Taking Fire

CHAPTER FOUR

MIKE STOOD NEXT to Khat as they waited beneath the edge of a wadi that spilled out onto a plain where the Medevac would land shortly. It was a quarter moon night. He could hear the wind gusting off the mountains, sliding into the desert plain before them. The stars were bright. The horses had been hidden and tied farther up into the wadi. Nothing moved. He breathed a sigh of relief that a drone was overhead with thermal imaging capability, not picking up anything but animal body heat. There were no humans in the immediate area except them. Still, he was alert and took nothing for granted.

Damn, he didn’t want to leave Khat out here alone. It ground against every protective mechanism Mike possessed. Hell, yes, she was competent. She said she’d been doing this for five years, and she was still alive. So who did he think he was? She was the one who saved their sorry asses a few days ago, not vice versa. Mike smiled a little, his eyes glittering as he swept the rocky scree slope to his right, the same slope his team had damned near been killed on. If not for Khat.

His hearing was slowly returning to normal, not as sharp as it had been, but he could hear Khat talking in a very low voice on the radio transmission to the Medevac coming their way, giving the pilot the GPS position to land the bird five hundred feet from where they were hidden. She’d already gone out earlier, like a shadow, and removed rocks or limbs that could be kicked up by the whirling blades of the Black Hawk, potentially causing them injury. She knew her job.

Mike kept hearing the call signs Archangel and Boulder. Which sign was hers? If he could pick up her black ops code name, that was a piece of vital intel he could use.

Khat signed off the sat phone, everything in place. She shoved it into a pocket on her H-gear she wore around her torso. Her M-4 was in a harness across her chest. Her mouth was dry with tension. Even though the drone’s eyes were above the exfil point, she was wary. The wind rustled the tree leaves. Her hearing was cocked toward any other sound out of place. Leaning down, she placed Mike’s rucksack to her right, where she could easily pick it up and sling it over her shoulder in a run to the Black Hawk. He couldn’t do it; his left arm was in a sling.

She straightened, pulling the NVGs around her neck, pushing her fingers through her captured hair in a single braid down her back. Nerves always got her at moments like this. Murphy’s law of “if anything could go wrong, it would,” was alive and well in a combat zone. Her mind was racing over the rally point in case they were jumped by unseen and undetected Taliban. It would be their only escape route. Khat felt the heat of Mike’s body close to hers and could sense his alertness. Amazed he didn’t feel tense, she realized it was a different kind of training. Join the SEALs and you knew you would be facing combat continuously. It took a special kind of person to be comfortable in such a situation. She wasn’t one of them.

She felt Mike turn, his shadow looming over her. The thin wash of moonlight only made the gloom even scarier for Khat. Her gaze caught the faintest movement of a leaf, a change in it, indicating someone could be sneaking up on them. It wasn’t; it was just the wind playing havoc on her senses, but her nerves were taut.

In the distance, she could hear the Black Hawk and the two Apache combat gunships, escorting it, the thumping of the rotors cutting through the darkness toward their position. They would land with no lights on. Everyone was wearing NVGs. The night hid them from attack up to a point.

Mike eased the NVGs on his helmet. Khat’s face was tense, her eyes narrowed, in complete guard mode. She’d pulled off her goggles, the black baseball cap pushed up on her head. A powerful surge of protection nearly overwhelmed him. He was so damn invested in her emotionally, and he didn’t want to extricate himself. Watching her scan the area, her profile clean, those soft lips accentuated, he thought the unthinkable. He wanted to kiss the hell out of her, feel her mouth beneath his. Feel her respond. A flood of heated emotions coursed through him as he stood beside her. To hell with it. He set the M-4 against a tree trunk, easily within reach if he needed it in a hurry. Lifting his hand, he placed it gently upon her shoulder, so as not to startle her.

Khat felt the warmth of Mike’s strong hand come to rest on her shoulder. She was wearing her cammies and even through them, she could feel the male heat of his fingers. Surprised, she turned quickly, thinking he saw something and was silently warning her. Instead, as she looked up into his darkly shadowed face, her lips parted. The look in his glittering eyes was focused on her. Her breath hitched as he pulled her toward him. He was going to kiss her! Panic mingled with shock. And then, Khat felt an even more powerful emotion sweep through her, erasing the other two feelings. Her mind shorted out. Mike was going to kiss her. Nothing was further from her reality. For five years of loneliness, Khat had accepted her twisted fate.

Until now.

Her eyes widened as he bent his head, his mouth curving softly against hers. His hand was firm, guiding her as close as they could get to one another. The gear they wore prevented any real intimacy. She closed her eyes, inhaling his scent, feeling his mouth tentatively explore hers. The prickle of his beard against her cheek sent tingles racing through her. His hand slid from her shoulder, fingers curling gently around her nape, tipping her head upward, angling her just enough to deepen their kiss.

Her world exploded, and Khat moaned, her hand moving to his chest, her fingers curving against his Kevlar vest. She tasted his maleness, his power, his coaxing, asking her to participate. It had been so long since she’d kissed a man! And she wanted this. She wanted to taste Mike Tarik, feel his roughened lips rasp against her softer yielding ones.

Breath ragged, Khat sank against him, and he took her full weight, welcoming her into his partial embrace. He was giving her so much that it brought tears to her eyes. It was as if Mike somehow sensed she was fractured and terribly vulnerable to a man. He parted her lips more, inviting, asking her for greater entrance. A hunger roared up through her, and Khat responded to his scalding invitation. She felt him groan. There was no sound, just vibration. It sent elation through her as her fingers curved shyly around his thick neck, pulling him closer, wanting deeper connection with him.

Her knees felt like so much jelly as his tongue slowly traced her lower lip, explored the corner of her mouth and slid deeper, finding her tongue. Suddenly, Khat felt a bolt of white-hot heat clench in her channel, and it was almost painful in its swift contraction. A whimper escaped her.

They were out of time. Two Apaches thundered high overhead, guard dogs to protect the Medevac when it landed. They would be on the lookout for enemy. Mike regretfully eased his mouth from hers, breathing unevenly, staring hard down into her drowsy-looking eyes. Her lips were glistening, slightly swollen from the power of his kiss. He released Khat but kept his hand lightly on her shoulder. She looked bewildered as she stared up at him. There was burning arousal in her dark eyes. He’d felt her innocent response in their kiss, sweet and unsure with him. Her slender fingers tightened against his shoulder.

He framed her face with his hand, leaning close, inches between them. “Listen to me, Khat. I’ve got your back. You call me anytime you need help. All right?”

His guttural growl sifted through her shaking body. Khat had never been kissed like this. She felt weak, hot and needy. All from one kiss! The palm of his hand was rough against her cheek. She saw the hunter’s intensity in his slitted eyes, heard the growl in his low voice. He meant it. Barely able to nod, she couldn’t find her voice, so shocked by his molten kiss. So many emotions were running through her, some good, some terrifying monsters from her past, that she felt a lump form in her throat as she rested against his tall, strong body. Mike exuded an animal-like protection toward her, as if she had just been claimed as his mate. There was an overwhelming sense that she was his woman. She could feel it.

Mike was taken aback as he saw tears form in her eyes, slide silently down her cheeks. He felt their warmth slide beneath his palm, dampening his flesh. He used his thumb to push the tears away from the high slope of her cheek. The sound of the Black Hawk grew closer. A minute out, maybe. Damn! Frustrated, he could read her eyes like windows into her soul, seeing desire mingling with terror, and he couldn’t translate all of what was going on within Khat. Fear of him? Impossible! She could have stepped away from him at any point. She could have refused to kiss him. But she was here, standing before him, her face a map of how she was feeling inwardly toward him. Her lower lip trembled, and she looked away, shame in her expression.

“Khat,” he growled, gently forcing her to hold his gaze, “this isn’t over, Angel. Not by a long shot. I’m going to find you. Do you hear me? And when I do, you aren’t walking away from me again. I want to get to know you.”

Khat closed her eyes, giving a bare nod of her head, his hand trapping her against him. She could hear the Black Hawk’s arrival, the blades puncturing the night air. Pulling away from him, she quickly wiped her eyes, turned and put on her NVGs. Her heart was in utter turmoil, torn, hurting and wanting Mike all at the same time. Compressing her lips, she picked up his ruck and walked to the edge of the bushes and trees.

The Black Hawk landed. Trying to clear her blown senses, shake off the shock of his unexpected kiss, Khat crouched and then started her run toward the helo. Dust and dirt kicked up, eighty mile an hour gusts created by the rotors. She saw the door slide open, and one aircrew chief hopped out. Giving him the ruck, she stepped aside.

Tarik was right behind her. He saw Khat remain crouched, quickly moving away, fading into the dust clouds raised by the helo. The crew chief took his M-4, and Mike grabbed the frame of the door, hauling himself inside the cabin. He was going home, and it was the last place he wanted to go right now. As the combat medic guided him to a litter, he sat down, not wanting to lie down. He traded his Kevlar helmet for another helmet, pulling it on, in instant communications with the four men on board.

“I’m good to go,” he growled. “Thanks for picking me up. Let’s exfil...”

In seconds, the Black Hawk broke gravity with the earth and quickly turned, heading out over the open, empty desert plain. It picked up speed and altitude swiftly, the twin engines roaring, shaking the helo with rhythmic vibrations. Mike felt suddenly sad. And happy. It was a mix. He’d wanted to kiss Khat ever since he’d become conscious. And she’d liked his kiss. She’d responded to him. He had known there was something special between them; invisible, but raw, alive and heated.

His hand curled into a fist, and he focused on the combat medic who was asking him a lot of medical questions. He’d have to go to the dispensary, get the arm x-rayed and go through the medical system. Once done, he’d be expected to see the chief of the platoon come tomorrow morning. He’d go back to his tent in the SEAL section of Camp Bravo, climb into his cot and sleep. If he could...

* * *

KHAT BLINKED BACK the hot tears that continued to fall. She quickly ran back to the wadi to where the horses were tied. The sound of the Black Hawk and guard dog Apaches would draw any enemies who were around. She would be in danger. Leaping up on Zorah, she used her calf, not the reins, to turn the mare around. She tied the rope to Mina’s halter on the back of her saddle. They would slowly pick their way out of the wadi and up to another goat trail. Khat never took the same route twice.

In a village where she posed as a nurse, the Taliban had caught and tortured her. Khat savagely shoved down those memories. She had to ride through the night and remain alert for her enemy. Once on a safer trail, her mind revolved back to that capture. She’d been holding medical clinics for a year with great success; gathering intel from the villagers and giving it to her handler in J-bad. The villages along the border were grateful for her riding in on her horse, a packhorse in tow with medical supplies for the men, women and children.

Her cover was solid because her father had been born in the village of Dur Babba, and she was his daughter, part of the Shinwari Tribe.

The days of being held, questioned and tortured by Sangar Khogani, chief of the Hill tribe, had changed her life forever. And if not for the village women who risked their own lives to save hers, she wouldn’t be here today. The week they’d hid her in a nearby cave, her back a mass of bloody strips of flesh, had passed in a semiconscious, feverish daze.

It was weeks later, septic and near death, that one woman villager had walked ten miles into an American forward operating base, asking for help, that Khat was rescued. And it was when she was hospitalized at Bagram, that the terror of nearly dying, the flay that had stripped her flesh from her body, had welled up through her. Khat understood her soul was fractured by the capture and subsequent torture interrogation. She had shut down her violent emotions, stuffed them into a deep, dark hole within herself. As she lay in the hospital recuperating, she became emotionally numb to everything. A robot of sorts, her Afghan blood thirsting for revenge against the Hill tribe for what they did to her and her people.

The past four years, Khat had left a trail of blood, and she never blinked when killing a Hill tribesman. They’d murdered so many of her people over the years. They had raped Shinwari women, girls and boys. They murdered their husbands, sons and brothers. She stood between her tribe and Sangar Khogani’s Hill tribe.

It hurt to feel those violent emotions once again, reliving them all, and Khat hated it. Mike’s kiss, his care, ripped the lid off that dark, wounded place within her. She understood he didn’t know what he’d done to her. His intent had been pure and unselfish because she could still feel his strong mouth curved against her own, giving to her, not taking anything away from her.

Rubbing her cheek, the tears continuing to flow, Khat couldn’t stop them. Mike had unknowingly released all the demons from her past, but he’d also released her as a woman from a dormant state, too.

Wiping her cheeks dry as she rode, the horse moving silently down the narrow, rock-strewn goat path, the mountain’s giant shadow covering them from the thin moonlight, Khat didn’t want to remember that time. Mike’s kiss had been completely unexpected. He’d blindsided her and yet, she felt no anger over what he’d done. After all, she’d been a willing participant. She could have said no. She could have stepped away. But she didn’t. Why? Why?

The goat path curved. In another mile, she would be home to her pool cave. Her mind was spewing out memories of her torture at the hands of the Taliban.

The Marine Corps had sent her home to recover. Her parents had been horrified over the extent of her wounds; her back and shoulders flayed by a whip, the metal tips tearing up her tender flesh, forever marking her.

Her father, Jaleel Shinwari, was a civil engineer who had moved from Dur Babba precisely because the village was closest to the violent, aggressive Hill tribe. He had moved to San Diego, California. There, her mother, Glenna, met and married him. Khat was the result of that union, half Afghan, half American.

It was hard enough to deal with the torture for Khat, but her father nearly went insane because of what had happened to her. He was Afghan and believed in an eye for an eye. He wanted revenge, but was helpless to make it happen, so his anger had turned toward her.

Recovering at the San Diego Naval Hospital, Khat had enough to deal with. He’d gotten into an argument with her mother at her bedside one day, saying that her life was ruined, that no man would ever look at her again. Jaleel wanted her to marry, to give him grandchildren, carry on their proud Afghan lineage to the next generation. His words were just as deeply scarring and life changing to Khat as being whipped by the Taliban.

She was damaged goods, he’d cried, pacing the room, filled with anger and helplessness. No man would want her once he saw her scarred body. She was ugly. Her mother had heatedly argued otherwise, but on that day, something fragile and beautiful to her as a woman had died.