Derek flailed backward as if she’d shot him in the chest with an RPG.
She reholstered her weapon and crossed her arms while she waited for him to stop floundering about like a dead fish.
He finally tented the hands that he’d clamped over the strike point on his chest and peered in carefully before looking up at her.
“I know if I’m armed with a blue or not.” She pulled the weapon out and held it sideways so that he could see the blue-painted handle of the training weapon. She’d kept it after the takedown of the MI6 team. Then she shoved it back in her holster. “Not that I wasn’t tempted to drop a live round or ten in you.”
“Abby, I?—”
“If you didn’t want to be with me—” And the full force of that statement slammed into her just as hard as that RPG, “—you could have at least told me to my face.”
What was she doing here? Standing in front of all these people? Throwing her heart in the dirt for everyone to see? Why had she even come? She spun on her heel and sprinted back toward her Charlene. Only there did she know who she was.
Except…
She couldn’t imagine what Colonel Beale was thinking. Throw her out of the 160th because she was now unreliable? At a minimum. She would certainly do it to herself if she was in command.
Heave her out the door at altitude! That was the old threat, wasn’t it? She was not going to cry. Not throw herself to the dirt of the SAS training ground and whimper. No, she’d walk tall until they threw her out of the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment all on their own.
Though what could be worse than that?
She pictured Derek lying in the dirt and not wanting her.
Somehow, that was worse.
71
Derek rubbed at the spot where the round had hit him. At five paces, with just a t-shirt on, that would sting for a couple days. He looked down again at the small blue mark the Simunition had left there. It wasn’t at the center of his chest as he’d first thought. Even in her rage, that would be too sloppy for Captain Abby Rose. No, she’d shot him directly over the heart.
He looked up as a shadow blocked the brightest portion of the overcast sky.
“Colonel Beale?”
She offered as many words of advice as Colonel Gibson might, as in none.
“Yeah, get up off my ass and go after the woman.” Which was about the last thing on his list of smart moves. But he couldn’t get over Abby’s face. He knew it so damn well but couldn’t pin down the emotion.
Not sadness.
Not fury, though that was there.
But something…
Betrayal!
Once he identified it he knew he was right. It went against his entire ethos. They were on the same team and he’d made her feel the commitment. And she was smart enough that she was probably right about what he’d done, even if he couldn’t see it. He’d never turned his back on a teammate in pain before.
Pushing to his feet, he brushed himself off.
Hot Rod and Compass looked ready to sell tickets and open a popcorn franchise.
Misty’s look said he should keep a weather eye on her sniper rifle—and it wasn’t painted blue.
“Where—” But he knew. Back to her beloved helicopter, which she pulled on like an armored suit to hide in. The slim pilot in the Megatronic transformer-whatever giant killer robot machine. She never realized that what made her so impressive was that she could pull on that suit of armor and make it dance across the sky.
Derek started at a trot.
Then he heard it. The heavy wok-wok of the wokka-bird’s rotors starting to spin. She was leaving. Without her commander. That desperate to be away from him. And he knew in that moment that he was equally desperate to be beside her.
