Until then, he had work to do. And he had to be sober to do it.
Cars and trucks were slowly filtering in. The parking lot would fill and some desperate private would soon be trying to squeeze an Escalade he couldn’t afford into a motorcycle parking spot or next to a dumpster. And once a week, Sarn’t Major Giles would catch someone and the bad parking would stop for a day and then pick right back up again.
Funny that a man who excelled at leading warriors in combat was reduced to bitching about parking on the grass back home.
Was that what they’d gone to war for? So that people could complain about parking?
Reza walked into the battalion headquarters and headed up the short flight of stairs to the operations office. He figured he might as well try and do things the right way for once when it came to training, especially since he knew the ops officer. Captain Evan Loehr had been his company commander once upon a war and while they’d always gotten along relatively well, it hadn’t been until Loehr had started dating Captain Claire Montoya that Reza had really gotten to know the man behind the uniform. Claire was Reza’s sister in every way but blood. He was pretty sure he would be dead if not for her coming to bail his happy ass out on the run to Baghdad back in the early part of the war. They’d gone through war together and she’d stood with him until the very end, when his drinking had gotten the best of him.
He hadn’t been able to protect those he cared about from the worst of himself.
He was just like his father, after all.
His heart clenched when he remembered her crying over him in that hospital bed a few months ago. God, but he’d fucked up royally. He couldn’t stand to think of the disappointment in her eyes if he started drinking again. He rapped on the doorjamb as Evan shot the middle finger at his computer monitor.
“Obviously, some of Claire’s bad habits are rubbing off on you,” Reza said by way of greeting.
“I hate this computer,” Evan muttered.
“Isn’t it a little early to be swearing at the electronics?”
“Very funny.”
Reza leaned against the door to the cubicle. “How’s Claire?”
“Hating life out at NTC,” Evan said with a wicked grin. The captain’s face lit up when he talked about Claire. God but Reza was glad she’d found someone who loved her for who she was.
She used to joke that she was going to be a crazy cat lady. But beneath the joke had been a very real fear that she was too broken to love.
Evan was a good man. And as long as he kept Claire happy, Reza wouldn’t have to rip his spine out.
Win-win all the way around. So long as Reza wasn’t the one who hurt her.
Because he had no doubt that Loehr would do the same to him.
“Why does that make you smile?”
“Because she’s loving every minute of life in the 3rd Cavalry Regiment.” There was an odd note in Evan’s voice when he spoke of Claire. A note that made Reza relax a little more.
“Glad to hear she’s not getting her ass handed to her out there,” Reza said lightly. She’d been offered a rehab transfer after the epic screw-up in Colorado and she’d taken it. A hard penance in a hard unit but Claire was up for the challenge. “Speaking of getting their asses handed to them, I have a rather…unorthodox request.”
Evan stopped where he’d started typing. He picked up his coffee cup and took a sip, studying Reza quietly. “This ought to be interesting.”
Reza sighed and folded his arms over his chest. Better now than never. “One of the psych docs wants to come out and observe training.” Reza was proud of himself. He actually managed to get the statement out without choking on it.
Evan frowned. “So why are you asking me?”
“Because you’re the ops officer and that’s normally how these requests would come if it was an official tasking.”
Another sip of coffee. “And this is not an official tasking because…”
“Because she’s treating a few of our troopers and she wants to know what it is they face on a daily basis to get a better idea of the stressors in their lives.” The truth. A simple, honest request.
“Okay.”
Reza blinked as Evan set his coffee cup down. “Okay?”
“Okay.” Evan glanced up from where he’d started typing. “Why do you sound surprised?”
“Just expected a little more argument, that’s all. It’ll be worse than having civilians on the battlefield.”
“Marginally. She’s had some military training, right?”
It was Reza’s turn to frown. He hadn’t the slightest clue what kind of military training she had, if any. Maybe she’d just been handed her uniforms and told to report to Fort Hood. Stranger things had happened. “I have no idea,” he admitted.
“Well, find out. And make sure she doesn’t accidentally set off any pyro.”
Reza winced at the jab and flipped Evan off. “Very funny.”
Evan cracked a grin as Reza left the office and headed down to his own.
Fifty-six e-mails waited in his inbox. He skimmed the contents, clicking immediately on the first note from Emily.
Still haven’t managed to locate Sloban’s file. Have escalated to next level within department. Highest priority.—E
He’d asked her for help finding Sloban’s packet and she was keeping her promise. Something so little meant so damn much to him right then.
Every day was another day that Sloban struggled to show up.
He wasn’t using, though. He swore it.
And Reza wanted so badly to believe him.
But he knew firsthand how hard the monkey was to shake.
* * *
Emily tossed her body armor down on her office floor with a curse. She turned at the sound of soft laughter behind her. Olivia stood in the doorway, her favorite white and red coffee mug cradled in both hands in front of her.
“I never thought I’d hear the day where you’d cuss,” Olivia said.
“Yeah well, you try putting together your Inceptor Body Armor,” she growled, “without instructions. There is not a single person in this entire clinic that knows how to do this.” She glared down at the pile of gear. “There’s pouches and pockets and straps and…”
“And lions and tigers and bears, oh my,” Olivia said.
Emily glared at her friend. “Not funny.”
“It’s a little funny. Seeing you flustered like this? Totally funny.” Olivia moved closer to the pile of gear sitting next to the empty plastic bags it had come in. She toed an empty pouch. “Did you just pick this up?”
“An hour ago. I thought it would come put together. I mean, who just hands a soldier a pile of gear and says ‘here you go, figure it out’?”
“That would be the US Army,” a male voice said. A male voice that she was becoming all too familiar with.
Emily turned at the sound and tried to ignore the way her entire body stood up and took notice. Reza was a big man without any gear on. But now, wearing full body armor, he stood in the doorway of her office and consumed the space around him. The body armor made him look massive, like a warlord, dressed for battle. There was something different about the shirt he wore beneath his body armor. It hugged his skin like a t-shirt instead of being the normal loose fitting uniform top she wore.
“Are you serious?” Emily said when she realized she was being incredibly rude by staring at him.
“It comes with instructions,” he said mildly. She narrowed her eyes as the edge of his lips curled suspiciously.
“I’m quite certain that no live human being wrote those instructions.” Beside her, Olivia laughed quietly. “You’re not helping.”
Olivia laughed harder and eased around Reza toward the door. She stopped and patted him on the shoulder. If Emily hadn’t been watching him carefully, she might have missed the slight flex of his jaw as Olivia’s hand slid away. He stiffened and eased back, out of her way.
“Have fun with this one, Sergeant,” Olivia said. “I don’t think s
he’s ever been camping.” Olivia stepped out of the office, leaving an awkward silence behind her. Emily shifted uncomfortably.
Reza’s eyebrows lifted over the edge of his glasses but they drew down again the moment he saw the state of her body armor. He pushed his glasses to the top of his head, studying the pile. A slow heat crept up her neck at the disapproval she saw in his eyes.
He glanced up at her. His dark eyes were the color of whiskey, deep malted brown. “You’ve never been camping?” he asked.
Emily folded her hands in front of her. “Do I get kicked out of the cool kids club if I say no?” she asked quietly.
Saying nothing, he crouched down by her gear and started laying out pieces side by side.
“My dad used to take us camping,” he said softly, sorting through her gear.
“Who is us?” She knelt down next to him, trying to figure out how he was sorting all the pieces.
“My mom and me.” He started lining up things that looked like they were vaguely the same.
“Why do you sound so sad when you say that?” she asked.
“She died two years before I joined the army.” The muscle in his jaw pulsed. His neck was tight. He paused for a long moment. “I’m sorry,” he said shortly.
“Why are you sorry?” It took everything she had not to reach for him. There was such a rawness in the bleak sadness in his voice.
It was a long moment before he answered. “It’s not important,” he said quietly.
There was more there, something dark. Something that tugged at her and made her want to go into the dark shadows she saw in his eyes.
But there was something more, something that urged her to wait. Her gut said he wasn’t ready, that he’d opened up without meaning to.
“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable if you took that off?” She motioned to his body armor.
He said nothing for a long moment as he set two smaller pouches next to each other. “I’ve done more uncomfortable things than this in this gear,” he said after a while.
“Like what?”
“Sleep. Eat. Bleed.”
She froze. “You’ve been shot at.”
He didn’t stop sorting. “Shot. Blown up. Sure. It’s an occupational hazard.”
Emily watched the efficient movement of his fingers as he continued laying out the pouches on the chest of her body armor. He had rough looking hands. Veins stood out against his dark skin. Coarse hair dusted the backs of his wrists, disappearing beneath the uniform t-shirt. A black watch encircled his left wrist. There was no wedding band mark on his left hand.
Faint white scars marked his knuckles. She wouldn’t have seen them unless she’d been looking. She searched the moisture-wicking fabric of the t-shirt, looking for any sign of scars on his body. He spoke of getting shot at like it was akin to stubbing his toe. The muscles in his jaw bunched; the veins in his neck strained against his skin.
“You can keep staring at me or you can pay attention to what I’m doing so you can do this yourself.” He stopped, holding a small, roundish pouch in his right hand. When she didn’t move, he sighed roughly. “What are you staring at?”
“You’ve been shot?” Emily cleared her throat. “I mean, I know it’s not unrealistic and all but…”
He shifted then to pin her with those intense dark eyes. “What do you think I do in the infantry? Hand out candy and flowers?” He turned back to her gear. “Winning the hearts and minds is some slogan for officers and talking points on cable news. I just want to bring my boys home from the fight.” His throat moved and he yanked the glasses off his head and tossed them onto a nearby chair. “All right, pay attention. You want your ammo pouches where you can easily access them and where they don’t hinder your movement.”
She blinked at the abrupt transition. “I have no idea what you just said.”
He turned to stare at her, his eyes glittering darkly. “Which part?”
“Any of it.”
“Ammo. Ammunition? The little bullets you put in the magazine and shoot people with.” He frowned. “You know what a magazine is?”
Emily pursed her lips as heat crept up her neck. “Can I just not answer any more questions?”
She wanted to shrink away from the harsh irritation she saw looking back at her. She braced for an ass chewing of epic proportions, prepared to take it. She wanted to understand his world but she didn’t even know what questions to ask.
“All right, look,” he said after a long moment. And when he continued, there was a wealth of patience in his voice. “When you deploy, you’ll have something called a basic load of ammo. You’ll have more in your vehicle. You’ll need to get proficient with your weapon because rapid reloading is a learned skill that takes a lot of practice. Your magazines, where you carry your extra ammo, go here, like on my kit.”
“Kit?”
“Short for rifleman’s kit,” he said pointing to all the equipment on the floor. “Slang for all of our gear.”
Emily nodded and looked at the magazines he wore tucked into his body armor pouches, trying to keep up with the new language he was throwing at her. “Is that a basic load?” she asked, gesturing toward the magazines strapped to his chest.
“It’s more than basic load.” He met her gaze. “I like to go loaded for bear. Soothes my PTSD.”
She tipped her head and studied him, trying to figure out what kind of man would admit to a disorder that held such a stigma. The edge of his lips curled into a faint smile. “It was a joke, ma’am,” he said softly.
“Emily,” she whispered. She swallowed, locking her eyes with his. “My name is Emily.”
“Emily.” Her name a caress on his lips. A deep, rumbling sound, deep in his chest.
She couldn’t look away from the dark intensity of his eyes. The shadows she saw there were deep, etched into the creases around his eyes. There was something compelling about the man. It went beyond the physical power. Beyond the broad shoulders and wide chest and rough hands.
He’d been driven hard his entire career, she realized. Like an old war horse, ridden into battle again and again. A man who’d gone to war so many times, he was convinced he needed it. He loved it.
She looked at him and wondered if he’d ever simply stopped the carousel and tried to get off. The scars on the backs of his hands, the lines around his eyes, suggested otherwise.
“Sometimes, the jokes you guys tell throw me off,” she admitted.
“Black humor. It’s a valuable life skill.” His lips twitched. “Now then, would you like to learn how to put your gear together?”
And just as abruptly, the man she saw behind those eyes was gone, replaced by the surly sergeant determined to teach her how to put her “kit” together.
* * *
Her naiveté should have pissed him off. Part of him was pissed that the prim and proper little captain would try to crawl inside his head. He reminded himself that she’d only asked a simple question, a question that any cherry who hadn’t deployed asked.
“Your ammo pouches go here,” he said. He slipped the thick strap through its slot on the body armor.
She watched what he did, her quick gaze taking in every movement. “What is it like,” she asked softly.
Questions like that haunted him because he didn’t know how to answer. “Which part,” he asked.
“Deploying.”
He swallowed. How to tell her about the long hours of boredom, the days with shitty rations and no place to sleep but on the back of his truck.
“It sucks,” he said. “There’s not a lot of ways to kill the time.”
“How do you pass the time?” she asked.
He paused, figuring she didn’t need to know that his first few weeks deployed were always spent puking his guts up and generally trying to hide the crazy. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time, he’d beat the seductive addiction that called to him every time he’d managed to make it home. “I don’t have a lot of free time. Soldiers take up a lot of it.” He sl
id a pouch meant for grenades in the space that would cover her heart. “And this is a good place for a flashlight or a head lamp.”
“You’ve lost a lot of friends.” It wasn’t a question. He felt the tingling of anxiety tightening against his heart.
“Yes.” Please don’t ask if I’ve killed someone. Because he couldn’t bear to see the flicker in her eyes. The silent judgment.
He closed his eyes as the sleeping demon inside him surged and thrashed, sparked to life by the memory of a question asked far too often with no regard to the weight of the words.
As though killing was something he did for fun. Like some kind of real life video game where the person on the business end of an M4 got to hit the reset button and come back to fight another day.
Like it didn’t claim a piece of your soul each time you had to decide between the man on the end of that front sight post and your boys. It wasn’t a hard decision.
Until it was.
“Where’d you go just then?” Her voice penetrated the melancholic introspection. He’d become such a buzz kill. He needed to go have a stiff drink to chase the memories back to the dark corner where he normally kept them.
Except he didn’t drink anymore. He shook his head, avoiding her gaze. “Sorry. Got distracted.”
She reached for him then, her fingers curling over his. His skin heated where she touched him. “Reza,” she whispered.
He was tempted, so tempted to turn his palm beneath hers. To capture her fingers and see just how far she wanted to take this thing between them.
He met her gaze, offering her a wry grin. “You don’t want to go crawling around inside my head, doc.”
Her throat moved when she swallowed. “Maybe I just want to get to know you a little better.”
It was his turn to swallow. His mouth went dry. So he hadn’t been misreading things.
There was something there, something shimmering and new and filled with brilliant promise between them. It was so bright it fucking blinded him.
Once more, he tried to do the honorable thing and pull away. Because he hurt everyone he cared about.
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