“So,” Emily took a careful breath, “why are the Brits trying to kill you?”
“Kill me? Oh no, they’re too polite for that. They simply want access to everything I know. But we have a far more immediate problem.” She pointed out the window to where the small group, easily identifiable by their four-footed companion, had resumed their journey toward the Base Hangar, though at a more sedate pace. “MI6 can not be allowed to see or meet Dilya.”
63
Derek had watched the Chinook collect the Land Rover with awe. He’d known they were good. But to forcibly pick up three tons of speeding SUV and rebalance the load on the fly wasn’t merely good, it was magic.
“Ethan’s getting there,” was Abby’s observation.
Derek wondered what the hell she’d have done differently. Flying upside down while doing it, perhaps?
Colonel Beale’s voice, there was no mistaking it, snapped out over his radio’s headset. He glanced aloft as she spoke, “Surround Dilya and Zackie. Block all visual to downfield.”
He clicked his mike in reply, then signaled Abby by pointing to his side as he turned to face Dilya. The girl, he couldn’t stop thinking of her that way, had dropped back to try and coax words out of Misty. He would wish her luck, except she appeared to be already having some success. Damn but she was good. What knowledge was she adding to the curious collection she kept in her head?
Misty, seeing his change of demeanor, clammed up and scanned three-sixty around.
He pointed at the ground directly in front of him and said, “Sit.”
“I’m guessing you don’t mean me.” Then Dilya looked down as Zackie sat exactly where she was told. “Why did she listen to you?”
“Because I’m listenable.”
Rather than the expected eyeroll, it earned him a puzzled expression. Or rather, it earned her dog one. It was silly, but having the dog listen to him felt as if he’d crossed a significant threshold. Seriously lame but still…he liked it.
The moment had placed everyone where he wanted them: he and Abby blocking any downfield view of Zackie or Dilya, Misty on guard, and Group Captain Cutcher standing around as well. She squinted her question at him but he didn’t have any answers.
Not until the Chinook helicopter landed nearly on top of them—with its airframe between them and the group still several hundred meters away—did he catch on. Dilya wasn’t special. Probably much the way Abby wasn’t special. In their very rarified specialties, they were exceptional.
The rear ramp dropped and an elderly woman in an ill-fitting man’s suit was standing on the threshold of the cargo bay. He doubted his entire team could have stopped Dilya and Zackie as they raced aboard to hug her. The woman, slender and still beautiful despite her age, hugged her back just as fiercely.
It was impossible to see them together and not smile. Even when Dilya burst into tears—whether of relief or another origin, they were beautiful together. He glanced at Abby, wanting to share the moment with her too, but she was studiously facing away. When he rested his hand on her shoulder, she shrugged it off—like she would throw it across the English Channel if she could.
Oh Gods, he was such an idiot. Her mother and grandmother dead while she was still a toddler. And here was Dilya hugging this woman like a child, and the parent who couldn’t be close enough. He wanted to comfort Abby. To wrap his arms around her and hold her tight.
And that thought froze him in place. A crying woman? Him wanting to get closer rather than run farther away? Would offering comfort move them from an awesome one-night—so far—fling into uncharted relationship territory? That was a terrain he swore never to navigate until he’d retired from The Unit.
He’d seen the mayhem wrought on teammates’ psyches when their civilian homelife, confronted by Delta realities, went sideways under the pressure. How many times had he been forced to shift his primary action team because at the last minute someone’s life collapsed under his feet and distracted his mind. The field that The Unit played upon didn’t allow for less than one hundred percent concentration. A quick inventory and he knew he was right. His top three, Misty, Hot Rod, and Compass were single. The rest of his primary team were single or divorced. Sacrifices were necessary to serve at the top level of The Unit.
From the darkness within the Chinook, Colonel Beale stepped around Miss Watson and Dilya and headed down the ramp.
Except being single hadn’t stopped Beale. Or Gibson. Or Bill Bruce. Shit! He didn’t know what to do except warn Abby. He whispered to her, “Incoming. Beale.”
She nodded but didn’t turn as she wiped at her eyes.
Beale stopped square in front of him and didn’t face Abby. Instead she watched him. Attempts to read the cool blonde’s expression led nowhere. Anger for his too-obvious interest in Abby? Condemnation for not comforting her when she was clearly in pain despite the shrug-off? Nothing. There was nothing there on her face to read.
Instead, Beale simply stood, watching him and waiting. Waiting for…Abby? Beale was probably the one person she least wanted to show any weakness to, and he’d done nothing to shield her from that. Shifting him from unwelcome to disappointing.
And still Beale waited as if she had nothing more important to do. Misty called in Hot Rod and the DAGOR from where they’d still be waiting. Misty then took up a circling patrol. As if he needed a refresher course in his own rules. Worrying about a woman? Talk about distracted. Sheesh. Time to get her out of his head. If only it was that easy. To borrow from the SEALs, as much as he hated on principle to do that, the only easy day was yesterday.
Group Captain Cutcher began to circle the Chinook to continue back toward her people. But Ms. Chill Beale simply held up a single finger, stopping Cutcher in her tracks—without ever looking away from him.
“What?” It came out harsher than he intended but she didn’t react. It was like being the inevitable loser in a staring contest with a blue-eyed cat who didn’t ever blink.
And that earned him a frown, then a sigh. “I had hoped it would be easy, for once.” Her shrug said that she wasn’t about to explain.
“What’s next, Colonel?” Abby turned and stepped into their small circle. Her voice was military perfect.
