Taking Fire

by Lindsay McKenna

  “You look better,” he murmured. Khat had combed her hair and tamed it into a long ponytail down her back. Soft tendrils around her flushed cheeks emphasized her clear green eyes this morning. “So you slept well?”

  “I died,” she muttered, slathering blueberry jam across her toast.

  “No nightmares?”

  “No.” And then she added more softly, “I missed you beside me, though.” She saw Mike’s eyes grow intense, his mouth that she ached to kiss right now pulling into a slight smile.

  “I wanted to be there, believe me.” Mike looked around the empty chow hall, and his gaze drifted back to hers. “Military regs.”

  “I know.” Khat sighed, understanding. She finished off all the food she’d piled on her tray. Mike stimulated her appetite. Khat realized she wanted to eat, wanted to live, when she was around him.

  Putting the tray to one side, Khat picked up her mug of hot tea. Her heart rate increased as she saw Mike do the same thing. Meeting his gaze, she whispered unsteadily, “I’m so sorry I was a coward, Mike. I should have told you I was going to leave.”

  “Why didn’t you?” He sipped his coffee, his eyes above the rim, watching her. Khat looked excruciatingly vulnerable, confusion in her gaze. He felt her being torn or undecided.

  Khat placed the mug on the table, her hands around it. “Because I was afraid you’d get angry. I know you wanted me to stay here longer.”

  “I understood, Khat.” Mike tipped his head, his voice lowering. “I love you. Nothing changes that. All right?”

  She nervously turned the mug around between her long fingers. “But you’ll be gone in four months,” she whispered, feeling tears in her eyes. “You’ll be returning Stateside.”

  Nodding, he said, “I know.” And his heart ached because he saw Khat torn between her duty and her love for him, for what they had, which was so damned good. As much as he wanted to argue with her why she should give up what she’d done for all those years, Mike knew it would fall on deaf ears. He had to be patient and pray that eventually, Khat would get it on her own. If she could do that, Mike knew their growing love stood a chance.

  “You know,” he said quietly, “there wouldn’t be any harm in you returning to the States when winter comes. All the attacks stop. The snow is too deep to pass or move people or equipment. Would you consider coming back to the States then?”

  She heard the longing in his voice. Yearning to be with him, not apart. Khat felt unsettled. “I usually spend my winter in my father’s village of Dur Babba. I give medical help to the people during that time. Sometimes, when there’s breaks in the weather, I’ll ride to the surrounding villages and give medical aid. I usually stay one to three weeks in each village, but a lot of that is determined by the weather.”

  “I see,” he murmured. “Maybe this year can be different?” Mike looked into her anguished gaze. “I’ll have sixty days of leave when my platoon flies back to Coronado. It would be a nice way to spend it. With you.” Mike wasn’t going to lie down and let their love become a victim in this fight for Khat’s heart and soul. “What do you think?”

  “Where do you live?”

  “I lease a thousand-square-foot condo from my best friend, Gabe Griffin. He was a SEAL until recently. The building sits about a hundred feet off San Diego Bay, and you get the smell of the ocean and the beauty of the sunsets, among other things.”

  “It sounds wonderful,” she said. “Calming.”

  “Peaceful,” he agreed. “I always like getting back there. It helps me ramp down from combat and kick back to a degree.”

  “Are there lots of seabirds?”

  He smiled. “Birds, seals, dolphins, whales. You name it, San Diego Bay has it. There’s a harbor seal I call Sam. He’s been around forever. I started buying him some fresh fish from the fish market every Friday. He’ll be waiting for me like he knows what day it is.” Khat’s eyes grew thoughtful, and he could feel her digesting his descriptions.

  “You have a seal?”

  Mike gave her a sheepish look. “Not my seal. Sam is a local phenomenon. Everybody feeds him. Gabe is the one who turned me on to the fact Sam didn’t have any fish for Friday, so I volunteered to feed him on Fridays when I was home.” He grinned.

  Khat was touched by his kindness toward animals. Hell, kindness toward her. He had wonderful hands. Healing hands. She responded to his touch. Her Arabian mares loved him, too. Wistful, she said, “I’ve always loved the water. Especially the ocean. When I was training at Camp Pendleton for that year, I’d go out to San Onofre beach every chance I could. I learned to body surf there and loved it.”

  “You’re a SEAL by proxy, then,” he teased. “Maybe a frogwoman?”

  Khat laughed. “Oh, I don’t know about that!”

  “If you decide to come and see me, I’ll teach you how to scuba dive.”

  “You are such a temptation, Tarik.”

  He opened his hands and gave her a very serious look. “I love you, Khat. I want to show you another side of life with me that isn’t the SEAL.”

  She lowered her lashes, staring at her cup of tea. “I know,” she said softly, frowning. “I’ve had three weeks to think about a lot of things.”

  His heart leaped with hope. As much as he wanted to push her, Mike knew he couldn’t. So he sat patiently, watching her wrestle within herself, her lips pursed, eyes down.

  “So have I.”

  Lifting her gaze, Khat saw the tender look burning in his eyes. Her body automatically responded and so did her heart. His hands, so scarred and yet able to give her such pleasure. The heated memory flowed strongly through her. “What we have,” she began hesitantly, “is good, Mike. For you, it’s an easy choice. For me, it’s not.”

  “My father always taught me to follow my heart,” Mike mused, holding her unsure gaze. “He can follow his lineage back to the sheiks of the desert. I grew up listening to his stories of riding the Arabian horse during the day and then the horses were allowed into the bedouin tent at night, a part of the family. He said that stories passed down through time were stories about the heart.” His lips quirked. “Maybe that’s why he became a world-renowned cardiac surgeon. I can remember as a little boy when I’d be out with him and his herd of Arabian horses, he’d always tell me horses could see a person’s heart. And to work with them from my heart. I grew up breaking many of the horses, but I never had to shock or traumatize them with bucking or throwing a saddle over them. All I had to do was befriend them, gain their trust and one day, I’d just quietly slip up on their back. They accepted me without any problem. They knew my heart, and I knew theirs.”

  “You were so lucky,” Khat whispered, touched deeply by his story. “What did your father think when you wanted to be a SEAL and not follow the family tradition of becoming a surgeon?”

  “He was upset at first, but he knew I was a kid who liked adventure. I was restless, wanted to see the world, was fascinated with weapons of all kind. My father made the remark one time before I joined the navy that I’d traded in the family scalpel for a different kind of one—a military KA-BAR knife.”

  He saw Khat was fascinated with the story and decided to share more with her. “After I managed to graduate from BUD/S, and they came to our graduation, my father was very proud of me. At that point, he told me that I had the genes from the other side of his family—the bedouin warriors. He told me about a caliph who waged war against an invader and won. That his swordsmanship was considered the best in Saudi Arabia. I told my father at that point I’d traded in scalpels for a big modern-day sword—an M-4 rifle.” He laughed in memory of that day.

  “But your father, who is Saudi, did not disown you?”

  Frowning, Mike said, “No, of course not.” And then he blinked once, getting it. “Did your father disown you?” His heart dropped over the possibility.

  Humiliation flowed through Khat. Closing her eyes, she pressed her hand against her brow. “I feel so much shame about it,” she admitted in a strained tone, her voic
e uneven with tears. “After I came home from being captured and they met me at the San Diego Naval Hospital where I was taken, my father, Jaleel, lost it.”

  Mouth tightening, Mike wanted to reach across the table and grip her hand, but he didn’t dare. “I’m sorry, Khat. Maybe, with time, he’ll come around.”

  Sniffing, she lifted her head, blinking away the tears. “That’s why I never go home. I go to the US to fulfill my obligations and training as a paramedic, but then I leave and come back over here.”

  Mike took a drink of coffee, barely containing his rage over what her father had done to her. In the Middle East, to be disowned was the most traumatic event that could happen in a child’s life. It was one step down from dying. And indeed, he’d heard stories from his father about when a rebellious son would be cast out of a family. That son could never go home again. They were dead as far as the family was concerned. Son of a bitch! Now the picture was a little clearer on why Khat was over in Afghanistan so much.

  “Do your father’s relatives know this?”

  Wiping her eyes, she shook her head. “No.”

  “Has he written them and told them?”

  “Most of them are uneducated and cannot read or write. I usually stay in Dur Babba during the winter with my uncles and aunts.” Her voice softened. “They are such wonderful people, Mike. I love them, and they love me. I’m welcomed with opened arms, and I truly feel at home there.”

  Mike wanted to curse so damn bad it stuck like a knife in his throat. He kept the rage out of his eyes for her sake. Jaleel Shinwari had disowned his only daughter. The bastard! Did he realize what he’d done to Khat? Hell, everyone needed to be loved. To have family who loved them. And Khat was running toward the only family she knew who wasn’t judging her, but simply loving her because she was of their blood and tribe.

  Beneath the table, his hand curled into a fist. Now Mike understood what their love for one another was up against. And it was daunting to him. Khat had already said once she fulfilled her military obligation, she was remaining in Afghanistan. The reason was clear to him now.

  Khat was intelligent and wouldn’t be bullied one way or another about their relationship. All Mike could do was appeal to her heart, which he held in his hands. She was an adult and so was he. She was fully capable of making changes in her life based upon her needs. The problem was, duty and being disowned had suppressed healthy, normal drives and desires within her. She’d taken up the mission of duty to her family, the village of her father’s birth, to prove that even if Jaleel had disowned her, she was still worthy of the rest of his family’s love, respect and care. He felt like he was battling a dragon without any way to defend himself against the situation.

  “I think we need to get back and you speak to the chief.” Mike knew putting too much pressure on Khat would distract her. And distraction was a killer in their business.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “WELL,” CHIEF MCCUTCHEON SAID, “we normally bring in the men who are going to be on this mission. That way, Sergeant Shinwari, you and Tarik can discuss it, bring out better or different ideas.”

  Khat stared across the desk at Mac. In thirty minutes he’d just laid out a plan that had spun her into shock. Her notebook and the pen in her hand were frozen on her lap. “And you said that Commander Hutton was on board with this mission?” Her voice was low, strained.

  “Yes,” Mac said firmly. “I’ve been working directly with Senior Master Chief Wilson at J-bad. I’m sure you know who he is?”

  “Yes,” she rasped, “I do.” Her heart was fluttering with dread.

  “I need to get Tarik in here,” Mac said, rising. “He’s as much a part of this as you are.”

  Swallowing hard, Khat took out her bottle of water from her cammie trouser pocket. Her mouth was dry. She’d never expected this. Why was Hutton changing things up on her? Hadn’t she performed well? Why fix something if it wasn’t broken? Anger warred with fear within her. Khat drank deeply from the bottle. She heard the chief calling for Mike. Did he know about this and had not told her? Wiping her wet lips with the back of her hand, Khat frowned and screwed the top on the water bottle, pushing it back into the deep pocket on her lower leg.

  Mike followed the chief into the office. He glanced over at Khat. She looked dazed. Her face had gone pale. Things hadn’t gone well, he figured as he sat down.

  Mac gave him the details of the plan for the next twenty minutes. It was an effort to trick Khat into thinking he knew nothing about it, when in reality, he was the one who had created it under Mac’s direction. What Mac didn’t want was distrust on Khat’s part toward Mike. Finally, the chief finished giving him the bones of the op.

  “Okay, I got the two of you up to speed. Do you have questions about this op?” His gaze moved to Khat and then Mike.

  “Yes,” Khat said strongly, sitting up, her hands curled on her thighs. “I thought I was doing good work out there for Commander Hutton.”

  “You are,” Mac said. “Your intel is valued highly by all of us.”

  “Then why is he giving me a partner when I don’t need one?”

  Mike sat back, hands in his lap, quiet. This was the chief’s battle to fight, not his.

  “Because according to Senior Master Chief Wilson, he’s seeing the Taliban shifting their tactics again. This time, Khogani is utilizing your area fifty percent more than he did two months ago.”

  “But I’m handling that intrusion fine!” Khat feared for her job. Were they going to pull her out?

  “Stand down,” Mac ordered firmly.

  Breathing hard, Khat sat back, trying to relax. Her hands had curled into fists on her thighs.

  “You know better than most the Taliban are always changing their patterns. While Khogani is favoring your op area, we want more oversight. Frankly, Sergeant, you should be relieved it’s someone you know. I fought for Tarik to be your partner. They wanted someone else, and I said no.”

  Miserably, Khat looked over at Mike. “Are you happy about this?”

  Mike kept his game face on. “I think we’ll make a good team,” he told her, holding her shaken gaze. “We know one another, we’re both horse people. I know a little about your caves and your operating system.” He opened his hands. “I think it’s a good idea to take GPS on all the trails and rat lines. You’re the only one who knows where all of them are. That intel could help us position a drone over a given area. It can spot Taliban coming across, and air assets can blow them to hell.” He held her gaze, his voice calm and reasonable. “It doesn’t hurt anyone to know this intel. It can only help everyone. Don’t you agree?”

  Well, how the hell could she argue that? Her lips twitched, her eyes growing hard. To argue it would be pointless and stupid. “It’s a reasonable objective,” she agreed huskily.

  “I need to buy a horse,” Mike told the chief. He’d tried at one village days ago, and it hadn’t gone well because there were no horses available to be sold to him.

  “Yes. I’m asking Reza, who is a Shinwari tribesman and one of our terps, interpreters, to take you down to another village. He knows the horse traders there, and he knows his horses. Buy one and make sure it’s not a broken-down nag, all right?”

  Mike nodded. “I think I can handle that, no problem.” He glanced over at Khat. “Want to come along?”

  She felt like shrieking in rage, but swallowed it. Feeling as if she were being set up for some unknown reason, Khat muttered, “Of course.”

  “It’s going to take you a couple of days to prepare,” Mac warned her. “You two work out the kinks of the op. If you can’t, come and see me.”

  “And who am I reporting to?” Khat demanded.

  “Me,” Mac said, “not Commander Hutton.”

  Her brows flew upward. “What is happening here, Chief? First, Camp Bravo becomes my supply line. Now you’re handling this op instead of my handler in J-bad.”

  “Commander Hutton authorized it,” Mac said, holding her belligerent stare.

 
; She snorted and sat back in the chair, crossing her legs and glaring at the chief.

  “Something you want to get off your chest, Sergeant?”

  Biting on her lower lip, Khat held the chief’s calm stare. She was the one sweating, not him. “I feel like someone’s making a back door move on me. I just can’t figure out who yet,” she said angrily. “I’ve been a good operator out there for years. I don’t need to start being passed around. That’s a distraction for me, dammit. And distractions get you killed out there.”

  Mac nodded, absorbing her anger. “I’d like you to give me and us a chance, Sergeant. I think you’ll find us professional and a lot more concerned about your welfare than you are presently being cared for by that J-bad crew.”

  “Just what does that mean?” Khat demanded heatedly. She was fine with Hutton ignoring her. It gave her the latitude to do what she felt worked best for her and her mission. Was McCutcheon warning her not so subtly that he was a hands-on handler? Going to screw with her decision making? Worse, make decisions for her when she was the one in the field and he was here, riding a damned desk?

  Mac sat back in his chair, studying her. “I think Mike can tell you what it means, Sergeant. We take care of our own. We have your back, and you have ours. SEALs operate quite differently from other black ops. We don’t generally put one man out in the field alone. We know we’re stronger when there’s two or more of us. And I think you know that.”

  Her nostrils flared, and she began breathing unevenly. “I know what I’m doing out there, Chief. Do not screw with me. I have five years of actionable intel proof that I’m the best at what I do. I have disrupted Khogani’s complete network, and all the border villages are safer because I’m out there.” She sat up in the chair, jamming her index finger down on his desk, holding his stare. “You let me run on a very loose leash. You can not tell me what to do or when to do it. I know the rhythm of my enemy. And very often, it’s my experience linked with my intuition that gets the job done.” Her voice lowered to almost a snarl. “I will not be on a damn sat phone to you asking permission from my handler if I can initiate an attack or not.”