by Mandy Harbin
Owen continued on, going over the laundry list of conditions working with an active military unit, such as not reporting any intel that could compromise any unit’s position, classified weaponry, and details of future missions she might become privy to, just to name a few. She understood the need. She was a civilian working with the military, and at any time she could learn things not meant for public consumption that could put the lives of the men and women serving at risk.
When he finished his speech, he slid contracts across the table to her and Lorenzo.
“Read these and sign.” He looked at her.
She took the documentation and began thumbing through it, her mind racing as she read over the words in ink that Owen had said aloud over the last hour. She understood the need for secrecy. She did. But she also knew, at the end of the day, she had a job to do. One the military and department officials might not be pleased with if she uncovered information they preferred stayed hidden. She would have to follow their rules, but be ready to defend her stance on reporting the news. She read every line very carefully to make sure there wasn’t anything hidden in there that would expressly prohibit her from doing her job. When she felt satisfied she wasn’t agreeing to anything she couldn’t live with, she reached for her bag.
“What are you doing?” Owen asked.
She looked up but continued rummaging. “Um, getting a pen.”
He yanked one out of his pocket and slid it across the table at her. She caught it before it could pass her and stared at the thing. It was no ordinary pen. It was black metal with ridges and planes and felt much sturdier than any she’d ever used before. She turned it around in her hand, exploring it further.
“It’s a tactical pen. Push the plunger.”
If he’d given her the instructions as if talking to a child her cheeks would’ve flamed. With her pale skin, she never was able to hide her embarrassment. Thankfully, he’d instructed her in the same tone as he’d sported since they’d gotten in this room. She did as he said, signed the contract, and set the pen on top of it before pushing it toward Owen. Lorenzo had already signed and was leaning back in his chair waiting on her.
Owen picked up the paperwork and handed it to one of the men in the room without ever looking at him. He pocketed his fancy pen as his eyes stayed trained on her. “Now that that’s out of the way. I’ll show you to your barracks. Follow me.”
She stood automatically and started toward the door, his actual words taking a slower amount of time to compute. “What?” she asked, rocking back on her heels. He said barracks.
He faced her and crossed his arms. “Twenty-four-seven, Caitlin. Where you go, I go. Where I go, they go,” he said, pointing toward the men who stood in line behind her, waiting to exit the room. “As much as the press core’s hotel is safe, it’s not on base. The military isn’t going to pay to put all of us up for the duration of your stay. It’s easier—and safer—to give you a room here.”
Then, for the first time since meeting him, he smiled, and the action almost knocked the air out of her lungs. She’d thought him hot earlier, but when the man smiled? Jeez, he transformed into some living god. Too bad he had a cocky attitude to go along with his looks. Or maybe that was a good thing. She didn’t need to let some sexy soldier distract her from her work, and if he was pleasant on top of gorgeous, she’d have a tough time keeping her eyes on her work and off him. “I understand.”
Although, she didn’t. She really didn’t. Why was he still sporting a ghost of a grin?
“Don’t worry, Caitlin. Just because there’ll be two beds in your room doesn’t mean I’m sleeping in there with you. Every night.” But she heard what he didn’t say. There was a chance he’d be sleeping in there some nights. The smile now made sense. The prick delighted in her discomfort. A groan slipped from her at the realization she might never get a moment alone. She was so looking forward to showering and sleeping. The corners of his lips finally slipped back into their flat position. “I’ll have a room right next to yours, so you will get some privacy,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “Your room will have its own toilet, but we’ll have to coordinate your shower time. Last thing I need is for one of these yahoos to stumble in accidentally.” His gaze shot above her, and she knew he was staring down the troops. “Don’t forget what I told you this morning about pulling any accidentally-on-purpose shit, too.”
She jumped at the chorus of, “Sir, yes, sir,” coming from behind.
“Jesus, warn a girl,” she muttered over her shoulder.
“They don’t take orders from you,” Owen said.
“Whatever. Can we get this show on the road? I’m calling first dibs on the shower. And I need food and sleep.” She hated verbalizing these things because she didn’t want to come off as weak. Besides, she was sure the men in this room had gone days without showers, beds, or fresh food several times in their lives. Why didn’t she just keep her mouth shut? She knew by the time she left Afghanistan, she’d have a whole new appreciation for what the troops had to endure on deployments. “Sorry if that came out wrong,” she said after chastising herself.
Owen watched her for several seconds. Then looked up again. “Acker, get Ms. Cooper some chow.”
She looked back as she heard a man’s agreement to follow the order and watched as he left the room.
“It’ll take him about forty minutes to get to the chow hall, secure your meal, and get to the barracks. That’ll give you time to drop off your bags and shower first.”
“Thank you,” she breathed as her shoulders fell, relieving the tension she hadn’t known she’d been carrying. He turned to walk out, and she followed silently this time.
“What time do I need to back here?” Lorenzo asked.
Caitlin gaped at him.
“Oh six,” she heard Owen reply.
“Wait, he doesn’t have to stay on base?”
Owen stared down at her, but his mouth stayed shut as if it was his right to answer her question, and he’d chosen not to.
“The station has already paid for my room,” Lorenzo said from beside her, and she tore her gaze away from Owen to look at the cameraman. “The military offered yesterday to provide the same accommodations to me, but no way am I giving up my own room and shower.” He chuckled.
She couldn’t blame him, but why had Lorenzo been given a choice, and she hadn’t? Where was his twenty-four-hour guard dog? Whether weary from her travel or weak from hunger, she didn’t have the energy to ask. Instead, she shook his hand, told him she looked forward to working with him, and watched him walk off before Owen led her to an ATV.
The barracks wasn’t far and dread eased in when she saw the size from the outside. Inside gave her the confirmation she hadn’t needed. This was going to be cramped. At least she had her own room. Semi-private, she added silently. Owen gave her a quick tour. The guys in the group were bunking two to each room and they departed to their assigned bunks. Owen had his own room, but the second bed would be available for Lorenzo when he needed to stay on base. Once inside her room, Owen stood at the door.
“Take the bed on the left. The right is closer to the door. It keeps me between you and any danger.”
Danger from what? Thousands of US military in the middle of a heavily armed base? She kept those thoughts to herself.
“Shower’s across the hall. I put you in this room because it’s closest to it and if anyone comes into the barracks, they have to get past four other rooms of trained military men.”
She nodded as she looked around, taking in the sparse room.
“Caitlin?”
She glanced up at Owen, almost stunned at the soft murmur of her name coming from the hardened special ops man.
“I know this isn’t ideal. For either of us,” he added with a slight smile. “But you’re in safe hands with me.” Then he squared his shoulders and said all business-like, “Eat, shower, rest. We leave at oh six.”
It was midday, and she really needed to get working on her story after
a quick nap. It would take days to get over her jet lag, so she would be sleeping in spurts until her body adjusted.
She couldn’t think beyond the next thirty minutes right now, though. She gave him a nod, and then, for added fun, she flopped her hand to her forehead and said, “Sir, yes, sir.” But her words held none of the sharp retort of a trained person.
He shook his head almost in amusement. “We’ll work on that.”
When he turned to leave, she sat on the bed and shut her eyes on a deep inhale. Learning to salute properly was at the end of her agenda list.
Chapter Three
Owen heard Caitlin rummaging around in her room as he stood outside her door the next morning. After he’d left her in her room last night, she’d unpacked, showered, ate, and crashed just as he suspected she would. The woman had been dead on her feet by the time they’d arrived at the barracks. When discussing the room assignment, he’d purposely led her to believe they could be sleeping in the same room. It hadn’t necessarily been true. Anything was possible, sure, but he fully intended to come and go as he pleased to check on her, and he didn’t need her thinking she could shut him out of the room on a whim. She was under his protection, and if he determined they needed to be in the same at some point, it was better she understood that on the front end.
Once she was asleep, he’d retreated to his room and sent up a silent thank-you for the cameraman choosing not to accept the military accommodations offered to him. If he had, the man would be sharing a room with Owen since he couldn’t have the guy bunking with one of the soldiers and disrupting the buddy system he’d put in place. He’d been given six men as part of this assignment, which he grouped into pairs. The men would be his backup where Caitlin was concerned, but they’d also be responsible for driving them to their locations and engaging any hostiles. As much as Burge had put the responsibility of Caitlin’s safety on his shoulders, he knew he’d be SOL if he took her—and by association, the videographer—out into the red zone on his own. No one traveled out there alone. He’d needed a team of competent men he could entrust her safety with. Burge had made some calls and secured Owen six recent BUD/S graduates. These men had survived the intensive twenty-four week course, and the infamous Hell Week. Owen couldn’t suppress a shudder at remembering when he’d gone through it. But these guys still had to go through parachute jump school, and then complete the longest course—SEAL Qualification Training—before earring their Navy Seal Trident and being assigned to their own SEAL team.
The door opened and she walked out wearing cargo pants, boots, a tank, and an open shirt over it. He almost groaned at the sight of her cleavage. Not that it would’ve been a completely sexual response.
Immediately after looking up who this reporter was, Owen had to tamp down some renewed anger at being assigned this mission. She wasn’t some big hotshot war correspondent or high profile news anchor. He’d only found a few pieces on YouTube of her reports from bases. One of them had even spelled her name wrong. She was practically a nobody. Looking her up hadn’t pointed to any significant reason why she in particular—out of all the news correspondents he’d been around on deployment—required SEAL protection. Not that he wished her any harm. He wasn’t a monster. But learning there really wasn’t more to what Burge told him about her hadn’t set well with him. She was of no importance, which meant her protection truly had been secured by someone cashing in a favor.
That knowledge had burned at a low simmer.
What cranked up the heat had been realizing just how beautiful and fair she was. He’d watched her piece from Kandahar so many times that he could recite the questions she asked of the soldier. Learning all about her had been part of his preparation, but seeing that pale blonde hair, light blue eyes, and alabaster skin had him wondering how in the hell she was going to blend in. She screamed American, and a bombshell at that.
Not that her looks mattered to him. Another place, another time, he would totally hit on her, and Owen was confident enough to know when he wanted something, he usually got it. But never once had he fraternized with colleagues, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to do something as stupid as that with a woman he’d been charged with protecting.
Even if she stood before him with her curves on display.
“You need to cover up,” he said without letting his gaze leave hers. He didn’t have to look at her breasts to see they were on display. Most straight, red-blooded American men his age knew how to check a woman out without getting caught. It was a skill he’d picked up long before entering the Navy.
“Oh, I brought a scarf,” she said, digging into her bag and pulling the edge of a hijab out for him to see.
“No, Caitlin, though I’m glad you thought of that.” He ran a hand through his hair. He needed a cut, but being special ops, he didn’t have to live with the same military regulations. It was more important that he blend in with his surroundings than sport a high and tight. If Caitlin was military, she’d have her locks pulled back and not flowing freely. But the issue here wasn’t her hair…not entirely. “I mean your shirt.”
She gasped and looked down. “What’s wrong with my shirt?” she asked, obviously confused, but he detected a hint of anger in her response as well.
“Besides the fact that your skin is so pale that you should cover as much of it as possible to protect it from the desert?” he asked sarcastically, though it hadn’t really been a question. “You’re in a country where women are usually covered. I want you to blend in, not stand the fuck out.” He hadn’t meant to cuss, but he was warring with himself as much as he was her. He didn’t want her to cover her beautiful body. The fact he felt that way and that he had to ask her to block herself from his view pissed him off on competing levels. She had nothing to do with what was going on in his head. But then there was the fact she should know better venturing out like this. Granted, this would be her first assignment outside the wire, but she’d been in this country before. Even if she hadn’t or worked in the media, she would’ve seen images of the women here.
Her cheeks turned pink, and he immediately regretting causing her any embarrassment. “It’s just so hot. I thought maybe the scarf would help cover me when I had to wear it.”
He took a deep breath and stepped toward her. Only one, though. He kept his arms crossed as he looked down at her and did his best to temper his words. “It’s okay. This is new, and it’s hot as hell. But I’d rather you be sweating and miserable than cool and killed.”
She nodded, dropped the bag she’d brought out with her, and darted back into her room. He checked his watch, but he didn’t have to wait long. She emerged less than a minute later wearing a long sleeve, fitted t-shirt. He wanted to howl because, somehow, without the blanket of the loose button-up shirt she’d worn over the tank top, she was on display even more. That damn cotton clung to her like a second skin. Jesus.
She spread her arms. “How do I look?”
Like a sinful siren. “Better. Follow me,” he barked, and turned on his heels without another glance. He heard her heft the bag before she shuffled behind him out of the barracks.
“We didn’t get a chance to talk yesterday about the agenda.”
“You were dead on your feet,” he said without looking at her. “I’d just have to go through it all again this morning.”
She harrumphed, and he was glad she couldn’t see the flash of his grin. “I’m all ears, soldier.”
“Technically, I’m in the Navy. Makes me a sailor.”
“If I call you sailor, that’ll make me feel like I’m reciting some cheesy line in a porno.” She snorted. “Well, hello there, sailor. Let me raise that big, hard anchor of yours,” she said in a sultry tone that had his cock stirring. He stopped suddenly, and she ran into his back. “Oaf.”
He turned and clasped her shoulders to steady her. Caitlin’s eyes were huge as she stared up at him, startled. She’d been joking with him, but no way did she know just how much he wanted to take her up on that teasing offer. He opene
d his mouth to tell her—what? What was he going to say? Any reprimand died on his tongue as he gazed down at her. He immediately let go and turned before he did something stupid, not giving his brain a chance to send any dangerous commands to his hands or mouth, and then marched out of the building.
He climbed into the driver’s side of the Hummer and waited for her to get seated. Before she had a chance to brace herself, he peeled out, heading for the airstrip. Determined to keep his mind on his job of protecting her body, and not exploiting it, he said, “It’d take us half a day to drive to the Achin District, not to mention the road is one of the most dangerous in the world. A helo will take us to Jalalabad, and we’re driving from there. It’ll cut travel time in half.”
“Why not take the helicopter all the way?”
It was a good question, not that he liked having his decisions second-guessed. “We will after today. You’ve been cleared to interview some of the units on the ground, and we need to get that out of the way first. It’ll be easier to drive among them. Tomorrow, we’ll take the helo over the actual bombsight and surrounding areas to give you a lay of the land and aerial footage. The next several days after that, we’ll fly to a specific quadrant and land, so you can walk in the designated area, meet locals—friendly locals—before heading back to base for the night. Each day we’ll fly to a different quadrant so you can investigate and film whatever it is you’re interested in seeing until you’ve put eyes on everything.”
She was silent, and he gripped the wheel tighter when the urge to keep talking bubbled up.
“I’m sorry for earlier.”
“Nothing to apologize for,” he said automatically. If either of them owed the other an apology, it was him for reacting to her words at all.
“It was inappropriate. You’re here to protect me, and I insulted you.”
“You didn’t insult me.”
“Yes, I did. I—”