Microsoft Word - AlwaysaWarrior

by test

  “Check the west side. Look like a couple of missiles to you?” Via radio, Neal’s voice interrupted Damien’s steady scrutiny.

  Damien shifted the binoculars to the other end of the encampment and swore softly. Two elongated shapes, pointed at one end, lay lengthwise on flat trailers raised to forty-five degree angles. They pointed west.

  “Copy that,” Damien said quietly into the almost invisible radio beneath the Islamic headpiece he wore. “Tell that spook to get his fucking pictures ASAP. I want to get out of here.”

  A single click of confirmation told him Neal understood. Damien swore again as he watched a flat barge on the river unload more armed men. The number of tangos—SEAL slang for terrorists—in the compound had almost doubled in the last three hours.

  Damien dropped the binoculars to dangle by a cord around his neck and inched back from the top of the sand dune. Swaddled in the hot Islamic robe that disguised him, he made his way back to the rickety old bus that would carry him, his team, and the agent back to CharharBorjak, the only town between their position and the border of Pakistan.

  Within five minutes, four of his five men scrambled into the bus. Hidden in the sweltering robes, they looked like a handful of traveling Islams. Damien scanned the dune next to the one he had just vacated. Heavy robe trailing in the sand, Neal herded a silent though obviously reluctant agent toward the bus.

  Damien scowled fiercely. He hated missions that involved spooks—SEAL slang for CIA agents—especially on sneak and peak missions like this one. All he had to do was baby-sit the asshole while he took pictures. He usually ended up with a jerk like Breckinridge, who tried to run the whole show. Damien stood by the bus door, his rifle ready, and kept an alert eye on the tops of the sand dunes.

  Neal climbed on the bus and Breckinridge stopped in front of Damien. “Lieutenant, I need more information, more pictures. We have to get closer.”

  “No way,” Damien replied stonily. “I'm not getting my men shot up crossing an open expanse of desert.”

  “I’m in charge of this mission,” Breckinridge blustered angrily.

  Damien shot an icy glare at the agent, his voice dangerously low. “It’s my job to get your scrawny ass out of here alive. If you don’t get in this bus, I will personally shoot you and dump you, still alive, into the middle of that compound.”

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  Breckinridge spared Damien a cold glance and climbed into the bus. Damien snarled a vicious curse and slid into the driver’s seat. They still had a long way to go before they were extracted from this god-forsaken corner of the world.

  The following day, debriefed aboard ship as it headed out of the Arabian Sea, Damien stretched out on a bunk in the temporary quarters he shared with Neal. With the mission over, his thoughts turned to Laurie. In six months, in some of the worst hellholes on the planet, he had not forgotten her. More often than not, especially after a mission, he wanted only to crawl into her arms for a few minutes peace.

  The teasing spark of laughter in her eyes had the power to make him feel human. Her love and acceptance humbled him. When her eyes smoldered with barely leashed passion he was a sex-crazed maniac. Sinking into her was like coming home. His body stirred at the burning memories of her writhing beneath him as she cried out his name. Her presence alone was enough to let the violence and danger of his life recede for a while.

  Stretched out on the bunk, he pulled his wallet from his back pocket and stared at the childish drawing. It went where he went. A slight smile curved his lips. Stacy. She was the spitting image of her mother—bright, outgoing, and eager. In the course of just a few days, Laurie’s daughter had effortlessly entrenched herself into his heart. He thought of her almost as much as he did Laurie and, lately, more often that he thought of his own two children.

  He suppressed the immediate stab of regret in his heart. He had not seen Michael or Danielle in almost ten years. His ex-wife had taken full custody in the divorce. For the first couple of years, he used his leave time to visit a few times a year. He dutifully paid child support and struggled to stay in contact. Then, their mother remarried and thwarted Damien’s attempts to keep some relationship with his children. Letters went unanswered, or undelivered. He was told during intermittent phone calls the children were not home. A few years ago, Damien had stopped trying.

  The door opened and Neal sauntered into the room with a good-natured grin. “Ready to go home?”

  “More than ready.” Damien wearily slipped the drawing back into his wallet.

  * * * *

  A few days later, after a shower and a fresh uniform, Damien strode into SEAL

  headquarters. He wanted a solid twenty-four hours of sleep but he first had to answer Captain Nolan’s summons. He rapped sharply on the door then, without waiting for permission, walked into the office.

  Perusing an open file, Nolan motioned Damien to a chair. He closed the file, pulled some printed forms out of a drawer, and shoved them across the desk.

  “It’s that time again, McAllister.” Nolan leaned back in his chair, hands linked casually behind his head. “Your second enlistment is up in thirty days.” He grinned. “You know the drill.

  We need your skills and qualifications. Nobody makes computers dance the way you do. Yada, yada, yada.”

  With a careless shrug, Damien scanned the forms. The pertinent information was accurate. He snatched a pen off the desk and touched the tip to the signature line. Visions of Laurie and Stacy swam in his head, a stream of memories that hit him with the force of a bullet.

  He hesitated. Re-enlist and stay with the only life he knew? Or was it possible, at this late stage, to find what he had lost once before? Could he change his life? Did he want to? Could he succeed with Laurie? He stared indecisively at the forms and finally put the pen down.

  “Problem,

  Damien?”

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  He snapped his gaze to Nolan. Nolan only used first names when he intended to get personal. But Carl Nolan cared about his men—always there to counsel, listen, and if he deemed it necessary, kick some ass.

  “A year ago, I would have signed this without hesitation,” Damien admitted, shocked as his reluctance to do just that. “Now? I’m not sure.”

  Nolan’s eyes narrowed in speculation. “Laurie Crawford?”

  The accurate deduction did not surprise Damien. His captain was extremely perceptive.

  Six months ago, he had had a long discussion with Nolan, convincing both of them that any relationship with Laurie was short-lived and doomed to failure. Nolan had looked at him with the same intense speculation but let Damien’s decision stand. In the last month or so, Damien had grown aware of Nolan’s increasing scrutiny though the man kept his thoughts to himself.

  Damien frowned but nodded curtly. “I can’t stop thinking about her, wanting her. The SEALs are my life. She can’t fit into that. She shouldn’t have to try. But after twelve years, I don’t know if I can be a civilian again—an ordinary guy.”

  “You’ll never be an ordinary guy, Damien,” Nolan said thoughtfully. “But you have thirty days to find out if you can be a civilian—if you want to be, or even should be.”

  Damien gaped openly at the man. “Thirty days?”

  With a reluctant sigh, Nolan lowered his hands and fixed his piercing stare on Damien.

  “Take your thirty days. Go see the woman. It’s possible she may not want you back now. Look at the situation from all angles. Make a decision.”

  Damien sat in stunned silence. It had not occurred to him that Laurie might not welcome him back. But she loved him. Or rather, she had loved him once. Did she still? He had to find out. With an abrupt nod, he rose and left Nolan’s office. Possibilities both pleasant and unpleasant whirled in his mind. He went straight to his quarters, across the hall from Neal’s open door. He dropped his helmet on the desk and rubbed a weary hand over his face as he dropped into a cha
ir. Looking up, he spotted Neal leaning against the door frame.

  “Another six years,” Neal said. “Six more years of saving humanity from its own stupidity.” His bright blue eyes sparkled with excitement at the prospect. He was a die-hard SEAL, much like Damien had always been.

  “I don’t know,” Damien countered wearily. He really needed some sleep.

  Neal Farrell glanced sharply at the man he called brother and straightened up. “What gives? Six years ago you re-enlisted without thinking.”

  “I want—I need something else.” Though his mind churned with unanswered questions and post mission exhaustion, Damien stared steadily at his best friend. They had saved each other’s butts countless times, talked about girls, traded sorrows. Neal had gotten him stinking drunk after the divorce then found him a willing but temporary bed partner. They had been through thick and thin together since SEAL training.

  “Don’t tell me—you met a girl,” Neal quipped flippantly, a teasing gleam in his eyes.

  Damien said nothing, his thoughts as serious as if he was leaving on a mission in five minutes.

  Amusement vanished from Neal’s eyes and he looked stunned. “Jesus, Damien. You’re leaving because of a woman?” He paused as his eyes narrowed in speculation then widened in realization. “Not Laurie.” He shook his head in disgust. “Christ, man, you’re obsessed with her.”

  Damien glared a warning at Neal. “Damn it. I loved her. But she did not fit into my life.

  As a SEAL, there is no possibility of anything else in my life.”

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  He raked a trembling, frustrated hand through his hair and attempted to explain something he did not fully understand. “She’s all I think about. What is she doing? Is she all right? Does she remember me and what we had?”

  “You just need to get laid,” Neal interrupted caustically.

  “I don’t want another woman!” Damien snarled on a sudden surge of anger. “Damn it, I want her! Did she find someone else—someone more average and ordinary?” He trailed off into low muttering.

  “She didn’t accept you as you are?” Neal countered indignantly. “Then she’s not the one you need.”

  “I didn’t give her the chance,” Damien admitted harshly. Memory clouded his thoughts, tugged at his heart as he stared into space. “She told me she loved me. I wonder if she meant it.”

  The taut silence lingered for a moment before Neal’s chuckle broke it. “She must have felt something. It was a great shot—moving tango at three hundred meters.”

  “Yeah.” Damien grinned with a flash of pride. Then he scowled. “Why didn’t you just drag her out? Why stop?”

  Neal shot him a skeptical look. “Shit. She damn near blew my head off before I convinced her I wasn’t the enemy. She only missed me by half an inch—using your gun! You expect me to argue with her?” He grinned again. “Besides, she saved your miserable life—twice.

  She should get a medal for that.”

  Though Damien smiled in brief amusement, he wondered if Laurie’s rationalizations before he had left her for good six months earlier were true. Was this relationship only sex and adrenaline and gratitude? His heart clenched. He had thirty days to find out.

  “Opted for discharge?” Neal queried lightly but his eyes were serious.

  “Not yet.” Damien shrugged as he stared at the floor but it wasn’t the casual gesture he needed. “I’ve got thirty days to find out if I can be a civilian—to find out if she loves me or ever did.”

  “All right, Damien,” Neal said resignedly. “Do what you have to do but ….” He paused until Damien looked up at him again.

  “Make sure it’s the right choice,” he finished seriously, “for both of you.”

  * * * *

  Unable to sleep, Laurie Crawford idly flipped through television channels. But nothing caught her attention enough to actually watch. Gradually, over the last six months, her life had settled back into normal routine. In a little over a month, the school year would end and summer routine would start. Except in her decreasingly frequent nightmares, Laurie had almost managed to forget the terrorists. She no longer woke screaming in the dark but some times tossed and turned all night.

  Forgetting Damien, McAllister had proven much more difficult. At unguarded moments, she thought about him, wondered where he was, what he was doing—if he still lived. She found herself watching the news much more closely, wondering which of a dozen hotspots around the world Damien risked his life in. Passionate memories and erotic images invaded her sleep, often waking her with a burning need for him.

  “Shit,” she groaned. Even after six long, lonely months she could not get him out of her mind—certainly not out of her heart. During daylight hours, she forced herself to shove his memory aside and concentrate on work. But in the dark of night, she cursed herself and him for his constant intrusions into her dreams. It was only memory, not reality.

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  The sharp peal of the doorbell jerked her out of her thoughts. Her heart lurched into a faster beat. Her hands clenched into fists. She shot a quick glance at the clock. Ten thirty at night was far too late for visitors. Terrorists or criminals, she wondered? Panic surged without warning. Her head snapped around and she stared at the front door.

  “Get a grip,” she muttered breathlessly. Terrorists and criminals did not ring doorbells.

  She walked slowly to the door, which had no window or peephole. Fear was an icy trickle down her spine. She wasn’t quite as relaxed from her violent experience as she believed.

  “Stop being an idiot,” she ordered herself and reached for the doorknob.

  The doorbell assaulted her ears again and she flinched hard. She took a deep breath, twisted the knob, and pulled the door open. Her mind simply shut down as she gaped in shock at Damien. He stood on her doorstep wearing jeans, black T-shirt, leather jacket, and sneakers. He still wore the Ruger .45 on his hip. Her breath caught in her throat and she nearly choked.

  Tall, dark, and dangerous—the phrase flashed through her mind. Slightly long black hair caught in the light breeze. Amusement sparkled in his dark eyes. She blinked then closed her eyes on a long, slow breath that did nothing to calm her nerves. When she looked again, he was still there.

  “May I come in?”

  His deep slow baritone was a welcome caress to her ears. She blinked again. She had not dreamed him up. Her heart beat like a trip hammer. Blood roared in her ears. Trembling, she stepped back and opened the door wider.

  He stepped inside and dropped his bag on the floor. Peering intently at her, he kicked the door shut behind him. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded shakily and found her wayward voice. “Surprised to see you.”

  He grinned, fast and lethal, and her heart lurched. “Shocked is more like it.”

  “What are you doing here?” She stared at him, her voice a hoarse whisper.

  Her knees threatened to buckle beneath her as she unsteadily crossed the room to the nearest chair. She fell rather than sat in it and struggled to bring her ragged breathing under control. She could not drag her eyes from him. He dropped to his knees in front of her. The blood rushed from her head. The room spun for a minute. She flopped back and let the chair support her.

  “I’m sorry, Laurie. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Concern darkened his eyes as he looked her over again. “Or upset you.”

  “You didn’t,” she said breathlessly. “Just shocked the hell out of me. I did not expect to ever see you again.”

  She tried but failed to keep the hurt and misery of the last six months out of her voice.

  But her heart swelled at actually seeing him again. His dark, penetrating stare caught and held hers for endless seconds. She sucked in a deep breath and struggled not to drown in the deep brown pools of his eyes.

  “What are you doing here?” she reiterated in a low whisper.

  “An experiment
,” he murmured, staring intently at her as he lifted a hand to her face.

  His fingers trembled just slightly on her skin as he traced to curve of her jaw. Sharp tremors of desire shot into her. She clenched her hand tight together to keep from touching him.

  She blinked as his words penetrated the sensual fog in her head.

  “Huh?”

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  “I want to see if I can be a civilian,” he clarified. “My second enlistment is up in thirty days.” He shrugged but his gaze slid from hers. “Normally, I would have re-enlisted without a second thought.”