Honor Courage Commitment

by Jordan Danzig

  When Amanda gave her some vague details about the unit’s previous homecoming from Afghanistan, Zanna realized it was the same landing site she and Rivera had run to many times. She pulled up alongside several military trucks parked at one end of the helicopter pad, but as soon as she got out of the Jeep someone yelled at her to halt.

  An armed Marine with an alert Belgian Malinois on a tight leash approached and asked for her ID.

  Zanna peered around the Marine’s shoulder. Troops were exiting the back of a twin-rotor helicopter. Two men stopped and took charge of loading the gear onto a waiting truck. She shifted her weight from foot to foot. The rest of the men slowly ambled in her direction, chatting and joking.

  He’s not with them.

  The Marine was firm but polite. “Please state your business here, ma’am.”

  “I know some of those men,” Zanna said. Oh, crap, how lame did that sound?

  The pained expression that greeted her remark said her reason wasn’t good enough. For a split-second, his gaze shifted over her shoulder then back to her face. Two woodland-camouflaged arms grabbed her from behind and lifted her off her feet. A deep voice growled in her ear.

  “This is a restricted area, ma’am. You have no business here.”

  Zanna struggled against the bear hug. “I do know those men. One in—”

  “That does not bestow any privileges, Zanna.”

  She stopped squirming, twisting her neck to get a glimpse of the man behind her. “Angel?”

  Angel laughed heartily and released her. “It’s OK, Jinx. Ms. Carpenter must have been misinformed as to the location of the official family homecoming. I can vouch for her and I’ll make sure she gets escorted from the area.”

  She put her hands together and mouthed ‘Thank you’ to Angel.

  The group of men reached them and a hand clasped Jinx’s shoulder. “Please, please tell me you got a smoke with my name on it,” Kalinski said. “I am about ready to kill for one . . . don’t let it be you.”

  Jinx relaxed at Angel’s familiarity with Zanna and he handed over the requested pack of cigarettes to Kalinski.

  Mason greeted her with a warm smile. “You come to meet someone special?”

  My, you look knackered. She returned the smile. “You’re all special, Mason.”

  “That’s Mace, to you.” He thumbed toward the helicopter. “He’s on his way.”

  He walked with a slight hitch in his right hip, not a limp exactly, that would probably go unnoticed by someone who hadn’t worked with him day-in-day-out for all those months. He adopted the slight roll when he’d over-exerted his leg. I must remind him about that; give him some more exercises for it.

  She silently requested permission from Angel, which he granted with a gesture. She walked a little way onto the pad, shivering in the chill breeze coming off the Pacific. I should get my coat from the Jeep. But he was walking toward her now. She hugged herself and chuckled when she realized he was not limping; he was using that swaggering gait Amanda called the Gunslinger Strut. His head was bowed, and his steps measured. About twenty yards away, he raised his head and stopped.

  Her stomach muscles tensed. She pushed at her hair blowing in the wind and walked toward Rivera. Standing in front of him, an eternity passed. Rivera had his blank face on. I’ve made a terrible mistake. She gave another uncontrolled shiver.

  “You cold?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he removed his camo blouse and placed it around Zanna’s shoulders. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and wrapped the way-too-large jacket around her like a kimono. She buried her head in the sleeve to inhale his scent.

  Rivera took her in his arms. “I’m sor—”

  “Don’t say it,” Zanna replied, pushing back from him and placing the fingertips of her right hand over his mouth. “You’ve already said it. I don’t need to hear it again.”

  He looked into her brimming eyes. Zanna stared back, and for the first time, she was able to take a deep honest look into his rich, dark eyes. She blinked back her tears, not wanting to miss a moment of being able to take such a good look at him—and let him know it. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Shhh.” He kissed her lips, gently at first, then with more urgency and passion.

  She had one hand on his back, holding onto his strong shoulder. With the other hand, she did what she had longed to do the first time she saw his hair—stroke the short, thick, dark buzz cut. In her mind, it had always felt like velvet being brushed the wrong way; resilient and plush. She grinned at the reality of it; like soft chamois leather.

  An older Marine passed them. “Debrief is in thirty minutes, Ding.” He laughed. “Don’t be late.”

  Zanna broke free from Rivera’s embrace. She slid her hand down his arm until it made contact with his hand. She turned around, twisting her hand to take hold of his as she did so and began to walk away pulling him with her. He let her lead him toward the Jeep.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Back to my place?”

  “That’ll take too long. I’ve got a debriefing in—” he looked at his watch, “twenty-eight minutes.” He headed back down the pad.

  “Not the helicopter? We can’t,” Zanna said, excited by the frisson it sent through her body.

  “Well, we could . . . but it wouldn’t be worth getting caught. You wouldn’t have any reputation left worth a damn and mine would go through the roof . . . before my court martial.” He laughed. “But I know some secluded areas down by the beach.” He gave her that slow, crooked grin, parted his lips and ran the tip of his tongue across his upper teeth.

  The fire ignited in Zanna’s belly. “Come on then, you’ve only got twenty-six minutes.” She ran backward, beckoning with both hands for him to follow. He caught up and took her hand. He led her to a dip that was sheltered from the breeze coming off the ocean and unseen from the road.

  Zanna teased him. “How do you know this area so well?”

  He laughed. “I know every inch of this beach, because of the number of times I’ve raided it or been extracted from it.” He kissed her again.

  She pulled him to his knees and they continued their embrace. She ran her fingers over his hair again. Rivera took her in his arms and fell sideways into the sand. Zanna landed so she was in the crook of his shoulder, her head resting on his chest. They lay there for a few moments with Zanna listening to his steady heartbeat.

  You silly cow! How can you be so selfish? You saw how tired Mace looked. She reached for Rivera’s right wrist, lifted and turned it, to check the time. Ten minutes since they’d met. Six minutes here. He had four minutes before he had to head back. She replaced his hand on her thigh and reached up over her head to caress his hair once more. That feels so good. She cocked her head. When she’d moved him in the gym that day, he’d awoken ready to kill. Now, with all her fidgeting about, he was dead to the world.

  “You’re not asleep, are you?” she whispered.

  “No.”

  She pulled a soft pouch from her jeans pocket. “I’d like you to do the honors.” She slid the bracelet and screwdriver into his hand.

  He undid the screws. “Which arm?”

  She offered her left arm. “Because . . . you know.”

  He placed the two halves of the bangle around her left wrist and fastened it. He took hold of her hand, kissed the palm, her wrist, and lastly the Cartier bangle.

  “Thank you so much,” Zanna said. “I adore the inscription.”

  “A small token of appreciation. You did so much for me.”

  “It wasn’t just me. I—”

  “Zip it,” he said with a laugh. “Just accept the compliment.”

  She kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you for coming out here today. I wasn’t—”

  “Zip it,” she said, placing a finger on his lips. “I don’t think anything could have kept me away.” Except that Marine with the dog! She traced the finger down his neck, onto his chest and stopped at his navel. “So
. . . why aren’t we—?”

  He ruffled her hair in a parody of her petting his. “Because we deserve better than that. After the debrief, I get a couple of days downtime to disengage. Thought you might like to come disengage with me up in the hills?”

  Amanda had told Zanna all about Rivera’s cottage in the vineyard. “No, I don’t think I’d like to dis-engage with you at all.” Zanna felt him brace underneath her. “I would very much like to en-gage with you.”

  He relaxed. “That sounds like a plan.” He patted her butt. “I gotta head back.”

  Zanna brushed the sand out of his hair and off his clothes.

  “Waste of time. Viper will have filled everybody in. I am as a lamb to the slaughter when I walk in that room.”

  She returned his jacket and, as they headed back across the landing pad, wanted to hang on his arm, to show the world she was finally with him, but public displays of affection were frowned on in the Marines. Zanna contented herself to walk close by Rivera’s side. Even so, they drew looks from the Marines coming out to start work on the helicopter. She was flattered to see he didn’t care they were seen together but was surprised to find herself flushing at all the furtive—and sometimes blatant—attention they were getting.

  A man detached himself from the group and walked over to them. “This is a secure area,” he said. “ID.”

  Rivera held out his hand for hers. He handed it over to the guard, along with his. “She’s with me.”

  The man made a note of their names and told them to carry on.

  Pocketing her ID, Zanna said, “Will I—will you—get into trouble for that?”

  “No. The guy was just doing his job. He would be the one in trouble if he didn’t.” He nudged her and broke into a jog. “I have less than a minute to get to that debriefing. I’ll call you when I’m done.”

  * * *

  Zanna propped herself on her elbow and regarded Rivera beside her. She’d never grow tired of watching him sleep, knowing the transient blackout brought peace like the eye of the storm in the hurricane of his mind. She toyed with the idea of running her fingers over his hair, yet again, and initiating round two of their love-making. Or would that be round three or four? Nah, he could use the rest—after his mission, that is, not from what we did. . . . but on second thought. She softly kissed the phoenix tattoo on his left arm. While snuggling in the afterglow, she’d asked him about it. He murmured he’d tell her about it sometime. She slipped out of bed and picked up the pale blue cotton shirt he’d changed into when he got home. Buttoning it, and delighting again in the smell of him, she recalled the final conversation they had before he drifted off.

  He said the team was going to the UK in the New Year for some reciprocal training and that he could . . . maybe . . . request some leave after the exercise. She said she could use the time when he was training to go visit her family. Her delight at the prospect of being able to spend non-hospital, non-military time with him was dashed somewhat by his final mumbled words. “I can’t promise anything. I’ve already had so much time off . . . and our schedule is always likely to be rearranged at short notice.”

  Zanna padded across the cool tiles of the living room to the kitchen to make coffee. I hope he was joking about what I wear because the security guards sometimes patrol up here. He didn’t care about any guards when we were out on that terrace last night.

  When pressed about her first night with Angel, Amanda had finally confessed—to shut Zanna up—that he was a ‘thoughtful’ lover. Hmmmm, would Amanda understand my definition of Rivera as being a ‘considerate’ lover? Zanna engaged in a long, lazy stretch.

  He’d been considerate on the table, on the floor, on the chair, and incredibly considerate while she rested her forearms on the terrace rail and he stood behind her, one hand on her hip the other on her shoulder. He’d tantalized and teased, exhilarated and excited, soothed and stimulated—and he’d even brought her to tears. Not the tears of physical pain—though there had been a couple of exquisite moments—but the tears born out of love. He’d been disconcerted and confused by her crying. Has he never made love to—or been made love to by—a woman who can love someone so deep it actually aches?

  She measured out the coffee grounds and water and while it brewed she smiled at the things she’d done to him. Things he was at once surprised, and at the same time very pleased—in both senses of the word—that she even knew about. She poured the coffee and headed back to the bedroom. Halfway across the living room, a scraping sound came from beyond the double doors leading out onto the terrace.

  Don’t tell me those security guards are a bunch of bloody voyeurs.

  She set the mugs down and strode outside to give whoever it was a piece of her mind about respecting other people’s privacy. She came to an abrupt halt when she saw O’Malley sitting on the terrace rail, his back propped against a corner post and his foot resting on a chair. He waved his hand at the vista extending from the vineyard to the ocean, but he didn’t take his eyes off Zanna.

  “Nice view,” he said, arching his eyebrows.

  Zanna shivered from the crisp early morning air rather than O’Malley’s faux lechery. However, she hastily checked that Rivera’s shirt did indeed cover all the bits she’d rather O’Malley didn’t see. Someone gave a soft cough. To her left, Mason lay sprawled out on a bench.

  What on earth are you doing here?

  Before she got a chance to pose the question to O’Malley, on the far side of the house, a car door slammed and a moment later Angel and Amanda came around the corner. Angel acknowledged Zanna with a smile. He nodded at O’Malley and Mason. Both men returned the simple gesture.

  Why didn’t I hear the guys arrive? The penny dropped. Because I only heard the one door—Amanda’s. She grinned. These guys know about those sort of things.

  Rivera brushed past her and went to greet his friends. They formed a tight circle, each with his arms around the shoulders or waist of the man next to him. They bowed their heads. No words had been exchanged between any of them.

  Amanda joined her in the doorway. “What’s going on?” Zanna whispered.

  Amanda shrugged. “I have no idea. Angel just said he needed to come up here. Looks like the others did too.”

  The butterflies in the pit of Zanna’s stomach began a crazy dance. This is who he is. This is who they all are. And this will always come first to them. She swallowed hard at being granted the privilege of witnessing a spontaneous event that had nothing to do with the girls. “That’s some serious—private—male-bonding going on there,” she murmured.

  “I know how much this will pain you.” Amanda laughed and hooked her arm through Zanna’s. “But let’s go fulfill our stereotypical role in this odd scenario and get breakfast on for the men. And you really ought to get some clothes on,” she said, heading for the kitchen.

  Zanna peeled off for the bedroom but she couldn’t resist glancing back at the terrace.

  The men still stood in their huddle; heads bowed in silent communion of their brotherhood.

  Thank you for taking time to read “Honor Courage Commitment” If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends or posting a short review.

  Word of mouth is an author’s best friend and much appreciated. Check out jordandanzig.com for news on more books in the series about Zanna, Amanda, and the men in Team Raven.

  About the Author Jordan Danzig’s lifelong interest in the military was sparked by childhood holidays in the Channel Islands - the only part of the British Isles to be occupied by German Armed Forces during WWII. He lives in semi-rural Worcestershire in the UK where, when not reading, writing or researching, he divides his time between coaching dressage (those dancing horses at the Olympics) and seeking the perfect pint of cider.