He just wanted to yank on that ponytail on as she—
“And the master chief here,” the commander said, bringing him into the conversation, “is my right-hand man. He will be your point of contact for anything you need.”
Olivia looked up at him. Ryder saw something surprising in her face. Loyalty?
“Thank you,” she said to Fuller, politely and professionally.
“The pleasure is mine, young lady,” the commander hissed.
Ryder felt a rush rising within him as he stared at the poisonous snake. ‘Young lady’? Show her some respect. Clearly the commander lacked any real-world perspective. Ryder wondered how a person could grow so out of touch. He’d been consumed by war for too long—no doubt the loss of perspective led him to justify his crimes.
Without missing a beat at the offhand, sexist remark, Olivia turned to Ryder with a raised eyebrow. “And thank you, too, for all of your help so far.” She smiled too sweetly.
Ryder didn’t miss the delicate hint of an inside tease in her voice, but the snake seemed to miss it. Olivia was treading a thin line.
He nodded curtly, emotionless.
She nodded back blankly, catching on to the game. She observed and adapted on the fly, which Ryder appreciated. If she was going to work with him, she needed to keep up.
“Now, since we will be hosting you, please note that there are other civilians here. I understand that you’ve had a security briefing, and the rules of deployment have been discussed?” the commander probed.
“Indeed.” She nodded. “We all follow the same code of conduct.”
“Excellent.” He carried on. “This is a Muslim country, so we restrict alcohol consumption to one building located out of sight. It’s referred to colloquially as the mess, but it is most definitely not a traditional mess.” He chuckled, looking up to see if Ryder shared the inside joke. Unfortunately, Ryder couldn’t even muster a grin. He remained stiff with crossed arms, unmoved. Cold. “Our policy is to allow deployed members the opportunity to unwind, but good order and discipline must be kept at all times.”
The conversation moved back and forth solely between the snake and Olivia. The commander rattled off the top security policy rules, and she discussed the general framework and methods of her job.
Ryder remained leaning against the doorframe, uninvited to sit down and equally uninterested in doing so. The more distance he kept between him and the snake, the better. He was liable to break the man’s neck. And as the rulebook conversation grew drier, Ryder briefly fantasized about hopping over the desk and dog-walking his boss.
After a natural pause in their conversation, the snake rapped his knuckles on the desk, a habit he’d developed to indicate the meeting was concluded. He nodded once to Ryder in a motion of dismissal. He seemed pleased with himself, though Olivia clearly did not feel the same.
As Olivia stood up to shake the lieutenant commander’s hand, Ryder turned on his heels and left, not willing to show his desire to wait and walk out with Olivia. That meeting had shown Ryder was that things were worse than he thought—and he knew deep down that the snake was a danger not only to her success, but to her safety as well.
7
The wind was picking up outside, and Ryder raised his black-and-tan kaffiyeh to his mouth, blocking the whipping sand from getting into his orifices. Could there be a sandstorm on the horizon? They were unpredictable and dangerous.
As he marched down the gritty pathway on the side of the compound, quiet and solitary, he heard something he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.
“Hey!” a familiar feminine voice hissed behind him just a couple of buildings up from the command office. “Hey! Stop!”
Hoping to prevent the risk of being seen together, Ryder instinctively turned into a dark, shadowed enclave between two low buildings and turned around to watch his tail pass by. She still wasn’t heeding his warnings. How much did he have to say to get her to act right?
As her big brown eyes peeked around the corner, he stuck out his thick hand and grabbed her, unapologetically yanking her into the shadows with him.
“What the fuck!” she snapped.
“Shush.” He pulled her deeper into the dark. “Keep your voice low,” he said, though the burgeoning winds of the sandstorm significantly camouflaged their conversation and whereabouts.
“Okay,” she breathed back, staring up at him. “Fine.”
“Why are you following me?” he growled. “We shouldn’t be seen… being too friendly.”
“What do you mean?” she replied, confused. “Things are very strange around here.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Why the hell did your boss ask me for my interview list?” she demanded. “You have some explaining to do.”
“Why are you asking me?” he asked curiously, warming up to the fact that she was coming to him first.
Olivia looked like she was thinking about it, and finally admitted, “Because you are the only person here who… makes sense. So far.”
He noticed that she didn’t mention trust. But maybe that was a good thing—she didn’t trust easily. It was something else they had in common.
“He’s going to do everything he can to keep a leash on you,” Ryder warned. “Don’t think you have free rein here.”
“Christ. I knew it.”
“I know you did. That’s why this shouldn’t be a surprise.”
“Shouldn’t he want the problems in his troop to get cleaned up?” Her indignation was palpable.
“No.”
His retort reverberated through the small enclave where they stood, and her curious, investigative eyes shot toward the opening, where whipping sand crossed the threshold.
“Why? Who is he protecting? The guys here?”
“No. I protect them,” he said.
“I don’t understand.” She shook her head. “None of this makes sense.”
Ryder studied her—eager, caring, hopeful. She cared about her objectives, clearly. About doing it right.
God help her.
“He’s protecting himself,” Ryder said seriously. “And if he so much as suspects you are stepping out of bounds, he’ll hit you hard.”
“This is crazy. Can’t you do something about this?”
The question marked a serious barrier between them: how much was Ryder willing to tell her? Did he trust her?
“I can’t. I’ve got to protect the guys here, and I can’t let anything get in the way of that,” he explained, purposefully leaving out part of the story.
“You should complain!” She pointed her finger at him, anger rising in her throat.
“You don’t get it.” Ryder shook his head dismissively, but this time he wasn’t playing a game. “You’re an academic, and you think you understand how this all works. You’ll see soon. The guys running the Navy are unwilling to admit to the problems here, in theater, and the result is that our commander runs unchecked.”
“This is insane. There must be something you can do. How can you work for a man who’s actively working against accountability and change?”
Ryder watched her big brown eyes batting up and down as the wheels in her head turned faster than he could imagine. She was already reaching conclusions that a regular person would miss. Smart cookie. That level of intelligence drew him to her with an unstoppable attraction. But how could he be totally honest with her? What would she say if he told her everything?
He wasn’t sure she could ever understand. The only reason Ryder still worked for his shitty commander was to protect the guys on mission. There were good men who’d worked their asses off to become SEALs only to be served shit sandwiches. Ryder knew he had become the only barrier of protection between an incompetent and corrupt leadership and a vulnerable working class.
If he had to go down with the sinking ship to save the rest, then so be it.
That’s when the feeling hit him. “You really care about this, eh? About what you’ve been sent here to do.”
&n
bsp; “Of course.”
“I’ve seen investigations opened and closed without any results or action. I’ve seen people care more about their reputations than doing what’s right,” he stated flatly, studying her for a minute.
“That’s not me,” she said firmly, confidently.
Ryder breathed down on the lithe brunette looking up at him. She was young and hopeful and altruistic, unblemished by life’s shit and still a true believer in her cause. Damn, he had to respect that.
And then he nearly took a step back as another unexpected realization washed over him. Ryder saw a new hope in front of him. Could she be the one, the right one… to blow the whistle on all of this?
“I want to get this done right,” she said.
“Then you’d better start listening to what I have to say,” he ordered her. “And understand that there are very, very few people that you can trust here.”
Olivia analyzed him. She was probably wondering what game he was playing. And that’s why he knew she was the one to make a difference. She had guts and fortitude. She was smart. She was capable. She wasn’t afraid. She stood up to authority.
The thought of getting her on his side was sounding better and better. So it was high time he started being more strategic with her. He only had one shot. He had to make it count.
“I’ll be in touch,” he said to her, throwing on his aviator sunglasses to protect his eyes as he headed for the edge of the enclave.
“Fine,” she said, coming after him.
“I’ll wait back. You head out first,” he instructed, pushing her forward into the fray.
As she stepped onto the path, her brown eyes glanced fleetingly back at him, questioning. She nodded and took off, making short work of getting away from the blowing sand. As her form disappeared, Ryder felt something settle into his bones: Olivia was his only chance to get out of his impossible position, sink the snake, and protect his men once and for all. Even if that meant he had to sacrifice himself in the process. He needed her help.
The slow realization was powerful, and goosebumps crossed his skin. He’d carried the cross for years, unable to confide in anyone, unable to mitigate it, and now he was finally looking at a potential way out.
A potential way to avenge his fallen brothers.
A potential way to destroy the snake and give him all that he deserved.
But—how to make it happen? How to make her really listen to him?
Ryder grinned to himself, knowing that it was time to dig deep into his black ops playbook. She wouldn’t be an easy win, but she would be worth it.
As he left the enclave and pounded the dirt path outside of the building, he found himself looking forward to their first interview. She was only really insufferable when she tried to be, and he already knew which version of himself simmered her spicy ass down.
He was going to make her come to him and want to be on his team. She was his target, and he was going into full recruitment mode. The one thing that he knew about women was that they loved a challenge. So that’s exactly what he was going to be.
8
Ryder had become increasingly annoyed during his daily tête-à-tête with his immediate subordinate, Senior Chief Special Warfare Operator Liam Blackshot.
Blame it on the fact that Ryder now had far better things to do than hold Blackshot’s hand through his glaring tactical incompetence. Ryder was sick and tired of SEALs who didn’t know how to play by big-boy rules. He was sick and tired of babysitting.
Blackshot failed to grasp the basic tenets of running successful operations. His standards had slid, and Ryder had lost his confidence in the man. He seemed bloodthirsty more than anything, and looked to kill everything in sight.
“These are things that you need to figure out,” Ryder growled at Blackshot. “We are here for one purpose only, and you seem to be constantly losing sight of that.” The men stood in the shaded area of the compound, arms crossed, facing each other. It was as tense as ever.
The high sun sent the cicadas into overdrive, and the nearby buzzing drowned out anything else. The tall, lean, dirty-blond man rubbed his hand over his overgrown facial hair. Ryder’s subordinate did not look well.
“I’m fine with asking Fuller,” Blackshot retorted, “since you don’t want to talk about it.”
Those words only reinforced Ryder’s lack of trust in Blackshot. “That’s not what I said. I said you need to figure it out. These are minor tactical issues. These men are on your team. You have one team. I need to look out for all four of the teams.” Ryder was constantly trying to instil responsibility and ownership in Blackshot, hoping it would make a difference. There was a time when Ryder had respected the senior chief. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I don’t think it’s a problem to seek Fuller’s guidance if you aren’t willing,” Blackshot sneered in his reptilian way. Blackshot rubbed his face again, and Ryder noticed the redness around his nose. He wasn’t sick, and Ryder suspected a drug habit. For that reason alone, he needed to keep Blackshot on a tight leash. The men on his team—and all the teams in the Wolfpack—depended on it.
“I told you never to go above me again. You do not have my approval to go directly to the lieutenant commander. Ever,” Ryder barked.
Blackshot’s body tensed at the words. But he had to put the marker down. Again. It was for the man’s own good. Ryder didn’t want him directly coordinating with the snake. Ryder wanted to be the bottleneck. He was trying to protect Blackshot, too, from all the shit. Body counts. Kill counts. Torture. War crimes. Executions. Drugs. It shouldn’t have been necessary, but accountability had become laughable.
“There was a time when we worked well together,” Blackshot pointed out, his voice angry.
“Yeah. That was before you lost my trust.”
The words seemed to sting Blackshot because pain crossed his face. His eyes were bloodshot and weary. Ryder felt satisfaction in the knowledge that he could still move him. That was all he had left to motivate the operator. To protect him.
“It’s not my fault we lost Jake,” Blackshot retorted, sounding petty.
“He was under your fucking command. You could have done something. He was the best chief we had.”
“He didn’t leave because of me!”
“And what about Mason? Tell me. Why does a young SEAL like him need time off? Ryder challenged him. “Was it to get away from you?”
“He couldn’t handle the reality of war.” Blackshot leaned back. “He was a prissy boy. Soft. A city boy.”
Ryder snapped. “Jake and Mason are two top-notch men. And they aren’t here with us now. Because of what you didn’t do.” Ryder’s eyes darkened. “You didn’t protect them.”
Blackshot’s face twisted with rage. Ryder had seen that rage before—right before Blackshot slit the throat of the teenager up on the rebel base. That bad kill had started a bad cascade of events.
“What matters now is that you obey my orders. No more problems,” Ryder said, his demeanor cool and blank, “so I can protect our guys. The buck stops here.” Even in such an infuriating conversation, Ryder had mastered the art of keeping his emotions down. Nonexistent. Emotions were weakness, especially in front of his subordinates.
“I always have obeyed your orders, Master Chief,” Blackshot said, with an obvious insinuation.
Ryder took a step forward. “No, you haven’t.”
Blackshot shrank back with the full height of Ryder looming over him.
“We are here to kill the rebel warlord, and then we go home. That’s all. We are supposed to be surgically precise at this shit. No one else dies,” Ryder explained.
Blackshot nodded once and straightened up. He knew the drill. “And her?” Blackshot motioned to the left.
In the clearing in the middle of the compound, Ryder could see Olivia hurriedly walking between buildings. With her nose in her notebook, she didn’t notice all of the SEALs who had turned their heads to check out her ass as she passed. Finally—Ryder had fou
nd something that raised his blood temperature. He may have mastered his emotions at war, but he seemed to struggle while watching all the fucking guys checking her out.
It pissed him right the fuck off.
That was one thing he couldn’t control: the fact that every dude in the compound wanted nothing more than to watch her walk. Her ass did look spectacular in that black pantsuit. And those glasses… He couldn’t even get started on what he’d like to do with her while she wore them. But the other guys weren’t allowed to look. He knew it was going to happen. But he hated it all the same.
“Master Chief?” Blackshot prodded again. “What the fuck are we going to tell her?” There was something about the way Blackshot looked at Olivia. It was different than how the other men looked at her. It wasn’t desire. It wasn’t lust. Ryder couldn’t quite put his finger on it. But it made him wonder how well he really knew his senior chief, or understood his trials.
Those bloodshot eyes flew back to Ryder, and his gaze was full of longing. Sadness. Emptiness. Desperation.
“I have my orders. Leave her to me,” Ryder said sharply, unsure how to deal with the emotion on display before him. “You will stay the fuck away from her, or I’ll feed you to the fucking goats.” Blackshot’s eyes went wide at the threat.
And as for the rest, it was true—Ryder did have his orders. The snake had been pretty damn specific. Watch the consultant. Don’t let her see anything she shouldn’t. Bore her to death with talk about ‘the culture.’
Sure, the orders were clear enough. Ryder simply intended to break every single one of them before the deployment was over.
Fuck Fuller. He was going to burn for what he’s done. Ryder would douse him in gasoline, and Olivia would strike the match.
If Ryder’s days were numbered in the SEALs, he didn’t give a shit. All he cared about was executing vengeance against evil and setting things right for the good men who sacrificed everything to be a part of the Wolfpack.
Desert Exposure Page 5