"Let's see your papers," he said next.
"They're in my backpack."
Dec raised his eyebrows, but didn't comment.
She dropped the pack to the ground under her cloak, then lifted the burka as she stepped aside to reveal her backpack. When she knelt down, Dec said to Zack, "Give her a light."
Zack stepped over and angled the light on his helmet onto her hands. She pulled out the burgundy British passport and handed it over. Dec flipped it open as Zack moved the light to the document.
His gaze flicked first from the photo to the woman still kneeling on the ground.
"Stand up," he said, "I need to have a look at your face." Of course, the woman in the photo was wearing a headscarf tightly enclosing her face. It was annoying not to have the usual identifying characteristics of hair type and color to match against the reality of the woman standing here.
At the moment, however, his annoyance was overshadowed by his interest in seeing Laila's face.
She stood up slowly. "The passport is in order," she said.
"Did I suggest otherwise?" Was she a little too defensive? "You can keep the damn scarf on but you have to take the veil off your face. I'll try not to be overcome by lust," he added.
Slowly, as if wondering if she dared to refuse, she moved her hands behind her head and untied the veil that covered her from her eyes to her neck.
Dec let out a long, silent breath when he finally looked on her face. Her eyes, he knew, but he compared them carefully to the passport picture. Dark brown, almond shaped, very pretty. Laila wasn't wearing makeup, but in the photo the woman's eyes had been carefully outlined in whatever black stuff women wore. That made her eyes a bit more distinctive than Laila's, but also harder. Despite the fact that Laila was acting in a harsh manner, her eyes had a soft allure that made him think of dark bedrooms and downy pillows. The eyes in the passport picture didn't appeal to him in the same way as Laila's did, but that could be the difference between a photo and a real person.
Laila's nose was straight and elegant, just like the one in the photo.
He compared the mouths. Both were delicious, beautifully shaped, kissable, and, well, fuckable. He tried to push down that thought. Laila's lips were perhaps a bit fuller, but, again, that might have been the difference between reality and a photo. Her upper lip had a plumply bowed curve that gave him certain thoughts he'd rather not be having right now.
All in all, he couldn't say for sure that Laila was, or was not, the woman in the passport photo. In this light, the resemblance was good. But something bothered him, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. He really wanted to see both the photo and Laila without the head scarf, which did partially disguise the shapes of their faces, and of course, concealed their hair.
"What color is your hair," he barked.
"Black."
Another match, since that's what the description on the passport said. But that didn't mean much as most of the women in the Middle East had black hair. Of course, texture varied, but he wasn't going to be able to compare that.
He watched her carefully as he returned her passport. "Okay," he said, deliberately noncommittal. He knew she'd take his word as acceptance of her paperwork, but he wanted to see her reaction.
Was that relief that flashed in her eyes? He couldn't be sure in the dark.
As she stowed her paperwork, he jerked his head to the left.
"Guys, let's have a private discussion. Zack, you stand watch."
The three men moved just far enough away from Laila that she wouldn't be able to hear them, but close enough so that Zack, standing between them, could keep watch and listen to their conversation.
"What's the deal with the passport?" Greg asked.
"Could be good," Dec admitted. "It's hard to tell with the head coverings. I'll accept it for now, but I'm reserving final judgment."
"Why would she be traveling on a fake passport?"
Dec shrugged. "Don't know. I'd just rather be careful. The question is, do we want to take her with us or not? As an interpreter."
"Come on, Dec." Harp had stuck a wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth and now he talked around it. "You don't support women in combat even when they're well-trained and well-qualified. Why would you consider using an amateur on this mission?"
"Because my ass is up against the wall," Dec snapped. "My only goal is to complete this job successfully. And right now, we don't have an interpreter, nor any hope of finding one soon. We'll need help finding our target in Sinjar. So I can't afford to be picky. If I have to use a female amateur, so be it."
"Just because we can't find a local to help us out here on the mountains, that doesn't mean we won't find someone when we get to Sinjar," Greg argued.
"True. But until then, I'd like to have something in my back pocket in case we need it." Dec squatted down on his haunches. "Look, you guys are forgetting something else. If we abandon Laila and she runs into someone, she could give us away, either accidentally or deliberately, and it wouldn't matter either way to us."
"Who's she going to meet out here," Harp scoffed. "Haven't seen a fucking local since the chopper dropped us two days ago."
"We've seen them," Greg argued. "But they run like ghosts. Can't blame 'em. They've been thoroughly terrorized."
"What about the two tangos?" Dec asked. "If, in fact, they followed her from the camp like they said they did, then someone out here doesn't trust her any more than we do. What if there are more of them around?"
"We know there are more of them around," Greg pointed out. "We saw them last night in that tent."
"They're probably searching for her right now," Harp snapped, "while we stand around here playing with our dicks."
Dec barked out a quiet laugh. "You have to admire her for escaping from them."
"Yeah," Zack put in. "But she's as jumpy as a grunt on point in a minefield. For sure, she's not telling the truth."
"I'm inclined to agree with you," Dec answered. "But I'm not inclined to leave her out here to fend for herself. Did you notice the signs of dehydration?"
"Yes," Greg said quietly. "When Zack pointed his head lamp at her, it was obvious. Her lips are chapped, her skin is developing those tell tale wrinkles, and I think she's having a bit of trouble with her mental processes."
"We can help her with that," Dec pointed out. "We have supplies and we'll be getting an airdrop when we get closer to Sinjar."
Greg picked up his backpack and heaved it on. "Look, if there are more tangos, we'll have to deal with them. We could use an interpreter. And let's face it, none of us is seriously considering leaving this woman here to fend for herself, especially in the dark."
"What about searching her?" Zack asked.
"We've disarmed her," Dec answered. "Let's save the search for daylight."
Zack nodded. "So let's deal with those damn bodies and move out."
By 10 PM, they'd transferred the bodies to the stone house, eaten their MREs, sharing their food and water with Laila, and were on the move again. Declan had ordered Harp to walk point with Laila directly behind him and the rest of them following. Luckily, they didn't have to worry about mines or IEDs in these barren mountains.
Just exhaustion, cold, dehydration and head-chopping militants.
Dec finally called a halt at midnight. They'd rest for four hours and then move out again. He might have pressed on a bit longer, but Laila was stumbling with exhaustion.
Everyone dropped their packs instantly, and sank to the ground, except for Harp who had the first shift of guard duty.
Dec eyed Laila. One of them was going to have to stay close to her. She was probably too tired to try making an escape, but he didn't take chances.
"It's damn cold out here," he said to her. "If you want, Zack and I can be nice guys and let you sleep next to us."
She made a scoffing noise. "Between you, no doubt."
Dec dropped his pack to the ground. "You have a better offer?"
"Yes." She unzipped her
backpack. "I'll sleep alone."
Nope. That wasn't happening.
"Drop the backpack here," he said. "You can move out a few feet if you need some privacy. And while you're doing your business, you can daydream about which one of us studs you want to sleep with tonight."
She dropped the pack. "Do you need to be so crude?"
"Do you need to argue with every word I say?"
"Paranoid," she muttered.
"Prisoner," he shot back.
Chapter Seven
Laila returned from the scanty privacy of a large mesquite bush and eyed the big man standing over her. Declan, whose last name she didn't even know. She was a little surprised that she didn't feel threatened by any of these men. When she'd been traveling from Turkey with the Syrian hajjis, she'd spent every night in a half-wakeful state, tensing for the attack she'd always seen in their eyes. Fortunately, they'd always slept in large camps, surrounded by other people.
She didn't sense the same threat of rape from these Americans. If they'd wanted to rape her, they'd had the opportunity right when they saved her from the militants. Still, she wasn't relaxed. She was in a dire situation, from now until the moment she reached home, with her sister.
That was the key. She could never relax until she'd rescued Alyssa.
She could take advantage of traveling with these men. She'd undoubtedly be safer with them than alone. Once they reached Sinjar, she could worry about how to lose them.
She was vaguely aware of the other men moving about the small camp, pulling supplies from their packs, setting up sleeping bags.
But Declan still stood there silently, as if thinking about something.
Obviously they weren't going to expect her to stand guard. She was so tired she wasn't even going to make a token offer. The mountains were damn cold at night. Even though she'd known to expect that, the reality was much more difficult than she'd anticipated.
She pulled out her blanket. It was waterproof on one side, and wool on the other. She'd been grateful to have it at night, but it didn't keep her completely warm.
"Is that what you've been using for warmth at night?" Declan's tone was skeptical.
"It's pretty good," she said. "I know my camping gear." She did, and since she did, she knew he was right, unfortunately. A sleeping bag would have been better. But she'd had to choose between carrying more water or warmer gear when she was packing for the trip. Weight was always a factor when you were carrying your supplies on your back. She'd concluded that being cold was less dangerous than being dehydrated.
"That blanket won't keep you warm here in the mountains at night," Dec pointed out. "We have sleeping bags if you want to share one."
Her hand tightened on her blanket. Share? With which one of them? On the one hand, she'd be a lot warmer. On the other, she'd only known these guys a couple hours. Was she ready to sleep with one of them?
Declan pulled out a thin bed roll and a sleeping bag. "Geek and Harp have guard duty tonight. They'll take turns. So Zack and I will get four hours to rest. If you want to share a bag with one of us, it's your choice." His hard gaze met hers briefly. "Or sleep alone, if you prefer. Either way, you will be cuffed to one of us."
"Are you determined to treat me like a prisoner?"
"We deal in reality," he said. "That means we don't take any explanations at face value, especially when they are as...unusual as yours. You can view yourself as our prisoner—"
"Which I am, if you get to cuff me."
"Or," he continued, "you can view yourself as an ad hoc interpreter who's traveling with us for safety. You decide how you want to look at it."
The other men were efficiently laying out their bed rolls. They acted as if they didn't hear Declan's words, but she knew they had. Declan himself was as cool as the sharp little night breeze that was blowing warnings of the oncoming temperature drop. She watched him sit down and begin to unlace his boots with quick, efficient movements. She was alarmed to discover that it was erotic to watch him take off even something as functional as boots. He placed the footwear neatly by the side of his bedroll, and she couldn't help fantasizing about how nice it would be if he stood up and began to unbuckle his belt, and unzip his jeans, and then pull them down over those sexy hips and hard thighs—
"Laila," he said, "we need to get to sleep now. Decide."
She dropped her blanket beside his bed roll. "I'll share with you. Thanks."
He grunted, but made no other reply as he continued to unzip his light jacket. When he pulled it off, she saw the armor-plated vest she'd guessed was under the civilian wear. He removed that, to reveal a light-colored synthetic, long-sleeve shirt that outlined his muscular chest and arms. Her mouth dried up suddenly. He was a fine-looking man, with a tight, hard body that started with broad shoulders, tapered down to lean hips, and stretched on with long legs. She hated to see him shrug the jacket on again, but that was probably best because she couldn't stand here all night staring at him.
He folded the vest in half and placed it beside his boots and helmet. He made sure his rifle was close to hand, lined up against the side of the bed roll, and then he looked at her. "Could we get on with this?"
"Sure." She knelt down and arranged her blanket, waterproof side down against the ground. She intended to wrap the blanket up around her so she'd be completely covered on the side nearest to Declan. That would give her some privacy. Then she removed her boots, sighing with pleasure to free her feet.
"Lie down," he said gruffly. "I'll cover you up."
His words, with a semi-tender implication, surprised her. But she did as he said, lying down carefully to minimize messing up the blanket. Declan knelt beside her, his face expressionless. But there was something in his eyes as he picked up the edge of her blanket, drew it over her and tucked it in along the open side. His hands were impersonal, but gentle. His eyes—they carried a hint of pain which surprised her. What was he remembering? And why did his calm competence make her feel this protectiveness toward him? He could obviously take care of himself, and others as well. What could he need from her?
"Give her some room," Declan suddenly barked at Zack, who was stretched out no more than a dozen feet away from her. "I don't want you guys waking her when you switch out for guard duty."
Zack mumbled something that didn't sound flattering under his breath, but he stood up and moved his gear another dozen feet and downhill a bit.
Laila smiled at Declan. "Thanks," she whispered. "This will be my first good night's sleep in a long time."
He raised his brows. "You only get four hours."
"But I feel safe with you." The words were out before she'd known she'd say them. Of course, they were true. She hadn't felt safe since she'd landed in Turkey weeks ago. Tonight, she did. But her eyes flickered to Declan's face. He wouldn't want to hear anything so mushy. She knew that.
He surprised her with a slight smile. "I'll do my best."
The smile shot right into her heart. Wow. She hadn't expected that. It was especially attractive in the midst of that rough beard.
In the next instant, she discovered her optimism about his gentleness had been misplaced.
Dec pulled out a pair of handcuffs from one of his many pockets. Not the plastic ties he'd used on her earlier. These were metal cuffs, gleaming in the moonlight.
"Give me your hand," he said.
"Are you kidding?"
"Not even a little bit." He waited.
"You have a guard standing over there." She pointed at Harp. "How could I escape?"
"Look," he said with exaggerated patience. "I don't have a fucking clue what you're doing out here. I doubt if there's a single word of truth in that bullshit you fed us. So I'm not feeling trusting, okay?"
"That's interesting," she snapped. "I'm supposed to believe you all are a bunch of hikers even though you only sleep for four hours at a time, and mount a guard."
"Believe what you want." He hovered over her. "This area has a lot more military activity than we'd been l
ed to believe. Our only goal now is to get the hell out. Hence the speed and the caution."
"I'll be happy to get out of here myself," she snapped.
"This is not a debate." He reached over, slid his hand under the blanket and had one cuff fastened around her wrist before she knew what was happening.
"How am I supposed to sleep like this?" She waved her arm.
"The same way I will." He snapped the other cuff around his own wrist. "Uncomfortably."
"It's pretty pathetic when you need to handcuff a woman to get her to stay near you," she said lamely.
His eyes glinted. "Sometimes it's fun."
She knew he was tired, but she couldn't help speaking. "That's the first time you looked at me like I didn't appear from the dark side of the moon," she said, turning her head to look at him. He lay straight on his back, carefully not touching her, looking up toward the night sky. Did his lips curl up a bit?
"The moon doesn't really have a dark side, you know." He sounded amused, but in the darkness, she couldn't read his expression. "What we see is the sun's reflected light," he added, closing his eyes.
"It's kind of a romantic phrase though," she answered. "Pop culture. Technically, we should say 'near side' for the side we always see from earth and 'far side' for the side we never see."
He turned his head and opened one eye. "The astronauts from Apollo 8 saw the far side of the moon."
"But not from earth. From a spaceship."
"Point taken." He opened the other eye and smiled at her.
Her heart thumped with as much force as if he'd kissed her. Surprise flickered through her. Maybe she'd better start hoping he didn't use that smile too often, because it had the potential to seriously mess with her emotions. Still, she was glad she'd removed the covering from her face. She couldn't sleep with it on and now, its absence allowed her to smile back at him.
"Science is wonderful," she said. "But it does eliminate a lot of the romance from things."
"Yeah. Stars don't really twinkle." His deep voice feathered over her, as tangible as a touch.
Field Stripped: 15 Steamy Military Romances Page 113