Wings of Gold Series

by Tappan, Tracy

  She came out of the kiss with a smile of her own, feeling warm all over. Amazing how just his kisses could do that. “Last night Kitty said something to me about belonging, and I…connected with it. I was always on the outside looking in with my parents, and I realized that my whole life I’ve never felt like I belonged. I bet you haven’t, either. But I was thinking I can belong with you and you can belong with me. You and I together. We can belong with each other.”

  He inhaled a slow breath through his nostrils. “Who are you, Max Dougin?” he said low in his throat. “No one’s ever figured me out like you have.”

  She traced a finger lightly along his jaw scar. “It’s my superpower, Kyle Hammond.”

  One eyebrow edged up. “Really? Do I have a superpower?”

  “Mmm, yes,” she murmured, letting her lids sag down. “Being a great bed buddy. In fact…” She crawled off him onto his comfy bed. The scent of him permeated the blanket, which was sheer heaven. “Let’s take a nap together.” She curled into a snuggly ball and sighed in anticipation of Kyle’s warm, heavy body spooning hers.

  She felt the heat of Kyle against her back as he leaned over her. “I’ve never met anyone who likes sleep more than you do.”

  She mur’humphed.

  He put a hand on her shoulder and rolled her onto her back. “Let’s make this a combat nap.”

  She peered at him through half-closed lids. “What’s that?”

  He canted his hips forward and prodded her thigh with his erection.

  Her eyes came open. “Oh.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  They’re heeere. Carol Anne’s creepy little voice from the Poltergeist movie went off in Kyle’s mind as a couple of dust clouds came into view. He was standing on the road leading up to the aid station, same spot as yesterday, same time. His Beretta was a hard, comforting presence against the small of his back.

  “That’s JEM,” he said to Tarzan and Jobs, angling his head to the side to speak to the two men. Unlike the last time he and Max had met with JEM, Kyle had brought backup.

  Jobs and Tarzan stood several paces behind him, both armed with AKs dug up from the guard shack. They were wearing civilian clothes and Everyday Joe faces; Kyle had insisted the two men start growing out their hair and beards at the same time he had.

  One week into it—when Jobs hadn’t sprouted much more than a few sapling stragglers on his chin—Kyle had made the kid shave. Because looking at that shit was just wrong. Tarzan, on the other hand, must have some Wookiee in his DNA. Within the same week, the AW had grown hair down to his shoulders and sprouted a beard that would’ve done Allah proud. Tarzan’s military barber was probably sending a son or daughter through college on the AW’s business alone.

  “My relationship with dust clouds,” Max said to him, “will never be the same after this assignment.”

  He snorted.

  “I see two vehicles,” she said.

  So did he. “Looks like the baddies decided to thumb their noses at my order to bring no more than four men.”

  “Who would’ve figured it?” she quipped. “Terrorists being rule-breakers.”

  Kyle expelled a short laugh. “At least the sky is clear this time.” No storm clouds were preparing to take a massive whiz on Kyle’s head, so the Universe must approve of Kyle’s recent life choices. He cut a glance at Max. Yeah, that was a no-brainer. What wasn’t to like?

  The piece-of-shit blue Hilux truck Kyle and Max had commandeered—which the terrorists had obviously re-claimed and gassed up—pulled to a halt first, stopping three hundred yards away. A dozen bearded men hopped out of the flatbed, bringing rifles to bear instantly. A couple of men aimed at Max and Kyle, the rest at the aid station.

  Jesus, paranoid much? Whether JEM was paranoid about further ISI interference or they were taking precautions against being overwhelmed by the aid station’s Pakistani guard and the hostages just snatched from them, Kyle didn’t know. Regardless, they were obviously very serious about protecting their investment.

  “That’s more than thumbing their noses,” Max observed quietly.

  Yeah, no shit. “More like biting their thumbs at me.”

  Max’s head whipped over to him. “Shakespeare, Kyle? Oh, I think I just fell in love with you a bit more.”

  He lifted one corner of his mouth at her. “Why is it that women never think I read?”

  The second vehicle was a dusty Chrysler LeBaron painted to look like a station wagon. It pulled up next to the Hilux truck, and the same haji who’d driven the truck the last time hopped out of the car. He took a moment to give Kyle an eat-the-dingleberries-out-of-my-ass look, which Kyle whatever’d. He would’ve loved to have shown up for this meet in full camo and with US government-issue weaponry, enjoy a little up yours, we ARE military moment with the terrorists. But the four American engineers were still hostages, so they had to play nice. For now.

  Haji driver made a chopping gesture, and the passenger side door, along with the two rear doors, opened. Four people stepped out—three men and one woman. They walked slowly toward Kyle’s group.

  “Stand in a line, four abreast, shoulder to shoulder,” Kyle instructed the hostages. The position would help hide what he and Max were doing.

  As the hostages drew closer, none of the men showed signs of recognizing Kyle. So looked like Sienna’s cousin Todd remembered Kyle about as well as the other way around.

  Kyle and Max moved forward, while Tarzan and Jobs stayed back, keeping a vigilant eye on haji driver and his trusty sidekick, Dixie Cup—not to mention the dozen or so other baddies. “We have to act like we’re checking you over for injuries,” Kyle said, squeezing the first guy’s shoulders then lifting up his chin. If the dude did a sniff-check of his armpits, he’d probably keel. But then life had no doubt been minus a lot of basic comforts for these four recently.

  Kyle moved on to the next man while Max shifted to stand directly in front of the one female hostage. “We have a GPS tracking device we need to plant on you in order to engineer your rescue,” she said. “I’ve put it in a small plastic tube the size and shape of a tampon, so…uh…”

  Chin low, the woman stared at Max through a tangled curtain of hair. As stink went, this woman had patented a new level of rank.

  “I’m sorry to ask you to hide it someplace so private.” Max grimaced. “But because we’ve been this close to you, the terrorists will surely search you for—”

  The female hostage snatched the small tube out of Max’s hold and jammed her hand down the front of her pants.

  Max’s expression didn’t register any response.

  Kyle wasn’t sure what his expression was doing. Because when the woman’s head had lifted just now, she’d revealed a striking face underneath her mess of hair. And what had a bunch of asshole jihadists done to a woman of her looks…? Kyle’s jaw knotted convulsively. He’d guess it hadn’t been a hoedown at the Grand Ole Opry.

  “Just save us,” the woman said tremulously.

  “We will,” Max assured her with the kind of quiet confidence that reminded Kyle, only for the hundredth time, how lucky he was to have her at his side. “As soon as we’re done here, we’re sending help your way.”

  Once the hostages’ GPS tracker stopped moving, they would have a strike zone for the SEALs on standby.

  “Thank you,” the woman whispered.

  Kyle sent the hostages back to the LeBaron and watched them climb back in.

  “You happy now?” haji driver shot at Kyle in a snarky tone, complete with a schoolyard sneer.

  As a pig in shit, I’m sure. “We’ll keep up our end of the deal,” Kyle called back, lying his fucking ass off, of course.

  Haji driver got back in the car and drove off, the Hilux truck following.

  After the dust clouds were well away, Kyle turned to his team. “All right. Time to call this in.”

  They all went back inside the aid station compound, then Kyle broke off from the rest to go to Dr. Barr’s tent, where an encrypted
satellite phone was kept under lock and key. After about a five-minute runaround, he got Admiral Kelleman on the line.

  “Sir,” Kyle said, “the GPS tracking device has been planted, and all of the hostages are accounted for and healthy.”

  “Very good, Lieutenant.”

  “Sir? Permission to speak freely.”

  “Continue.”

  “New intel suggests there’s been a recent, large-scale buildup of tangoes. The danger factor has multiplied, and, with all due respect, I suggest the original plan of extraction be followed and a Reaper drone sent in to take out as many terrorists as possible before the strike team goes in. Otherwise there will be too many of the enemy to deal with.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  But Kelleman had already cut the line.

  Kyle hissed a breath as he banged the phone back in its box. That Waste of Space wasn’t going to do a damned thing. Teeth gritted, he barreled out of Dr. Barr’s quarters. Originally tasked with giving the rescue team the coordinates of the strike zone and that was it, he was unofficially changing his role. Because the hell if he was going to let this op become a clusterfuck.

  Making a pit stop at his tent, Kyle changed into his flight suit, wrote the letter he wanted to give to Dr. Barr and shoved it in his breast pocket, then tracked down Jobs and Tarzan in the chow hall. Today they’d been scheduled to fly back to the Bunker Hill, but now this op needed every swinging dick in the field. “Change of plans,” he told them. “We’re going to attach ourselves to the rescue mission when the strike team gets here.”

  It’d been decided at the start of OPERATION PRIDE that the aid station would serve as a staging area for the rescue—a place for the helicopters full of SEALs to land and wait for the strike zone coordinates. It was hoped the wait would be short. The US had already violated Pakistan’s sovereign airspace once before for the mission to kill Osama Bin Laden. It would be a political and diplomatic nightmare if they got caught doing it again.

  “Get the aircraft pre-flighted and ready to go.” Kyle made a gesture of dismissal. “Turn ’n burn, gentleman.” Kyle left the chow hall and headed over to the main medical building to let Dr. Barr know his team would be here one more day, and to give her the letter. Then he strode to Max’s tent to fill her in.

  * * *

  The door to the post-op ward opened, and Kitty stepped aside to allow Lieutenant Hammond to pass. Her right hand started to rise, but she quickly tucked it back at her side. Oops. She’d almost snapped off a salute, his flight suit nearly tricking her. She hadn’t seen the lieutenant in his military duds since the day he and his men had arrived, so…

  It was true.

  Hammond and his crew were leaving for the Bunker Hill today.

  Steve had stepped up to Kitty’s table in the mess tent this morning, eyes cast down, and mumbled goodbye to her. But she hadn’t wanted to believe he was truly going away. Not with her mind still so unsettled about him. About them.

  “Don’t go breaking too many hearts, corpsman,” Lieutenant Hammond said to her. “You hear?”

  Her return smile was a second late in coming. Did Hammond know about her and Steve? But, no. He was merely being nice. “Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”

  The lieutenant jogged off, and Kitty continued inside, finding Dr. Barr seated at a large desk positioned just inside the door. The desk was massive, probably six or seven feet long with side panels that dropped all the way to the floor—too big for a mobile aid station and for Dr. Barr’s needs. She only kept a few neatly stacked papers on it.

  Out of habit, Kitty first peeked into the ward to check on her patients. Everyone appeared to be resting comfortably. A string of windows lined the upper walls of the ward, though, and she’d need to get those curtains pulled. “Ma’am?” She moved to the edge of the desk. “You sent for me.”

  “Yes, Kitty. I have something to tell you.” Farrin’s expression was pleasant—so it was good news. The doctor sifted through one of the paper stacks. “Here we go.” She picked up an official-looking letter. “You’ve been promoted to E5. Congratulations! By next month you’ll be a Hospital Corpsman, second class.”

  HM2, really? A smile burst across Kitty’s face. She’d taken the advancement exam, but hadn’t expected to pass, especially not the first time. “Ma’am, thank you, ma’am.”

  “You’re an exemplary corpsman, Kitty.” Farrin gave a firm, not-to-be-argued-with nod. “Have you ever considered going into the officer corps?”

  “I…yes. I once thought of going to nursing school. I wasn’t sure if I could handle it, though.”

  Farrin tsked. “I’ve never met anyone more blind than you are about how good she is.”

  Heat flooded Kitty’s cheeks. “Thank you, ma’am.” She smiled shyly. “I think.”

  Farrin exhaled a swift laugh from her nose. “If you ever need a letter of recommendation for anything, let me know. I’ll write you a glowing one.” The doctor picked up a pen and scooted a couple of charts over in front of her. “Back to work.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Kitty exited, her cheeks stinging with pride. You’re an exemplary corpsman, Kitty. Well, wasn’t that just—?

  Shouting over at the landing pad caught her notice. The Wolf Pack pilots were preparing the helicopter for flight… They’d be taking off shortly.

  Steve would be gone soon.

  Kitty’s heart flopped over and fell down. And her chance to find out what might’ve happened between them would go with him.

  If you’d been my girl, I would’ve done anything to make sure you got proper help.

  I wouldn’t ever leave you to your own devices. I’m loyal down to my frigging boots.

  Kitty bit into her lower lip. Steve certainly said stuff that made it sound like he was different from all the other fellas she’d dated. But words were just words, not deeds.

  I’d make you a great boyfriend. But you’re not giving me a chance to prove it.

  A touch of guilt shot through her. True enough. But, unfortunately, the only way to see if Steve’s deeds matched his words would be to take the perilous walk into a relationship with him. She didn’t see any way around it. Which meant she’d have to trust that Steve was different; he truly was sweet. She’d have to believe in her gut—the gut that’d always let her down.

  Not Larson Holmes. You knew the weasel was a bad choice for you and you got yourself out of that, didn’t you? It’s an example of you using sound judgment.

  Kitty drew a deep, deep breath. Maybe she did have some good sense…at least when she shut up long enough to hear it. Maybe the voice niggling at the back of her mind, encouraging her to believe in Steve, was the one she should listen to and quit being such a darned coward. She’d lost her nerve in the past about some things, sure…but wasn’t she also the girl who’d lived in a shed for a month to escape a life she hadn’t wanted?

  She was.

  Turning abruptly, Kitty darted back into the post-op ward, startling Dr. Barr. “May I have a piece of paper, ma’am?”

  Farrin handed Kitty a Post-it note.

  Kitty jotted down her email address on it. “Thank you.” She dashed back outside and ran to the landing pad.

  A man wearing a flight suit and a helmet was crouched down in front of the helicopter, peering at something under the aircraft. Kitty couldn’t see his face, but the moment he straightened, she knew it was Steve. The way he moved was burned into a special part of her memory.

  Kitty stood rooted to the spot. Nervous. Scared. Unsure. Sweating. A tad bit crazy.

  I’ve never met anyone more blind than you are about how good she is.

  Oh, Lord, she was doing it again, wasn’t she? Doubting herself…losing the courage to act…

  You want talk? Get it from your girlfriends. I can only give what I can give, and if it’s not enough, then you do need to fucking walk.

  Well, she had walked. Because she’d thought she deserved better. But if she didn’t actuall
y go for the better man—if she let her courage falter again!—then she was reciting empty words inside her head and not believing them. And, okay…maybe she didn’t fully believe them yet, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t at least act in ways that made it seem like she believed them until she really did. Which was a little confusing, but she was pretty sure she understood herself.

  At some point you’re going to have to ask yourself if Steve is worth taking another chance.

  Decision made, and that’s it! She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Lieutenant Whitmore!” she called.

  Steve turned around.

  Her heart pattering, she waved him over.

  Steve said something to Tarzan—who was examining the mounted machine gun—then trotted over to her. He wrenched off his helmet.

  She grabbed his injured arm and started probing it.

  “Hey.” He frowned. “C’mon, I’m fine. People need to quit babying me.”

  “I know,” she said. “I’m just using this as an excuse to talk to you.”

  He went still.

  “When’s your next port call?” she asked.

  “Um…in a couple of weeks, in Bahrain”

  “Do you know exactly when?”

  “No.”

  “When’s your birthday?”

  He gave her a strange look. “November twenty-seventh.”

  “Here’s my email address.” She quickly stuffed the Post-it note inside the zippered pocket below Steve’s name tag. “I know you can’t put your ship’s movements in an email, so when you find out the exact date you’ll be in Bahrain, tell me how many days it is from your birthday, then I’ll get leave during the same time and meet you there.”

  He blinked. “Wait. What?”

  She offered him a quick smile. “For a romantic getaway.”

  A floodtide of red slowly crept into his cheeks. “Holy moly.” The two words were spoken on an astounded breath. “You mean it?”

  “I really mean it.”

  A long hooooo escaped his lips, then his face cracked into a gigantic grin.

  It was the best smile she’d ever seen. But—“Don’t smile at me like that, Steve, or you’ll give us away.” Especially because his expression was pushing her to the brink of throwing her arms around his neck and raining kisses all over his face.