Down Range

Jake asked, “Who’s my SEAL contact? Is he out of Camp Bravo or J-bad, Jalalabad?”

“Lieutenant Ramsey, let’s starting thinking plural here, shall we?” Maya met his startled look. “You said ‘my contact.’ It should have been our contact.”

Realizing his mistake, Jake nodded. “My apologies, ma’am. I meant our.”

Morgan almost felt sorry for Jake. He wasn’t about to back up on a General, man or woman. He’d backed up on her in many a furious argument about women being weak. She saw the banked anger and confusion in his eyes for a moment, but being a SEAL, he moved on to the next important item.

“Who’s running radio comms?” Jake asked.

“Captain Boland will,” Mike Houston said. “She’s taken SEAL schooling in every kind of communications gear you presently utilize.”

Relief sizzled through Jake, because that was not his specialty. “That’s good to know,” he murmured, lifting his gaze and meeting Morgan’s cool green eyes. He’d leafed through the report last night and seen her impressive list of training. If Morgan wasn’t in Afghanistan with black-ops teams, she was stateside getting more training. He respected her for that. And it could save their lives out in the field.

“You’re going to be working with Lieutenant-Commander Viera out of J-bad,” Houston said.

More relief showered through Jake. He might be forced to have a woman on this mission, but at least he had a solid SEAL officer supporting it. “Yes, sir. He’s the best.” And Julio Viera, or Vero, his nickname in the SEALs, was a badass Puerto Rican from the slums who had worked his way up through the ranks. He was a mustang, someone who started out as an enlisted person but eventually got to officer’s school. With a decade of experience behind him, Vero’s reputation in the community was as one of the best SEAL planners in the business. Vero would have their back, and Jake was grateful. His karma had just turned into dharma.

Houston looked at his watch. “You’re wheels up at 1100 from Andrews. You’ll be hopping a C-130 flight to Travis Air Force Base, California. From there, you’ll fly across the Pacific and get a hop on a C-5 heading for Hawaii. You’ll stay overnight at the Schofield Army barracks in Honolulu. The next morning, you’ll grab another C-5 flight heading into Bagram Air Base north of Kabul, Afghanistan. From there, you’ll meet Captain Khalid Shaheen, U.S. Army. He’s an Apache combat pilot, but works closely with the Black Jaguar Squadron out of Camp Bravo. He’ll fly you into J-bad. From there, the Night Stalkers will drop you into the valley where you’ll meet our ground asset, Reza.”

“Afghan local?” Jake wondered.

“He’s more than that.” Morgan spoke up, her quiet voice carrying emotion behind it. She quickly looked at General Houston, apology in her expression. She shouldn’t have interrupted a briefing.

“Go on,” Houston said, unruffled by her comment.

“Thank you, sir.” Morgan turned her attention to Jake. “Reza is a thirty-five-year-old Afghan from the Shinwari tribe. He’s worked with SEALs and Special Forces over the last seven years. He’s pro-American.” Her voice caught, and she cleared her throat, getting ahold of escaping emotions. When she spoke again, Morgan’s voice was husky. “Reza lived in the village of Margha that Khogani attacked. The only reason he lived was because he was out with another SEAL team twenty miles south of the village at the time it was attacked.”

“I see,” Jake murmured. But maybe he didn’t. He could have sworn he saw moisture come to Morgan’s eyes. For just a split second. Her lips, full and soft, twisted. He knew that gesture. She was trying to hide emotions. And when she tucked her lower lip between her teeth for a second, Jake knew there was a lot more to this story.

“Reza,” Morgan added, her voice low, “is the soul of Islamic kindness. He lives the Koran as it should be. He’s kind, gentle and helps others. He was beloved by everyone in Margha. He was responsible for bringing in the Special Forces and getting medical help for the children seven years ago.” Morgan blinked, pushing the tears away. She forced herself to go on. “He lost his wife and five children in the attack.” Bowing her head, she muttered, “I couldn’t even save one of his children….”

An unexpected lump formed in Jake’s throat. He swallowed a few times. There was pain mirrored in Morgan’s face, even though the wall of red hair hid most of her expression from him. This time, she wasn’t trying to hide anything in spite of the fact there were two Generals present. Her cheeks had gone pale.

Jake found himself wanting to reach out, touch Morgan’s tightly gripped hands on the table. But he remained still, buffeted by her grief. And that was probably how she ended up getting injured during the attack, trying to rescue Reza’s kids. She loved children with a passion.

Old memories began to rise in him. God, he had to contain them. He couldn’t afford to relive that two years back at the Academy when they’d been lovers. It had been a mixture of incredible happiness, brutal sorrow and serrating pain.

“War sucks,” Maya agreed in a quiet tone. “You did what you could. Sometimes, it’s not enough, Captain.”

Morgan nodded, blinking away unshed tears. “Yes, ma’am, you’re right.”

Jake saw the natural warmth between Maya Stevenson and Morgan. Clearly, they knew each other very well. For a moment, he wondered if the General was Morgan’s sponsor. Every young officer hoped that a higher-ranking officer would take them under their wing and give them opportunities other officers would never get. They were groomed for leadership and put on a fast track for higher rank and responsibility. Yes, he would bet his right hand Stevenson was her sponsor and mentor. “Any other questions?” Houston demanded.

“No, sir,” Morgan said.

“No, sir,” Jake said.

“Good hunting out there,” Maya told them, meaning it as she rose.

Both officers leaped to their feet, coming to attention.

“At ease,” Houston murmured, standing and placing two folders into his briefcase. The other two would go with the snipers. “Do yourself a favor and take advantage of the chow in the Pentagon cafeteria.” He smiled a little. “Pig out on hamburgers and French fries. Where you’re going, there won’t be any for a damn long time until you nail this son of a bitch. Stay safe out there.”

Morgan smiled at the tall, broad-shouldered General. “Thank you, sir. We will.”

“Makes two of us,” Jake said, standing aside to allow General Stevenson by him.

“Better load up on Butterfingers,” Maya called over her shoulder to Morgan as she left.

Morgan grinned, especially as Jake cocked his head. He knew her favorite candy was Butterfinger. For a moment, she felt happy. An emotion she hadn’t felt since… Morgan’s smile faded. She picked up her black leather purse and bucket hat. That spark of happiness died quickly in the wake of a wall of grief and loss. Her husband, SEAL Lieutenant Mark Evans, had been killed by Khogani five years earlier. She had two good reasons to hunt Khogani down, once and for all.

Jake gestured for her to leave the room first, his hand on the doorknob. His whole body responded when she managed a slight smile of thanks. Morgan’s face and those mesmerizing green eyes of hers radiated such intimate warmth. It was a peek into the real Morgan when she didn’t have to maintain officer and military decorum.

Morgan hesitated in the outer office where the secretary was busy. Jake was her sniper partner, and she should wait for him. A part of her wanted to run away as fast as she could. That was the wounded woman in her. The rest of her, the military officer, knew they needed time to go over the op, look at it, figure out the details, fill in any holes that could be found in it and get on the same page with the mission—together.

When Jake emerged, hat in hand, she felt a rush of heat blossom deep inside her. Startled by it, Morgan thought that two years would have ended their tempestuous on-again, off-again relationship. She pursed her lips as he walked up to her. It hadn’t.

Morgan could feel raw male energy radiating off him like invisible sunlight. Did he realize how damned charismatic and sexy he was? She didn’t think so. Jake’s whole life, his entire focus, was about his SEAL fraternity. He never wanted a serious personal relationship standing between him and his SEAL career. A roll in a bed was fine with him, but he was Mr. No Strings Attached. As she’d found out too late, in her third year at Annapolis. Jake Ramsey had devastated her, sheared her world in half and never looked back. Never apologized. She should know better. How many times had she fallen for him? Twice. Twice too many times.

“Ready to rock it out?” he asked her quietly, looking down into her eyes.

“Funny you should use that word,” she murmured, turning. It was a favorite SEAL saying when live fire or an attack was just about to be initiated against an enemy. “Let’s go chow down.”

Chapter Four

Jake sat opposite Morgan at one of the many lunch tables in the cafeteria. Most uniformed personnel who came in at this hour of the morning went for coffee, doughnuts or rolls. They sat with huge platters of hamburgers and French fries, plus a Pepsi on the side. Jet lag did wonders for the digestion.

“I don’t know where to start with you, Morgan,” Jake admitted.

“Makes two of us. I didn’t know you were selected for this mission, either. It was a shock.”

He watched her eat, and his lower body tightened, which didn’t make him happy. Taking a deep breath, he decided to ignore their history together. And there was plenty of time in the next two days to get clear on the op. “I’m sorry for what happened to you at that Afghan village. It had to be tough.”

The vibration of his voice, that whiskey tone of his, sent a keening ache through her. Morgan lifted her head and met his tender gray gaze. Jake was really trying to be humble and caring. On occasion he could be so damn warm and persuasive, moving her from ice to fire.

She gave him a hard look. “Let’s stick to business, Ramsey. It’s the only place I want to be with you. I don’t want to discuss that attack.” It was too painful for her. She’d break down in tears, something Jake had never seen her do. And Morgan wasn’t about to bare her soul to him in, of all places, the Pentagon cafeteria.

Jake sat back, his mouth tightening. His gray eyes going glacial as he stared into her stubborn-looking face. “This is business,” he ground out. “I didn’t know you were a sniper. When did you get your training?”

“Three years ago.”

“As part of Operation Shadow Warriors?” He searched, trying to piece her training. Oh, he’d read her résumé, but he wanted a hell of a lot more.

“Yes, ten of the women from Shadow Warriors were sent to SEAL sniper school. Five made it through.” Her heart fluttered, and she hated herself for wanting Jake. She could see through him like glass. He was twisting in the wind, not sure how to handle or approach her.

“Did either of your parents hunt?”

Mouth quirking, Morgan picked up a fry. “Since when did you ever want to know anything about my home life, Ramsey? Funny, you had a year at Annapolis to find out everything you ever wanted to know about me. But you never asked me once about my family.”