Blowback (16 page)

D
avid checked into the hotel again, this time under a fake name, getting an uncomfortable feeling of déjà vu. The receptionist handed him a key and a letter, sealed in an envelope. He extended the handle of his suitcase and headed toward the elevator. Once away from the desk, he opened the letter.

A grin spread across his face, and a tiny sliver of unease. He hoped she wasn't going to do to him what he'd done to her the year before. He looked around the lobby and spotted her, ostensibly reading an Athens newspaper upside-down while waiting in line for the receptionist. He tried not to laugh. He leaned against the pillar where he had checked his email on his phone that morning after the cocktail party. Whatever happened to Mal? He couldn't wait to find out what mess he'd gotten himself into. Bound to be a good story. All he knew was that Baston was furious with him. So that warmed the cockles.

“I simply must have the same room I was in before. I loved it so much. You understand. A girl wants what a girl wants. Can you see if it's available? It was number 1214? I'm only staying for the one night.” He could hear Molly chatting up the receptionist from where he was. She played the demanding guest to a T.

She was also quite demanding with him too. Thinking about the
unique
physical therapy she'd been threatening him with had sped up his healing to no end. And today was the first day they'd been able to finish the mission. The leadership conference started in ten days, and the hotel was emptying out in preparation. They already knew that room 1214 was empty now.

“Thank you
so
much,” Molly said, as she pulled her suitcase toward the elevators. He joined her, and they stared at the elevator doors pretending not to know each other. They stepped back as other guests got off the elevator, and then got on. Just as the doors were about to close, a hand snaked around them, making them open again.

Sadie. “If you think I trust you two alone in a hotel room while I'm waiting patiently downstairs, you're very mistaken.

David didn't reply, but Molly giggled. He still couldn't believe she'd kept this secret from him, and from Victoria. But he would exact his punishment. Again, and again.

They all got off on the twelfth floor, and Molly led the way to the room. She opened the door, and David and Sadie followed.

“Okay. Wait here,” Molly said. She went into the bathroom and stood on the side of the bath. David shook his head in disbelief as they both watched her through the doorway. How would an archaeologist come up with this shit?

She popped a ceiling tile and felt around. An expression of victory lit up her lovely face. “Got it!”

She handed it over with a solemn, “Use this only for good,” and Sadie took it, rolling her eyes. They all looked at it in her palm. It was a key with a website address scratched on its leather fob.

“Doubrov slipped it to me as soon as he saw me. I don't think he had any idea that I was also trying to slip him something, which is why he froze. I guess we both did. I didn't know what it was, so I hid it in the bathroom. I didn't mention it, because I didn't know who I could trust.” Molly looked at David. “I do now.”

“I'll give it to the station director and see if he can figure out what it is.” Sadie said, tucking it into her pocket. “It was nice meeting you both, but remember what you signed. You can't talk about what happened here to anyone. Not about Doubrov, the key, the note…and especially about me. Clear?”

“Absolutely,” Molly said.

“Crystal.” David replied. He'd signed so many of those documents during his time in the military that he barely even thought about it.

“Good luck to you,” Sadie said to David, as she opened the door. “You might need to handcuff her to something to keep her out of trouble. You know what to do now.” The door slammed and she was gone.

“She has good ideas, that woman,” David said taking out a cotton handkerchief.

“What? What do you know what to do?” Molly said, hand on hips.

“You in handcuffs.” He started to wipe down every surface they had touched. The bathroom door, the wall that Molly had braced herself against to climb up to the ceiling, and the ceiling tile itself, not that it held fingerprints well, but you couldn't be too careful. “Now let's go, and we can talk about how Doubrov gave you something that you failed to tell me about.” He basically knew what had happened, but he wanted her to admit that she'd done it to keep him safe. Crazy, stupid, amazing woman.

He nodded her toward the door, wiping down everything she touched, until they were outside the door. He grabbed her hand and led her down the corridor and around the corner to room 1256, which he'd been given.

The door had barely closed before he told her to strip.

“What? No foreplay?” She quirked a coquettish eyebrow at him before kicking off one shoe and then the other.

“I just need to know that the archaeologist-spy isn't hiding anything else from me.” He pulled out the desk chair and sat, unwilling to admit that he was tired. “Everything. Maybe you're wearing a wire?”

She started to unbutton her blouse, unable to hide a grin. “I've given all that up. I'm never accepting a meeting from a government official ever again. It's hazardous to my health.”

“Good. I'm happy to hear you've learned your lesson.

She dropped her blouse, revealing a lilac bra, the lace of which only barely covered her nipples, and her skirt, which she was already unzipping. His dick hardened at the sight of her, as it did annoyingly often. The skirt also fell to the floor.

She was wearing matching tiny, lilac lace shorts and hold-up stockings. Holding her arms up and slowly turning, she said, “See? No wires. Is there anything else you'd like to check me for?”

“Take the rest of it off.” He tried to keep his face stern, and it wasn't too much of a challenge, because the box in his pocket was poking at his stitches. “Come on, quickly. I have something I want you to wear for me.”

“Oh, exciting,” she said, eyeing his suitcase. “What did you bring?”

He looked meaningfully at her and folded his arms across his chest.

She moved closer to him so that their knees touched. She unhooked her bra at the front, and let her lush breasts go free. She bent over slightly, and he couldn't stop himself from stroking her soft skin. She let him touch her for a couple of seconds, and then shimmied away a few inches. She turned around, bending at the waist as she took her panties off. As she did, his eyes didn't leave her lush ass. As she swept down her stockings, he could see all of her. He stroked her ass and felt her pussy. She shivered and moved back closer to him. This had gotten totally off topic, but he couldn't resist her wetness and the whimper that came from her throat as he touched her clit.

His dick strained against his pants, and reminded him of his own mission. Pulling her onto his lap, he brought her head down so that he could kiss her.

“What did you bring for me to wear?” she asked, breathless.

He produced the box and flipped it open with one hand. Sadie had helped him choose the ring.

“What?” she said eyes wide and disbelieving.

“I know it's sudden, and I won't want us to rush into anything. But I want you in my life forever. And I don't want you to ever think that I won't come back for you. But if you wear this, it also means that you have to come back to me too. We're both going to be traveling a lot with our jobs, and this is my promise to you that when you're ready, we'll put down roots somewhere and spend the rest of our lives together. Will you wear it?”

Tears spilled from her eyes. “Yes. Yes of course. And you better always come for me. And you better not leave me for a year.” She narrowed her watery eyes at him.

“No more than a week or so, ever again.” He slipped the ring on her finger and as it reached its resting place, he said, “maybe no more than a few days.” He stroked her thigh. “Maybe no more than a few hours.”

She leaned in. “That sounds about right.” Her lips touched his, and he lost himself in her once again.

A
lone at last,” Walker whispered as he crouched next to Beth. Dust flew up as the crack of a bullet hitting the ground ricocheted around the valley. He flattened himself next to her.

“You are
shit
at taking orders,” she hissed back.

He ignored her as he tried to figure out where the shots were coming from. If he could just neutralize the immediate threat, he could patch her up and get her to safety. His blood had flashed ice-cold when she radioed that she'd been hit. And she'd still been laying down covering fire for the guys when he'd found her. If she was the first taste of females in combat, bring it on.

A pool of dark blood glistened in the hazy moonlight, expanding and trickling across the sand as he watched.

Crap.

Their simple mission of relieving another patrol group had gone to hell in a handbasket. Another shot echoed around them, and this time Walker was ready to identify the telltale muzzle flash. As soon as he saw it, he swung his gun and sent a shot downrange toward the insurgent.

Silence. He took that as a good sign.

“Okay, Sergeant. Turn over so I can look at that leg.”

Beth grunted but complied, biting back a moan as she did.

Walker's heart dropped when he saw that her BDU pants were completely soaked with blood. A lot of it.
Shit.
Maybe the bullet had nicked an artery. He grabbed his knife and cut away the pant leg to expose the wound. It was about two inches below her panty line. And blood was still pumping out in rhythm with her heartbeat.

He undid her belt and pulled it off. No way was he going to let her die in this crappy valley, in the middle of Shithole City, Bumfuck. No fucking way.

As he slid the belt around the top of her thigh, trying not to touch anything that could get him court-martialed, one of the Strike Eagles he had called for screamed overhead. He threw himself over Beth, and waited for the bombs to drop.

They exploded with precision, of course. Walker had been the one to give them the coordinates. That was his job. The only air force guy on the team, he was the one who communicated with the aircraft patrolling the skies above the war zone. The only one who could give the bombers precise targets. The valley lit up with orange fire as they detonated. Rocks and scree sprinkled them, sounding like heavy rain, feeling like stones.

That should keep the Taliban out of his hair for a bit. He made to get up and realized how close to Beth's face his was. He hesitated for a split second. A bad, bad second. He'd been deployed with her unit for a couple of months and had spent most of the time dreaming about her at night, and trying to ignore those dreams by day.

He swallowed, and went back to business. “I have to tourniquet your leg. It's going to hurt like a fucker,” he said as he fastened the belt as high on her thigh as he could manage. “Just think, all this time I wanted to see your panties, and finally…”

Beth opened her mouth, probably to give him hell, and he used the distraction to pull the belt tight.

“You bastard,” she ground out between gritted teeth.

The wound stopped pumping blood and he silently thanked whoever was looking out for them upstairs. He grabbed the first-aid kit from his pack and took out gauze and dark green bandages. A shot sounded again, and sand flew up just inches away from his foot.

Shit.

Walker threw himself down again, this time lying between her legs, face about five inches from her wound. Which meant it was seven inches from her…

“Well, this is awkward,” he murmured. It worked, and in relief he heard her gasp a laugh.

“Next time… buy me dinner… first, all right?” she said between pants of Lamaze-type breathing.

He laughed quietly. “I've got to get you out of here first. Then I promise I will.” He loosened the tourniquet, and watched to see if the blood flow had stopped. It hadn't, but it wasn't pumping out as it had been before. He tightened it and vowed not to check again.

“Walker,” she ground out. “I have a letter. It's in my pants pocket.” She groaned as if she was trying to get control over the pain. “Take it out before it gets soaked in blood. Make sure my sister gets it if I… don't make it.”

He didn't waste time placating her; he stuffed his hand into her thigh pocket and grabbed the papers in there. He found the letter and stuffed it in his own pocket, before replacing the notebook and loose papers back in hers. “Got it. I'll look after it. But I'm going to do everything I can to get you home to her, okay?”

“Look!” Beth grimaced as she propped herself up on one elbow and pointed up the valley where they had left their truck. A huge cloud of sand was making its way toward them, seemingly in slow motion. She made as if to get up, but fell back down with a moan as soon as she tried her leg.

The impending sandstorm made up his mind. They couldn't get stuck in it—Beth would die in all likelihood. If they didn't move now, the storm would be on them, and no rescue would be able to get to them until it dissipated. No time for second-guessing.

A cloud passed in front of the moon, and Walker instinctively jumped up. “Put your weight on your good leg.” He held her opposite hand as if they were about to shake hands, and he pulled her up. “Come on, Garcia. Walk it off.”

She breathed a laugh as he bent his knees and gently slid her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, so her good leg bore the brunt of pressure against his shoulder. She wriggled pretty weakly in protest.

“What the fuck? Put me down. I can walk,” she said, her words not reflected by the strain in her voice.

Yeah, not so much.
“Sure you can, sweetheart… I mean Sergeant. But we need to run. Are you going to stay with me?”

“I've got your six,” she whispered.

He launched his pack on his other shoulder and took off, away from the sandstorm. He knew he could outrun it—it was slow-moving—but the quicker he could get her to a reasonable landing zone, the quicker the helicopters would land and get her to a hospital.

The cloud passed the moon and in the sudden light they were sitting ducks. Another shot rang out, whizzing past so close he could feel it rip the air next to his face. Beth's stomach tensed muscles against his shoulder and she pulled herself up. One hell of a soldier. One hell of a woman.

She let off three shots as he ran, and then she flopped back down. “Got him,” she said. And then there was silence except for his own breathing that filled his head. Blood pounded in his ears as he ran. Blood pumping, and breath puffing.

In out, in out, nearly there, nearly there.

His muscles strained under her weight, and the eighty pounds of their combined body armor, but he'd trained for this, and frankly, it wasn't his first rodeo. It was his eighth. His legs kept pumping toward safety.

He hoped.

The familiar
whop whop
of a helicopter penetrated his thoughts, as well as the more constant gunshots as he neared the last of their vehicles. Five soldiers were on the ground, firing their weapons into the hills opposite them.

He skidded to a halt and laid Beth down. He dropped alongside her and asked for a sit rep from the guys.

“Marks took one to the face. We lost him. There seem to be about eight TBs left in the hillside, but they're not giving up. Only small arms fired, so I figured the helo can land over there to the right of the valley entrance.” The soldier pointed to the only real possible landing zone for the choppers.

“I have to go clear the LZ, Beth. I'll be back.” He looked at her but she didn't look back. Eyes closed and barely breathing, she looked like she had already checked out. His heart clenched.

No. Fucking. Way
. He pulled the tourniquet tight again, and started CPR. “Hey, you.” He slapped the nearest soldier on his helmet. “I need you to do CPR while I clear the landing zone, okay? Keep the tourniquet tight.”

The soldier took over without question. And then realized who it was. “Shit, is this Garcia? Oh man, my wife will kill me if I let her die,” he said.

“So will I. Keep that thought in the very front of your mind. I'll be back in a few.” He hesitated for a second. Could he trust the soldier with her? Everything in him wanted to stay and breathe life into her himself, but he was the only one who could talk the pararescuers in, and the only one who could clear a landing zone to the pilots' satisfaction.

Walker grabbed his radio and one of the soldiers' flashlights, and ran to the potential LZ. He walked the square, checking for IEDs or anything suspicious. He didn't think there would be, because the convoy had passed over this area on their way into the valley. He could still see their tire tracks. But it was better to be safe than sorry. As he paced, he couldn't stop thinking about Beth. How pale and lifeless she looked in the moonlight, how shallow her breathing, and how totally opposite that was to how she normally was: vibrant, prickly, beautiful, and strong.

The gentle
whop whop
of the helicopters became much louder as he finalized checking the LZ. He took out his radio.

“This is Playboy. PJs come in.”

There were a few seconds of silence, during which he checked his radio for loose wires. Then, “This is PJ one, Playboy. How're we looking?”

“We have five able soldiers, one KIA, and one seriously injured. I've set up the landing zone at these coordinates.” He rattled off a series of numbers.

“Can you light it up?”

“Roger that.” Walker snapped some green chem lights from his pocket, and threw them to the corners of the cleared landing zone. He would normally use flares, but he didn't want to give the Taliban an invitation to pick the PJs as their new target. Once it was clear the helo was good to land, he sprinted back to Beth.
Please, God. I'll do anything if you just let me get her to the hospital alive.

The second trail helicopter opened fire into the hills, backing up the guys on the ground. Two Combat Rescue Officers ran from the helicopter toward them, weapons drawn. They took one look at Beth and started work on her. They secured her tourniquet and put an oxygen mask over her face.

Walker stood back and let them run with her back to the helo. His heart rate finally normalized, but the clenched fist in his stomach did not fade. Following the others to safety, all he could see was Beth's white face, and he wondered if she would live to have the promised dinner with him. As he unclenched his fists to climb into the Pave Hawk helo, he realized his fingers were crossed.