Chapter 12
They took the Amtrak train to Fayetteville. It would have been faster to fly, but Rafe hadn’t suggested it. He hadn’t said much of anything during the entire trip. He was completely silent now as he drove toward Fort Bragg in the car he’d arranged to pick up at the station. The only sounds were the quiet strains of a jazz quartet from the radio and the swish of the tires through puddles left over from yesterday’s rain.
Glenna knew why he had chosen not to travel by plane. It was because he remembered she had gone home by train. She’d overcome her temporary anxiety about flying after the hijacking—besides the flight from the Caribbean in the army transport plane, she’d already taken two business trips since then. But Rafe had wanted to spare her any uneasiness. So he had sacrificed speed and efficiency for the sake of her emotional comfort.
She leaned back against the headrest, moving her gaze from the trees that flashed by at the edge of the street to Rafe’s profile. His expression was carved granite. His jaw was clenched, his mouth set. In the sparkle of morning sunlight that slanted through the windshield, his scars looked grimmer, deeper and more formidable than she remembered.
It wasn’t the scars that had changed, it was her perception of them that had. Now she understood why he’d never sought surgery to repair them. He believed he deserved them. He wore them as penance. They served as a constant reminder to himself and as a warning to others. Keep away. Beware of the beast.
She wanted to shake him. She wanted to grab his head between her hands and shout into his face until he listened to her. How could he think he was a monster? Whatever he thought had happened that day John had died, Rafe had proved a thousand times since then the kind of man he was inside. He’d proved it again today by the simple act of taking the train.
She believed in him. That hadn’t changed. It had begun the moment he had held out his hand amid the bullets and the blood and had promised to help her.
Yet since the night before, the blind belief she’d experienced back on the island had been tempered with understanding. She had already realized he wasn’t a fairy-tale hero. Now she saw him clearly as a man. He had weaknesses and faults and more than his share of personal demons.
And somehow, that made the things he had done all the more heroic.
“I’ve arranged accommodation for you through the Airborne Inn on the base,” Rafe said. “You have a room at Moon Hall. It won’t be as fancy as the Winston, but it should be comfortable.”
“Thank you. I’m sure it will be fine.”
He slowed down as they approached the entrance to the base. “There won’t be time to check in until after the briefing.”
“What briefing?”
“Major Redinger scheduled a meeting this morning to introduce you to the team. We’ll start working on the model of the Juarez compound directly afterward.”
“I just hope I’ll be able to contribute something worthwhile.”
“You will.”
Glenna didn’t share Rafe’s confidence. How was she supposed to remember the details of something she’d only glimpsed for a few moments?
Then again, she remembered every second of her brief time with Rafe. And every word that had been spoken last night.
At least he hadn’t gone back to treating her like a stranger. The intensity in his eyes whenever he met her gaze brought a flush to her cheeks. The mere brush of his sleeve against hers made her pulse race. Yet he hadn’t pursued his suggestion about having an affair—their conversations had been strictly business. Advance and retreat. Hot and cold. Did he know what he wanted? Did she?
Glenna sighed. As far as her body was concerned, there was an easy answer. She wanted him. Even with this awkward silence, she was excruciatingly aware of the physical attraction between them. She looked at his hands on the steering wheel, and she thought of how they’d felt on her breasts. She watched his legs flex as he changed gears, and she remembered how firmly he’d moved between her thighs.
Why couldn’t she have taken what he’d offered and left it at that? What made her think she should hold out for being in love? Maybe this was as real as it got.
The room wouldn’t have been out of place in any high school in America. Two dozen chairs arranged in front of a raised wooden platform that held a long rectangular table. An American flag draped from a short pole beside the window. A large whited shared space on the front wall with a cork bulletin board. But the soldiers who were assembled here could never be mistaken for schoolboys.
Glenna had worked with men on a professional basis for a decade. She was familiar with the constant awareness she felt whenever Rafe was nearby. But she had never experienced anything like the atmosphere in this room. If ambient testosterone levels could be measured, the readings here would be off the scale.
The Fort Bragg military installation was enormous, one of the largest in the country. When she’d been here last month, she’d seen only one of the airfields and the hospital. This time Rafe had brought her to a remote corner of the base sheltered by pine trees and dunes of Carolina sand. They were now in the Delta Force compound, an area set aside for the exclusive use of the army’s elite hostage rescue specialists. Hundreds of men worked and trained here daily. Ten of the best were gathered in front of her.
They were all dressed alike in standard olive-and-tan camouflage-patterned army fatigues. They were large, well-muscled men, yet the kind of self-confidence they radiated stemmed from more than mere physical strength. There was leashed power in their relaxed posture and a calm assurance in the direct way they met her gaze. They possessed the deceptive, deadly ease of a pack of lounging predators.
As Glenna moved further into the room, she felt her pulse shift to a hard, steady throb. It wasn’t nervousness. Quite the opposite. It was an involuntary, primitive female response to the proximity of so many virile males.
She recognized a few of the men as being part of the small group who had been aboard the rescue helicopter in Rocama. The lanky medic who had wrapped her ankle was talking quietly with a man who resembled a pit bull. The soldier who had ridden up on the harness with her was leaning casually against the back wall. He caught her gaze, flashing her a smile that put twin dimples beside his mouth. Thick black hair curled roguishly over his ears. Without the helmet or the camouflage paint on his face, he was startlingly handsome. She searched her memory for his name as he approached. Something Irish. O’Connor? O’Toole? Yes, that was it.
“Hello, Miss Hastings,” he said. “You’re looking well. No ill effects from your ordeal, I gather?”
“Thank you, Sergeant O’Toole. I’m fine.” She offered her hand. “I hope I can help your team the way you helped me.”
He enclosed her fingers in his large, callused palm. “Your presence alone is an inspiration, ma’am.”
She felt Rafe move behind her even before his hand settled on her shoulder. She knew without looking around that it was him. He didn’t say anything, he simply stood there, a large, silent presence at her back oozing yet more testosterone.
O’Toole lifted one eyebrow, his gaze moving to a point above her head. “Did you have a nice trip, Rafe?”
“Where’s the major?” he asked.
“He’s on his way.”
“Why don’t you go and check, Flynn?”
O’Toole still hadn’t released her hand. He brushed his thumb lightly over the back of her knuckles and continued to look at Rafe. “Why don’t you go, Rafe? I’ll take good care of Miss Hastings while you’re gone.”
“Did that rash ever clear up, O’Toole?”
“What rash?”
“Those hives you told me about last month.”
O’Toole chuckled. He winked at Glenna and finally let go of her hand just as three more people in fatigues entered the room.
Glenna didn’t know how to distinguish the rank insignia on the uniforms, but she knew instinctively the man in the lead had to be the officer in charge. He was a few inches shorter than Rafe, not half as handsome
as O’Toole, yet in his own way he was just as distinctive. His features were honed to sharp planes and angles, and wisps of silver gleamed in the raven black hair at his temples. There was something in his clear, amber gaze that spoke of hard-earned authority. The other soldiers straightened respectfully as he made his way directly to where she stood.
“Miss Hastings, I’m Mitchell Redinger,” he said, giving her hand a firm, no-nonsense shake. “I’m pleased you agreed to assist us.”
“I’m happy to help, Major Redinger,” she responded. “I’ll do whatever I can.”
“Excellent. I like your attitude, Miss Hastings. This is Chief Warrant Officer Esposito, my second in command,” he said, nodding to the bald man on his left who was holding a manila folder and several rolled-up charts. Esposito had a voice like crushed gravel and a smile that sported a gold tooth.
“And I think you’ve already met Captain Fox,” Redinger said.
With a start, Glenna realized the third person who had entered with the major wasn’t a short man as she had assumed at first glance but a woman. She smiled a greeting as she recognized the blond captain she had met last month at the hospital.
As before, Captain Fox’s answering smile didn’t reach her eyes. She made no attempt to free her right hand by shifting the briefcase she carried. She gave Glenna an assessing look, then moved her gaze to Rafe.
Glenna didn’t have the opportunity to wonder about Fox’s reaction. Major Redinger was wasting no time introducing her to the rest of the team. Rafe stepped aside to enable her to say a few words to each of the other soldiers, but he didn’t go far. As soon as the major moved toward the front of the room to start the briefing, Rafe put his hand under her elbow to guide her to a chair, then pulled up a seat beside her. His knee pressed the side of her thigh. Glenna was certain it was deliberate.
She knew what he was doing. Despite the fact that their relationship was in limbo, he was staking his claim to her in front of the other men as plainly as if he’d grunted and pounded his chest. She was torn between being irritated and being flattered.
Chief Warrant Officer Esposito took a photo from the folder he had brought and pinned it in the center of the corkboard. It was a picture of a young man in a white navy uniform. He was staring straight at the camera. He had probably been attempting to appear solemn, Glenna thought, but he hadn’t been able to suppress the sparkle of eagerness in his eyes. As she studied the photograph, she felt a stir of recognition. She was sure she had seen this man somewhere before, but she couldn’t que place him.
“This is Commander Harry Hawthorne.” Major Redinger didn’t need to raise his voice. As soon as he began to speak, the room went silent. “Commander Hawthorne served his country for twenty-five years with the United States Navy. He distinguished himself flying combat missions during the Gulf War. He retired ten years ago to take up a career as a commercial pilot.”
A pilot, Glenna thought. She leaned forward, taking another look at the young officer. She imagined him years older, with thinning hair. He was wearing a white shirt with black-and-gold epaulets and sporting a grandfatherly paunch….
And his blood had spattered her cheek moments before his body had been tossed to the tarmac in Rocama.
“Oh, my God,” she breathed.
She felt Rafe’s hand close over her arm. He squeezed gently in an offer of comfort, evidently aware of her distress. Although her eyes filled as she remembered the horror of that day, she continued to regard the photo.
Redinger had been wise to begin his briefing like this. It helped to put things in perspective. And it reminded Glenna that whatever personal problems she might have in dealing with Rafe, she was here because of the mission. Rafe had been clear about that all along. The mission should be her first priority, too.
“Although he was no longer in the service of his country,” Major Redinger continued, “Harry Hawthorne used his skills and his courage to bring his last flight down safely, only to be shot in cold blood on the orders of a common criminal. During the past several years, Leonardo Juarez has been keeping in the background, letting his brother, Arturo, be the front man while he himself has been quietly running the family drug empire from various bases around the Caribbean. Juarez is guilty of countless crimes, but it is this one for which he will finally pay.” The major paused to look at the flag in the corner, then swept his gaze over the room, focusing on each person in turn. “This time, Juarez made the mistake of taking one of our own. Now it’s up to us to bring Commander Hawthorne’s killer to justice.”
There weren’t any windows in the briefing room, but the drafting lamp that was clamped to the table was shining directly into Glenna’s face. She tried holding up her hand to shield her eyes, then gave up and moved her chair to the other side of the table.
“Is there a problem?” Captain Fox asked, glancing up from her laptop computer. “If this is too tiring for you, let me know.”
Glenna rolled her shoulders a few times to dispel the stiffness that was gathering there. Apart from a thirty-minute break for lunch, she had been working at this non-stop since Major Redinger had finished his briefing.
Most of the men had departed for other duties soon after the major, leaving Captain Fox to assist Rafe and Glenna as they put together facts from their memories. But Rafe had left for one of the Delta compound’s target ranges almost two hours ago in order to put in his mandatory daily practice time. Only Glenna and Captain Fox remained.
Glenna had hoped it would have been more relaxing to work with a woman than with the hormone-charged men, yet the more time that passed, the more…irritating the captain had become. It seemed as if she’d deliberately positioned the lamp so that it shone squarely in Glenna’s eyes. “No, I’m fine,” Glenna replied belatedly. “Please continue.”
“In the service we’re all used to twenty-five-hour days. It’s very different from what a woman like you would be accustomed to.” Captain Fox tapped a few keys and waited while the computer’s hard drive crackled. “Are your quarters adequate?”
“I haven’t seen them yet. Rafe said he’d take me there when he’s finished at the range.”
“Master Sergeant Marek is one of our best marksmen.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“I imagine there are many things you don’t know about him. He’s one of the team’s weapons sergeants.”
“What does that entail?”
“He’s had specialized training in the handling of every domestic and foreign weapon manufactured in the world, as well as weapons defense systems. He’s a very dedicated soldier.”
“Yes, I’ve seen that.”
“And he often goes well beyond the call of duty. I’ll take you to your quarters myself.” She tapped another key, then rotated the laptop so that Glenna could see the image on the screen. “This is the best shot I have of the Juarez house loading bay. Unfortunately, the surrounding foliage blocks much of the detail.”
Glenna leaned closer to the screen, astounded by the clarity of the satellite image. If she wanted to, she would have been able to count the segments on the palm leaves that hung over the door. “This is amazing.”
“Yes, you’d be surprised what we can pick up on some of our satellite shots. The infrared ones in particular often reveal…the unexpected.”
“Infrared,” Glenna repeated. “Would that be used to detect heat sources?”
“Very good. You must watch the Discovery Channel. Yes, we can analyze heat patterns. That’s how I found you and Sergeant Marek in the jungle, by your body heat.”
As Glenna continued to study the detail on the screen, she wondered exactly how clear the body heat images had been. Who else had seen them? Did everyone know? Rafe had said what had happened between them was private, but judging by Captain Fox’s tone of voice, at least one person suspected the truth. On the other hand, considering the possessive act he’d put on in front of the other men this morning, there was bound to be speculation.
But that shouldn’t have an
y bearing on what she was doing here, Glenna reminded herself. She indicated an area that was practically invisible in the shadows. “The truck Juarez’s men brought us to the house in backed up to a place on the left side of that ramp.”
Fox stretched her arm past Glenna and slid a paper across the table toward her. It was one of the diagrams they had sketched earlier. “I thought you said it was on the right.”
“Did I?”
“Could you have been confused because the truck turned around?”
“No, I don’t think so.” She frowned and rubbed her forehead. “It was on the left.”
“Be certain, Miss Hastings. This isn’t a hotel tea party we’re planning. It’s an armed assault.”
Glenna leaned over the sketch, doing her best to visualize the actual place she’d seen. Instead, a memory of Rafe flashed through her mind. He’d been lying facedown, his black jumpsuit bearing the dusty boot prints of the thugs who had thrown him into the truck. The paper blurred. “I understand the importance of what we’re doing, Captain. There’s no need to badger me.”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Hastings. Obviously you’re fatigued after all.” She opened a folder and gathered the sketch and the other papers from the table. “We’ll continue this tomorrow.”
“No.” Glenna caught the paper before she could put the diagram away. “I’m sorry. I want to do everything I can, even if I have to stay here all night. Please. Let’s go on.”
Captain Fox looked at the place where Glenna gripped the paper, then moved her gaze to her face. “Is it really that important to you?”
“Yes.” Glenna tugged it away from her and bent her head to study it once more. “Rafe told me that even something as insignificant as which direction a door opens could save someone’s life. How could I live with myself if…someone got hurt because I didn’t remember?”
“But aren’t you eager to return to your life in New York?”
Eye of the Beholder Page 17