“Ask him.”
“I can’t,” she kept her face covered.
“Why not?”
Michelle peeked between her fingers and, just as she feared, Isobel was smiling at her like Michelle was just as much of a mess as she thought she was.
“Well?”
“Because he kissed me.”
“And it was terrible?”
“It was amazing. Then we’re alone in the back of the plane and do you know what he does?”
“I saw. He falls asleep.”
“He falls asleep,” she confirmed. “Why do you think I told Anton to go and wake him up but good?”
“Because you’re a frustrated bitch?”
“No, because…” Michelle dropped her hands and eyed Isobel, who was enjoying this far too much.
“Don’t worry, Michelle. You’re far too nice a woman to be a bitch. If you wanted to wake him up, maybe you should have kissed him.”
“I didn’t think of that.”
“Like I said, far too nice. There is one thing about my brother that I think you missed.”
Michelle eyed Isobel carefully.
“He’s shy.”
“No way. I’ve seen him with the guys.”
Isobel’s shrug was eloquent.
She waited, but Isobel didn’t say anything more. Instead, she leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.
Then Michelle waited a little more.
She casually glanced around her seat and down the length of the plane.
Anton was asleep.
Ricardo’s gaze met hers for an instant, then shifted aside.
She ducked back out of sight. Shy, huh? Next time she certainly would kiss him. Or smack him right in the solar plexus.
Chapter 8
:Baseball, huh (query).:
Ricardo was moving up the aisle behind Anton, last to disembark.
He ducked down enough to see Michelle out one of the windows. The sunrise light lit her hair with deep reds and golds. She stood at the base of the short stairway and had her face raised to the sun like a worshipper. The most—
Then he saw what was behind her.
They’d landed at Pope Field on Fort Bragg, North Carolina. The home of Delta Force. The one place on earth that he least belonged anymore.
He was going to fucking kill Gibson for sending him here.
I never signed up for this shit!
:You never signed up for baseball (confused query).:
What the hell’s going on here? It was bad enough that he was losing his mind, but it seemed like now he didn’t even know if he was telepathying or not.
He wanted to be away from Fort Bragg and away from Michelle.
Maybe he should shove Anton out of the way, storm the cockpit, and get them to deposit his ass anywhere but here. Middle of the ocean without a life raft would be an improvement—just him and a bunch of deadly sharks. He didn’t care. Of course, he and Michelle had already proven that their telepathy “gift” could span thousands of miles.
With his luck, she could probably mess with his brain out to the moon. Was he too banged up to get on a Mars mission? Probably.
:Your sister said you were really big on baseball.:
:I guess. Long time ago. Kept me out of trouble.:
:You in trouble a lot?:
:It’s my middle name. You were the perfect kid (not query, statement).:
:Anton must have been telling you about himself. I was, as you mentioned, a total pain in the ass.:
Last one out, Ricardo stood at the head of the steps, blinking at the dawn light and the familiar megaton humidity blast of Fort Bragg, North Carolina. Near enough to the coast to get all of the moisture and far enough away to get none of the maritime breezes tempering the heat.
He was sure he’d never sent that “Never signed up for this shit” remark to Michelle. Nor the “Pain in the ass” one, no matter how many times he’d thought it. Now he had to watch even his thoughts around her? Damned hard not to have thoughts about her.
Michelle was smiling at him when he finally descended the six stairs to the pavement.
Why doesn’t this look good?
Her smile grew.
:You know something.:
:Many things, Manella. Too bad you’ll never know what they are.:
:Heartbroken. Not.: For a distraction he looked around. He’d been in and out of here hundreds of times over his years of Ranger and Airborne training and finally in his years walking tall for The Unit. Delta Force was as high as a man could go. Ex-Delta—you couldn’t go much lower.
Everchanging, Fort Bragg seemed to never change. The teams, the training, the missions were in constant flux, but it was still itself.
Never a hot location for fighter jets, just about everything else was thick on the ground here. It was the largest US military base in the world. Transports, from the little C-12 Hurons for short range runs, and every other sized transport up to a full row of the monstrous C-5 Galaxies. There was no helo brigade based here, but there were still plenty of them buzzing around. Everything in motion yet still so familiar.
And now he was here, standing on the tarmac in a place he’d never belong again. He wasn’t even Delta Force (retired) with an honorable discharge; he was ex-Delta (medically discarded). They’d given him an honorable and a medal, which basically proved he was dumb and stubborn enough to have survived—but not fit for anything else on God’s green earth.
A corporal was checking each person’s ID, then handing out temporary passes after noting them down on a tablet. When Ricardo handed over his Uniformed Services ID Card—with “US Army Retired” in the affiliation slot—the corporal offered him a casual salute. Once she scanned the barcode to verify Ricardo’s ID, she jolted to attention and offered a much more respectful salute.
“Don’t, Corporal. I’m out. You’re still in the service.”
She didn’t ease down at all. “Heard about what you survived, Master Sergeant Manella. It’s an honor.”
Perfect, just what he didn’t need a reminder of. Oh, you’re the poor bastard who got all fucked up in the jungle. Forever more he’d be “Oh, that dude who had his ass tortured.” Perfect. Just perfect. But Ricardo returned the corporal’s salute because it wasn’t the woman’s fault that his own career was gone and he had no idea what came next.
Gibson was interested in their group, like they were some shiny new toy. As if that was so much better.
A C-5 Galaxy roared aloft. America’s biggest transport jet, firing hard on all four engines, blanketed the field in a shroud of silence because there was no way to speak aloud and be heard.
:That thing is huge (major capital letters on huge).: It was easy to fill in Michelle’s sound of awe. Though when he glanced over, she was looking at him with a very worried expression that he wasn’t going to ask about. She turned quickly to inspect the plane again.
:Yeah.: And it could be carrying thirty-six pallets of emergency relief supplies, a pair of battle tanks, or an entire Delta squadron and all of their support vehicles to go suppress a small country. He was no longer authorized to know.
:Yeah (query).:
:What?:
:What are you thinking, Manella?:
He looked over at Michelle. She stood beside Isobel, but her face was turned up to watch the massive plane punch aloft. What the hell? Why not?
:I’m thinking I don’t fit anywhere anymore.:
:Idiot.:
:No argument.: The roar of the plane was tapering off. He could see a team of the 82nd Airborne jogging in formation, hustling to their flight with rifles, packs, and parachutes like they had a purpose. Must be nice, dudes.
“Manella!” Michelle had moved to stand toe-to-toe with him during his moment of inattention. He hated that she kept proving he’d lost his situational awareness skills. No one, absolutely no one used to be able to sneak up on him. Not even Isobel, intent on playing older sister tricks. Most of the time not even Colonel Gibson, despite his notorious skill for be
ing stealthy.
:What?: The big jet’s roar was fading into the distance and the 82nd Airborne squads were out of sight around the corner of Hangar 19. Probably just a training jump anyway, but still he envied them.
:What is wrong with you?:
As if he could answer that one. Christ, she was so close that he could smell her over the spent jet fuel and pavement heating in the morning sun—like sunshine on the surf, it just made him want to smile. Which he wasn’t a bit in the mood for.
:Goddamn it, Manella.: She must actually be ticked off to make her swear.
:Everything is wrong with me. Just…leave it alone.:
She reached out and rested her fingertips on his forearm. He hadn’t even been aware of crossing them over his chest. :Okay for now. But no promises.:
:Somehow I knew that.:
:See? You can be smart.: Then she leaned in, her breasts sliding over the backs of his folded arms, and she kissed him.
Well, that first kiss was no fluke. She tasted better than she smelled. It would be so easy to get lost in this woman.
“Cut it out, you two. We’ve got things to do,” Anton thumped a hand down on both their shoulders, making Michelle bite the tip of his tongue in surprise. Not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to mess up a perfectly incredible kiss.
“Speaking of people who need their ass taken down,” he growled up at Anton, then tested the tip of his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Yep, that was going to sting for a while.
Michelle might not be a bitch, but she could certainly channel “severely frustrated” easily.
She needed sleep, breakfast, and some private time with one Ricardo Manella—without her psychotic self doubts blowing up the conversation before his ridiculous conviction that he was a forevermore-failure got in the way.
What she got was a tall brunette with sun-kissed skin and a man-killer walk moseying over from a nearby helicopter like she was God’s gift. Which, maybe she was. She had the kind of looks that Michelle had seen in a hundred fashion magazines—at least the really high-end ones. Except she was wearing wrap-around shades and a flightsuit instead of the latest from Vera Wang.
Anton, Ricardo, and Hannah all took one look at her and snapped to attention, offering sharp salutes.
Jesse’s was more casual. “Howdy, Chief Warrant.”
“Howdy yourself, Captain,” the woman returned his salute first, then the others.
“They made you a Chief Warrant 4. Congratulations, Lola.” He turned to the others, “This is Lola Maloney, one of Emily’s best trainees.” Jesse tipped his hat as he introduced her.
She punched his arm solidly, “One of? Better be checking yourself, Captain. Or is it former Captain? Heard rumors.” Her accent was a lazy New Orleans; the kind that, in Michelle’s experience, men tended to melt over. She’d tried the accent on for awhile in her teens, but all she’d felt was ridiculous. Better to just blend in with no accent at all.
Before Jesse could answer, Lola looked around. “And who’s the other pilot?”
“That would be me, ma’am. Sergeant Anton Bowman, uh, detached.”
“Detached? Oh but that make a girl want to ask questions that she’s been ordered not to. What’s your spec?”
“UH-60 Black Hawk for the 10th Mountain.”
Lola leaned in close to him. “You know that Jesse is a mere AH-6 Little Bird man?”
“Some people just never measure up, ma’am, no matter what you do with them.” Anton was eating up some joke that went completely over Michelle’s head. She even looked up to see if her clue was flying by, but it was long gone without even waving goodbye.
“Told I’m to take three folks, though command wasn’t real clear on Number Three,” Lola Maloney did a sexy slouch thing and looked Ricardo up and down.
“He’s mine for the day, Lola, so hands off.” A short Eurasian woman strode up. She was the same five-six as Hannah but was seriously built. The only relief to her grim demeanor was a dyed streak of gold-blonde in her shoulder-length black hair. “Ricardo Manella and Hannah Tucker?”
The two of them raised their hands.
“You’re with me. Kee Stevenson, Hostage Rescue Team.” Her tone was short, abrupt, and had none of the friendliness or sly sexiness of the other.
This had to be better than that Lola lady.
“The Kee Stevenson?” Ricardo suddenly looked the way Anton had looked when Emily Beale had come up to their picnic table.
Or maybe this wasn’t better. Since when did Ricardo go all goofy over a woman? He certainly hadn’t done it with her.
The woman narrowed her eyes, not in mistrust, but more to say, “That was a stupid question.”
“Uh, right. Sorry. I’m the Ricardo Manella one, um, person. Ah…Nice to meet you.” Halfway between a salute and a handshake, he froze. When Kee didn’t react to either, he dropped his hand to his side.
:What’s up with you and her?:
:Nothing.:
:Bullpucky alert.:
Ricardo glanced over at her. :She’s the best shooter in the military.:
:And that’s a big deal (query).:
:She’s probably the (major emphasis) best shooter alive today. Anywhere.:
:Still puzzled.:
Ricardo huffed out a sigh. :It’s like a wannabe actress suddenly meeting my twin. Newbie, meet Isobel Manella.:
:And you’re such a slouch (query). I thought Delta Force was supposed to be like the ultra-best shooters.:
:Among professional shooters, she’s still Isobel. Or Meryl Streep.:
:Meryl’s old. I can’t believe you’re hot for her.:
:Go away, Bowman.: And his attention went back to Kee, who was eyeing them strangely.
Okay, maybe they should keep the telepathy thing down to a minimum in her presence. If Anton could see them doing it, Michelle figured that meant everyone else on the planet could as well.
“I’m supposed to have a third as well,” Kee said, then looked at her and Isobel.
“I’m with him!” It was out of Michelle’s mouth before she even had time to think.
Isobel must have sensed it before Michelle even spoke, as she had already waved the Lola woman to move toward the helicopter and fallen in beside her.
It was a good thing that Isobel wasn’t telepathic or Michelle would declare right now that she was in love with her. Isobel was the awesomest best friend.
“So, what are we doing?” She asked as she, Hannah, and Ricardo followed the Kee woman over to a waiting Humvee.
“Range 37,” the woman said as if it was the end of a conversation, not the beginning.
Ricardo stumbled and looked at her, suddenly worried. He fell back a step and she matched him.
“You do not leave my side. Are we clear?” The fact that he said it aloud, even in a whisper made it all the more urgent.
“Easy, Ricardo. Goodness.”
“If there’s ever anything hairy going on, I’m going to expect you one step back and half a step to my left side. I’m dead serious, Michelle.”
“Okay, sure.” She barely swallowed a “whatever” because she didn’t think that would go over well.
What in God’s name was Range 37?
Chapter 9
“Don’t we get breakfast first?”
Ricardo knew that questions like Michelle’s only drove top trainers to push harder. It was clear that someone wanted them tired and hungry or they wouldn’t have put them on a redeye flight and then taken them straight to the shooting range.
Kee Stevenson hadn’t said a single word on the drive to Range 37 and now here it was. A low concrete block building, which he knew was just the locker rooms. On the far side was the armory.
Beyond that…Range 37.
It was the most intense live-fire range ever built by the military. It was as close as could be simulated to actual combat.
The trainers were relentless in keeping it realistic. When a soldier had died after trying to assault up a stairwell in Iraq, within two weeks
Range 37 had an exact replica built and developed methodologies for a safe ascent before running everyone through them.
He himself had called in a new tactic used by a Mexican drug cartel team he’d been taking down and the next time he’d gone through Range 37, he’d been confronted by that exact same scenario. He was the only one on his rotation to survive the first time through. The instructors had descended on him, unraveling his actions and then adding that to their training.
It was a hundred and thirty acres of training hell. After a year out, there was no way he was going to survive the day. And with Michelle at his side…
“Excuse me, Ms. Stevenson. Or is it sergeant?”
“Agent Stevenson. I left behind sergeant when I left SOAR.”
“Roger that. Agent Stevenson, you are aware that we have a civilian with us.”
“I am.” She didn’t break stride as she led them to the locker room building, or even bother turning to face him. “Anything else, Sergeant Manella?”
“No, just don’t call me that.”
She stopped and turned to face him so abruptly that he only avoided running her down by inches.
“Master Sergeant Manella,” she snapped it out.
“Not anymore.”
“Master Sergeant Manella. I will not stand by and allow you to dishonor yourself or your service by denying what you once were.”
:She looks dangerous. I wouldn’t mess with her, Ricardo,: Michelle chimed in.
:You’re not helping.:
:I know. That’s what makes me so wonderful.:
Wonderful? Definitely no comment from him at the moment.
“Look, Agent Stevenson. I don’t want special treatment just because—”
“Were you or were you not an operator for Special Operations Force Delta?”
He nodded.
“Were you or were you not honorably discharged?”
“I was.”
“That’s all I need to know, Master Sergeant.” She turned and waved him toward the men’s entrance. “Full gear.” Then she was gone, leading Hannah and Michelle into the other entry.
He was stripped naked and just laying out the clothes that the orderly had issued to him when Michelle chimed in.
At the Quietest Word (Shadowforce: Psi Book 2) Page 7