Command Performance

by Sara Jane Stone

  She needed firsthand accounts of the Rangers’ ride, but she might not have to speak with all six members of the team. Still, something about Hunter’s response didn’t sit right with her. “Were you close with your teammates?”

  “Like brothers.”

  “Did you always deploy together?” she asked, her fingers moving over the keyboard.

  “No. This was the only time I’d worked with Connor. He completed Ranger school weeks before we deployed.”

  “Then why send him? Could he ride better than the other Rangers?”

  “First, he’s a computer geek and we needed someone who knew our equipment backward and forward. And second, no one knew about the horses until we met up with our Afghan contact.”

  “Did you think it was a trick? The horses? Some military divisions refuse to work with the Afghans after so many of them have turned around and shot the American soldiers sent in to train them.”

  “We’re not most soldiers.”

  “You didn’t answer the question,” Maggie fired back.

  “There was always a risk that it was a trick. Our contact could have led us into an ambush. But our commanding officers decided the mission—rescuing those American women—was worth taking the risk.”

  Maggie typed furiously as he spoke, and then paused. “I still don’t understand how you didn’t know about the horses. Someone had been in touch with this local warlord? He knew you were coming?”

  Hunter nodded. “He reached out to us. He offered to lead us to where the aid workers were being held. No one thought to ask about the mode of transportation. We were expecting trucks and he arrived with horses. In hindsight, someone should have made the connection. The gifts our friend requested included vodka and oats.”

  Maggie leaned forward in her chair. “Oats?”

  He let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, oats. One of the bags opened up when the cargo ship dropped us. I guess the guys prepping our mission assumed the Afghans liked oatmeal.”

  Maggie smiled, feeling some of the tension in her body ease. He’d relaxed and stopped fighting for control, at least for the time being. She watched him sit back in the chair. He rolled his shoulder, the injured one, as if it pained him. She frowned. “You were shot on this mission, correct?”

  Again he hesitated. “Yes.”

  “What happened?” In her mind, she pictured him bleeding while riding a galloping horse through the Afghan mountains.

  “That’s classified.”

  Maggie raised an eyebrow. “I have security clearance.” She’d fought long and hard to get it for her research.

  “Classified and personal,” he said.

  The tension between them was palpable, but no longer entirely sexual. The writer in her told her she was on to something.

  “Hello? Maggie?” Olivia’s voice shattered the tension.

  What was Olivia doing here? And why had she chosen the worst possible time to interrupt? Maggie felt a brief moment of panic as if she’d been caught doing something naughty.

  “Maggs?” Olivia called a second time.

  But there was no reason to be alarmed. Maggie was working. Nothing improper about that. Still, she wasn’t ready to explain Hunter’s presence to her best friend. Not that she had a choice now. She stood, notebook in hand, and called out, “On the porch.”

  Olivia marched through the door wearing a hot-pink-and-black print dress and black high-heeled boots. She froze when she saw Hunter and turned to Maggie.

  “We need to work on your definition of a one-night stand.”

  Tell me about it, she thought. “Liv, meet Chief Hunter Cross.”

  Olivia raised an eyebrow. “We’ve met.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Maggie saw Hunter stand, hook his fingers through the loops in the front of his jeans and smile at Olivia. “Good to see you again.”

  “Hunter is my army liaison. We were just starting our first interview.”

  “Uh-huh.” Olivia smiled at her. “I knew I’d interrupted something.”

  “Wait here,” Maggie said to Hunter. She picked up her pen and laptop and then turned to Olivia, determined to fix this situation so she could get back to her interview. “You. Come with me.”

  She led Olivia into the kitchen, dumping her laptop on the marble-topped kitchen island.

  “What are you doing here?” she whispered. Brick walls and glass windows separated the porch from the kitchen, but she wasn’t taking any chances. She would have dragged Olivia to her study, but she didn’t want to let Hunter out of her sight for too long. After the way he’d tried to distract her on the porch, she suspected he might take himself on a guided tour—straight to her bedroom.

  “What am I doing here? Why is he here?” Olivia demanded, hands on her hips.

  “I need him here. For work. Believe me, I’d rather have anyone else.” Like a Ranger who didn’t make her think about sex. “But he’s what they gave me.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “Liv, he’s not the same man. The man I met Saturday night was a gentleman. That man is dangerous.”

  “But in a good way.” Olivia’s attention turned from the window back to Maggie. “Unlike your scumbag ex.”

  “Derrick?” What did he have to do with anything? She’d given him back the ring. It was over.

  “He called me this morning at the gallery.”

  “Derrick called you at work?” Needing to do something, Maggie walked over to the fridge. Her world was usually orderly and predictable, but today? The surprises just kept coming. She was beginning to wonder if this day would ever end. Her one-night fling stood on her porch, her ex-fiancé had called her best friend at work and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.

  “He wants you back.” Olivia smiled, a wide grin reminiscent of the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland. Oh, no, this couldn’t be good.

  “Olivia, what did you do?”

  “I told him to rot in hell. And I may have hinted that you’d moved on. Of course, if I’d known you’d decided to keep your one-night stand until Monday—”

  “Enough, Liv. How’d Derrick take that?” Derrick had always been the sensible type. Maggie couldn’t imagine him putting up a fight to keep her, not when he hadn’t really wanted her in the first place.

  “Not good. He said he had to see you himself.”

  “He’s coming up from the city?” No, this couldn’t be happening. Not now. She had her book to write, a blog to build and her army liaison to manage. Maggie glanced out at the porch. Hunter was still there. And watching her through the glass window with interest.

  She opened the fridge and pulled out three beers, then glanced at the kitchen clock. Five till noon. Close enough. She set two bottles on the counter and twisted off the top of the third. She’d bought the beer for one of Derrick’s visits and had forgotten about it until now. But if there was ever a reason to have a drink in the middle of the day, it was when your cheating ex threatened to drop by for a visit. Plus, she needed to keep Hunter occupied.

  “Wait here, Liv.”

  Maggie marched onto the porch and thrust the beer at Hunter, who, for the first time since he’d entered her home, looked off balance.

  “For while you wait,” she said. “This shouldn’t take long.”

  “Isn’t it a little early?” he asked.

  “It’s been a long day.”

  She retreated to the kitchen and sank onto a barstool. Removing the top of her beer, she took a sip, the wheels turning in her head.

  “I don’t suppose you want to have a sleepover tonight?” Maggie asked.

  Olivia set her bottle down on the counter. “Why would you need me when you have Mr. Army Ranger? He’ll scare Derrick away.”

  “Yeah, but who will keep Hunter away?”

  “You wanted access to the army rangers. Now you have it...if you can convince him to stay the night.”

  “He can’t stay here. He’s trying to use his sex appeal to take charge of my interviews.”

  Olivia snor
ted. “You, out of control? I can’t picture it, and I’ve known you since the second grade.”

  Oh, it had happened. And part of the problem was Maggie could “picture it.”

  “Is it working?” Olivia asked.

  “It’s distracting. But I’ll manage. As long as I keep our relationship strictly professional, which means he can’t stay here, Liv. I’ll have to deal with Derrick on my own. If he even bothers to show up.”

  “You’re sure? Because I need to get back to the gallery and get ready for tonight’s show.”

  “I’m sure.” She forced a smile. “Haven’t I always taken care of myself?”

  Maggie took a long drink as the kitchen door swung closed behind Olivia. Staying in control, tackling responsibilities alone—it was the only way she knew to survive. Dealing with Derrick would be nothing compared to what she’d already handled. She didn’t need an army ranger decoy.

  8

  HUNTER PARKED HIS rental car, a basic Ford that looked as out of place as he felt beside Maggie’s Mercedes, and checked his watch. Three minutes till seven. Maggie had asked him to be back by six for their dinner session, but he had every intention of starting his interview on the late side.

  She’d probably try to send him packing, even if they talked until midnight. But if he drank one too many? She’d have to let him crash on the couch. He could mention the pain meds he was supposed to be taking and had refused. He’d learned a thing or two about addiction from his sister. He had no intention of heading down that path.

  Thunder rolled in the distance as he opened his car door. He looked up and saw the storm clouds moving in. Taking his time, he retrieved the bottle of red wine he’d picked up in town and locked the car, and then at precisely 1900 hours, he walked up the front steps and rang the bell.

  Maggie opened the door, motioning for him to enter. “You’re late.”

  “I had a few things to take care of,” he lied. He’d spent the past few hours driving around town looking for a decent but affordable wine store. He held out the Chianti he’d selected from the sale basket. “I picked up a red. The guy at the store recommended it.”

  “Thanks,” she said, accepting the bottle. Judging from her expression, his gesture had caught her off guard. She probably figured she’d drawn the line in the sand earlier. This was work, not a social event. But her manners kept her from refusing his gift.

  Maggie closed the door and led the way down the hall. “Dinner might be cold by now, but there’s a lot of it. I hope you’re hungry.”

  His stomach grumbled. When was the last time he’d eaten? Breakfast? The beer around noon didn’t count.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” She pushed through the swinging door. “I hope you don’t mind eating in the kitchen. I’ve turned the dining room into a work space.”

  “Nope.” Hunter pulled out a wooden chair with a green seat cushion from the table by the window and watched Maggie remove the take-out containers from a brown paper bag.

  She’d changed out of the shapeless gray suit she’d worn to their morning meeting and into loose-fitting black sweats. In his experience, a woman wore form-fitting workout clothes to emphasize the shape of her butt. Not Maggie Barlow. Her pants hung from her waist, hiding the curves he remembered from Saturday night.

  But her zipped-up black sweatshirt molded to her full breasts, gaping open at the neck to reveal the white straps of her tank top and, on her left shoulder, a beige bra strap.

  He studied that strap, allowing his gaze to drift down to her chest. Hands down, he preferred her braless. Not that his preferences mattered much now. He’d only let his eyes wander to unsettle her so she’d forget her questions.

  Uh-huh. And the horse he’d ridden through hostile territory had gone on to win the Kentucky Derby.

  “Which one do you want?” It didn’t sound as though Maggie had noticed his intense focus on her body.

  “Hmm?”

  “Rigatoni with sausage and peas, or lasagna? I ordered the whole wheat with veggies for myself, but you’re welcome to part of it.”

  “Lasagna.” What happened to the Maggie who craved linguine Alfredo? Or was that only on Saturdays?

  She pushed a container in front of him, opened the Chianti and poured him a glass before she claimed the chair across from him. She’d placed a legal pad and pen beside her, but no computer. He had a hunch Miss Maggie was trying to make him comfortable. Like this wasn’t a real interview. Yeah, right. Anything he said over pasta could end up in print.

  “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions while we eat?”

  Hunter smiled. “Can I ask you something first?”

  The corners of her mouth dipped into a frown. “Sure.”

  “Why this mission? And don’t tell me it’s because people liked the picture in the paper.”

  Maggie set down her fork. “Honestly, that’s part of it. I need to write a bestseller and people are interested in your ride. But why do I think it’s important? A lot of people would argue this is the way modern warfare should be fought.”

  “On horseback?”

  “With small teams of highly trained soldiers going in to work alongside the good guys living in the area, the ones who have a vested interest in removing the enemy. Smaller teams also mean less loss of life.” She smiled. “And it certainly worked for the SEALs who took on bin Laden. Look at what a small group of men and a dog accomplished.”

  And look at how much press they got for it, Hunter thought.

  “My turn to ask the questions.” She picked up her pen.

  “I have one more,” he said. The storm had kicked into full gear now. Rain pounded against the window and thunder echoed in the nearby hills. “How did you become an expert on the military?”

  Maggie raised an eyebrow. “You want my credentials?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I started studying the armed forces in high school,” she said. “My dad was a Ranger, which you probably knew.”

  Hunter nodded. He’d read the briefing materials.

  “He didn’t handle the end of his military career well. He drank,” she said flatly. “I was young when he first came home, but I’d already lost my mother. My grandfather passed away shortly after my dad’s return. It was just the two of us, and he seemed like a different person. It never got better.”

  “You became the adult. You took care of him. And the house.” He could feel the tension between them heating up. Not the push and pull over who asked the questions. The tension he felt in his body had everything to do with reaching out and touching the woman who was beginning to look a lot more like the Maggie he’d met Saturday night—brazen and bold, and wise beyond her years in so many ways, but innocent in others.

  Maggie stared down into her glass. “I did. I paid the bills and hired a housekeeper to buy the groceries and cook. I was probably the only ten-year-old who could balance a checkbook and research treatment options for alcoholics. Not that my father ever agreed to go.”

  “That’s a lot for a kid.” He drained his wineglass and helped himself to a refill. He knew all about researching treatment options. It was a hell of a responsibility for someone in grade school. “When did your dad pass away?”

  “Two years ago.” She pushed the pasta around in her take-out container with her fork. “His liver finally went.”

  Her entire adult life and most of her childhood had been spent caring for her father. Talk about commitment to family. His sacrifices for his sister paled in comparison. “And you started researching the military to better understand your father?”

  “And grandfather. He always spoke of the years he served in the army with pride, like it was his greatest accomplishment. There’s something inspiring about the men and women who put their country first, risking their lives in war zones. I think a lot of people look at the military as a unit, and some are quick to criticize our armed forces. They forget about the individuals wearing the uniforms.”

  Hunter frowned. “The media pla
ys a role in that. If they’d stop publicizing some stupid mistakes made by one or two soldiers, the army would have a better image.”

  “Agreed,” she said. “And I’d like to think my book can help change that image by providing an in-depth look at your heroic mission.”

  She didn’t sound intent on revealing his teammate’s mistake. But with Maggie, things weren’t always as they appeared. One look at this house and he’d made assumptions. She had money, yes, but judging from what little he’d learned of her childhood, she was still struggling for stability.

  “So you want to write the feel-good military book of the year,” he said.

  “I guess you could say that. I prefer to think of it as a positive and honest look at a successful mission.” She pushed her plate aside and reached for her pen. “My turn to ask the questions.”

  Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. His gaze drifted to the porch as he refilled his glass. For what? The third time? Or was it the fourth? He’d stopped counting. He had a high tolerance for alcohol, but downing wine this fast was starting to get to him.

  Miss Maggie had noticed. As the daughter of an alcoholic she was probably programmed to count drinks. She drew the bottle closer to her side of the table, out of his reach.

  “How about we move this conversation to the porch now that the brunt of the storm has passed?” Hunter picked up his wineglass and headed for the door. “Get some fresh air—the rain has almost stopped.”

  “All right, then. Porch it is,” she said, scooping up her notepad. “But that won’t stop the questions.”

  Hunter walked out onto the porch and set his glass on the side table. He turned to face her. Determined from head to toe, that was his Maggie. Only she wasn’t his.

  Hunter frowned as his gaze fell from the pit-bull expression on her face to her shoulders. There it was. The beige bra strap. Taunting him, teasing him. He wanted her, but he knew he shouldn’t act on those feelings. He’d come here tonight with every intention of talking his way into an overnight invitation. On her couch. Anything else would be unprofessional. He knew better than to give in to desire while working an op. But his missions usually involved men with guns, not sexy professors.