careful not to startle her. "Everything okay?"

She didn't move. Didn't speak. Didn't acknowledge his arrival. But since she couldn't have missed his words, he let his hand fall to rest between her shoulder blades, inched up to work a light massage at the base of her neck.

"Are you all done here? They should be finished securing the airfield soon and we can leave. Gardner and his team buddy checked in a few minutes ago. So far as they can tell, all the tunnels out have been blocked.

Now they'll start searching them from the inside."

Was she asleep on her feet?

A shudder quivered through her, then echoed into another, continuing into a trembling akin to someone freezing to death in spite of the rapidly rising desert temperatures.

Screw distance. He gripped her upper arms, turned her toward him, not that she put up much resistance.

She sagged against him, no tears, but still shaking with a grief that went beyond crying.

He rubbed soothing strokes over her back, murmured shushing and it's-okay platitudes that didn't mean shit, but since she wasn't pulling away he decided he must be doing something right. He tried to sort through the morning to figure out what must have...

Her sister's physical.

Damn.

How shortsighted of him to imagine finding Sydney would bring instant smiles and partying. Facing what her sister had been through must have been hell for Monica. It was hell for him right now and he didn't have the details.

But he could damn well imagine.

"She's pregnant, Jack. It happened here."

He hadn't expected that.

His hands stopped. Rage blindsided him faster than that missile. He'd been prepared to hear Sydney was raped, but... This was too much. "Ah, hell, Monica, I'm so damned sorry."

She didn't answer the obvious, just kept shaking in his arms while he held her tighter and absorbed the trembling. He wished he could soak up her pain, as well. Finally she stilled in his arms, limp against him, spent.

His chin rested on her head. Light hints of her aloe shampoo drifted through the air of sweat, dust and war.

"Does Gardner know?"

"Yes, and he's okay with it. Well, as okay as anyone can be with what happened here," she said, her hot breath saturating through both his flight suit and T-shirt. "She's going to have the baby, maybe give it up for adoption."

"Do you want us to offer to raise it?"

Where had that come from? Somewhere deep. And hell if he wasn't surprised all over again. Although maybe he shouldn't be, considering Monica always inspired him to dig deeper even if he fell short of the mark sometimes.

She eased back to stare up at him with stunned wide green eyes. "Us?"

Well, she didn't have to look quite so damned surprised. "There is an us, you know. Unless all that talk earlier about loving me was bullshit."

Her shock melted with an irreverent snort. "You're such a romantic."

"Yeah, well..." He shrugged, his quota of sensitive stuff to say already depleted. "You know me."

Her hand snaked up from between them to caress his face. "Yes, I do and still you surprise me sometimes.

Thank you for the beautiful offer."

"She's family."

Monica melted again, but in the good way that let him know he'd done something right. Three cheers for digging deep.

"God, Jack, how could you ever doubt yourself?"

Okay, now things were getting deeper than he was comfortable with standing on a flight line in the middle of a war zone with people milling willy-nilly everywhere.

He dropped a kiss on her forehead. "You need to head back inside. We'll be flying out soon."

Jack turned to guide her around and pulled up short for Colonel Cullen. How long had he been there?

The normally unflappable senior officer shuffled from one dusty boot to the other. "Is she okay?"

Monica stepped ahead of Jack to answer. "Sydney and the other hostages checked out fine physically. The emotional repercussions...well, those are out of my field."

"I, uh, meant your other sister." He planted both feet, his gruff tones echoed by his frown. "They slapped her around pretty hard during interrogation. I just wanted to be sure..."

Monica's curiosity must have been buried under doctor composure, because she didn't even blink. "I haven't evaluated Yasmine yet, sir. But I'll make sure to get word to you. How much longer do you think it will be before your people escort her over?"

The Colonel's restless feet stopped. "She's already here."

"Where?" Monica asked.

"Damn it, she's inside that plane." The Colonel's commanding tone stated it as if his will alone could make it so.

"No, Colonel, she's not in the plane."

The seasoned Ranger winced, his eyes shutting tight. "Shit."

Yasmine wasn't here? A bad feeling itched up Jack's spine that had nothing to do with the sand in the wind.

Colonel Cullen's eyes snapped open as he yanked his radio up to his mouth, barking out orders for a search.

And under all the Colonel's gruff, Jack saw clearly the gut fear, felt the echo of it slam right into his own chest.

Things were about to go to hell.

And just like a week ago when Monica had demanded her rightful place in being there for her sister, she would be in the thick of things now for this sister, as well. Already, he could see her shoulders bracing into battlefield mode. Her will strengthening to steel. This independent, incredible woman who never played life safe, would always be in the middle of things for others.

The hell of digging deep was that now he had to face just how deeply he loved Monica. And how deep it would slice if he lost her.

Drew pounded sand with his boots. Each heavy step in his search for Yasmine increased the kinks in his muscles. Damn. Damn. Damn it! How the hell did one slip of a woman land herself into so much trouble?

Anger chugged in time with his pace through the compound. Yes, anger. He was just angry. He focused on that emotion and let it power him through his search of buildings so the fear wouldn't sink debilitating claws into him.

She was fine. Likely sitting in some building readjusting her goddamned scarf and thinking up ways to make his life hell. When he found her, he would shout the walls down around her ears until she realized how reckless she'd been and he could pretend he hadn't screwed up.

Shit. He'd been so concerned with keeping his distance, afraid of weakening around her, he.hadn't kept track of her. Now she was missing. God only knew where. God only know who with.

And please, God, let her be alive.

He forced himself to stop. Think. Get his head out of his ass and figure out where she was. Where someone might take her.

Where had he seen her last?

His eyes landed back on the isolated cement building where he and Yasmine had ridden out the storm.

They'd checked already, and she wasn't there.

But how thoroughly had they searched?

Since he'd already spent hours in there without anything blowing him up, they'd logged the building as secure. But was it? He strode closer across the gritty path.

"Colonel?"

The heavily accented voice snagged his attention left, to the echo from behind the building. He jerked his M-16 hip level. Ready.

A shadow slanted around the corner, large, long morphing as two shapes blended and separated and blended again until...

Yasmine stepped around the corner. A rope looped around her waist. Ammar al-Khayr—a face he knew from countless intelligence files and CNN reports—loomed behind her, bound to her. Too close for Drew to risk a shot. He refused to see her scarf askew in a way his Sheba never would have allowed had her hands been free.

Fear for Yasmine sunk those claws deep into his anger until he felt it deflate with a sinister hiss.

Swallowing back bile, he shut down a thousand images of this woman scrolling through his mind. Instincts.

Training. He had to count on it now because his mind was one helluva mess.

Drew depressed the button on his radio so his RTO would hear what was going down and hopefully send reinforcements over. Fast. "You don't have to do this, al-Khayr. Hell, I'm sure you've got information our government would be more than willing to trade for some retirement villa. Just let the woman go."

"The woman?" Ammar laughed, dipped his head to brush his mouth against her temple. "You mean your woman, do you not, Colonel? What charming conversations the two of you had during the storm."

Tunnels beneath the building. Shit. He'd searched and missed it. Because of the dark or his messed-up mind around Yasmine? A weakness he couldn't afford now.

Movement sounded behind him, but he couldn't risk turning his back on Ammar. Damn but he hoped it was help and not an ambush.

Ammar's eyes flared with panic. Which meant help for Yasmine. Drew allowed himself one heartbeat of relief.

Two shadows slid past him, footsteps closer, until Jack Korba and Monica Hyatt stopped beside him.

Ammar inched back. "No closer! Stay there or I will blow her up now."

He extended his arms on either side of Yasmine—a grenade clutched in each fist.

Pins pulled.

Fuck.

His beautiful Yasmine was seconds away from being blown up by a fanatic. Five seconds to be exact, once Ammar released the safety levers.

Unless somehow he made a Hail Mary save in a situation that twenty years of combat experience told him could only end in one horrible, explosive way.

Ammar's hostage plan would not work, if that was even his true wish. More likely the man planned to blow himself up and whomever else he could take along.

Logical answer? Bluff a while longer and let the sniper likely sliding into place take out Ammar. Hope the bullet wouldn't go through and hit Yasmine. Pray like hell somehow he could move forward fast enough to pitch both grenades after Ammar fell.

Too many variables. All ending with Yasmine dying, and God help him, as much as he knew he would do his damnedest to save anyone, this wasn't just anyone.

This was the woman he loved.

She wasn't Glenna any more than he was the same man from all those years ago. He didn't even bother to dodge the self-recriminations over having not figured it out sooner because that would have wasted precious seconds he could spend looking at her. He telegraphed his apology through his eyes that this woman swore she could read.

Why had he never thought to look in hers? Deep brown pools of an intriguing woman who challenged his world with her smile. Wise eyes that saw beyond his years to the man inside. Fearful eyes that believed he had turned his back on her.

Finally he saw
her.
The part of her that was timeless and not just a number of years. And now odds screamed she wouldn't see even another day alive.

Ammar raised his hands higher to showcase the grenades like perverted altar offerings. "So, Colonel, I see you understand my resolve. Now tell me, are you willing to let your woman die just so you can kill me?"

No, he wasn't. But this maniacal asshole failed to realize that Drew was more than ready to shield her body with his own and die in her place.

Oh, God. Monica sucked in sand-laden breaths that scratched all the way down her throat. She couldn't be on the verge of seeing her sister die.

Gritty gasps scoured her chest as she stood with Jack and the Colonel, all mentally scrambling for a way to save Yasmine.

Her sister. Another piece of the puzzle slid into a clean fit. Why had she waited so long to reach out? And now if they didn't stop Ammar from releasing the safety levers on those grenades, Yasmine would have five seconds left to live.

Pride radiated from her proud sister, along with a sure certainty that she would die. That no one would save her. And why shouldn't Yasmine feel that way? Had anyone helped her during the past year? Had she or even Sydney ever thought to check on Yasmine after their mother's death?

Resolve burned through Monica. This was her
sister.
Not a Hyatt, but her blood all the same.

And nobody messed with her sisters.

Options lined up in her mind, one by one discarded until she settled on the only plan with a chance of succeeding. The Colonel would tackle Yasmine, shield her, while Monica and Jack flew wingman at his sides to pitch the grenades.

In five seconds.

She looked left toward Jack, could sense his determination and understanding, as well. Like he'd told her earlier about Sydney, her family was his now. And along with that understanding, she saw his acceptance.

He knew that she would do whatever it took to be there for this sister just as she'd fought to be here for Sydney.

Yes, she saw the acceptance. And, oh, my, she saw his love for her along with his fears. All there.

Full-blown and just as real as any intense avowal. Steady, laid-back Jack who took life in stride with cocky declarations of how much he loved Elvis tunes, a good cheeseburger and his grandma actually carried around the same pain and baggage as the rest of the world.

And if she died, how much more would she add to his load?

Not an option, just as she refused to accept anything could happen to him, either. Not now when they finally had a chance. She had a few more pieces of the puzzle and looked forward to finding the rest. With Jack.

She held still, awaiting the silent order from their commander to—

The Colonel charged. Toward Yasmine. Monica sprung forward. She didn't need to look to know Jack was keeping step on the other side. The Colonel body-slammed into Yasmine.