Page 38 of Hot & Heavy

"Ms. Olgadottir," the woman on her right said. "Shut up!"

Can't Get You Out of My Mind…

Ian took a long, hot shower.

And thought about Yasmine.

He thought about shaving, then didn't bother.

And thought about Yasmine.

He put on a clean camouflage uniform.

And thought about Yasmine.

He spent an hour with his squad in the routine after-mission briefing with the general, his staff and half a dozen CIA ops. They would do a more detailed critique once they returned to SpecWar Command at Coronado.

And he thought about Yasmine.

The general complimented them on their good work. "You men have done the world a favor bringing in Jamal. We hope to get intel out of him, but be prepared. We're going to announce his capture to the news media tomorrow in hopes of scaring more of his scum-of-the-earth comrades to turn themselves in."

"Will we in Force Squad be required to deal with the media?"

"Yes."

All eight of them groaned. Dealing with the press was a SEAL's nightmare. One female reporter from AP

was particularly hard on the SEALs. Every single time, she tried to bait them with stereotypical questions about elite commandos. If they had done half of what she'd asked them about, they would have to be Supermen.

"I also want to commend you on the skill with which you rescued Altaira. Ambassador Riyad is on his way from D.C. and will want to thank you personally. Good job!"

"Now for the bad news." The general turned to Ian. "What were you thinking, to leave your team? I'm sure your commander will have more to say about that, but, good Lord, man, it could have been a disaster."

"But it wasn't," Ian interjected, unwisely, then added, "sir."

"Next, what were you thinking, going back for that woman during the final extraction?"

Ian thought about explaining why but decided that nothing he said was going to make any difference.

"No matter your good intentions and no matter how successful the outcome, those were risks a SEAL

leader should not take. You know better. It will go in your record." He scowled at Ian, who was biting his tongue. Then the general relaxed and smiled. "But luckily, the good accomplished on this mission will far outweigh the bad. Congratulations." The general came around from behind his desk and shook each of their hands in turn.

It wasn't the first time Ian had screwed up and probably wouldn't be the last. And, actually, this mission would probably mean a medal for him, and promotions for him and all his men. Jamal was one of the most hated terrorists in the world. His capture was important to the United States and its allies.

"The CIA has Jamal in one of the interrogation rooms as we speak," the general told them just before they left. "I expect to talk with the female any minute now. Lieutenant MacLean, are you sure she's Jamal's lover?"

Ian felt his face heat up. "Pretty sure… sir."

"I beg your pardon, Lieutenant. 'Pretty sure' is not a term we accept in this Navy, as you well know."

The admonition annoyed Ian, especially since it came on top of the criticism. Bristling, he defended himself. "The woman was in Iraq… in a remote region known to be Jamal's hiding spot. She said her name was Yasmine… at that time. She spoke Arabic. With all due respect, General… sir, I would have been remiss if I hadn't assumed she was the tango's… uh, cohort."

"That remains to be seen." The general hadn't cared for his tone, any more than Ian had cared for his superior's. But the Navy was not a democracy, and Ian had to remind himself to pay the proper respect to a higher-ranking officer.

After they left the briefing and headed toward the mess hall, he was still thinking about Yasmine.

What the hell is wrong with me?