In the line of fire…

OPERATION SHADOW WARRIORS

An ongoing U.S. military experiment to test the integration of trained female military operatives in live combat scenarios…

The Alpha Platoon. A unit of Navy SEALs stationed in the unforgiving dryness of Afghanistan…who just learned that their newest team member is a woman. But Bay Thorn has a spine of steel—and the chops to prove it. Without a team to back her up, however, she’s dead in the water. And her only ally is Gabe Griffin, a lone SEAL who is lethal, dangerous and unbearably attractive.…

Between the open hostility from her team and the harsh al Qaeda territory, Gabe is a lifeline for Bay. But mutual respect quickly grows into mutual attraction. And with each day and every assignment, the longing only deepens.

They mustn’t speak of it. Mustn’t act on it. Because in this line of work, falling in love can get you killed.…

Praise for LINDSAY McKENNA

“A treasure of a book…highly recommended reading

that everyone will enjoy and learn from.”

—Chief Michael Jaco, U.S. Navy SEAL, retired,

on Breaking Point

“McKenna’s latest is an intriguing tale…a unique twist on

the romance novel, and one that’s sure to please.”

—RT Book Reviews on Dangerous Prey

“Riveting.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Quest

“An absorbing debut for the Nocturne line.”

—RT Book Reviews on Unforgiven

“Gunfire, emotions, suspense, tension and sexuality abound in

this fast-paced, absorbing novel.”

—Affaire de Coeur on Wild Woman

“Another masterpiece.”

—Affaire de Coeur on Enemy Mine

“Emotionally charged…riveting and deeply touching.”

—RT Book Reviews on Firstborn

“Ms. McKenna brings readers along for a fabulous odyssey in which

complex characters experience the danger, passion and

beauty of the mystical jungle.”

—RT Book Reviews on Man of Passion

“Talented Lindsay McKenna delivers excitement

and romance in equal measure.”

—RT Book Reviews on Protecting His Own

“Lindsay McKenna will have you flying with the

daring and deadly women pilots who risk their lives….

Buckle in for the ride of your life.”

—Writers Unlimited on Heart of Stone

Breaking Point

Lindsay McKenna

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Bill Marcontell, Captain, USAF, retired, who flew Search and Rescue helicopters for the 38th ARRS in Southeast Asia in 1966–67. Thank you for information involving anything and everything that has to do with helicopters, their flight and their issues in this novel.

To Chief Michael Jaco, US Navy SEAL, retired. I appreciate you checking the technical aspects of all things SEAL in this book. And thank you for writing

The Intuitive Warrior. www.MichaelJaco.com

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER ONE

“TIME FOR YOUR trial by fire,” SEAL Chief Hampton said, gesturing for Baylee-Ann Thorn to follow him out of Operations. Hampton had met her CH-47 helo from Bagram Air Base. As he walked with her from Ops toward the SEAL compound, he told her how it was always below freezing in the morning despite its being a day in June in Afghanistan.

Bay tried to quell her nervousness. They traversed deeply rutted Humvee tracks outside Operations. Camp Bravo, an FOB, forward operating base, was thirty miles from the Pak, Pakistan border. It housed all types of black ops groups. Hampton led them toward a small concrete one-story building located near the edge of the CIA and black ops complex.

The Afghan sun was rising above the sharp, high peaks of the Hindu Kush Mountains. Bay was glad for the desert cammies and her soft cap since it was so cold. She removed her wraparound sunglasses as the chief of Alpha Platoon pushed open the door for her. Bay took a deep, steadying breath, feeling as if she were about to walk into a firefight.

Inside, she halted, unsure where to go. Looking to her left, she noticed seven SEAL shooters sitting and talking among themselves. They looked as if they’d just finished a patrol, sweaty, dusty and tired-looking. She felt exactly like them, flying out of Iraq and leaving her Special Forces, a team stationed near Baghdad, for this outpost.

“Follow me,” Hampton said, giving her a smile of encouragement.

Bay felt slightly better, ignoring her exhaustion and following the tall, wiry Navy chief to the front of the large room. As soon as Hampton arrived, all talking stopped and the seven SEALs sat alert and focused. There were large wooden plyboard tables pushed off to one side. To her, they looked like planning or mission tables where the black ops SEAL team would plan their patrols. The SEALs sat on a few wooden bleachers at the other end of the room.

The room quieted as three Navy SEAL officers, who ran the platoon, entered the area from another doorway. Bay stood off to one side with Hampton as Lieutenant Paul Brafford, the OIC, Officer in Command, strolled up to the center. Every man in the room wore a beard in order to fit into the Muslim culture. Two other officers followed him into the silent room.

“Gentlemen, two days ago we lost Steve, our 18 Delta combat medic and sniper.” His voice turned heavy. “It’s a loss we didn’t want to see happen, and I know we’re all upset about it.” He sat down on a four-legged stool, hooking the heel of his combat boot on a lower rung. “What I’m about to tell you is top secret. And Chief Hampton is going to be passing around a paper that you will sign, ensuring that this will be kept that way.”

There was a murmur among the shooters, who collectively looked at the woman standing beside their chief. They rested their safed rifles, muzzle down, across their legs or chest.

Brafford said, “Unbeknownst to us, there has been an ongoing initiative called Operation Shadow Warriors. It is an experiment created by the Joint Chiefs of Staff to see if women, who are adequately trained for combat, can be successful under combat conditions. This operation has been ongoing for three years now, in Iraq and Afghanistan. You will read and agree to what you’re signing. Basically, it says you won’t ever speak a word about having a woman assigned to our platoon.”

Bay saw the collective shock on the SEALs’ faces. Chief Hampton passed the papers among them. Bay was interested in how the SEALs operated. There were three SEALs on the first bench, three on the second bench. On the last bench near the rear bulkhead or wall sat one lone SEAL. She was good at interpreting facial expressions and body language. Bay noticed the anger and disgust in the faces on the first bench of SEALs. They wanted nothing to do with her. The second bench of SEALs looked surprised. Bay saw something else in the expression of the SEAL who sat by himself. Interest. Curiosity. No judgment. At least, not yet.

Bay felt her skin prickle as the lone SEAL’s green eyes narrowed speculatively, assessing her. He had a square face, strong chin, wide-set eyes and was deeply tanned from being out in the elements. His black hair was dusty, longish and reminded Bay of a raven’s wing. He was tall and she felt coiled energy around him. His right hand rested relaxed across the rail system on top of his M-4 rifle. Even though he appeared to be at rest, Bay noted the tension in his broad shoulders. There was nothing casual about this shooter.

Bay was used to relying on her intuition, which was finely honed by her years of living in the Allegheny Mountains with her hill family. This man was lethal in ways she couldn’t imagine. Yes, SEALs, as she understood them, were at the tip of the black ops spear. They went out on patrol or a direct action mission and moved into harm’s way. SEALs were intent on taking out HVTs, high-value targets. Bullets were going to fly when they entered the picture. Still, there was something about the lone SEAL that touched Bay’s fast-beating heart. If she hadn’t been so tired and stressed at being thrown into this awkward and unexpected situation, she might have picked up more about him.

“Okay, gentlemen,” Brafford said, “you’ve read it. Now sign your life away so we can move on.”

Bay stood next to the AOIC, a tall, lean second lieutenant, Reed Latham. The AAOIC, an ensign, Pete Scardillo, watched and listened. The chief had told her the SEALs were instituting a new officer training template. The AAOIC was a recent graduate and officer, but he’d be going out on every mission with the SEAL shooters, learning the trade. Latham critically watched his SEAL shooters. They were all enlisted men, Bay knew. Like her. Would they accept her or not? She’d worked with Marines and Army Special Forces in Iraq over the past three years. She’d heard about the clandestine SEALs, who had an awesome reputation of being a deadly force behind the scenes. Now, for the first time, she was getting a personal and up-front look at them. There was a lot of muttering and grumbling among them.

Hampton moved through the group, took the signed papers and walked over to the AAOIC and handed the sheaf to him. The chief then came and stood at Bay’s side.

The tension in the room amped up. Bay felt every pair of SEAL eyes on her. She wanted to cringe inside her cammies and hide. This wasn’t going to go down well. She could feel it.

“Chief,” Brafford said mildly, “would you like to finish up introducing our new doc and getting her assigned a mentor?” He eased off the stool.

“Yes, sir,” Hampton said.

All three officers left through another door. Bay tried to appear relaxed, but her heart was pounding now, with adrenaline leaking into her bloodstream. She watched Hampton take the stool with accustomed ease, his hands resting relaxed on his thighs as he regarded his men.

“I want to introduce you to your newest team member, Petty Officer First-Class Hospital Corpsman Baylee-Ann Thorn. She’s a combat corpsman. She’s been trained for a year by the Marines at Camp Pendleton and knows the drill on being a shooter. Plus—” he looked over at her “—she’s going to be one of our medics in our platoon. You’ll find her competent. And I know that all of you are going to have to be flexible about having a female in our midst. I feel sure you guys can handle it. Be gentlemen and understand that because she’s a medic, your life is in her hands. Got it?”

Bay saw a lot of unhappy faces in front of her. They didn’t want a woman around. She could feel their anger, surprise and distrust of her being an outsider to the tight SEAL team. Swallowing hard, Bay kept her face carefully arranged. Somehow, with the chief’s help, she was going to have to make this work. The SEALs were a badass group. None of them was smiling. All but one, frowning.

“Doc, why don’t you come up here and introduce yourself? Tell the guys a little bit about yourself,” Hampton invited, gesturing for her to step forward.

Oh, Lord, give me strength. Doc was the nickname every combat corpsman was called in the military. Bay stepped next to the chief. “Good morning,” she said, “I’m Corpsman Thorn. I know my first name is a mouthful, so most folks call me Doc or Bay.” She fearlessly met their black, flat stares. “I know this is an odd situation, but I promise you, I won’t become a liability. I’ve been working for years over in Iraq with Marines and U.S. Army Special Forces. I know the drill.”

Hampton intervened. “Well, I can tell you that Doc is a very humble person. She isn’t going to brag on herself.” He smiled a little over at Bay and then shifted his attention to the team. “Doc Thorn is the first woman to ever be allowed to go through and graduate from Army 18 Delta combat medic training. Almost two-thirds of the Army Special Forces guys who go through this eighteen-month course fail. But she didn’t. She’s used her skills for the last two years in Iraq combat situations and hasn’t lost a man yet.”

All the SEALs looked at one another, doubly shocked. The 18 Delta combat medics were the golden hour in a field of combat. They saved lives that regular combat medics were not trained to do. Nearly all SEALs who were medics were graduates of 18 Delta. The looks on their faces turned to grudging respect.

* * *

GABE GRIFFIN SMILED a little to himself. Chief Hampton was smart. Bay showed her humbleness and yet nailed the disbelievers in the team with the one thing that counted: a damn good medic who could save their sorry ass if they got shot out on a patrol or mission. About half the SEALs sat back, seriously digesting the info. Baylee-Ann Thorn’s soft drawl wasn’t quite Southern, so he wondered where she was from. He liked her husky voice, her confidence as she stood relaxed in front of the group. For a medic, she was a good height and weight. Bay, as he decided to call her, was probably around five feet ten inches tall. In a firefight, this woman could haul a SEAL to safety if she had to. Adrenaline would make up the difference.

Still, as Gabe listened to her background, he was struck by how innocent Bay looked. She had light brown, slightly curly hair, pulled back into a riotous ponytail. With intelligent blue eyes, a nice mouth and kind-looking face, she wasn’t typical of a combat SEAL. She wasn’t beautiful. Rather, natural and at ease with herself and who she was. Gabe liked her easygoing nature, and as he studied his team, he saw a couple of the guys losing their bristling demeanor.

Yes, Bay certainly had a nice voice. The kind of voice you’d want around if you were bleeding out and going to die in two and a half minutes. You’d believe anything Bay told you because you trusted her and trusted her incredible training. Gabe wondered if her personality would be able to tame the animals in this squad of eight shooters. They all sat alert on their benches, listening closely to what she had to say.

Chief Hampton looked at the team. “Thanks, Doc,” he said. “I want to welcome you to Alpha Platoon. Do you animals have any questions for her?”

“Yeah, I sure as hell do,” Hammer, who sat on the first bench nearest them, snarled. “Just what the hell was the Navy thinking? Putting a woman in our platoon? I don’t care if this is some top-secret op or not. It’s insane.”

Bay winced inwardly at the tall SEAL’s angry comment. He had disgust in his eyes. She felt his emotions strike her.

Hampton sighed. “Hammer, stand down. This is not her fault. Doc did volunteer for this experiment. Keep in mind this op has been ongoing for three years and it has been very successful.”

Hammer glared at the chief, challenging him. “Have there been any other bitches assigned to a SEAL squad?”

“Knock off the disrespect,” Hampton growled. “The answer is yes. And you wouldn’t have heard about it through the grapevine because every man signed that waiver, promising to never speak of it to anyone. Not even to other SEAL squads or platoons.”

Hammer lifted his chin. “She’s going out on our patrols with us?”

“That’s what a doc does,” Hampton replied in a reasonable tone.

“That’s friggin’ babysitting, Chief!” Hammer protested loudly. “It’s not like we don’t have enough on our hands watchin’ out for the tangos, the goddamn IEDs and the rest. Now we have to watch out for her ass, too? She’s a major distraction and that can get us killed.”

Bay put her hand out and briefly touched the chief’s shoulder. “Chief, if you would allow me?”

Hampton shrugged. “Go for it.”

Gabe sat back. Bay Thorn’s blue eyes narrowed slightly and her wide, soft mouth thinned. He was surprised she’d take on a SEAL, expecting her to hide behind the chief and let him do the fighting for her. That impressed him.

Bay met Hammer’s black glare. “I have never worked with SEALs, that’s true. From what I’ve heard about you guys over the years, y’all are heroes in my eyes.”

Gabe watched the team preen to a man, as if stroked by her long, narrow hand. They were warriors. And they had the confidence and training to rightfully feel that way about themselves. It was always nice to hear someone consider them heroes and tell them to their face, however. He watched Bay with fascination, wondering how she was ever going to handle this male alpha wolf team.

“The chief was right. I am trained for combat. I also have a yearlong immersion course in Pashto. I hope to be of help in different ways to you. I’d much rather be a terp, translator, for you, or another gun in the fight, than have to save your hide once you took a bullet out in the field. But I can do that, too. Like you, I’m multiskilled and consider myself an asset.”

Opening her hands, Bay said, “I come from hill people. I was born in the Allegheny Mountains of West Virginia. I grew up barefoot, learned to hunt in the woods starting at age six with my pa. My mama is a hill doctor and she’s saved many people’s lives and delivered a ton of babies. I know how to track, shoot and heal. I hope you’ll let me prove myself over time. I promise, I won’t be a pain in your collective butt. I will never put any of you at risk for me. Instead I’m trained to take the risks for you.”

The sincerity in her eyes and voice deeply affected Gabe. He looked around and saw about half his team bought her explanation. The other half didn’t.

“Okay,” Hammer said, “so you’re a friggin’ hillbilly. So what? What did you do, shoot squirrels and possum for your mama’s soup kettle?”

A snicker went through some of the team.

Hampton opened his mouth to chastise the squad, but Bay cut him a glance. He closed his mouth.

Giving the SEAL a loose smile, she said with humor, “Yes, I’m hill stock, for sure. And it’s true what we shoot, we eat. Squirrel ain’t all that bad,” she teased, dropping more into her dialect. “Tastes a little like the dark meat of a chicken or a wild turkey.” She saw Hammer’s eyes fill with disgust.

“We don’t need no hillbilly in our squad. Hell, I’ll bet you can’t hit the broadside of a barn!”

Gabe roused himself. He saw Chief Hampton ready to pounce on Hammer. He didn’t take guff from any of them, and Hammer was way out of line. “Hey,” Gabe called to Hammer, “why don’t you ask Doc what her longest shot was to kill an animal?”

Bay blinked. The SEAL in the back had a feral grin on his face as he challenged Hammer. What was this guy up to? She felt protectiveness emanating from him toward her. It was nothing obvious, but she picked up on his energy, anyway.

Hammer nodded. “Damn good question, Doc Thorn. What’s your best shot out in them thar woods?”

A number of the SEALs chuckled as he mimicked her dialect.

Bay shrugged. “I bagged an eight-point buck at twelve hundred.”

Half the SEALs burst into laughter, their collective guffaws echoing around the room. Bay frowned, saddened that they didn’t want her in the squad. Except for the SEAL in the back and maybe three other guys who were impressed with her medical training. The SEAL in the back was looking directly at her now. Their gazes locked. She felt the intensity of his slitted green gaze, a one-cornered smile appearing on his weathered face. In that moment, she felt the full power of his invisible protection.

When the laughter died down, Gabe called, “Doc, was that twelve hundred feet or twelve hundred yards?”

Hammer twisted around. “Oh, come on, bro! You know damn well it has to be feet, not yards! What fairy-tale world are you livin’ in?”

Bay suddenly understood what the SEAL was doing. She gave him a nod of thanks for having her back in this melee. Shifting her gaze to Hammer, who was dramatically rolling his eyes, she remained serious. “I sincerely apologize to y’all. I thought you knew I meant twelve hundred yards.”

The room went completely silent. Gabe lowered his head and hid his smile. Finally, he swallowed his grin to surface and he called out, “Hey, Hammer. You got wax in your ears? Did you hear her say yards, not feet?” He enjoyed Hammer’s glare as he twisted around and stared at him.

Snorting, Hammer jerked his head toward the woman standing relaxed, her hands clasped in front of her. “No friggin’ way, sweetheart, have you shot anything, much less hit anything at twelve hundred yards. That’s sniper-quality shootin’ and I don’t care how long you ran around barefoot in those woods growing up shooting squirrels out of trees—no woman can hit anything at that range. Not one.”

Chief Hampton sighed. “Doc? I know you’re pretty wiped out by the flight from Iraq, but are you up to a little range shooting this afternoon? You need to zero in your rifle, anyway.”

“Of course, Chief. My pa began teaching me to shoot at age six. We didn’t have any boys in our family, and I was the oldest girl, so I learned to do what the boys did.”

Hammer shook his head. “What a load of shit.”

“We’ll see,” Hampton murmured. He straightened and looked over the group of men. “What kind of rifle are you wanting to use, Doc?”

Bay heard the wry humor in the chief’s tone. “Well, sir, if someone has a .300 Win Mag, I’d like to try my hand at that. Of course, with their permission.”

Hammer howled with laughter, leaning over, his hands against his belly. Everyone in the front row joined him. The SEALs in bench two were seriously digesting her request. The Win Mag .300 was one of the rifles used by the SEAL snipers. The SEAL in the back stood up. He picked up his ruck sitting on the bench beside him.

“Chief, I’ll loan her my Win Mag to settle this,” Gabe called.

Surprised, Bay watched as he stood and slowly walked toward her. He had a loose kind of walk, a man with confidence to burn. There was a rifle strapped to the outside of his rucksack. This SEAL was a sniper, no question. Bay saw humor lurking in his eyes as he approached her with his boneless grace. He immediately made her think of the mountain lions she’d seen stalking prey. It was that kind of silent, lethal walk.

Gabe halted a few feet from her, set his ruck down on the concrete floor. He leaned down and pulled open the Velcro straps that held his sniper rifle in place. Pulling it out of the straps, he said, “Here you go, Doc. I’ll be your spotter if you need one. I’m Gabe Griffin, by the way.”

When their fingers met as he handed over his rifle to her, Bay gulped. The SEAL was tall, probably six feet or more. There was warmth in his green eyes as he smiled down at her. She took the rifle, allowing it to hang, barrel down, beneath her left arm and rest against her hip. “Thank you,” she said, meaning it. “And I could sure use your help with this beautiful rifle.” Her voice turned soft with humor. “I’m used to my dad’s Winchester to bring down game. This one is a lot different feeling. Lighter.”

Gabe turned, standing beside the combat medic. Hammer was giving him a look of utter disbelief. “Hammer, let’s meet out at our shooting range, say at 1300?”

“You got it. You’ve picked the wrong side of this contest, Griffin.”

Shrugging, Gabe said, “Hey, I was born in Butler, Pennsylvania. I grew up with a few hill people who lived up in that neck of the woods. They were all crack shots.”

“A hundred bucks says she can’t hit any target at twelve hundred yards,” Hammer said, grinning over at his buddies.

Gabe rested his arms across the front of his H-gear around his chest. “I got a hundred that says she can nail the target dead center every time.”

Hooting and hollering broke out excitedly among the team. SEALs got easily bored, and a rifle competition whetted their weapons appetites. There was heavy betting going on, mostly against the new doc. Chief Hampton raised his hands.

“You just got back off a twelve-hour patrol. Get cleaned up, eat, write up your reports and we’ll meet at the shooting range at 1300.” Chief looked over at Bay. “You all right with this, Doc?”

Bay kept a serious face. “Yes, sir, I am.”

“I’ll collect her winnings,” Gabe told the chief, his grin widening. His team was in for one helluva surprise, he hoped.

“On that note,” Hampton said, sliding off the stool, “I’m assigning you to be her mentor, Gabe.”

More hollers and laughter broke out in the room. Hammer was gloating. “Glad it wasn’t me having to train in a cherry!” he yelled at Gabe. “You poor sorry son of a bitch.”

Gabe took the gibing good-naturedly. Cherry was a slang term for the new guy coming into the squad. He saw Bay give him a confused look.

“That means,” he told her, “I’ll integrate you into the team. It will be my responsibility to show you the ropes, teach you how we patrol. Stuff like that.”

Relief fled through her. “That’s great, Gabe. Thank you.”

Hampton gave Gabe a hard look and lowered his voice. “Give the team time, but don’t take any shit off any of ’em, either. She’s our medic. They shouldn’t care if it’s a man or woman saving their ass. Understand?”

“Yes, Chief, I do,” Gabe replied, reading between the lines. Gabe knew half the team wasn’t happy about having a woman assigned into their ranks. The only thing to do now was for her to earn their respect. Turning, he looked down into her wide, innocent-looking blue eyes.

“Can you really hit a deer at twelve hundred yards?”

Bay remained humble. She lowered her voice so only he could hear her. “Actually, I’ve dropped a couple of deer at fourteen hundred yards, but I didn’t want them thinking I was tellin’ them a big windy.”

Gabe picked up his ruck and slung it over his shoulder and gave a soft chuckle. “Come on, I need to show you where our shooting range is located.”

Grateful he didn’t hate her as half the team did, Bay carried his sniper rifle easily beneath her left arm. The rest of the SEAL team was up, walking toward the doors with them. There was a lot of laughter and ribbing going on. Mostly about her. Bay had been hazed before and tried not to take it personally.

As they left the building, Gabe Griffin at her side, the sun had risen more, taking off the chill. Automatically, Bay slipped on her sunglasses, just as he did. At eight thousand feet on a mountaintop, the sunlight was brutal. Without sunglasses, it would be hard to see enemy at times, especially in the glare. That could cost them their life.

“Down this unnamed street,” he said, gesturing down a row of tan canvas tents sitting up on plyboard platforms.

The SEALs split up, going their separate ways. Most would put their weapons in their tents and then hit the chow hall, starved. Gabe took her over to his tan-and-gray tent he shared with Phil Baker. He decided to use the tent next to his. “Doc, this is a catch-all tent for our equipment. You’ll find SEALs are real good at getting creative. I’ll rustle up a cot for you after we eat.”

“May I give you back the Win Mag? I want it kept safe.”

“Sure.” He took the weapon and placed it on his cot inside his tent. Gabe questioned why he wasn’t upset about training in the newbie, man or woman. Because of his recent divorce, he’d stepped down as LPO, lead petty officer, of the team. He’d asked the chief to assign it to Philip Baker, who was content to take over the position. The chief probably figured this was a good way for Gabe to get back into the saddle as LPO at some point in the future.

Knowing Chief Hampton as he did, going on fourth deployment with him, Gabe understood he was a wily people manager, got that he was hurting. Focusing on a newbie would take his mind off his cheating ex-wife. Gabe wasn’t at all sure, however, that dealing with another woman right now was a smartest decision, but Hampton had good insight into people and situations. Lily, his ex-wife, had broken his trust, broken his heart and broken any good feelings he had toward women in general.

In a way, he felt sorry for Bay, because she seemed sweet, unassuming and terribly innocent. Maybe looks weren’t everything, Gabe decided. He’d fallen for Lily’s blinding beauty, and look where it got him. When he emerged from the tent, Bay was waiting for him. She had an M-4 looped in a black nylon sling across his chest and right shoulder. He took her rifle and laid it on his cot next to the Win Mag. “Let’s go eat,” he said.

As they walked down through the avenues of tents toward the chow hall, Gabe knew Baylee-Ann Thorn had just stepped into a pack of alpha males who didn’t tolerate incompetence of any kind, at any level. They were hardened warriors who knew what it took to survive, and right now half of them had their new doc in their gun sights. Could she stand the heat in the kitchen? Could she measure up or not? They’d find out soon enough.

CHAPTER TWO

“THERE ARE A LOT of women in here,” Bay noted as they sat opposite from each other at a long, wooden table at the busy chow hall. The noise was high, a lot of laughter, ribbing and joking going around.

Gabe nodded, glad to get a plate of eggs, bacon, toast and grits. “You see that group of ladies over there in those tan flight suits?”

Bay looked to her left. There were at least eight women sitting together having breakfast. “Yes. Are they pilots?”

“Not just any pilots,” Gabe said, savoring the salty bacon. Out on patrols, they sweated so much they lost electrolytes. Bacon helped replace the salt in his body. “They’re from a black ops group known as the Black Jaguar Squadron. Been here for four years. It’s an all female Apache helo combat group.”

Eyes widening, Bay said, “That’s terrific. How are they doing in combat?”

Gabe smiled a little between bites. People in the military usually gulped and ran. They didn’t spend time lingering over a meal. She was the same.

“Let’s put it this way. When our comms man calls for Apaches to come and help us out, we don’t care who’s flying them. All we care about is if they can hit the target.” He rolled his shoulders after sitting up to take a breather. “Those gals can nail targets.”

“Not even Hammer and his group are unhappy with them?” As they were unhappy with her.

“Not a peep.” Gabe picked up his mug of coffee. “Hammer and a few of the other guys are worried that you won’t keep up on patrols. Or you’ll cost one of them their lives because they have to protect you instead of knowing you’ll have a gun in the fight like them.”

Nodding, Bay finished off her scrambled eggs. She reached for the strawberry jam and a knife. “That’s fair.”

“Since I’m going to be acclimating you to our team, can you tell me about working with U.S. Army Special Forces over in Iraq?” Gabe was more than a little curious about her background. Bay looked as though she belonged in a hospital. Maybe as a doctor or nurse. Not a woman in a combat zone.

“I ran patrols with them for six months during my last deployment. Most of the time we worked along the Syrian border area with Iraq. Sometimes we came back to the green zone in Baghdad for a rest.” Wrinkling her nose, she said, “It’s a terrible place, Gabe. You can’t trust anyone. They all lie to you. My captain was always pulling out his hair, trying to figure out who was lying and who wasn’t. One group would tell you that another group was al Qaeda. He learned a long time ago not to believe any of them. This was his third deployment and he knew the dance.”

“Did you perform many walking patrols?” Gabe knew the SEALs would be out on foot patrols for up to twelve hours sometimes. If Bay couldn’t, that would pose a helluva problem for all of them.

“I’m fit enough, Gabe. We’d range out on foot for eight to twelve hours. Our team was always moving along the border at night with NVGs on. That was when the Syrian smugglers would try and get past the official highway entrance gate in and out of the two countries. We’d be on patrol from dusk until dawn. Sometimes, depending upon who we ran into, we’d cover fifteen klicks.”

“Any problems with those kinds of physical demands?” Gabe asked, holding her blue gaze. There was such seriousness to her expression as she considered his question. Gabe didn’t want to like her, and he fought it. Hadn’t he had enough woman troubles the past year?

“None. Now,” Bay said, reaching for her coffee, “I treated a lot of heat exhaustion cases, muscle cramps and things like that with my team. You know how you get focused on the mission. You’re chasing the bad guys and you forget to drink water from your CamelBak? Some of the strongest, most fit Special Forces dudes would keel over out there. I learned to carry a lot more IVs in my pack to rehydrate them. Otherwise, we’d be calling in a medevac every time to lift them out.”

Nodding, Gabe knew the hydration problem. SEALs dealt with the same issues. “When I was LPO for my team, I was always on my guys to keep drinking water out on patrol. Everyone forgets. Especially when we’re engaged with the enemy.”

“Yup,” Bay said, smiling a little. She liked looking at Gabe. He was rugged looking, had high cheekbones and she liked his mouth best of all. The corners moved naturally upward and his lips were even and very kissable. His beard was fairly well trimmed, unlike with some of the other guys on the team.

Bay especially liked the keen intelligence she saw in Gabe’s eyes. This guy was no slouch. He had broad, capable shoulders beneath his dusty cammies. She liked his hands, now curved around the mug in front of him. He had long, spare hands, large knuckled, burned dark by the sun, a smattering of dark hair on the backs of them. They were beautiful hands for a man. Her mind turned back to their conversation about desert environs. They were out on the front lines in one of the most inhospitable climates on earth.

“Okay, so you can keep up with us,” Gabe murmured, mulling over her answers. “Are you at all familiar with our patrol tactics?”

She shook her head. “Not at all.”

“Then you need to shadow me. We use the L and diamond formation most of the time, and I’ll show you what that means. When I get a chance, I’ll lead you through what I do and what the team does if we get into a firefight.”

“Sounds good. That’s where I’m weak, Gabe.” Bay held up her hands and laughed a little. “I can cut, operate and stitch with the best of them in a firefight, but I’m an ignoramus when it comes to your patrol methods. I know they aren’t the same ones used by the Special Forces guys.”

He stared at her slender, beautiful hands. Gabe could believe she was a healer. He saw a number of calluses across her palms. That was a good sign because it meant she was in top shape, was carrying fairly heavy loads out on those patrols. “You said your mother was a hill doctor?”

“Yes, my mama, Poppy, is famous for her healing abilities.” Bay dug into a side pocket in her cammies and drew out a ziplock bag that contained family photos. “Here’s my mama.” She placed the photo in front of Gabe. “I grew up going out and collecting herbs with her, starting when I was five years old. She has taught me so much.”

Gabe studied the photo of a woman down on her hands and knees weeding in a huge garden. He could see Bay’s face in her mother’s face. Her mother had blue eyes and crinkly brown hair sticking out from beneath the old straw hat she wore. Gabe noticed her mother wore a skirt and blouse, no shoes on her feet. “You’re lucky to study with her,” he said, handing the photo back to her. When their fingers met, Gabe felt the warmth between them. He walled off any reaction to the grazing touch.

“My pa, Floyd William Thorn, died when he was forty-nine,” she told him, sadness in her tone. She placed a picture of her father before him. “He was a coal miner and got black lung. With the herbs she collected, Mama kept him alive many years longer than he should have lived.” Her voice grew low with emotion. “I miss him so much....”

Gabe picked up the photo, studying the man with a long, unkempt brown-and-silver beard. He wore an old green baseball cap and was proudly standing with a rifle over his shoulder. Bay had his long straight nose and high cheekbones. “I’m sorry you lost him. That’s too young to die.”

Bay took the photo from him and carefully placed it back in the ziplock bag. “He was a good man, Gabe. He taught me how to hunt and we had so much fun together. Pa was always laughing and joking around with us. And he was very kind. There were a number of elderly folks on our mountain who needed help. Pa would go over and chop wood for them, take it to their cabins so they’d have fire to cook with and keep them warm at night during the winter. Each spring, Pa would till their gardens with our mule, Betsy, to help them get in their garden so they’d have food to eat and can in the fall.”

Gabe digested her softly spoken words, saw the grief lingering in her eyes. “He sounds like a helluva good man. Responsible.”

Bay pressed her lips together, feeling the loss of her father. “Hill people stick together. Sometimes we’d go out and hunt deer for these elders. We’d kill one or two, gut and skin them. Then we’d carry them back and spread the meat between these families. Pa believed you took care of your family as well as the people around you.”

“And now you’re taking care of people around you, too. Looks like you have the genes on both sides of your family.” Gabe saw the sadness in Bay’s eyes and found himself wanting to do something to cheer her up. Again, he stopped that desire. This was a dangerous edge to walk with her.

“I love helping people,” Bay said, lifting her head and managing to tuck her sadness away.

“I’m blown away you’re an 18 Delta corpsman. We’ve had SEALs go for that training and wash out. Some made it, but most didn’t. From what I’ve heard, it’s eighteen months of unrelenting hell.”

“It was,” Bay said. “But I loved it. I’d been a corpsman in Iraq and already been under fire, doing my job. By the time I got to 18 Delta, when they’d put you into a situation where you had to work under bullets and explosions going off, it didn’t rattle me one bit. It did a lot of other guys, though. They were really great combat corpsmen, but they couldn’t think through the chaos to stop bleeding or perform lifesaving field operations.”

“What made you so cool, calm and collected under fire?” Gabe asked, going back and starting to spread strawberry jam over six pieces of toast he had piled up at one end of his aluminum tray.

“I don’t know. My mom was always cool as a cucumber when things got tense.”

“You said you were hunting with your dad at an early age? I wonder if the sound of gunfire was something you grew up with.” He chewed on the toast. “I was raised near the woods in Pennsylvania. I was hunting with my father when I was your age. He was a big-time hunter and I got used to being around gunfire.”

“Maybe,” Bay murmured. She watched him enjoy the toast and jam. Gabe was tucking away a lot of food, but she knew these men who were out on long patrols would easily burn through twelve thousand calories. “I find I focus so much on the guy who’s wounded that I don’t hear anything else around me. I’ve been in firefights where the guys on my team would tell me bullets were singing all around me as I was delivering medical aid to a downed soldier, and I wasn’t even aware of it.”

“That’s a handy reaction to have,” Gabe agreed. Inwardly, he began to feel some relief. Bay had the experience and calm that would be needed should they get into a firefight. And it was a given, in their business, they would.

“Why do you think the chief assigned you to me?” Bay wondered, tilting her head and holding his gaze.

Disconcerted, Gabe grinned. “You have a helluva way of getting to the heart of the matter, don’t you?”

“In my business, it’s always the bottom line.” Bay smiled. “I’m the one who is doing the A-B-Cs...airway, breathing, circulation on a guy who’s been shot. I don’t have time to fool around with social niceties.”

Nodding, Gabe reached for the second piece of toast. “I used to be LPO of our team until about six months ago. You probably got assigned to me because the chief trusts me. This is my fourth deployment over here with him and I’m a known quantity.”

“So you were the mother hen for the enlisted guys in your platoon before this?”

Gabe chuckled. “Yeah, I was a real mother hen, for sure.”

“But why aren’t you LPO now?”

He stopped smiling. “A situation came up,” he said gruffly.

“Hmm,” Bay murmured, feeling him retreat. She saw something in his narrowing eyes, a look that warned, back off. Moving her fingers around the warm mug, she said, “Life sometimes kicks us in the head like a mule and it takes time for us to get back up on our feet.”

Her insight stunned Gabe. For a moment, he just stared at her, and then he resumed eating. “I’m okay not being LPO. And Phil, who we call Thor, is doing a good job in my stead.”

“So Chief Hampton figured if he put me with the biggest, baddest mother hen in the platoon, I’d be in good hands.” She grinned.

“You need to ask the chief why he assigned you to me. I’m not in his head.”

Bay finished off her coffee and set the mug aside. “I know I’m in good hands with you, Gabe. You were the only one there in that room who was protecting me against Hammer and his friends.”

“LPOs always are protective of their guys. It comes with the territory. You’re one of us now, and that protection is accorded you, as well.”

Nodding, Bay picked up the last of a few potatoes from her tray and nibbled on them. She figured she’d stepped on a land mine with Gabe. He appeared unhappy for a moment, but then he hid his reaction with a hard, unreadable expression. A game face. Something she saw in all black ops people. “Nothing wrong with being a mother hen. I’m one. And Hammer and his friends are going to find that out big-time as soon as I get my feet under me with this team.”

Gabe would bet on that. Baylee-Ann Thorn was not a weakling in any sense. She came across soft and innocent, but now Gabe was beginning to understand that sweetness could be shown or taken away, depending upon the situation. “It’s the doc’s job to keep the guys well.” And then he remembered the photo of her father. “That was a Winchester rifle your father carrying on his shoulder in that photo you showed me?”

“Yes, a .300 Win Mag rifle.”

“It looked like it.”

“Why?”

“Because in a couple of hours, you’ll be using my Win Mag against Hammer in the shooting competition.”

Shrugging, Bay smiled a little. “So?”

“So you know how to use one.”

“My pa used the civilian variety of Win Mag to bag deer and other animals. The type you guys use for sniping is a military grade and not something I’m familiar with.”

“Just the cartridge is different. Stocks are made out of fiberglass because it’s lighter than wood.” He studied her hard for a moment. “When did your father start training you to use the Win Mag?”

“When I was thirteen.”

The innocent look she gave him made him grin. “So you’ve been using a Win Mag for five years before you joined the Navy? And in that time, you were using it to bring down big game at fourteen hundred yards?”

“Yes.”

Gabe sat up. “Has anyone ever accused you of being the mistress of understatement?”

She wiped her mouth with the paper napkin, wadded it up and dropped onto her tray. “A few times.” Bay saw that dark, accessing look of his, felt it surround her. It was an intense focus a hunter would have.

“That Win Mag has a body-jarring recoil to it when it’s fired,” he warned her. It would take a shoulder off a person if he didn’t realize the kick of the rifle and physically compensate for that violent recoil. He wondered how she was able to handle such a weapon at such a young age.

“Oh, Pa warned me,” Bay chuckled. Pushing her fingers through her curly brown hair, she said, “The first time I fired it, it knocked me on my behind. My pa never laughed so hard, and neither did I. He’d warned me beforehand about its recoil, but until you actually fire it, you don’t have a clue.”

Her laughter was like thick, dark honey across his wounded heart. Gabe had no defense against it. Her eyes danced with mirth. It lifted him, for no accountable reason. “Well,” he growled, pushing the tray aside, “Hammer’s in a lot of trouble, then.”

“Ohh,” Bay murmured, “I don’t think so.”

Gabe studied her. “Then you really don’t need a spotter. You’ve never worked with one and you’re hitting your target at fourteen hundred yards.” That blew him away.

“My pa never called himself a spotter. He taught me about windage, wind direction, humidity and so on. I could sure use your help, Gabe. This is dry air. There’s no humidity. I’m not used to firing in this kind of environment. If you could help me dial it in, I’d be grateful.”

How could he refuse her? “Hammer is going to get his sails trimmed.”

“All I want to do is give a good accounting of myself. Maybe then he’ll get serious about me being responsible regarding my job with your platoon.”

Gabe smiled wryly, picked up his tray and rose to his full six feet. Her heart opened as she regarded him standing there, waiting for her. There was an intense, quiet power around him, like that of a coiled copperhead ready to strike. She didn’t see this same kind of tension in the other SEALs, although they all possessed it, more or less.

Gabe was a leader; there was no doubt. And she knew the men respected him. Why wasn’t he LPO? Well, for whatever reason, Bay found herself thanking the Lord for having Chief Hampton assign her to this SEAL. He was trustworthy. And her life would be in his hands, quite literally.

Easing off the bench, Bay picked up her tray and followed Gabe to where they placed their empty trays. She noticed the women stuck together at the various benches. A number of the SEALs from Alpha were all sitting together and eating, Hammer among them. When he spotted her across the large packed room, he gave her a glare. She ignored it.

CHAPTER THREE

BAY FELT ADRENALINE leak into her bloodstream as she settled prone, on her belly. The Afghan sun beat down hard on them at the small shooting range the SEALs had created years earlier at this FOB. The wind was inconstant, blowing intermittently across the area. The range was far away from Operations. Helos were constantly coming and going, the reverberations and thumping noise pounding and chopping through the dry air.

Gabe helped her set up the .300 Win Mag because it was the sniper rifle, not the regular hunting rifle Bay was used to. The bipods were set at the front of the barrel and he made sure the fiberglass stock was settled firmly against her cheek. The entire SEAL platoon, including the officers and chief, was present. Bay didn’t seemed rattled at all. She went about the business of picking up any rocks that could jam into her torso and legs when she went prone. She studied the flags waving off to one side of the square wooden targets in the distance, sizing up the wind factor and direction. The rest of the team stood behind Hammer. There was a wooden table nearby where ammo was collected.

Bay settled her cap on backward so the bill scraped the nape of her neck. She wore her sunglasses, the sun burning down on her. She felt Gabe’s quiet presence as he knelt nearby with the spotter scope on a stand between his knees. There were three dials on the Win Mag, the same as she was used to using back home. Ten feet to her left, Hammer was settling down in the dirt on his belly, bringing his Win Mag into his arms. His spotter was Oz, another SEAL shooter who was his best friend.

“Okay,” Gabe told her quietly, leaning toward her so that only she could hear him, “just relax.”

His deep voice washed across her. The tension in her shoulders dissolved. Bay hadn’t expected the officers of the team to show up. That added more pressure to her. Well, they wanted to know if she was going to be a liability or another gun in the fight on patrols. Bay couldn’t blame them for wanting to know.

Listening to Gabe’s direction and information, she dialed in the elevation and compensated for the windage. She’d lived in mountains, albeit not high ones, but the formula was the same. Mountains made their own weather, and wind was the single biggest challenge to a sniper or a hunter. The wrong assessment of wind speed could knock a bullet off course.

Bay studied the large square wooden targets that were set at twelve hundred yards. There were three red circles to create the bull’s-eye. It was understood their shots had to hit the center. If they fell outside the center, then that shooter was the loser. She had three shots and so did Hammer.

Lifting her chin, Bay angled a look up at Gabe. “Hey, is Hammer a sniper like you?”

“Yes, he is. The medic we just lost was another of our snipers. The chief’s in a bind because there’s no one available to come into our team who is sniper qualified. He doesn’t like us without two snipers on every patrol.”

“Can’t blame him there,” Bay agreed. That was bad news because, as she’d found out by going on patrol with Special Forces teams, those snipers were a must. There were so many situations when a sniper would make the difference between a team taking on casualties and not. Snipers were called “force multipliers” for a reason.

Gabe watched her expression. He couldn’t see her eyes behind those wraparound sunglasses and wished he could. Her mouth was soft and she was relaxed. “Okay, we’re taking the first shot. Ready?”

Nodding, Bay settled down into her position. This was a natural position her father had taught her. It was the rifle in her right hand, resting against her right shoulder. Her left arm was tucked in front of her chest, the bipod giving her rifle stability. The stock had to fit firmly and comfortably against her right cheek. She wasn’t using a scope, rather the iron sights on the rifle itself. Hammer had insisted on iron sights only. It made hitting the target tougher. Very few ever used iron sights, the scopes superior and delivering on target all the time.

* * *

GABE GENTLY PATTED her cap, an old sniper signal that meant “shoot.”

The multiple variables of the shot ran through Bay’s mind as her eyes narrowed, her finger brushing the two-pound trigger, her right hand steady on the Win Mag stock. Her father had taught her there was a still point between inhalation and exhalation. It was when her breath left her body and before her lungs automatically began to expand to draw in a breath of fresh air into the body—this was the perfect time to fire the rifle.

The Win Mag bucked hard against her shoulder, the brute force of the recoil rippling spasmodically through her entire body. Gabe was watching through the spotter scope, following the telltale vapor trail of the bullet.

“Bull’s-eye!” Gabe yelled, thrusting his fist into the air.

Relief sped through her. Bay eased out of the position, amazed. “Really?” she asked Gabe. He was grinning as he turned to her.

“You hit it perfect, Doc. Good going. You’re dialed in.” Gabe lifted his head to see Hammer snarling a curse as he settled into position. He then turned back to Bay. “What? You didn’t think you’d nail it?” He laughed heartily.

Hammer nailed the first shot, too. There was a lot of clapping and cheering from the platoon as he’d made a successful shot. No one had clapped for her. Maybe, Bay figured, the guys were stunned she’d made the first shot at all. Gabe was the only one who believed in her. Knew she could do it. She felt warmth flow through her. There was an unexpected kindness to him that wasn’t easily discerned on the surface, but she was privy to it. That and the care and protection she could literally feel he’d encircled her with. It was unspoken, but there. In spades.

“Okay,” Gabe said softly, studying the flags. He watched the heat waves dancing across the flat area in front of them. They were showing a wind direction change. Leaning down, he told her to dial in to a different windage setting.

Bay settled in, focused. Her mouth compressed and she willed her body to relax. She desperately wanted to make this next shot, but the breeze was erratically shifting. It lifted several stands of her curly hair as she took a breath and let it naturally leave her body. Finger pressed against the trigger...breath out...still...fire... The Win Mag bucked savagely against her shoulder, the bark of the shot booming like unleashed thunder throughout the area.

“Bull’s-eye!” Gabe hooted, pumping his fist above his head.

There was some unexpected, serious applause going on behind Bay. She twisted around and saw all three officers and their chief strongly clapping, a show of support for her. They grinned at each other like raccoons finding a bunch of crayfish in a stream. As if congratulating themselves on having the good luck to have her in their platoon. Turning back around, Bay saw the look on Hammer’s face. He sneered at her and then settled in to take his shot.

Gabe patted her on the cap. “Damn fine shot. You’re doing great, Doc.”

“Couldn’t do it without you, Gabe. You’re feeding me good intel.” And Bay knew that a good spotter could make all the difference as to whether the shot was accurate or not.

“Bull’s-eye!” Oz shouted triumphantly as Hammer made the center circle.

More clapping, hooting and hollering erupted from the SEALs standing behind Hammer.

Bay wiped sweat from her upper lip. She could feel it running down her rib cage and between her shoulder blades. It was hotter than hell out in this afternoon sun on top of this eight-thousand-foot mountain.

Gabe’s hand settled briefly on her shoulder, giving her a silent order to get relaxed back into the prone position. Bay felt less trepidation as his long fingers curved around her shoulder, as if to tell her it was all right, that she was doing fine. He appreciated her efforts.

Gabe gave her spotter info, the flags now stronger and then falling off. It was the worst kind of wind to shoot in accurately, and Bay compressed her lips, worried. She placed the stock against her cheek, feeling the perspiration between her skin and the fiberglass stock. Inhaling, she allowed her breath to escape until she was in that millisecond still point. She squeezed the trigger. The Win Mag recoiled hard, jerking her shoulder, the tremors rippling down the right side of her body all the way to her booted foot.

“Bull’s-eye!” Gabe shouted, slapping her on the back, grinning.

A few more SEALs were clapping now. The officers looked elated. Chief Hampton, from what Gabe could see, appeared damn relieved. Again, Hammer cursed loudly and seemed furious. Gabe gave his teammate a wicked grin.

Bay got to her knees, clearing the chamber and safing the Win Mag in her arms. She sat down with the butt of the rifle resting on her hip and watched Hammer shoot.

“Bull’s-eye!” Oz shouted.

The SEAL came out of prone position, glaring over at her, triumph written on his hard, lined face.

“It’s a draw,” Chief Hampton called.

“Like hell it is!” Hammer protested. He jabbed a finger toward Bay. “Let’s do one shot offhand, standing.” His lips curled away from his teeth. “That will separate the men from the pantywaist girls here.”

Bay was startled at the dare. Standing position at a twelve hundred yards? Nothing to support her rifle but herself? Gulping, she swung a troubled gaze over to Gabe, who was kneeling at her side. He scowled hard at Hammer. And then he shifted his gaze and locked onto hers.

“Want to try it?” he asked quietly.

“I’ve never shot offhand at home,” she admitted, worried. “I always used a tree limb or tree trunk to steady my rifle barrel if I had to stand.”

Bay tried to ferret out what she saw in his narrowing green eyes as he considered her statement. Then Gabe rose fluidly to his feet, the spotting scope in his right hand.

“Hey, Hammer,” he called.

“What?” the SEAL snarled, dusting off the front of his cammies, holding his rifle above the dust rolling off him.

“Tell you what,” Gabe said in a reasonable tone. “Whoever gets closest to the red center is the winner.”

Snorting, Hammer grinned. “Your girl ain’t gonna make the grade. No one shoots a sniper rifle without some kind of bipod to steady it.” He patted his Win Mag affectionately with is hand. “Me? I do it all the time.”

Gabe nodded. “Fair enough. But if she comes closer to the center than you, then the money’s coming her way. Agreed?”

Shrugging, Hammer laughed. “Yeah, fine, Gabe. You’ve always been one for dotting i’s and crossing t’s. She ain’t gonna make the center. I know that. So, sure, I’ll agree to it. She’s gonna lose. And I’m going to shoot first.”

Feeling desolate, Bay stood up after handing the sniper rifle over to Gabe. Her stomach knotted with tension. Never had she fired without her Win Mag being braced. The rifle was very heavy, and shooting without support was tough for anyone, man or woman. Bay’s heart dropped.

Dusting herself off, she stood, arms crossed, watching as Hammer got into position. She had shot in all the positions at Camp Pendleton, used a number of rifles and pistols, but never standing and shooting over four hundred yards with any weapon. It was, in her mind, nearly impossible to shoot at twelve hundred yards standing.

Hammer fired. The bullet hit just outside the red center. The SEALs went crazy with clapping and yelling. Oz was slapping his friend on his meaty shoulder, yelling triumphantly.

Turning, Bay took the rifle from Gabe, feeling glum. When she looked up at him, he held her gaze.

“You can do this,” he told her. “I’ll talk you through it, Doc. Just listen to me and follow my directions.”

His husky words flowed through her, giving her hope. Bay nodded wordlessly. She planted her feet apart. Gabe told her to shorten her stance a bit. She did. It felt more comfortable to her. Then, as she lifted the long-barreled rifle, Gabe came over and moved her right hand an inch forward. As she rested the stock against her perspiring cheek, he stood behind her and helped her adjust the stock more tightly against her face. Some of her fear dissipated as the rifle began to feel like a living extension of herself. Gabe planted the butt of the rifle deep into her right shoulder. His eyes met hers.

“Now,” he told her, “it’s very important to hold this exact position. It will give you the balance you need to steady this rifle.” He turned and used the spotter scope one more time. She’d already dialed in, but he was double-checking. The wind was inconstant. A gust blew across the area. If she’d fired at that moment, she would have miss the target. Gabe stood beside her, talking in a low voice, giving her direction, settling her nerves.

“Now take two or three breaths. Watch the barrel move as you do. First one, find your still point and then watch where that barrel rests at that time. Then take another breath, watch the barrel move slightly upward. Make sure you have that barrel pointed at the red circle through your iron sights as you come down on the exhale. See where it rests at the still point. If the barrel is slightly off, keep breathing, keep finding your still point until you know that barrel is exactly where you want it on the red center. Then fire.”

His words resonated. Thanks to her hunting background, Bay could focus. It was easy to listen to Gabe, fall into his quiet, low tones as he guided her, reinforced her.

It took three breaths, but as Bay reached the still point the third time, she squeezed the trigger. The Win Mag jerked hard against her shoulder. Bay was prepared for it, her slightly bent knees and legs absorbing the powerful jolt.

Gabe watched the vapor trail of the bullet. It struck just inside the red center. He gave a shout of victory, turning and slapping her on the shoulder. Bay took off her sunglasses, stared openmouthed at the target, and then up at him, feeling profound disbelief. He laughed deeply and shook his head, as if he didn’t believe it himself.

Clapping and yelling broke out sporadically among the SEAL team. The officers looked at one another, amazement written on their faces. Chief Hampton stood there, grinning like a feral wolf, rubbing his hands together. No doubt about it, he’d just discovered another sniper for his platoon.

“Bull’s-eye. You made it, Doc. Damn good shooting!” Gabe placed his hand on her head and patted her on the cap. “Damn good!”

Bay couldn’t believe she’d hit within the target! Even better was Gabe’s happy, deep, rolling laughter. It made her feel good. Equally important, Bay had proven her shooting ability to the platoon. Now they realized she was another gun in the fight. She might not know patrol tactics, but Gabe would teach her and she’d become an asset to them.

Glancing behind her, she saw the officers and chief applauding. Was it relief she saw in their faces? Bay thought so. She was incredibly grateful that the contest was over.

Hammer cursed, slammed the toe of his boot into the dirt, raising a cloud of dust. He glared over at her.

“You just got lucky, Thorn. That’s all.”

Gabe took the rifle from her, safed it and rested the barrel down toward the ground. “Oh, come on, Hammer, at least be a good sport,” he cajoled, grinning. He stepped over to where Hammer and his entourage stood, holding out his hand. “You owe Doc money.”

Oz pulled out a wad of cash from his left cammie pocket and bitterly slapped it into Gabe’s palm.

Bay left Gabe’s side and walked over to Hammer. She offered her hand to him. “That was mighty fine shooting, Hammer. You’re right, I just plumb got lucky. You’re a better shooter than I’ll ever be.”

Hammer stared at her and then at her hand. Whether he wanted to or not, he reached out, grabbed her hand and shook it.

“This settles nothing,” he growled softly. “So you can shoot at targets. Big deal. Let’s wait and see how you do in the middle of a firefight.” He turned and walked away, the Win Mag thrown over his shoulder.

CHAPTER FOUR

“CHIEF,” HAMMER CALLED, “can we talk to you for a minute. In private?”

Chief Doug Hampton was just coming in at 0700 to his office when four of his SEALs were waiting for him. “Let’s go inside,” he said, opening the door and gesturing toward the planning room.

Just then Gabe arrived at their HQ. He halted just inside the entrance and watched as the Chief sat down on the stool. Four SEALs stood nearby. His intuition told him something was up. Hammer lifted his head and looked over at him.

“You might as well be in on this, too,” Hammer said to Gabe. “Come and join us.”

Gabe nodded and stood near the Chief.

“What’s on your mind?” Hampton asked Hammer.

“That woman. We’ve talked between ourselves last night, and we don’t want her in our platoon.”

Hampton pursed his lips and nodded. “I see. Your reasons?”

“She’s not a SEAL,” Hammer growled, exasperated by the obvious.

“So?” Hampton murmured.

“So she’s not trained, dammit! She doesn’t know our tactics, our formations, if we get attacked. Hell, what are we supposed to do if we have to fast-rope out of a helo? She’s not trained for that. Do we have to carry her and make ourselves targets in doing so?”

Gabe dragged in a slow, deep breath. There was genuine concern on the four men’s faces. Hammer was heading up the group, but he had had similar thoughts himself. Bay wasn’t trained in many of the situations where they knew what to do, but she didn’t. And in a firefight, there wasn’t time to teach; it was a matter of survival. He kept his mouth shut as Hammer paced the room from one side to the other. Concern and frustration were etched on everyone’s face.

Hampton rubbed his hands on the thighs of his cammies. “Your points are well taken,” he said. “It’s a good argument except for one thing, Rettig.” Pierce Rettig was the enlisted SEAL’s real name and Hampton used it when things got serious.

All four SEALs had the chief’s undivided attention.

“What’s that?” Hammer demanded testily, jerking to a halt.

“We routinely have Navy photographers, videographers, CTT boys from the Air Force who call in the heavies and close air support for us, FBI dudes, linguists or cryptologists who are assigned to go out with us,” Hampton said. “They aren’t trained SEALs, either, but we need them on certain types of patrols or direct action or recon missions. You’ve never objected to any of them coming along. So why now? Why her?” He opened his hands, his voice remaining reasonable.

Hammer cursed. He glared at the other three SEALs and then jerked his gaze back to the chief. “You’re backing her because she did sniper-quality shooting yesterday afternoon.”

Hampton smiled a little and held up his hand. “Let’s stay on the point, Rettig. You’re pissed because she’s a woman and not a man. You’ve never bitched about any guy who was assigned to your platoon before this, and you’ve been out on plenty of patrols and missions with non-SEAL assets.”

“Bullshit!”

“It sure is,” Hampton said quietly, holding the SEAL’s angry glare.

“Then I want to talk to the LT about it,” Hammer growled. “I’m not done with this, Chief. And I don’t like that you’re not handling it. That’s your job.”

“I did my job, Rettig. You just don’t like my answer or my solution.” Hampton’s voice dropped. “This is bigger than you, me or the LT. This woman is highly trained in many areas, and none of us can say we don’t want her and discharge her from this squad just because of gender prejudice.”

“That’s a bunch of crap,” Hammer snarled, walking back and forth in front of the chief, his thickset shoulders bunched with tension. “I don’t care what the Pentagon cooked up.” Hammer stopped and jabbed an index finger at the door. “That woman is trouble. And I guarantee,” he grated, breathing hard, “she is gonna get one or more of us killed because she’s not a SEAL!”

Hampton straightened a little, holding the angry SEAL’s gaze. “And what if I told you, Rettig, that there have been other women in other SEAL teams before this and that hasn’t happened? That they’ve worked very effectively in those teams without causing casualties? Matter of fact, they’ve saved men’s lives. And some of the women have lost their lives, as well, but not because of ineptitude. They’re in firefights all the time right along with the men.”

Shaking his head like a bull getting ready to charge, Hammer rasped, “I don’t believe you.”

The other three SEALs eyebrows went up collectively on Hammer’s challenging grate. It was one thing to be pissed off, but you didn’t call your chief a liar to his face. The three of them exchanged uneasy glances with one another.

Doug Hampton’s face turned hard. Hammer was pushing his weight around. If he’d been LPO, he’d have taken him out back and pounded some sense into his head. But Hampton was the man in charge of the entire platoon and wielded plenty of power. The buck stopped with him. Gabe wondered how Doug was going to handle Hammer, directly challenging his authority, his face beet red.

“Rettig,” Hampton said, standing up, “it’s time you and me had a little chat outside.”

Hammer scowled, no doubt because his superior was six feet three inches tall, thirty-five years old and in top shape. He had five deployments under his belt and knew more about fighting in Afghanistan than just about anyone. Hammer turned and looked at his three friends to see if they wanted to join him. They all backed off, their hands held up, a sign that Hammer was on his own.

Wiping his mouth, Hammer growled, “And if I don’t?”

Hampton shrugged nonchalantly. “Then I’ll beat the crap out of you right here in front of them. Your call, Rettig, because you’ve outlived your welcome with me.”

“Aw, dammit, Chief!” Hammer spun around and huffed and puffed around the room. He kept giving the chief furtive looks, trying to figure out what to do. How to back down gracefully and not come to blows.

Hampton was slowly rolling up the sleeves on his cammies to just below his elbows. “Ready?”

Gabe hid a smile. Doug Hampton could be a damn intimidating and dazzling manager with a recalcitrant SEAL when he had to be. Gabe was glad he’d had four deployments with Hampton to know he was manipulating the hell out of red-faced Hammer.

“Look,” Hammer said, holding up his hand, “I’m not about to fight you, Chief.”

“Well, then,” Hampton said in his reasonable tone, “you’re just going to have to make an attitude change, Rettig.” His voice hardened as he strode up to the SEAL and got into his face. “Because,” Hampton ground out, “you’re going to work as a team. That’s what SEALs are all about. You will—” he jabbed his index finger into Hammer’s chest “—make every effort to get along with Doc. And I won’t say this again, because next time...if there is a next time...I’ll kick your ass. Got it?”

“Yes, Chief,” Hammer breathed, his voice deflated, “I got it.”

“Good,” Hampton murmured, easing away from him. He stepped back and began to slowly unroll a cuff. “I don’t know why you don’t think she can’t fast-rope.”

Hammer gave him a shocked, quizzical look.

“As a matter of fact, I think you should get to know her a bit more. Now, I agree, Doc is a very unassuming, quiet woman who wouldn’t think of bragging on herself in any way, shape or form. She acts like a SEAL. Humble. Never talks about herself or what she’s been trained to do.” Doug rolled down the other cuff. “I read her personnel file, Rettig.” Hampton lifted his chin and stared hard at the SEAL. “She learned fast-roping at Camp Pendleton. The women who went through that one-year immersion combat course learned a lot of black op methods, including kill box routines and CQD, close quarters defense training. Yeah, maybe she’s a little rusty on fast-roping, but she’s got her special gloves, she’s got the strength and I know Gabe will refresh her if that’s what your team has to do on a particular mission.”

Hammer scowled. “You’ve got to be kidding me? She can fast-rope?”

Hampton glared at the SEAL. “I wouldn’t kid you, Rettig. Doc doesn’t know our tactics and patrols, but she’s a quick study. If I were you, I’d be thrilled pink she was assigned to us. Has it been lost on you that if your sorry ass gets pumped full of lead out there, she’s the one who’s going to try and save your sorry, prejudicial ass? And she’s a linguist. Won’t it be nice that you can get her to talk to the local farmers in these villages? And that she’ll not only understand what they’re saying, but give us accurate translation? You know how bad Afghan terps are? I find it refreshing she’s here and can translate for us. Furthermore—” Hampton slowly pulled the Velcro closed around each cuff around his thick wrists “—the LT and I are jumping up and down for joy she’s been assigned to us. Right now there are no SEALs available to fill our open slot. We’re damn lucky to have gotten her or we would be operating a man short, down a sniper, and I damn well don’t want to go there. Do you?”

Hammer stood quiet and tense, disbelief written all over his face. He didn’t move. “No, Chief.”

“Well,” Hampton said, sadness in his voice, “we lost Billy three days ago. Yesterday, Doc showed us she can hit the broad side of a barn. Frankly, I’m ordering Gabe to get her up to speed on sniper tactics as fast as he can because, dammit, she can consistently hit a target. And there are no more snipers we can get our hands on anywhere in the SEAL community right now. I can’t even get a straphanger. There just aren’t enough of them graduating through SEAL sniper school. It’s a rough course and most are washed out in the process. So we are looking at her as our backup sniper. I haven’t told her that yet, but the LT wants it done pronto. She’s a gun in this fight, Rettig. And you should be damn relieved about that.”

Gabe watched Hammer’s face drain of color. The SEAL knew when he had been bested. Doug Hampton was a quiet sort, and no one ever wanted to back up on him. He was deadly when cornered, and Hammer had just discovered this fact. Keeping his face unreadable, Gabe saw Hammer snort and turn away, striding toward the door.

“I didn’t dismiss you,” Hampton said.

Hammer halted and slowly turned around. “Yes, Chief.”

“You treat Doc like you would any newbie rotating into our platoon. Got that?”

“Yes, Chief.”

“And if I have to spell that out to you again, Rettig, I’ll be writing you a one-way ticket out of this platoon. Got it?”

Mouth twisting, Hammer muttered, “Yes, Chief. I got it. May I be dismissed?”

Hampton moved his shoulders as if to rid them of tautness and nodded. “In a minute.” And then he looked at the three other SEALs standing in front of him. “Any of you have something to add to this little chat before chow time?”

All three shook their heads, suddenly nervous under the chief’s dark, assessing look.

“I want all four of you, after chow, to take all the supplies and gear out of that tent next to Gabe’s tent. Doc is going to use it.” Hampton raised a finger and added, “I expect that place to be 4.0 when you’re finished. She deserves a clean tent like anyone else coming into our platoon. Questions?”

They quickly shook their heads, more than ready to escape the chief’s riled state.

“Dismissed.”

Gabe watched the four of them quickly leave. He turned back toward Doug after the door closed. “You handled that well,” he murmured, walking up to him.

“Dammit,” Hampton growled. “I knew this was coming.”

“You think Rettig will go behind your back and bitch to the LT?” Gabe asked, sitting on the stool near the chief.

“He’d better not,” Hampton said, moving his fingers through his dark brown hair. “If he does, the LT will hand him his one-way ticket before I get a chance to do it. We can’t afford this kind of divisiveness in our ranks. No way....”

There was worry in Hampton’s gray eyes.

“Anything I can do other than what I am doing?” Gabe asked.

“No. Doc is safe with you, thank God. LT and the AOIC are thanking their lucky stars you intervened on her behalf yesterday morning.”

Gabe chuckled a little. “Hammer was ganging up on her. I don’t put up with unfair advantages.”

“Nor do I,” Hampton said, scowling. “But you handled it like the LPO you are. The LT was pleased.”

Taking the compliment, Gabe said, “I’m happy to mentor her. She’s a sharp lady.”

“Far sharper than Rettig will ever be,” Hampton said. “He’s a damn fine SEAL, but he’s too territorial. That’s going to get him in deep trouble someday, and it damn well isn’t going to happen on my watch.”

“He’s a handful at times,” Gabe agreed, “but out on patrol, I wouldn’t want anyone but him around. You saw how well he shot yesterday. He’s sniper trained and he’s a damn good shot. We need every gun we can get in those fights.”

Sighing, Hampton patted Gabe’s shoulder. “I know. He’s a good SEAL, just misguided with his prejudices sometimes. If I hadn’t landed on him with both feet, he’d have taken control of the situation.”

“So, you’re going to unload our supply tent for Doc?” Gabe asked, wanting to get off the subject.

“Yeah, I talked with LT about it last night. They are very impressed with her, Gabe. Frankly, so am I.”

Gabe laughed again. “You three looked like an act of God had just taken place out there on that shooting range yesterday. Like a female Moses just arrived in a chariot in time to save your sorry asses.”

Hampton had the good grace to look sheepish. “Who knew? In her records, she shot expert at Pendleton in all weapons—pistol, rifle and M-4 grenade launcher. None of us realized how good she was, though. It blew us away.”

“Me, too,” Gabe admitted. “I don’t think Doc knows how talented she really is as a combat soldier.”

“Yeah, she’s really unassuming, isn’t she? A quiet mouse.”

Shrugging, Gabe said, “Well, at least she’s not like ego-busting Hammer.”

“You’re right,” Hampton said, settling his hands on his narrow hips. “We should be grateful for that. The LT has a call into the Special Forces captain she worked with over in Iraq. We want more dope on her. And once we know, I’ll pass it on to you. I think she’s very skilled in a lot of areas we’d never expected her to be. I’d like to know the breadth and depth of her combat experience.”

“Maybe Doc is just like the other women in that top-secret op, but we’ve just never had the knowledge to know how they are trained. They could all be like Doc.”

“I don’t know, but we’re going to find out. She graduated top five in her class of forty women. They’re a bunch of Amazons.” He grinned. “Don’t tell Doc I said that. I don’t want to get in hock with General Maya Stevenson. She’s an Army general heading up Operation Shadow Warriors. She has a reputation of getting into your face so damn fast you won’t live to tell about it.”

“Not a word I’d use around Doc.”

Hampton grinned. “We really don’t know what Doc is made of yet, and we need to find out. The Pentagon is expecting weekly reports on her.” He clapped his hand on Gabe’s shoulder. “Since you’re her mentor, you’ll be writing up a weekly report and sending it on to me. Once I read it and make comments or whatever, I pass it up the chain of command to LT. From there, it goes into a black hole in the E-ring of the Pentagon.”

Groaning, Gabe shook his head. “I don’t mind mentoring, Doug, but damn, a weekly report? Can’t you cut me some slack?”

Hampton smiled evenly. “No can do. It’s all yours, thank God. But I am going to invite myself along every once in a while on the next few missions to make sure Hammer and those other three fall into line. I won’t have him splitting the team.”

“I don’t know what Hammer will do,” Gabe said. “One thing for sure, if he tries anything stupid out there with her, he’ll answer to me. And I won’t be nice and invite him outside to beat the hell out of him. I’ll take him on the instant it happens.”

Raising one eyebrow, Hampton nodded. “Good. She’s to be treated like any newbie. Nothing more, nothing less. I don’t care if they razz or tease her, but anything beyond that—”

“I have her six, Doug. Don’t worry about it.” Six was a term used by the military when an enemy plane flew up behind an American pilot’s plane and was getting ready to shoot it down. It meant Gabe would protect Bay, should it come down to that.

Hampton gripped his shoulder. “You’re in the breech, but I wouldn’t have any other SEAL in that sorry position. Can you go help the guys get that tent fixed up for her today?”

Gabe eased off the stool, his M-4 in a sling across his chest. “No problem.”

“You going to sit her down and show her patrol tactics and formations?”

“First thing on my list,” Gabe promised. “After evening chow.”

As Gabe stepped outside in the heat of the afternoon, he waffled. Should he go find Doc? Invite her to the chow hall? Part of him wanted to, but another part didn’t. Still, he was her mentor and that had him walking down the dusty street between the many tents to go find her. Even after his conversation with the chief, Gabe felt nagging worry about the confrontation with Hammer. He sincerely hoped the SEAL would fall into line. Doc didn’t deserve his misguided prejudice.

So far, Doc had shown all of them she could shoot. That, in and of itself, was a phenomenal shock. A good one, and Gabe grinned to himself, chuckling over yesterday’s competition. Hill people might appear to be plain and unassuming, but Gabe had learned early on they were smart and possessed backwoods common sense that would dazzle everyone.

CHAPTER FIVE

BAY COULD HARDLY contain her excitement as the Chinook helicopter landed at Bagram Air Base near noon. Chief Hampton had ordered Gabe to take her to the U.S. Navy Supply Terminal to get outfitted with SEAL gear and weapons. As they disembarked out the rear of the helo into the sunlight, the heat was stifling. Bagram Air Base sat a bit north of Kabul and it was all desert. Just like Iraq.

Gabe seemed to know his way around, guiding her through the Helicopter Operations Building and requisitioning a beaten-up white Toyota pickup truck from a Marine sergeant friend of his outside the doors of the busy place. The airstrip was alive with helo activity. An enormous C-5 Air Force transport was landing at the fixed-wing operations and runway area. Apache combat helicopters were trundling toward a takeoff point with a full load of rockets and Hellfire missiles on board. The noise and activity were high and constant. It reminded Bay of a busy beehive.

They arrived at Naval Supply, a large warehouse on the other side of the base. Bay had been at Bagram only one other time, and that was the flight into Afghanistan from Iraq. The landing had been at night, so she never realized just how big this base was.

Gabe parked the truck out in front of the warehouse and climbed out. Like everyone else, he carried a weapon, an M-4 rifle he had in a sling across his chest. A SIG Sauer 9mm pistol rode low in a drop holster on his right thigh. On his left thigh was a SEAL SOF knife in a sheath. As she met him and walked into the air-conditioned building, she was proud to be at his side. SEALs stood out from other military personnel. Maybe it was the gear they wore or the confident way they carried themselves. Or both.

Gabe halted at the main counter and handed the Navy yeoman, a young woman in her early twenties, a requisition slip. She read it, looked from him to Bay.

“SEAL gear for a woman?” she asked, unsure.

“Yes,” Gabe said. The yeoman frowned, scratched her blond head and shrugged. He wasn’t going to tell her anything if she started to pump him with questions.

“There’s no women’s sizes in SEAL gear. You know what section the gear is in?” she asked him.

Gabe nodded. “I just need you to sign that and I’ll take her down there and we’ll collect her gear.”

Bay could tell the yeoman was flustered. She was sure other women came here for military gear, too. Especially military police women. The look in her eyes, however, was questioning the SEAL gear order. Bay followed Gabe down a wide aisle where pallets of supplies were piled up nearly to the ceiling.

“You’ve done this a few times,” she said as they walked beside each other.

“A few.”

“I thought that yeoman was going to faint.”

He smiled. “It’s a little unusual for a female to show up needing SEAL gear—you have to admit that.”

Bay nodded and scanned the area. “I didn’t know what to expect when I arrived at Camp Bravo. It was nice of the chief to get me the gear I’ll need in order to work with your team.”

Gabe halted in the clothing section. “I just hope we can find a size that fits you,” he muttered, looking through the cammies. “You’re going to have to wear a man’s uniform.”

Shrugging, Bay moved over and looked through the sizes, her fingers moving quickly through the hanging desert cammies. “I’ll survive.” She grinned over at him.

This morning when Gabe had found her at the chow hall eating breakfast, he seemed subdued, preoccupied. Had something happened earlier? If so, he hadn’t said anything. Still, Bay could feel the energy around him as she always felt around people, places and things.

“I think these will fit. Let me try them on.” She pulled a pair of cammies off the rack and took them to a fitting room.

Within an hour, Bay had her cammies, a set of good desert boots, H-gear harness, jacket, cold-weather gear and a rucksack. Then Gabe took her over to the Navy Armory, nearby.

Bay stood looking at the rifles and pistols setting on racks behind the counter. “Why are we here?” she asked him. She patted her M-4 across her chest. “I have everything I need, don’t I?”

“Well,” Gabe hedged, “not quite.” He turned and noticed the confused look on her face. For a second, he felt blinded by her natural beauty. It unnerved him. “The chief wants you to get a .300 Win Mag.”

“What?”

He tried to get his mind back on task. “You really impressed the LT and chief out there yesterday with your shooting, Doc. We’re short a sniper in our squad, and he’s hoping you’ll agree to train in with me on sniper ops. As a backup,” he added. Her eyes widened enormously, her lips parted as she digested his words. “Want to add this to your training résumé?” Gabe sincerely hoped she’d say yes.

“But I’m not a trained sniper, Gabe.” Bay protested quietly, keeping her voice down because the warehouse was filled with military men and women. “I haven’t gone through sniper school. Won’t the guys think—”

“It doesn’t matter what they think,” he parried quietly, holding her unsure stare. “Chief decides. If he feels you are qualified, sniper school or not, Doc, he’s not going to waste whatever skills you have out there on coming missions.”

It made sense to her, but it was still a shock. “Okay,” she said, shrugging. “I’ll try, but no promises.”

“You’ll be carrying the Win Mag on some missions but not all of them. It just depends on the type of op, but you’ll have to carry it outside on your rucksack like I do. It’s more weight.”

Gazing up at the four Win Mags standing on the rack, she nodded. “It’s not a problem. I carry sixty to eighty pounds of medical gear on my back already. I’m a mobile operating unit.” She turned and looked up at him. His face was unreadable, those green eyes dark and thoughtful looking. “I can do it.”

Gabe called over a Navy personnel man and produced another requisition slip.

Bay was excited about the Win Mag. It brought back happy memories with her father. She wondered obliquely if he was looking over her shoulder as she was given the rifle. Moving her fingers across the fiberglass stock, she heard Gabe asked for a SIG Sauer pistol. She raised her head and saw one produced by the Navy guy behind the counter. Frowning, she laid the rifle on the counter.

Gabe picked up the pistol, checked it out and was satisfied. He turned, handing it to her butt first. “You’ll wear one of these, too.”

Stunned, Bay stared down at the specially made German pistol. “But...” She gulped. “Oh, I can’t, Gabe.” She held up her hands and took a step back. “Only SEALs are allowed to wear that pistol. It’s specially made for them. Even I know that.”

Gabe seemed surprised at her reaction. “That’s true, but you’re with our team now. You need to always wear it wherever you go. It’s never not a part of your daily gear you wear, Doc.”

Panic ate at Bay as she stared at the pistol. She hesitated.

“What’s the problem?” Gabe demanded.

Licking her lower lip, Bay said, “I want to fit in, Gabe. Not stand out. Half those guys don’t want me around. I—I didn’t go through SEAL training. By all rights, I haven’t earned the right to wear a SIG. It just seems like a slap in their faces, to me. That I’m pretending to be something I’m not.”

Gabe laid the SIG on the counter, understanding her concerns. There was genuine anxiety in her blue eyes. He put his hand on her shoulder for a moment. “Look, Doc, what you don’t understand yet is where we patrol, the missions we undertake. We’re in harm’s way all the time. You can’t have enough weapons and ammo on you, believe me.” He wanted to leave his hand on her shoulder but forced himself to release her. “You’re worried Hammer and his guys are going to ride you about wearing it, aren’t you?”

Nodding, Bay chewed on her lower lip. “It will be one more thing they’ll hold against me. They’ll accuse me of—”

“Bay,” he said, purposely using her name to get her to focus, “read my lips. The chief wants you fully equipped. If you don’t look like a SEAL out where we patrol, that’s not good, because the Taliban we have to deal with sometimes will only respect us because we are SEALs. Got it?”

His logic was sound. Bay felt a shiver where he’d unexpectedly touched her shoulder. “Okay, I guess I can take it....”

Gabe picked up the black nylon drop holster and said, “Lift your arms away from your waist.”

Taken aback, Bay realized he was going to place the holster around her waist. For the next few minutes, Gabe made sure the drop holster fit correctly. Pulling the two Velcro straps just tight enough around her thigh, he wanted the pistol to ride just above her knee.

“There. How does that feel?” Gabe handed her the SIG. The SEAL pistol had no safety on it.

Bay placed the pistol in the low-riding holster. “Okay,” she said tentatively. “I feel like a gunfighter.”

Gabe grinned. “That’s what we are. Allow your hand to drop to your side. I want to see if your palm naturally comes to rest over the butt of the pistol.”

Bay found his care and attention stabilizing. Intuitively, she knew Hammer and his men would say something. Probably many times over, for her to be wearing the SIG, the signature SEAL pistol. Gabe seemed unhappy with the holster position. He knelt at her side and raised the holster about an inch so that the butt was resting where her palm would naturally come to rest against her thigh. Finally, he stood back and critically studied his handiwork. Then he looked up at her.

“Okay, that feels about right to me,” he murmured, gesturing toward the pistol. “Does it ride comfortably on your thigh?” She had nice legs, he’d discovered, while affixing the holster. Cammies hid a body pretty well, but working the straps, he could feel how taut her thigh was. Bay moved her hand a couple of times, her palm fitting nicely over the butt of the pistol.

“Good.” He picked up a Kevlar vest, fitted it to her, got the level 4 ceramic armor plates for it and placed it over with the rest of her accumulated gear. She had to have a Kevlar helmet with a rail system, NVGs, night-vision goggles and a grenade launcher system for her M-4 rifle. Finally, they moved down the counter to where the knives were displayed.

Bay gave him a distressed look. “I have to carry one of these big knives?” She pointed toward them, disbelief in her voice.

“Yes.”

“Listen, I’ve got plenty of scalpels in my medical pack. I don’t really think I need one more knife on me, Gabe. Do you?”

Gabe laughed as he picked up a seven-inch SEAL SOF knife and held it toward her, butt first. “Your scalpels aren’t long enough, Doc. We usually wear this knife on our right outer calf if you’re right-handed. Some guys like it riding low on their left thigh. Or the left outer calf. Where do you want to wear yours?”

Bay stared at the knife. The blade had tiny razor-sharp teeth beneath the lower half of it. Never mind the blade itself. Blowing out a breath of air, she said, “Okay...I guess my right calf?”

“You can start there and later, if you find out it isn’t where you want it, you can move it.” Gabe knelt down, attached the Velcro nylon black sheath around her lower leg, just below her knee. He tried to ignore touching her, but it didn’t work. She was a large-boned woman with good muscling, and he could feel the firmness of her calf muscles beneath his fingertips. Standing up, he stood back, hands on his hips.

“How does that feel?”

Grimacing, Bay muttered, “It’s okay.”

“You’ll get used to it. Comes in handy sometimes.” He looked at the watch on his wrist. “Hungry?”

“I am.”

“Okay, let’s stow this gear back at Ops, put it in a locker and we’ll grab some chow before we take a hop back to Bravo.”

Gabe seemed to be out of his funk or whatever it was from earlier in the day. Her stomach grumbled because she hadn’t eaten much at breakfast, still emotionally stressed out over some of the SEAL team not accepting her. Bay didn’t want to tell Gabe, but the Special Forces guys had made her feel welcome from the beginning. They embraced her with eagerness. Here, it was like fighting every day to get a toehold of respect with everyone in the squad. SEALs were different, no question.

More and more, she oriented toward Gabe’s quiet demeanor. He was thoughtful, listened closely and didn’t knee-jerk on her. There was a lot to like about him. Bay saw some of the same characteristics to Navy corpsman Jack Scoville, whom she had been engaged to. The past was too painful to feel right now, and Bay tucked all those sad, traumatic memories away.

In the chow hall, Bay was amazed at how large, clean and bright it was. Hundreds of men and women were eating at the long white spotless tables. The noise level was high. One thing she instantly noticed was when they entered the chow hall, a lot of heads turned to closely check them out. Bay convinced herself it was because of the tall, rugged SEAL at her side, the M-4 hanging off a strap across his chest. SEALs were based at Bagram, but there were very few of them, and they were always a curiosity to the military people at large. As a black ops group, they were rarely seen in public.

Gabe handed her an aluminum tray as they got into line. It made him smile seeing a number of military guys gawking at Bay, who stood in front of him. He had to admit, with her height, at first glance, she looked like a SEAL. And then they would look at her a little more closely and discover she was a woman. Then their mouths dropped. If Bay saw their reaction to her, she didn’t seem affected by the multitude of increasing male stares. He felt protective of her as they made it through the chow line and Gabe found a table unoccupied at the back, facing the doors.

“Sit beside me,” he told her.

“Why?”

“Because SEALs always watch entrance and exit points. We never have our back to a door. We don’t sit in front of windows, either.”

Nodding, Bay sat down at his elbow, their backs to the light blue wall. “On-the-job training,” she said in a teasing tone. “You probably feel like you’re babysitting me.” The food on the tray smelled wonderful. Hot food was always a luxury to those who’d lived mostly on MREs.

“I don’t,” he told her. “You’re quick and intelligent. I like working with people like that.” Gabe tried to ignore her closeness. He swore he could smell the strawberry fragrance of her shampoo. There were always soft tendrils on either side of her face even though she wore her shoulder-length hair gathered up in a ponytail. Men continued to stare openly at her. Gabe was sure sitting with him would stir up some gossip across the big base.

“I can hardly wait to get back to Camp Bravo,” Bay told him between bites of her Reuben sandwich piled thickly with sauerkraut. “I’ve got a package coming from home. I hope it arrives today.”

He smiled a little. “Never found anyone who didn’t like mail call.”

Picking at the French fries, Bay said, “My mama makes the best cookies—chocolate chip with walnuts from the trees around our cabin. She adds some secret ingredient she said she’d pass on to me when she died.” Bay chuckled. “Does your wife send you boxes and keep you in cookies, too?”

Wincing inwardly, Gabe said flatly, “I’m divorced.” He saw her expression become sad—for him. Bay was easily touched by another person’s misery, he was discovering. But then again, she was a medic. Who better to be a compassionate soul?

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “How about your mom? Does she send you packages?”

“Yes, she does.”

“What’s her name?”

“Grace. She’s an R.N. Works at the Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, V.A. Hospital. She’s a psychiatric nurse.” He saw Bay react and she sighed.

“That’s what I want to be when I leave the Navy. It’s always been my dream to become an R.N.”

“That’s a dream you can reach, then,” Gabe said, enjoying the big, thick hamburger and French fries.

“Well,” Bay hedged, “when my pa got black lung, we lost his check from work. He had to quit his job and it was tough to make ends meet after that. I decided to go into the Navy because it would give me a paycheck and I could send most of my money home to them.” She shrugged, her voice hollow. “Pa felt bad about me having to go find an outside job, but it couldn’t be helped. My mama got paid for her services as a doctor with canned goods, vegetables, chickens and such. In the hills, money is scarce, so we trade.”

Nodding, Gabe said, “I saw that with my hill friends I grew up with.” He glanced at her. “And when you graduate from college, are you going back home?”

“I will. There’s a nearby hospital in the lowlands at Dunmore, and I’ll work there, but I intend to be home on weekends. That way, I can support Mama, who takes care of my sister, Eva-Jo. She’s two years younger than me.” Bay picked up her coffee mug and sipped from it.

“What’s your sister do?” Gabe asked, finishing off the hamburger and wiping his hands on a paper napkin.

“Oh,” Bay said softly, pain in her tone, “not much. My sister is mentally challenged. She has the mind and emotions of a ten-year-old.” Shrugging, her voice low, Bay added, “Eva-Jo is special, Gabe. I love her dearly. And Mama is able to take care of her at home. She helps Mama in the garden, hanging the herbs out to dry and things like that. She has trouble reading and writing. It’s sad....”

Hearing the concealed pain in Bay’s husky voice, Gabe started to reach out and hold her hand. He wanted to take away some of her pain. His reaction shocked him enough to keep his hands right where they were. There was something kind, soft and sensitive about Bay that deeply touched him. And even more disconcerting, he had no way to armor himself against her. “I’m sorry to hear that.” And he was. Her eyes widened slightly. “I don’t have any brothers or sisters. I was an only child.”

“I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I wasn’t surrounded by my family, my aunts, uncles and cousins, my grandparents,” Bay said, and smiled fondly. “Family means everything to me. When you’re together, you’re strong and you can weather life’s storms more easily. You have support.”

“The SEALs have a similar philosophy. If you consider one twig, it’s easy to break it between your hands. But if you wrap a bunch of twigs together, they can’t be broken. That’s why the teams are so tight—they’re like that bundle of sticks. The guys are close. We trust one another with our back out there and call each other brothers, and we are.”

“At least you have parents,” she pointed out.

Gabe shook his head. “My father’s dead. All I have left is my mother. Both sets of my grandparents lived in California and Oregon, so I rarely got to see them before they passed away.”

“A scattered, broken nuclear family,” Bay whispered, meeting his hooded look. “Maybe the SEALs have given you back the family you lost?”

“Maybe they have,” Gabe agreed. He wanted to share with Bay that he’d longed for a family of his own for a long time. He wanted children, knowing he’d raise them very differently from the way his father, Frank, had raised him. Gabe thought he’d found that dream coming true when he married Lily. As Bay said, he was part of a scattered, broken family in more ways than she would ever realize. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t accurately gauged Lily. He’d been driven to want family. Want that warm, loving support. Without having it as a child, how could he know which woman would be right for him to fulfill that dream with? For his vision of his future? Sometimes Gabe would feel panic in his chest, of having lost out on a very important part of life by not marrying. When he’d decided to try and capture that lost element, he’d met Lily. Marrying her five days later had been the worst decision he’d ever made. Gabe knew, without a doubt, he lacked something within himself to find the right woman who wanted to share his dream of love and having a family. A real family. Not dysfunctional like the one he’d grown up in.

To his consternation, Gabe found himself comparing Lily to Bay. There was a blinding difference. What if he’d met Bay first? God, he was so drawn to her that it scared the hell out of him. She was maternal and nurturing, unlike Lily, who was always in some kind of emotional drama. Bay was quiet and watched a lot and kept counsel to herself unless someone asked her for feedback. Lily was always telling him how she felt and usually it came out as a whining diatribe that about made him nuts.

Moving uncomfortably, Gabe was attracted to Bay’s quiet strength. It exuded from her like sunlight. What man wouldn’t want someone like her around him? And yet, he knew there wasn’t anything he could say or do about it. He wasn’t going to break Bay’s trust in him by coming on to her. Gabe had to keep everything professional. Or else.

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