Risk Taker

Chapter 2

Sarah felt her knees going. Again. God, why couldn’t she just tough this one out? The SEAL who had intervened and saved her hide swiftly reacted. In seconds, he’d picked her up and brought her into his arms.

“Put me down,” she ordered angrily.

“Can’t do it, ma’am. I’m taking you to the medical dispensary.”

Ethan’s voice was low and firm. His arms were strong. Sarah closed her eyes, fighting the urge to simply surrender to him. The rage she felt over the attack was dissolving as the adrenaline slowly left her system. She was exhausted and, worse, weak. A feeling she hated more than anything.

“You can relax,” Ethan told her, his lips near her hair. “There’s a time to fight and a time to take a step back and reassess the situation.”

Sarah also felt needy, which was so unlike her. His voice was soothing, and the anxiety rushing through her abated. He carried her easily, as if she were a feather, and yet Sarah knew she was no lightweight. As she held his green bandanna over her nose, the blood continued to leak out of her nostrils. Her nose burned like fire and her head throbbed.

She looked up at him. He glanced down at her. His beard, although well trimmed, made him look even more dangerous to her. His eyes were a light gray with large black pupils, like those of a raptor.

“Doing okay?” Ethan asked her in a conversational tone.

“I’ve had better days,” Sarah muttered. She saw the corners of his mouth lift slightly. There was such tightly held tension in him. She’d seen him move so damn swiftly when he saw what was happening to her; it left her stunned. He was grace, tension and power all in one decisive action. “You’re a SEAL?”

“Yeah.” Ethan laughed to himself. He hid a part of himself from his SEAL brethren; he journaled and, sometimes, wrote poetry to express what he saw or experienced. It was a way to get his emotions out instead of always putting them in his kill box, which was what all his brothers did.

She saw his focus. He was carrying her through rows of tents, alert and missing nothing. Intense. That was the word she’d use for this SEAL. Slowly, Sarah reluctantly relaxed into his arms. He had a powerful chest and a broad set of shoulders that looked like he could carry the world on them. Even though his face was hard and nearly unreadable, she sensed kindness in him. Maybe it was his full mouth, now pursed, holding back feelings she couldn’t even begin to decipher.

“You can put me down now. I’m okay.”

Ethan smiled at her. “Not a chance.”

“The pilots in my squadron will make fun of me. I really need to walk.” And she hated pleading, but she added, “Please?”

His straight black brows dipped a little at her request. There was hesitation in his gray eyes. Sarah touched her aching throat where the bastard had gripped her and held her down.

“Tell you what,” Ethan murmured. “If any of those Black Hawk drivers give you grief because I’m carrying you over to the dispensary, you let me know.” He gave her a slight grin. “I’ll settle it out with them privately and personally. Okay?”

Sarah sighed. “Are all SEALs stubborn?” She heard and felt him laugh.

“We’re a hardheaded bunch, I suppose. I’d like to think we’re focused and intense about our objective.” And right now, he couldn’t believe he was carrying Blue Eyes in his arms. He was in another kind of shock. A good kind, but he wasn’t about to share his euphoria with her.

Ethan turned a corner and up ahead was the two-story dispensary that had been built out of cinder blocks. It wasn’t very large, with only two Navy doctors and a small staff of two nurses and several combat medics manning it. When any serious medical issues came up, the person was flown directly to Bagram Air Base near Kabul.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, glancing down at her. She was very pale. Those beautiful blue eyes of hers were shadowed and frightened-looking.

“Whipped,” Sarah admitted, feeling safe enough in his arms. She would never admit that to the male pilots she flew with. They’d call her weak once they found out what had just happened to her. And then they’d brutally tease her or tell her it was her fault, that she’d invited the attack. She hated that.

“I’m Ethan Quinn. What’s your first name?”

She looked up and drowned in his soft gray eyes. Opening her lips and then closing them, Sarah felt an incredible sense of protection surrounding her. It was him. Reeling from the attack, she didn’t have her normal defensive walls in place. “Sarah Benson.”

He nodded. “My teammates call me Hawk.” And then he smiled a little. “You have a beautiful name.” To go with your incredible blue eyes. But he didn’t add that, seeing her eyes widen as if in wonder for a moment. There was a definite connection between them. He could feel it. The sensation, whatever it was, was palpable and it felt damn good.

Ethan knew where the E.R. was located; he’d been there the other day with Tolleson, escorting another SEAL because he’d twisted the hell out of his ankle.

He walked up to the sliding doors, then waited as they opened. Inside, there were a number of military guys waiting for medical attention at the clinic. They looked up in unison at him as he entered the air-conditioned dispensary.

Moving through another entrance, Ethan carried Sarah directly into the E.R. area.

It contained four curtained cubicles. A Navy nurse at the nurse’s station in the corner saw him arrive. She was older and had peppered hair of black and silver.

“Chief Benson needs medical attention right now,” Ethan told the nurse. “Which cubicle can I put her in?”

Sarah felt his authority even though he spoke quietly to the nurse. The older woman quickly looked her over.

“Cubicle one, Petty Officer.”

“One it is,” Ethan said.

The nurse called for an orderly—a young man—and by the time Ethan had gently deposited Sarah onto the gurney, a woman doctor had arrived. He stood back, letting the medical team help Sarah.

“What happened?” Dr. Johnson asked Sarah.

Sarah told her, mumbling through the bandanna. The doctor scowled, then glanced over at the SEAL and asked, “Who is he?”

“Petty Officer Quinn. He broke up the attack,” Sarah told her. “And he brought me over here. I’m not walking very well right now.”

“I see.” The doctor stared at Ethan. “You need to leave, Petty Officer. Thank you for your help.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ethan murmured, starting for the opening in the curtain.

“Wait,” Sarah called, gripping his arm as he passed her. She looked at him. “There’s going to be an investigation. Can you tell the MPs where I am? I know they’ll want my statement.”

Seeing the exhaustion settling into her blue eyes, Ethan nodded. “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll tell them and get things in order so you don’t get overwhelmed by the paper chase.” He gave her a brief smile and felt her hand drop from his arm. His flesh tingled where her long fingers had curved around his biceps. Ethan saw something else in her eyes, something he couldn’t translate. Her lower lip trembled as she took the bandanna away for a moment. He wanted to say to hell with it, slide his arms gently around her shoulders and just hold her. She needed that right now, and they both knew it. But it wasn’t going to happen.

“I’ll check in on you later,” he promised.

Sarah nodded, pressing the bandanna back to her nose, which continued to bleed.

As he stepped out into the E.R., Ethan noticed two medics carrying in the Army guy he’d punched. The man was semiconscious, muttering and cursing. Ethan stopped and watched where they put the bastard. Lucky for him it was cubicle four, as far away from Sarah as he could get. Flexing his fist, his knuckles swelling and bruised, Ethan wondered if he should stay. Just in case the Army jerk started to make more trouble for everyone. He was sure the assailant didn’t know he’d just brought Sarah in. The guy was ballistic in his opinion and not to be trusted.

Two Army MPs entered the E.R. Both had grim looks on their faces. They went directly to where the Army guy was being taken. Breathing a sigh of relief, Ethan knew the MPs would stand guard over him. He felt better about leaving Sarah alone now. Tolleson had done his job and gotten security in motion.

To say that security was in chaos was a mild understatement when Ethan arrived at the single-story building. Four Army guys, probably friends of the assailant, argued heatedly with a Army lieutenant, with an MP armband on his left arm, outside the office. They didn’t know he was the one who had decked their friend. He moved past them and went into the MP office. He spotted a young woman with red hair behind the desk. Ethan told her who he was and what had happened.

“You’re the guy we want to see,” she said, gesturing to an office on her right. “Lieutenant Taylor will want to take your statement. Can you tell me where Chief Benson is?”

“The E.R.,” he told her. “She’s pretty shaken up and she’s been injured.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, leading him to the office and opening the door. “I’ll go over in a while and interview her. I’m sure she’s feeling pretty ragged at this point.”

Ethan nodded. “Yeah, but the bastard that attacked her is feeling even worse.” And he smiled a wolf smile.

* * *

“Well,” Dr. Johnson told Sarah an hour later after examining her. “No permanent damage done, Chief Benson.”

Sarah was sitting on the gurney. “That’s good news. I have to fly tomorrow.”

“No way,” Johnson said. “I think you’ve suffered a mild concussion even though the X-ray came back normal. I’m giving you a sick chit for four days without flight duty. Then you will come back and see me on the fourth day. The nurse will give you an appointment.”

Stricken, Sarah slid off the gurney, her legs none too steady. Too fast a movement—her head began to throb. She touched the area where the man had struck her. “But...we’re short-handed in our squadron, Dr. Johnson. I can’t be put on flight waivers.” She gave the Navy officer a pleading look.

“No can do, Chief Benson.” Johnson handed her the chit, which would be given to her CO, Major Donaldson. “Rest,” she ordered. “Go over and spend some time with the Apache gals. I know you women are tight with one another. Catch up on gossip. Write some emails home. Things that won’t stress you out. Okay?”

Disheartened, Sarah glumly took the chit. Dammit! Angry at the Army sergeant who attacked her, she pursed her lips.

“Hop back up on that gurney. I want you to stay here for another half hour, and then we’ll see how steady you are on your legs at that time. You’re still not stable.”

“Okay,” Sarah muttered tiredly. Hell, she needed this like a hole in the head. They were already short two pilots, and medevacs were literally a lifeline to all the men out there hunting down the enemy.

Dr. Johnson gently patted the shoulder of her dusty uniform. “That SEAL was at the right place, right time.” She smiled a little. “He really did some damage to the guy who attacked you.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “He came out of nowhere.”

“Hope you get to thank him.”

Nodding, Sarah said, “I will.”

* * *

By the time Ethan got done with the process of the interview with the lieutenant, it was 1800, 6:00 p.m. He was starving, but he swung by the E.R. to see if Sarah was still there. She was gone, and no one would give him any information on her condition because he wasn’t married to her or a family member. Undeterred, Ethan decided to walk over to Ops to see if he could find her.

The thunking noise of Apache helicopters warred with the shriek of the twin-rotor Chinooks as they all slowly trundled down the helo strip to take off, one after another. Ethan popped into the main Ops building and headed for the desk. There was an Air Force tech sergeant manning it.

“Hey, I’m looking for Chief Warrant Officer Sarah Benson. Can you tell me where I can find her?”

The man nodded. “The medevac squadron office is right over there, to your left. Major Donaldson is in charge. He can probably answer your question.”

“Thanks,” Ethan said. The door to the medevac office was open, and he stepped in. An Army major in his mid-forties with gold wings on his chest looked up. His gaze narrowed speculatively as Ethan came to a halt in front of him.

“I’m looking for Chief Warrant Officer Benson.”

The man scowled, looking Ethan up and down. “Is it official business?” he demanded.

“No, sir, it isn’t.” Ethan could just about read the officer’s mind, thinking he was chasing Sarah.

“She’s not available,” he snapped.

Okay, so plan B. “Thank you, sir.” Ethan turned on his heel and left. Heading out of Ops, he found an Army driver standing near a Humvee. Drivers on the base knew the area like the backs of their hands. Ethan went over and asked what tent section the Black Hawk pilots were located in. The guy gave him specific directions, and Ethan took off, on the hunt.

The tents were all lined up on one dusty avenue, each one looking like the next. There were no names on any of them, and Ethan slowly walked down the road. A male pilot—a warrant officer—emerged from his tent. Ethan stopped him and asked about Sarah. Instantly, the pilot frowned. What was it about these Black Hawk drivers? They were all damned suspicious.

“I haven’t seen her,” he said abruptly.

“Look, she was in E.R. two hours ago. I’m just trying to find out how she’s doing.”

He squinted. “You the SEAL that saved her?”

Ethan nodded.

The pilot pointed to a tent down on the left. “That’s her tent. But you know the regulations—no man is allowed inside a woman’s tent.”

“I know the regs,” Ethan said.

“She’s sleeping right now. I’d leave her alone.” Ethan watched the pilot push by him, in a hurry, heading toward Ops with his helmet bag and kneeboard in hand. He was probably going on duty.

Ethan stared at Sarah’s tent. Okay, it was a dead end. His stomach growled. Rubbing his belly, he decided to call it a day and head to the chow hall. He glanced down at his Rolex watch, knowing he’d already screwed the pooch by missing the 1700 hours mission briefing for the op they would go on later tonight.

Ethan decided to swing by SEAL HQ. Tolleson understood why he couldn’t make the briefing, so there should be no recourse. Master Chief Gil Hunter wouldn’t bust his ass, either.

As he walked, he couldn’t stop thinking about Sarah. She’d felt good in his arms, and he’d thrilled at having her firm, soft body against his. Dragging in a deep breath, Ethan shook his head. He sure as hell had wanted to meet Blue Eyes, but not this way. Now she probably would lump all guys into one bin labeled “would-be rapists.” And then she wouldn’t allow him within ten feet of her.

Grimacing, Ethan flexed his right hand as pain drifted up from his swollen knuckles. He couldn’t deny his satisfaction over decking the bastard. It was worth bruised knuckles for a week. More than anything, he wanted to connect once more with the mysterious, exotic Blue Eyes. But how to make it happen? SEALs were creative if nothing else. They were good at thinking outside the box. Work-arounds. Ethan grinned and took off for his tent in SEAL territory.

Chapter 3

When Sarah sat up on her cot the next morning, her head aching, she saw someone open the tent flap just enough for a crisp white envelope to slide beneath the fabric of the closed flaps. She recognized the back of Ethan Quinn’s head. What was he doing there? What was the envelope? Did he go get her mail for her? The feelings over his act flooded her with warmth and confusion.

She needed coffee first. It would help tame her headache. She sat in a pair of long gray cotton gym pants and a red tank top. In case Bravo got hammered by Taliban, her flight boots, her .45 pistol in the holster, her Kevlar vest and her helmet bag were all stowed below her cot.

She was stiff and bruised. In fact, her knuckles were black and blue where she’d struck her attacker in the nose. She moved her long fingers gingerly, and they felt stiff, too. Sighing, she went over to her hot plate and set a copper kettle on it to boil. Coffee consisted of a terrible instant variety, but it was better than nothing.

The envelope sitting on the plywood deck called to her. It resembled a greeting card more than a business letter. Once the teakettle whistled, she took it off the hot plate and poured the steamy water into a bright red mug twice the size of a normal coffee cup.

After stirring her coffee, Sarah pulled out a couple of old cinnamon rolls she’d taken from the chow hall yesterday morning. This would be breakfast. Outside, she could hear helos, both Apaches and Chinooks, spooling up, their engines sounding very different and distinct. She glanced at the watch on her wrist. Her lower arm, she noticed to her chagrin, was purple with bruising. It was 0600.

Scowling, she set the two dried-out cinnamon rolls on the small TV tray that doubled as her table. There wasn’t much room in these tents and everything had to be squeezed in to fit. Leaning down, her back protesting, she scooped up the envelope. On it, in beautiful black ink calligraphy, was her name.

Ethan Quinn had delivered it. Was it from him? There was no return address. Nothing. After ambling back over to her table, she sat down in a camp chair and picked up her black coffee, sipping it gratefully. She then slipped her finger beneath the envelope, and it opened. Inside was thick papyrus paper that almost matched the color of her eyes. Something good flowed through her.

Sitting back, she opened up the folded paper. Inside was a poem written in beautiful calligraphy.

Sarah,

As Long as I Breathe, I Will Seek the Diamond of Your Heart

It isn’t enough for a poet to entertain;

I want also to connect—

There are precious few who ever get to view

Both the wildflowers and ornate lawns of your garden...

(to be continued as poet gets time)

She smiled and felt her heart flutter. The letters were crisp and lovely to look at. Ethan had written this? Someone at this forward operating base was a poet, of all things? Ethan? He had delivered it. Or was this a sick joke by her squadron mates? Her mind revolved back to her medevac squadron, wondering if one of the guys was pulling a trick on her. For all she knew, someone could have stolen this from a real poet to make it look like he’d written it. Her heart told her Ethan had not only delivered but had written it.

Still, her fingertips tingled as she held the rich paper. The words, if she were honest, touched her deeply. She loved symbolism and saw it in just about everything in her life. Growing up, she’d found solace reading poetry. Although she couldn’t write a line of iambic pentameter to save her life. Intuitively, Sarah knew Ethan had written it even if he hadn’t signed it.

She looked at the green metal locker in the corner of her tent. In it was her favorite book of poems, a small leather-bound volume by a Jewish American poet who wrote lush, drenching prose that made her heart sigh just as it did with this stanza of a poem Ethan had written for her.

Sarah felt oddly comforted by the words. Did Ethan see her as a garden filled with beautiful flowers? Was that his message? An invisible balm eased through her heart. Here she was, out in a war zone, getting shot at almost daily, and this beautiful poem arrived at the door of her tent. The title...well, that held her heart captive, too. Wouldn’t any woman want the man of her dreams to whisper those words to her? That she was seen as a diamond, multifaceted, complex, having depth? Of course. Well, she would. Her experience with men had left her wary. To them, she was something to be lusted after. Something to be chased and caught and used.

Her lips drew into a soft smile as she reread the lines of the stanza. They made her feel good. An invisible touch from a potential lover? Snorting softly, she laid the envelope aside and picked at a cinnamon roll. She was such a sucker for stuff like this. A romantic idealist, which was not a good way to be. Her love life resembled the chaos of a bull hooking its horns around in a china shop, not the reverent beauty of the words contained in this poem.

As she sipped her coffee, Sarah felt a kind of mellowness invading her stiff limbs. Ethan’s words were beautiful. And profound. And sensitive.

Shaking her head, she thought of the other sensitive guy at the FOB, Pascal, one of her medics who flew with her. She liked all the medics, truth be told. The rest of the pilots were thick as bricks, for the most part. All they saw when they looked at her was a body. Sarah was sick of being hit on by those Neanderthal types. She yearned for a deep conversation, flights of fantasy, someone who could join her on the magical carpet ride of her imagination and fly with her.