He didn’t know why, but he wrapped his arms around woman and girl both.
Kee didn’t startle, didn’t flinch. She leaned back into his shoulder, hard.
He did the only thing he could think to do, he kissed her on top of her head.
The way she hid her face against his chest told him that maybe for once he’d done something right.
17
Kee woke slowly. The sun poked through the Black Hawk’s cargo bay door in streamers cut thin by the heavy armament hanging from the pylons outside the door. It lit the drab steel of the cargo bay with a magical light, drawing patterns on her clothes and on Dilya’s hair. The girl slept curled in Kee’s arms. When parked on the ground, the Hawk offered enough of a visual shield to make them feel alone, isolated from the rest of the world. Safe.
As she went to move, she became aware that her head was cushioned on someone’s shoulder. His arm draped negligently over her shoulder. She knew the hands. Without having to remember them from the predawn light. Long, gentle hands she’d spotted on Archibald Jeffrey Stevenson III the first time she’d met him exiting the DAP Hawk on her arrival three weeks ago.
Hands that had embraced her while she wept. Not outside, she hadn’t ever shed a tear, but inside, where no one else could see. Hands that had rubbed her shoulders while Dilya slept. Hands that had held her when, finally exhausted, she had slept as well.
She raised her head enough to look into his sleepy eyes without waking Dilya. Blue eyes, still misty with the morning light. She slid her hand up behind his neck and pulled his face down to hers.
There. As their lips met, the shock she remembered rippled through her. It hadn’t been her imagination. She teased her lips against his, reveling in the lazy feel as his half-lidded eyes slid closed. He cradled her head with one of those nice, long hands.
Then he woke up. Fully awake.
If she’d expected him to pull back, curl back into Mr. Uncertain Timid Professor, she was gladly mistaken.
His eyes came open and he attacked her lips. Attacked them with such skill that they were soon sparring with their tongues, tasting each other as deeply as they could.
She fisted her hand tightly in his mahogany-and-sun hair. Every bit as soft as she’d imagined, hoped. She held his kiss hard against hers. His hand on her shoulder slid right down inside the neck of her T-shirt and under her sports bra. She arched into his clench and moaned against his teeth.
Then she felt it.
Dilya stirred, still curled in Kee’s other arm.
Archie must have felt it too, for he cut his kiss but didn’t move. Cupping her with his hands at head and breast, their lips both frozen in mid-attack.
From an inch away, she stared up into his blue eyes as he stared down into hers.
Without releasing her fist from his hair, she slowly eased the pressure and they both backed off enough to turn their heads.
Dilya woke slowly, stretching like a happy lap cat. Then she rolled out from under Kee’s other arm, jumped from the helicopter, and turned to look at them.
“Breakfast.” Of course she’d learned the names of the meals quickly. “Shoshish.”
Then a flash of white teeth and she was gone.
The two of them remained frozen, slowly turning back to look at each other. Her fist in his hair, his hand down her shirt.
She whispered with what the tiny bit of breath she could gather, “Shoshish means ‘hurry.’ She likes that word. Almost as much as breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
“Then we must not keep Her Majesty waiting.”
“No, we mustn’t.”
She dragged his face back to hers and ravaged his mouth for one long aching moment more as he clenched her breast to the edge of pain that so many men never understood, but Archie rode the other side of that edge and made her feel tightly held, hugely desired.
They broke apart and burst into laughter.
He used those long legs to step down to the ground. She slapped the subassemblies of her H&K back together, pushed in the two retaining pins and, shoving it into the carry case, locked it away. She’d finish cleaning it after breakfast.
Archie took her hand to help her jump down from the helo.
She looked around, no one was watching. She dragged his face down for one more kiss, her whole body went taut and liquid at the same time, as if she’d run a 10K, then slept sixteen hours in a luxury hotel instead of having flown a chilly, high-altitude mission and slept three hours on hard-metal plate.
“Damn, Professor. Where did you learn to kiss like that?”
“Learned it thinking about what I’d like to do to you.” His smile started with his eyes first, then found its way down to his mouth and lit his whole face with that goofy grin. So charming.
“Tell me more.” The heat didn’t rise to her face, but it certainly rippled through her body.
“Come to Aviano with me tomorrow. We’ll go sailing together.”
“I’ve got Dilya…”
“You have to bring her. I’d be sorry if you didn’t.” And he meant it. Despite the heat and lust they had been sharing moments before, he would be sorry if Dilya weren’t with them. The man kept slipping past her barriers. Though with her body still humming from his brief manhandling, she found it difficult to complain.
In perfect harmony, far enough apart not to be obvious, though she could feel the sizzle across the gap between them, they set out toward the chow tent. Dilya would already be sitting in her spot across from Mr. Big Bad John, a mound of food heaped on her plate. Crazy Tim would be telling a story, mostly with wide and hazardous gestures, trying to get her bright laughter to sound forth.
18
Dilya had never ridden in an airplane, a train, or any vehicle except for the Black Hawk flight to the refugee camp.
Kee had spent exhausting hours trying to sift through the girl’s alternating excitement and fear as the whole crew piled into one of Clay’s transport Hawks for a quick lift to Islamabad. Once she’d understood it wasn’t back to the refugee camp and that Kee was staying with her, Dilya enjoyed that. She and Big John stuck their heads out the door as far as their safety harnesses allowed and watched the desert rush by. Out of Islamabad, a C-130 was heading for Incirlik, Turkey, so they’d grabbed it.
There they split up, most of the crew catching a 737 headed for Frankfurt then a connection to New York. The C-130 continued to Aviano after a four-hour layover mostly spent trying to teach Dilya how to play ping-pong, a game for which she showed much affinity, if no interest in the rules.
By the time they reboarded the plane, Kee and Archie were as exhausted from laughing as she had been the prior night from the full-on emotional churn. Mercifully, they all slept on the long grind to Italy.
When Kee awoke, Dilyana was gone. She slapped Archie awake and they both scrambled to their feet. He ran aft as she bolted forward, checking the foremost of the three fully rigged Humvees that filled much of the plane’s cargo bay. Archie was checking the other two.
Not finding the girl anywhere on the cargo deck, Kee scrambled up the ladder to the flight deck.
There Dilya sat, calm as could be, strapped into a jump seat and jabbering away to the pilots in Uzbekistani, and them replying in English. Clearly neither understood the other and none of them cared.
Kee turned back to catch her breath and waved an all-okay to Archie as soon as he looked up at her. He put his hand to his heart and pretended to release a huge breath. She knew exactly how he felt.
The high-speed rail to Genoa unnerved Dilya far more than the planes. The fields and towns flashing by at helicopter speed inches outside the window proved much more alarming than flying at thirty thousand feet.
Also, she drew attention with her hijab of plain white linen. It had looked fine in camp: white trousers, overdress to her calves, and a headscarf that spent more time around her shoulders than over her hair. On the train, she stood out among the civilians as a small, dirty urchin.
“People are eyeing her like
she’s Abu Omar.” Captured by the CIA, taken to Aviano and turned over to the US Air Force, then given to the Egyptians. There Abu had been held and tortured for four years as a terror merchant with no concrete proof and finally let go. No one’s finest hour.
“First step off the train, clothing store.”
Dilya showed no interest in revealing her legs. She ended up with boy’s trousers paired with a pretty, high-collared dress of strong colors that barely reached her knees. Which she kept trying to pull down to cover more of the trousers. The traditional heavy-cotton scarf—she never wore the blue and green one except on special occasions—was happily traded off for shiny swatches of brightly colored, tissue-thin scarves. She owned five or six before they escaped the store.
Underwear was fine, a training bra wasn’t. Sandals made the grade, but not sneakers or socks. Kee bought her a bathing suit in case, but had to guess at the size as Kee knew there was no way Dilya would try it on.
“Are you buying something for me?” The Professor whispered in her ear, his breath tickling, his hands sliding onto her hips.
“We’re in a women’s store.”
“I know that.” Then he blushed the most amazing pink. She’d never had a man blush when asking her to buy erotic clothes before. She’d never obliged. Never liked them much. The one time she’d tried lace, it itched. Didn’t make her feel the least bit sexy.
“Go buy Dilya an ice cream.”
He scooted out, his ears still sunburn bright.
She made a few selections. She knew what she’d look full-on knockout in, but the Professor still wore his favorite button-down shirt at the moment.
Now it was Kee’s turn to feel uncomfortable about the mode of transport.
“A sailboat?”
“What did you think people sailed on?” The Professor jumped aboard, scooped Dilya under her arms, and swung the happily squealing girl from dock to deck.
She’d been shocked enough at the sight of a harborful of water, Kee couldn’t wait until the girl saw the ocean… But from a sailboat?
“I thought people sailed on a yacht? You know, a thing with a motor.”
He scoffed and waved a hand dismissively at a comfortable-looking, two-decked powerboat floating nearby. “This has a motor, but if we’re lucky, we won’t use it much.”
“If we’re lucky… But it’s…”
“As long as a Black Hawk from nose to tail rotor and half again as wide.”
“Black Hawks don’t float.”
“This does.”
Then Archie reached up and tried to scoop her up as he’d scooped Dilya. She caught his thumbs and twisted them outward and back forcing him to drop to his knees and lean forward to ease the pressure.
“Well, if you’re going to beg me from your knees, maybe I’ll consider it.” She let him go and stepped aboard. The boat bobbed and twitched sideways in a totally unfamiliar way.
It wasn’t the water that bothered her. She’d aced the Navy’s underwater egress class for surviving a helicopter crash at sea. She wasn’t a SEAL, but she could navigate a small boat silently through a night-shrouded harbor better than your average Sue, Jane, or Mary. Small boats were for getting there and getting back. Ships were different. It made sense to land on a ship, tie down your helo, and call it a night. Not boats.
She’d flown for six months as a gunner with the PJs. Pararescue jumpers were as nuts as D-boys. Scrambling out of perfectly safe helicopters in live-fire combat areas to fetch the wounded…okay, she could see doing that. But these guys also jumped out into fifty-foot, hurricane-driven waves big enough to smack around a destroyer in order to haul three idiots off a twenty-five-foot sailboat.
At least with a power craft, the PJs could usually be lowered to the deck with a hoist. But sailboats had all those masts and wires in the way, making them accessible only to swimmers. There was something wrong about them. And now she stood on the deck of one. Two masts. Ropes and wires everywhere. Booms and pulleys. And a lively rocking that had nothing to do with being the size of a nice, safe Black Hawk.
Dilya had trotted end to end of the deck several times before she ran down below to inspect everything there. Then, with a squeak, shot back on deck.
Kee rushed to her side as two heads popped up from below. She didn’t need to be told who the elderly couple were, though they looked as surprised as she did.
A glance at the Professor confirmed her guess, but not in the way she expected. He positively lit up.
“Mom! Dad!” He rushed over and fell into happy hugs as they emerged onto the deck.
Dilya wrapped her arms around Kee’s waist, and she welcomed the comfort as the trio expressed their mutual surprise and delight. Family as a good thing? It still didn’t make any sense to her. And any illusions Kee’d built of quiet nights curled in the Professor’s bunk were washed overboard. But she’d be fine. She had Dilya. If they found a quiet cove, she’d teach the girl to swim.
From the babble it rapidly became clear that at least this wasn’t a set-up. Good thing, or she’d have to skin Captain Stevenson the Third alive.
“You told us you were taking leave in Aviano.” His father’s voice was deep and friendly. “We knew you’d be on a sailboat, so we called the usual charter company and there you were. We flew over. And here you are. Hope that’s okay.” The man stood as tall as his son, but much broader of shoulder. He was a big man with a full head of hair on its way past white, headed toward silver.
“An absolutely fantastic surprise!” Another backslapping hug with his father.
Kee looked down at Dilya. The girl stood comfortably against her. Other than the initial surprise, she appeared okay with the situation. Though she did hold on to Kee pretty tightly, that could be her normal shyness.
“And who is this?”
Archie turned, and though it was hard to tell in the bright sun, he blushed quite thoroughly. Ashamed of her? Great. So what she didn’t need. She could feel the heat rise, but kept it tightly in check.
“These are my friends. Kee Smith and Dilya. Beatrice and Archibald Jeffrey Stevenson the Second.” At least his lame-ass embarrassment never touched his voice.
“Steve and Betty,” the man held out a hand. The spitting image of his son. No question where the Professor’d gotten his good looks or his wavy tousle of hair. From his mother, the wide, blue eyes, the sophisticated nose, and slight build. Not as tall as her husband, but still several inches over Kee.
“Uh, hi.” Not her best, but Steve’s handshake was solid, if not Army strong. No test either, though he raised an eyebrow for a moment and kept her hand in his.
“Military?” He knew strength when he felt it.
“She is a sergeant, serving as crew chief on Major Beale’s helicopter.”
The man assessed her a moment longer, added another good solid shake of her hand before letting go. “You keeping our boy safe?”
“Doing my best, sir.”
“Steve.”
“Doing my best.” On about a dozen fronts at once. Betty’s shake was as light as you’d expect, and as brief.
Her eyes inspected Kee and Dilya quickly, returning several times to Dilya. Looking for relationship? Disliking the dark skin on both of them? No real smile. There was trouble. Real trouble. Mama bear ready to throw any mere street punk overboard if she made eyes at her son. How would she take it if Kee told her that twenty-four hours earlier her precious son had his hand down Kee’s shirt despite being a superior officer? Tempting.
Then the woman knelt in front of Dilya.
“And who do we have here?” She held out a hand to Dilya but waited for Dilya to reach out. Maybe she’d judged the woman too quickly.
Dilya looked up at her and Kee nodded.
Dilya held out a hand but clearly didn’t know what to do with it. Betty covered the confusion by taking the slight, dark hand in both of her equally slender, light ones. Kee wished she’d thought to bring a camera. Those hands holding each other’s for a moment, top of Boston soci
ety and Uzbekistani orphan refugee. How much farther apart could you get?
Herself and Archie? Who was she kidding? How much farther apart could you get?
“And what do they call you?” Betty asked.
Dilya knew the word “name,” but Mrs. Stevenson hadn’t used it.
“Her name’s Dilya.”
“Dilya. I’m called Betty.”
“Calledbetty.” Dilya clearly didn’t understand and simply memorized the sounds.
Mrs. Stevenson, thinking her job done, rose to her feet. The Professor had missed it, too. She wasn’t so sure that Mr. Stevenson II had; he was fighting a smile. Kee decided to leave it alone and see where it led.
Where it led? Now the changing situation came clear in her mind. Archie had talked about sailing down the coast, port hopping. Except now it would be done with his parents aboard. When it had been a lazy couple cruising with a kid, mismatched though they were, light, medium, and dark, but okay together.
Kee could see that picture, now blown away.
The new picture formed of a happy family reunion and: two unwanted outsiders, uncomfortable questions, and heavy disapproval from Mom. It would be a constant upstream battle. She didn’t need this shit and it definitely was not her idea of a vacation.
“Archie,” she tried to keep her voice bright. “Thanks for showing us the boat, but I think Dilya and I will take a train down the coast. Maybe see Rome or Florence.” Or anywhere except stuck on a sixty-foot-long floating hazard with your parents.
She turned to go, keeping a hand on Dilya’s shoulders so they’d move together, but the Professor stopped her with a hand on her arm. A quick glare didn’t dislodge it. Brave man. First alarm in his eyes, then, in mere moments, understanding. Smart, too.
“No, Kee. Really. It will be okay. Please stay.”
Dilya knew something was up. Searched the faces around her, finally landing on Kee’s. She held tighter for a moment. Whatever Kee did, this child would trust her. Now why did that scare her more than facing Calledbetty?
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