Crossing The Line

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He swore Eve was more tense now than when she thought he’d sensed someone else’s presence in the rapidly encroaching night. If anything, her reaction only made him more determined to get to the bottom of what had happened. But to do that, he’d have to proceed carefully. As much as he disliked the idea, he’d have to treat her as a tactical combat objective to be studied and then overcome.

He gentled his voice as much as possible and took the first step. “Eve, how can Carrie Evans be your sister?”

He knew it was a good call when she relaxed.

But she didn’t answer.

A good thirty seconds of jungle silence dragged into thirty more. Just as he was about to question his approach and revise it, she sighed.

“We went to college together. UT.”

“University of Tennessee?”

She shook her head as she reached for the packet of instant cocoa. “Texas—Austin.” He poured out a cup of water from the canteen and passed it over. “Thanks.”

“I take it you two were in the same ROTC program.”

She nodded as she stirred the powder into the cup and took a sip. “A couple of us started an all-women’s military sorority our freshman year. We called it Sisters-in-Arms.”

That would explain the sisters, then.

Blood wasn’t always thicker than shared experiences. Twelve years in the Army had taught him that. Evidently Eve and Carrie had learned the lesson as well. It also explained why she seemed especially devastated. But if they were sisters because of some sorority— “What about the others?”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You said a couple of you started the sorority. How many calls do you have ahead of you when we get back?”

For the second time in as many minutes, she stared at him silently, this time over the cup of cold cocoa.

Her voice finally broke, “Three.”

From the depth of the sigh that followed, they wouldn’t be easy either. And those didn’t even include the calls and personal visits she’d have to make to her crew chief’s family.

“Tell me about them.”

Her mouth dropped open. Obviously he’d surprised her.

Hell, he’d surprised himself. He actually wanted to know.

When was the last time he’d encouraged a woman to talk just to hear the husky rasp in her voice? Or worse, to get to know her better? Come to think of it, when was the last time he’d honestly wanted to get to know a woman at all outside the bedroom?

The devil with the jungle, this was dangerous ground.

Perhaps it was time to rethink his strategy in getting to the bottom of whatever Eve was withholding.

Unfortunately, it was too late.

She polished off her cocoa and set the tin cup down. “Anna’s Navy. She’s an Intel officer currently stationed in San Diego. Samantha’s Air Force. Sam and I met in an engineering class the first week our freshman year. We were both aerospace engineering. Sam’s a theater missile systems design expert out of Kirtland, New Mexico.”

He couldn’t help it, his low whistle escaped.

She chuckled softly. “Don’t worry, Sam’s the brilliant one. I just fly.” Her laughter faded into a soft smile, and he nearly lost his grip on his canteen cup. Even half-formed, Eve’s smile had the power to sear straight through a man. The subtle curve was much too teasing and much, much too tempting.

He brought the tin cup to his mouth and forced himself to swallow the remainder of the cold coffee before he dared to risk speech. “You mentioned three. Who’s the other one?”

She nodded. “Meg. She’s Marine Corps. I’m not sure where she is right now. No one ever is.” Despite her shrug, he sensed the admiration in Eve’s husky voice.

“Why?”

“Meg works personal protection. Generals, Marine Corps or other visiting military officers, or anyone else she’s assigned to protect. Men or women, she watches their backs and keeps them alive—whether they want her there or not.”

“I take it she’s good.”

That tantalizing half smile returned. “The best.”

He suspected they all were. Which brought him back to the chopper. He was beginning to wonder if whatever Eve was holding back had to do with Carrie’s actions that morning. Had Carrie done something that directly or indirectly caused the crash? Given the woman’s behavior with his sergeant as well as her distraction, it was more than possible. It was also becoming downright probable.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t come out and ask.

“So…you and Carrie were close because you were both Army?”

Her lips curved again, but this time down. He suspected the shadows had returned to her gaze as well, but he couldn’t be sure. Dusk had settled in, cloaking the jungle in near-total black.

“We both wanted to fly, but it was more than that.”

He was sure of the shadows now. He could hear them in her voice. “How much more?”

She sighed. “Carrie’s mother died when we were sophomores and she…well, she didn’t have anyone else. Not really.”

He knew he’d hit a tender spot when Eve failed to continue. He waited, but there was nothing save her soft breathing amid the insects and nocturnal jungle life waking to the shroud of night.

He decided to risk it.

“Eve…what happened to your family?”

Again, nothing but jungle.

He wasn’t surprised.

But he was startled by the unexpected knife to his own heart when she wouldn’t share her pain. He reached out—but she was gone, scrambling to her knees as fast as her cracked ribs would allow. Eve averted her face and began cleaning up her mess as well as his own with a zeal he suspected she’d rarely afforded another man. Just as he suspected her movements were fueled more by desperation than a desire to conceal their camp site from any Córdobans who might stumble across it later.

He knew the feeling.

A droplet of water splattered onto his face and rolled down his cheek, taunting him almost as much as the tears Eve had shed earlier. He scrubbed it away, cursing to himself as he stared up at the sky through the opening in the jungle canopy. Not a star in sight. The clouds had been forming since noon. They’d finally merged into the thick layer now blanketing the sky. The dark thunderheads combined with the raw emotions still roiling though his gut to close in on him. But it wasn’t until Eve pulled the rain poncho from his rucksack that he experienced claustrophobia in a way the jungle had never caused before.

He only had one poncho.

It made one hell of a tiny tent.

And they were going to have to share it.

Chapter 4

Rick stared down at his web gear, cursing as several more drops of water splattered onto the ammunition pouches attached to the front. Waterproof liners or not, there was no sense taking a chance. He leaned down, sighing as he retrieved the web gear and slipped it on. Resignation locked in as he snapped the buckle into place. If he had to spend the next several hours in purgatory, he’d at least make sure his ammo stayed dry while he was at it.

But as he turned to face Eve, he froze.

He stood there for a full five seconds, silent, straining—his heart pounding against his chest, his nerves damned near screaming, as he worked to convince his brain that the distant but familiar thunder he thought he’d just heard had been caused by his imagination. By his need to avoid that poncho. By his need to avoid her.

But there it was again.

His hope surged as Eve stiffened too.

Adrenaline followed.

Her gaze swung to his as she breathed the prayer out loud, “It’s a Black Hawk.”

Before he could blink, she’d leaned down and snatched up her flight vest. Her flare pistol was out and pointing straight to heaven as he reached her side. He clapped his hand over her wrist with less than a trigger’s breath to spare.

“Don’t.”

“Dammit, Bishop, that’s our ticket out—”

“Or it could be a Huey.” She had to know as well as he did that Uncle Sam had sold off half a squadron of the Army’s Vietnam-era UH-1s to San Sebastián and Córdoba before all hell had broken out between the two countries.

Her free hand snapped up, locking down on top of his. “Bishop, listen to me. Trust me. I didn’t argue with you once today, because I knew you knew what the hell you were doing. Now it’s your turn to keep the faith. I know my choppers.”

The thundering blades grew louder, drew closer.

But for how long?

If she was right, even this delay could cost them. Even without the thick blanket of clouds, the jungle had its own unique way of buffering sound waves. That chopper could be directly above the canopy, ten yards away—or ten miles.

Unless Eve fired that flare, they’d never know which.

Her short nails drove into the skin on the back of his hand as that emerald gaze burned straight into him.

“Trust me.”

God help them, he did.

He pulled his hand from the pistol.

Before he could jerk his chin down, the flare shot up, a trail of white phosphorous searing through the canopy.

What the hell.

He grabbed his M-16 with his right hand, Eve’s upper arm with his left, pulling her body firmly behind his as he sprinted to the edge of the clearing. He heard her gasp as she stumbled. He forced himself to ignore it as he hauled her up and steadied her. If she was right and that pilot was one of theirs, manna was about to fall from the sky in the form of additional MREs, a fresh first-aid kit, and the blessed black plastic casing of a working Prick-112 to replace the radios roasted in the explosion that took out their own chopper.

And if she was wrong?

The adrenaline surging through his veins matched the pulsing roar of the chopper’s blades as it drew closer and closer until, suddenly, the bird was visible.

Eve was right.

Relief seared into him as the distinctive silhouette of an UH-60 slipped into view within the opening in the canopy above. The greenish glow of flailing chemical light sticks whirled toward the earth as the Black Hawk dumped its package and bugged out. Rick nudged Eve down and tucked her amid the sheltering trees.

“Wait here.”

A flick of his thumb and the M-16’s safety was off—and so was he. He snagged the bundle in record time and beat an equally low, hasty retreat back into the trees.

Back to Eve.

Rick reset the safety on his M-16 and propped it against a tree trunk before ripping into the bundle. He snagged the Prick-112 and fired up the radio as Eve retrieved her survival strobe with its infrared lens. “Black Hawk, this is Captain Bishop. I have you at sixty degrees, two hundred yards. Over.”

A burst of static filled the air as the pilot keyed his own mic. “Roger, Bishop. This is Romeo Six. What’s your status? Over.”

Status?

Try three soldiers dead and not a blessed body recovered.

Remorse slammed into him for the countless time.

Rick ordered it aside, determined to concentrate on the soldier kneeling beside him. At least Eve was alive. He had every intention of making sure she stayed that way. He keyed his mic, knowing full well the man on the other end was not going to like what he was about to suggest. “I have one ambulatory wounded. Multiple fractured ribs, possible internal bleeding. Request immediate extraction. Over.”