“Us, too, probably. Fuck. God, this is crazy.”
Thankfully it wasn’t Dana’s first firefight, so the rapid change of circumstances and incredible noise wasn’t new to her. There was no communication down the line yet, the sergeant likely trying to raise that air support and relying on their knowledge of how to stay down until he decided how to form their defensive line. Right now, this was likely the best they could do.
Snatching up the weapon, Dana examined it closely, figured out the dual trigger. She had to wiggle up the side of the ditch. Bullets cut through the ground at the edge. But setting her teeth, she went to her knees, lifted her helmeted head and took aim.
The missile shot up. She’d aimed lower than her target. As she’d anticipated, it went higher than she’d intended, but not too high. It hit the ridge a couple feet below the edge.
Dirt and rock exploded, sending an avalanche of debris and flailing bodies down.
“O’Neill,” Leslie screamed.
Dana tossed the RPG aside. O’Neill had gotten briefly pinned down at the vehicles, providing additional cover fire for the drivers. When he made a run for it, a round hit him from the insurgents who’d come out from the hidden curve ahead. He dropped like a stone.
The two women didn’t hesitate, coming up over the edge of the ditch shoulder to shoulder. “Get him to cover,” Dana shouted, turning the M-4 toward that group of targets along with the others who came to back her up. Leslie grabbed hold of him, tried to get him onto his feet, but O’Neill was six feet of muscle. Another soldier went to help. Dana backpedaled in front of them, bullets whistling around her, kicking up dirt. Thank God, the insurgents were probably jacked up on adrenaline shots or Khat, not shooting worth shit, but it was close enough. Any second she expected one to punch through her. Noise and AK-47 fire, hell on earth.
She had been in active engagement before because of situations like this, but nothing this intense. She’d trained for it, though, and kept training for it, even more so than the guys who got field experience far more often. The enemy didn’t give a damn if you were a woman or not when it came to shooting U.S. soldiers, and this situation made all those extra grueling hours of practice worth it, even if her heart was pounding up in her ears.
Think about the targets, and a gorgeous captain who will be so pissed if you don’t come home and take that cross-country trip with him. Nap in that boat together. He’d probably chase you to the Pearly Gates with those alligators just to beat your ass.
She stumbled over something, saw a Pepsi bottle roll away wildly. A second later, the world exploded in bright light and pain.
Five
ONE YEAR LATER
Peter got out of the taxi and breathed deep of the bayou that backed up to his Baton Rouge home. Jon had been coming here regularly while Peter was on tour so it didn’t get an empty feeling to it. While that meant he’d probably burned some weird incense or had one of his tranquil and oh-so-centered bedmates chant over the front door, that was okay.
Whatever he did, Peter had no doubt it would feel as comfortable as when he left. This time it was going to feel better than it ever had. Not only because it was home, but because now he could go after Dana.
Fourteen months had gone by, and his feelings ran as strong for her as they had that night. Worse, even. It was the damnedest thing, but why should he be surprised? Matt and Lucas had known the minute they met Savannah and Cass, respectively. He’d seen it happen, but hadn’t realized it felt like this.
He couldn’t believe he’d agreed to her terms, satisfying himself with a one-way stream of letters until the end of their tour. As he’d told her, sometimes he’d felt like a lovesick fool, putting his thoughts in that vacuum. But he kept himself going by reviewing, again and again, every detail of their short time together. Particularly how she’d seen him in the airport and run to him like water in the desert. She’d surrendered to him that night at The Zone, and not merely her flesh. When she kissed him, there’d been forever in that girl’s grip.
The second he got stateside, he’d called Jon, asking him to find out where she was and have Matt’s admin make travel arrangements for him. He didn’t care if she considered that cheating. His tour was done. He was going to have a shower and a nap, but twenty-four hours weren’t going to pass before he was on his way to her. Thank God for the Taliban and dangerous missions. They’d kept him from going crazy this past year.
Smiling wryly, he opened the front door, and found Jon sitting in his living room. With Matt, Lucas and Ben, suggesting they’d all ridden together in Jon’s car out front.
Peter stopped. They would have met up tonight for beers and celebrated his return, but they wouldn’t have come like this. Not unless . . .
When Jon rose, the expression in his somber face twisted Peter’s gut. “She’s dead.” Peter forced out the words, but a heartbeat later cursed himself for being the one to say what he least wanted to hear. “That’s not possible. The letters didn’t come back.”
“They were forwarded. She’s not dead, Peter.” Jon took a step forward. Peter held his ground, his fists clenching. Waiting. “She was injured in southern Iraq twelve months ago. She’s been stateside ever since.”
“Is she . . . What happened to her? Is her family . . .” He should have done everything to keep her off that plane, sacrificed a lifetime of principles and patriotism to keep her safe. He was going to shake Jon like a rag doll if he didn’t start talking. Now.
“It was a firefight, a pretty bad one,” Jon said, holding him with his steady gaze as Lucas moved to Peter’s side. “She got caught in an explosion when she was laying down cover fire.”
Damn it, Sergeant. You’re not supposed to be in combat. But women never did as they were told, did they? He’d seen the jut of the stubborn chin, the firm muscle of that lean, prepared body. She wouldn’t walk away from a fight. No more than he would.
“What’s happened to her?”
“She’s blind.” Peter closed his eyes, but Jon pressed on, knowing him well enough to give him all of it, fast as possible. “She lost the ability to hear in one ear. The other has diminished capacity. She’s badly scarred, but my understanding is most can be repaired with reconstructive surgery. Some of it has already been done. But the main thing is she’s alive, she can walk and she has all fingers, toes and limbs. . . . Focus on that.”
“Okay.” Peter nodded, his lips folded together tight. While he told his heart to stop thundering, the other men drew closer, forming a half ring around him. That, plus the hesitation in Jon’s voice, tipped him off to the fact he hadn’t heard it all.
“Tell me the rest.” Peter shifted his gaze to Matt, standing directly in front of him. Years ago, Matt had been the one to come and tell the younger man his parents had been killed in a car crash. The steady look in his gaze had been the same then, despite the fact Matt had barely been out of college himself. Kensington would do whatever it took to get a job done. To make things right. He’d honed the same quality in Peter.
“Dana has no living family,” Matt said quietly. “She had no support system to deal with this.”
“You tell me she’s on the street talking to herself, living out of the garbage, and I’m going to have to kill somebody.”
“No.” Lucas put a hand on his shoulder. “She didn’t have much in the way of a bank account, but she got full disability and benefits, enough to rent a small place near a VA hospital and cover her living expenses. She’s not going to be vacationing in Tahiti every year, but she’s not starving. She’s high up on the list for care at a residential facility, but they’re crowded, and in truth, the specialist I talked to said she doesn’t need that.” Peter’s pulse thudded anew against his throat. “So why’s she on the list?” Jon shook his head. “She’s doing the minimum required to learn new skills, improve the compensatory use of her other senses. The specialist confided that it was the nurses who coordinated the duplex unit where she’s living. They found a lady, a nurse, to stay next door and take care of her. I’m sorry, Peter, but I know you’d want to know. He said if not for those steps, she might very well have ended up on the street. She has no interest in anything other than sitting in a chair.”
“Damn it, they have all sorts of resources for PTSD shit. Why didn’t they—?”
“The patient has to be willing. And you know how irreplaceable a family support network is for dealing with those kinds of issues.” Jon swept a meaningful glance among the men standing before him. “Which is why we’re here now.” Peter swallowed, pushing down the fury, the knowledge that still had his pulse accelerated. Lucas squeezed his shoulder, a reminder of support. Taking a deep breath, he thought it through, closing his eyes again to focus.
They waited him out. He was the hands-on guy, the one who went and straightened out snarls at plants in their Central and South American locations, dealing with a wide variety of concerns in unexpected, sometimes volatile, environments. If he approached it that way, he wouldn’t lose his head, get mired down in thoughts about how she needed him and he wasn’t at her side right now.
He opened his eyes. “I need to know everything you know, Jon. I want to talk to this specialist myself. I’m bringing her home.”
Ben raised a brow. “You knew her for one night.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Matt answered for Peter, gazing into his face. “She’s the one, isn’t she?”
Peter nodded. All those months, he hadn’t doubted his emotions, but their strength had baffled him. But now, on a tidal surge of those feelings, thinking about where she was, how she needed him, he knew what it was. The men around him, they were the family he’d chosen, but she was like a part of his heart that had been missing since he’d lost his blood family. A part sent by fate, so he’d recognized her from that first second.
He shook his head, pushing back the wave before it unmanned him. “Since she’s coming back here with me, whether she likes the idea or not, it’s likely I’ll need some wheels greased.”
