One month. Four weeks side by side with Rav LaPierre, and I’d memorized a dozen different expressions most people probably never noticed. The microscopic shifts in his features revealed more than words ever could. It was becoming a dangerous habit—this careful observation of a man I was supposed to maintain professional boundaries with.
The Land Cruiser crested a small rise, and a village appeared in the distance, mud-brick buildings clustered against the pale landscape, mountains rising behind them like sentinels.
“Reminds me of where my grandfather lived,” Rav said unexpectedly. “Outside Quebec City. Not the architecture, obviously, but something about how it sits against the hills.”
I leaned slightly forward, needing to know more about him. “You spent time there as a kid?”
“Every summer until I was twelve.” He kept his eyes on the landscape, scanning the horizon as he spoke. “Learned to fish, build things, be quiet.”
“The last one definitely stuck,” I teased, adjusting my helmet after we hit a particularly deep rut.
His eyes met mine over his shoulder, dark brown and unexpectedly warm. “Not all of us process our thoughts out loud, Dr. McAllister.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You mutter complex chemical formulations to yourself when you’re concentrating.”
Heat crept into my cheeks. “I do not.”
“Oh, you most certainly do.” He was definitely smiling now, which made my pulse quicken. The man was unfairly attractive when he smiled—the kind of attractive that left me momentarily speechless. “It’s actually impressive.”
Percival interrupted our exchange. “Movement, nine o’clock.”
The atmosphere in the vehicle instantly shifted. Rav straightened in his seat, eyes locked on the left side of the road. He pressed his radio transmit button. “Lead, this is Two—possible fast mover, nine o’clock, five hundred feet and closing. Stand by.”
Through my window, I spotted a dust plume rising behind a Toyota Hilux approaching rapidly from the left, cutting across open terrain toward our convoy route.
“Lead copies, eyes on,” came the response over the radio.
Ahead of us, the turret gunners in the vehicle ahead pivoted toward the threat. Dr. Norris and Dr. Wilkins fell silent, their conversation forgotten as tension prickled the air.
“Three copies. Rear gunner tracking,” the rear MRAP confirmed.
My heart rate accelerated as I calculated distances and approach vectors. The pickup was moving too fast, its trajectory too deliberate. In Afghanistan, civilian vehicles approaching military convoys at speed rarely ended well for anyone.
Trying not to stare too intently, I looked back at Rav, searching for any hint of fear. His jaw was tight, eyes focused like a predator tracking prey. He glanced over his shoulder at me briefly, our eyes meeting in a moment of silent communication, somehow conveying both alertness and reassurance.
“Two—possible intercept in three hundred feet. Recommend weapons hold, eyes on driver,” Rav said.
The distance between our vehicles closed rapidly.
“Remember, this vehicle’s armored.” Rav shifted, reaching his arm back between the seats. His hand found my knee, the touch light but steady, grounding me. “But I want you to duck down anyway.”
Not good. Not good. Not good.The three of us in the back bent down, tucking our heads against our laps.
“Breathe,” Rav said quietly. Maybe it was to all of us, but the way his hand stayed on my knee, it felt like he was talking only to me. “Four count in, hold it, then four count out.”
Fuck.I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until he said it. My exhale came out shaky, and I forced myself to inhale slowly, counting silently.
“Tell me about mustard gas, Brooke,” he said, his voice still low.
“What?” I glanced up, confused.
“Molecular structure. Effects. Detection methods.” His eyes remained fixed on the approaching vehicle, but he squeezed my knee gently. “Or what was the other one we’re looking for?”
“Lewisite. Chlorovinylarsine dichloride,” I began, the words flowing automatically. “Oily, colorless liquid that turns amber on exposure to air. Vapor pressure of 0.58 millimeters of mercury at twenty-five degrees Celsius.”
His thumb moved in small, reassuring circles against my knee as I continued reciting facts that were second nature to me. With each detail, my heart steadied. Periodic updates came from the men in all three vehicles.
