Until There Was You (Coming Home, #2) (9 page)

“Nice place,” Reza mumbled next to Claire as he followed her into the conference room already filled with lieutenants colonel and sergeants major along with far too many captains and junior lieutenants. Claire sighed, releasing frustration and irritation in that single breath, then glanced at her longtime friend. At that moment, looking at his lined, weather-worn face and tired eyes, Claire felt far older than her thirty-two years. Reza was a warrior but his time at war was wearing on him, carving dark lines into his soul.

Shaking off the errant thoughts, she gravitated toward the coffeepot. It was a thing of beauty. A stainless-steel monument to caffeinated goodness. A double-decker machine where one carafe could warm on the top while a second pot brewed. Endless coffee.

“I might have to ask this coffeepot to have my children,” Claire said, topping off her mug, trying to lighten the nervous tension twisting in her guts. She breathed deeply and let the aroma of coffee soothe her ragged nerves.

Reza glanced at her as though she’d lost her mind. “That’s sick and wrong on so many levels.”

“If loving coffee is wrong, I don’t want to be right.” Claire laughed quietly at Reza’s disgruntled expression. Claire smiled and pointed at his Rip It energy drink. “How did you get a Rip It in the middle of Colorado?”

“Amazon.com. Turns out, UPS will deliver in a snowstorm. On snowmobiles.” He took a long pull. “And don’t be jealous. My superpower is an indestructible liver.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just amazed you never smell like you just crawled out of a bottle,” she mumbled.

He flashed a quick grin. “I eat a lot of pineapple,” he said with a shrug.

“Pineapple?”

“Yep. Makes, ah, other stuff taste better, too.”

Claire rolled her eyes and wished he weren’t making her laugh about something
so serious. “Have you had many compliments?”

“No complaints. Does that count?”

“Ugh, okay, I’m officially sorry I asked,” she said, giving in to the urge and laughing. “Really, Iaconelli? We really just had this conversation?”

He shifted then, and tucked his hands into his back pockets. She couldn’t see herself relaxing like this with Evan. Granted, she didn’t want to sleep with Reza, and that always helped. There was also the small matter of trust.

The conference room door opened and several of the company commanders walked in. Sarah offered a quick nod of greeting in Claire’s direction but said nothing. A gaggle of the day’s sacrificial offering—a.k.a. platoon leaders—gathered to one side. They looked so … young.

Claire scanned the crowd for Evan, still worrying silently about Reza. He’d sobered the moment they’d entered the conference room. Despite the jokes, his smile was tight, the lines on his face tense. She let it go for now, but when Reza was being quiet it meant one of two things: either he was hung over or he was plotting.

Claire glanced at her watch, wondering what was taking so long. Shifting her stance, she held her coffee cup like it contained liquid gold. “You’ve worked with Colonel Danvers before, right?” she asked, eyeing the coffeepot and wondering if she had enough time to refill before the commander walked in. She doubted it.

Reza nodded. “Yeah. He’s well known in the combat arms world.”

A dark edge in his voice made Claire stand up and take notice. “Any pointers?”

“Don’t interrupt him,” Reza said, swirling the drink in his hand. “Don’t even move your lips like you’re about to, or you’ll see the devil.”

Claire smirked. “Seriously? You’re acting like we’re briefing the President.”

“The President is easier to brief. If you’re a fan of public floggings, interrupt him. I’ll pick your corpse up off the floor when the smoke clears.”

The conversation ground to a screeching halt and everyone stood or straightened
to attention when the brigade commander walked into the room, Evan close on his heels. Claire was instantly on guard. Evan’s eyes glittered coldly in the sterile conference room. Why had he been with Danvers?

Colonel Danvers was a sour-faced man who looked like he spent more time bench-pressing Fiats than commanding the brigade. He had a reputation as a pit bull and the tense, harsh lines around his mouth were a dead giveaway that he didn’t spend much time smiling.

“Take your seats,” he said, pulling his chair in behind him. Evan sat parallel to him as the first sacrifice—Lieutenant Engle—moved to the podium. She looked confident and calm, which if her past performance was an indicator told Claire she had not done her homework in the slightest. Claire sipped her coffee. What else was new?

“What the hell is that?” Danvers demanded as the screen lit up.

“Sir, it’s a recommended change to the training plan.” Engle’s voice wavered. Just a little, but enough for Danvers to sense weakness.

He rocked back in his chair, resting his hands on the top of his head. His cold gaze fell on Claire and she straightened her shoulders slightly. Why the hell was he looking at her? Colonel Danvers smiled thinly. “Exactly when would you like to rework this plan? The first round goes downrange tomorrow morning, Lieutenant.” He shifted and gripped his coffee mug, studying her over the rim. Claire noticed the shining white stallion against the glossy black finish. She could have sworn the horse had devil eyes, but they didn’t begin to measure up to Danvers’s cold blue gaze.

“Sir, my platoon is going to be running logistics convoys through Baghdad. We should be focusing on convoy operations, using realistic pyro. The shoot house, while valuable, isn’t what a bunch of supply clerks need to be training on.” Engle spoke, clear and strong, hiding her nerves with sheer will and volume. Holy cow, she’d learned to brief. “Sir, I recommend we focus on a few critical tasks that directly relate to our mission instead of trying to do everything.”

Colonel Danvers’s jaw pulsed but he said nothing. Engle took that as a sign to continue, and Claire mentally flinched. Engle might have improved her briefing skills, but she damn sure hadn’t learned to read body language yet.

“Sir, by focusing our efforts on convoy training, we’ll be ahead of schedule and we’ll allow valuable time in the shoot houses to go toward training troops that will actually be kicking in doors.” She clicked to the next slide. “Sir, I’ve coordinated for pyrotechnic support from the contractors at division headquarters. They’re prepared to meet the revised commander’s intent …”

Colonel Danvers cut her off as soon as the word intent left her lips. “So you’re telling me that you failed to train your people for all situations, Lieutenant?”

Engle’s mouth opened, but Sarah interjected before she could insert her foot. “Sir, we’ve had less than three months to get a year’s worth of training done. We’re doing the best we can, but right now, we’re trying to do everything instead of preparing for the most likely scenarios and the most dangerous scenarios.”

A vein in the middle of Danvers’s forehead visibly pulsed against his skin. “Captain Anders, I don’t know what kind of operation you’re used to at Fort Hood, but here at Fort Carson, we accomplish our mission. Either you’re capable of commanding your company or I will find someone else who is.”

Across the table, Claire saw Sarah’s first sergeant give a quick shake of his head. Sarah would only make things worse by trying to save her lieutenant. Claire saw her grit her teeth, but she remained silent except for a harsh, “Roger, Sir.”

Colonel Danvers scanned the room, pinning the now squirming officers with a hard look. “Who decided that changing the approved plan would be a good idea?”

Something cold and slick slithered over Claire’s skin. She straightened and leaned forward. “Sir, I’ve recommended we tailor the training plan to several people but not to Lieutenant Engle.” She kept her voice neutral and lifted her chin with a quick glance at Engle. “But I agree with her assessment.”

Colonel Danvers looked up at her with a dispassionate apathy that made her feel two inches tall. “And tell me, young captain, in your vast experience, what should I cut off the timeline? The inspections to make sure they have all of their proper equipment? Training on the laws of war? Or maybe weapons ranges? What in your esteemed opinion should I cut from the timeline?”

The question was rhetorical. These questions always were.

“I am not going to division to request additional pyrotechnics. I am not going to brief my division commander that we’re going to throw out the plan that took three months of eighteen-hour days to develop just because some captain,” and he spat the word, “thinks she knows more about training soldiers for combat than I do.” Colonel Danvers leaned forward in his chair, his hands gnarled from too much sun over too many years. He stood, jerking his cup off the table. Coffee splashed onto the polished glass. “I am not a patient man. If any of you deviate from the approved timeline of events to so much as take a shit out of order, I will crucify you. Do I make myself clear?”

Claire did her best to ignore the stone that had settled in her stomach. The officers around her murmured assent.

“We’ll do these briefings again at nineteen hundred when you’ve all unscrewed yourselves and gotten back in line with the approved training guidelines.” He glanced at his watch and stood abruptly. “You’re dismissed.”

* * *

Evan stalked down the hall and lifted his hand, prepared to beat Claire’s door off the hinges until she opened the damn thing. It could not be a coincidence that Engle had briefed the exact changes Claire had mentioned. But she ripped open the door before his fist had fallen once. Claire rocked back on the heels of her running shoes, her eyes filled with unspent fury.

“I’m not in the mood right now, Evan.” She shoved past him, heading for the stairs. As she disappeared down the hall, he took in that she was prepared for a run. Just what he felt like doing, going for a jog through the woods in full army combat uniform, complete with boots. And of course, Claire made it look like she was up for a marathon, not a quick jog.

“Too bad.” He tried to grab her arm to slow her down. “I need to talk to you.”

The vinyl of her jacket slipped through his fingers as she yanked free. “What part of ‘I’m not in the mood’ don’t you get?”

Stunned by her ferocity, he let her go, unable to reach her past the fury that radiated from her every movement. She slammed into the stairwell, heaving the door shut behind her.

He swore quietly, pissed that he wasn’t dressed for running in the cold. But, hell, he’d gone through Ranger school and Airborne school running in boots. He took off after her, bolting down the same stairwell where she’d disappeared.

Afternoon had fallen and with it, light fluffy snowflakes drifted down, dusting the world in deceptively peaceful quiet. A snow machine rumbled somewhere in the distance. Evan caught a flash of white and blue as Claire disappeared down a snow-packed trail.

The frigid air seared his lungs, ripping the breath from his body. He followed her at a distance, hoping some of her fury would abate by the time he caught up to her.

She plunged headlong into a narrow copse of trees, their branches hanging heavy and pregnant with ice. If she heard him following her, she showed no sign of it. He heard nothing now but the huff of his own breath. The hair on the inside of his nose froze, his fingers following quickly. He might have grown up here, but his blood had thinned in the years since he’d left.

Finally she slowed, and he caught her before she rounded the next bend in the trail. “Damn it, Claire, will you stop?”

“Why, Evan? So you can tell me that you threw me under the bus today? What
the hell did you tell Colonel Danvers before that brief?”

He grabbed her arm before she tried to take off again. “I was trying to find out if he was even open to the suggestion of changing the plan. Then Engle got up there and ruined the whole thing. Did you put her up to it?”

She yanked away from him. “You think I tried to set her up for failure? I haven’t even talked to her since we saw her in the hallway.”

“You mean to tell me she came up with that all on her own?”

“Well, I damn sure didn’t tell her to do it. And screw you for thinking I would.” She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I’m supposed to be obeying orders, remember?”

Evan stopped suddenly, caught off guard by the defeat that settled around her like a shroud, despite the defiance in her eyes. She thought he’d turned on her today. That he’d sold her out to the brigade commander. That she thought so little of him hurt, even if their track record was less than perfect. But it was the expectation that people would let her down—that
he
would let her down—that stung the most.

This was a woman who was used to being on her own. Used to being let down by the people she was supposed to count on. What had shaped her into this creature who distrusted the people around her? Whoever had let her down had done it so often and so hard, she didn’t see him when she looked at him, she saw only the echoes of the people who’d failed her in the past.

“You’re right, you are supposed to be obeying orders and accomplishing the mission.” He took a deep breath, knowing his next words were going to shatter any hope of a truce between them. “But this isn’t about the mission, Claire,” he said quietly. “This is about you. You want to do this mission your way. You’ve always got to win by any means possible. I don’t. I have to do things the right way.”

She balled her fists up at her sides, her mouth drawn into a tight, hard line. “Why, Evan? Why is the commander’s way the only way with you?”

“Because this is the commander’s mission. They’re going downrange and as much as I wish it were otherwise, not everyone is coming back. There’s no time to change things up this late in the game. If this is how the commander wants things, then that’s what we do.”

“That was very much an officer thing to say,” she said quietly, an odd note in her voice.

“What does that even mean?”

“Never mind.” She squared her jaw and straightened before she started walking past him. Maybe it was the sinking realization that she would never, ever open up to him. But something snapped and he grabbed her arm again, yanking her to a halt.