Two Jaguar Squadron stories in one volume—for the first time!—from New York Times bestselling author Lindsay McKenna

His Woman in Command

Captain Nike Alexander is in Afghanistan to use her pilot skills. She doesn’t have time for men, especially military men. Playing hard to get with Captain Gavin Jackson comes as naturally to Nike as flying one of her Apaches. But Gavin’s sexy-as-sin smile makes it hard to say no. Then she gets into a dangerous situation, and his special ops skills could save her.

Operation: Forbidden

Helicopter pilot Captain Emma Cantrell has a chance to clear her military record in war-torn Afghanistan. She won’t let anyone get in her way—especially Afghan Captain Khalid Shaheen. Sure, he’s total eye candy. But she’s fallen prey to his kind of charm before—and she never makes the same mistake twice. Then she’s kidnapped, and he could be the only one to rescue her.

Praise for New York Times bestselling authorLindsay McKenna

“McKenna provides heartbreakingly tender romantic development that will move readers to tears. Her military background lends authenticity to this outstanding tale, and readers will fall in love with the upstanding hero and his fierce determination to save the woman he loves.”

—Publishers Weekly on Never Surrender

“Full of intensity and action-packed romance. There is great chemistry between the characters and tremendous realism, making Breaking Point a great read.”

—RT Book Reviews

“An action-packed, compelling story, and the sizzling chemistry between Ethan and Sarah makes this one good read.”

—RT Book Reviews on Degree of Risk

“Lindsay will pull you into Breaking Point and captivate you with her smooth writing, fast paced action, and the palpable attraction between Gabe and Bay.”

—Harlequin Junkie

“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

His Woman in Command & Operations: Forbidden

Lindsay McKenna

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CONTENTS

HIS WOMAN IN COMMAND

OPERATION: FORBIDDEN

His Woman in Command

Lindsay McKenna

To ROMVETS, a group of women who have served or are currently serving in the military. This list comprises women who are aspiring writers and published authors. It’s an honor to be among you. www.RomVets.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 1

“Twenty bucks says you can’t get that good-lookin’ woman to come over to our table and have a beer with us,” Staff Sargeant Neal Robles challenged.

Captain Gavin Jackson, leader of a ten-man Special Forces team, squinted in the semidarkness of the officers’ club—a tent on the most dangerous border in the world: between Afghanistan and Pakistan. It was the last day of their two weeks of rest between month-long assignments in the field. Tomorrow, they’d be back out in the badlands border area hunting Taliban. Gavin sat with his nine men. The pitcher of frothy cold beer in front of them went quickly.

The woman in question had just entered the spacious tent, catching the attention of every man in the room. She was about five foot eight, with short, curly black hair framing an oval face and high cheekbones. She was olive-skinned with light gold eyes. Then there was her killer mouth that Gavin wanted to capture and kiss. The frumpy green one-piece flight uniform that told him she was a pilot couldn’t hide her assets. Curvy in all the right places. Gavin felt his body harden with desire.

He didn’t know why. His relationship with another woman army pilot had crashed and burned a year ago. Gavin had sworn off women for now and women army pilots forever. Squirming in his seat, the wooden chair creaking, he shrugged as Neal Robles grinned like a wolf over the dare.

“Why her?” Gavin grunted, lifting the cold mug of beer to his lips.

Robles’s dark brown eyes gleamed as he whispered, “She’s hot, Cap’n.”

“She’s the only female in here,” Gavin drawled. Indeed, the huge dark green canvas tent was packed with men— A teams coming in for a well-deserved rest, logistics, pilots or mechanics to support their missions. Women pilots were few, but they did exist. Automatically, Gavin rubbed his chest in memory of Laurie Braverman, the U.S. Army CH-47 Chinook driver that he’d fallen in love with. They’d broken up because of their mutual inability to compromise. A war of egos had eventually destroyed their relationship.

“She might be the only one,” Robles asserted, “but you gotta admit, Cap’n, she’s something.” Robles looked at the other enlisted men around the table, all of whom bobbed in unison to agree with his observation.

Tugging on his recently trimmed beard, Gavin gave them an amused look. His team knew about his hard luck with Laurie, especially since he’d been a growly old bear for a month after their spectacular parting. “You know,” he said, “it’s damned hard enough to survive the border villages. Now, you want to collectively throw me at another driver?” Driver was a common slang expression for any pilot whether they flew fixed-wing aircraft or helicopters.

Laughter rippled through his team. Gavin was fiercely protective of his men. They’d been together over here nearly a year, and they were tighter than a set of fleas on a mangy Afghan dog. He wanted to bring all of them back off this tour alive so they could go home to their families. He had visited the base barber this morning, got a wonderful hot shower, a trim, clean clothes and joined his men at the canteen tent. Although they were in the U.S. Army, their clothes were decidedly Afghani. With their beards, wearing their wool pakols, or caps, they melted into the mountainous area less a target as a result of their wardrobe. They all wore the traditional turban. The loose, comfortable-fitting top with long sleeves had pajamalike trousers of the same color, and the traditional wool vests were worn over it.

“Naw, she doesn’t look like she’s a man-eater like the last one you tangled with,” Robles said. The table broke out in collective laughter once again. More beer was poured. A bartender came over and delivered another pitcher of cold beer, the froth foaming up and over of the top.

Gavin couldn’t disagree and his gaze wandered to the woman leaning up against the makeshift bar and ordering a cup of coffee, not beer. She was probably on duty, Gavin assumed. He watched her hands. They were long, narrow and beautiful-looking. No wedding ring. But then, what did that mean? Nothing, because military combatants were forbidden to wear jewelry of any kind. So, she could be married. Frowning, Gavin felt his assistant CO, Dave Hansen, give his right shoulder a nudge.

“Go on, Gavin,” he said in his slow Texas drawl, “she looks pretty docile. Invite her over. We’d all like the company of a good-lookin’ woman to remind us of what’s waiting for us at home. We’re harmless. Just tell her we’re voyeurs.”

Gavin scowled at his team. “Since when are you willing to throw me to the lions? Don’t I treat you right out there?”

Guffaws broke out and Gavin couldn’t help grinning. They all desperately needed a little fun. The border country was violent and lethal. They’d spent thirty days in the mountains hunting out pockets of Taliban in caves. Not that the local villages along the border ever cooperated. Most of them were terrorized by the Taliban. And the tribal people had been forgotten by the government in Kabul decades ago. Out there, Gavin knew, no fiercely independent Afghan could be trusted once your back was turned on them. They’d just as soon put a bullet between your shoulder blades as look at you because of what the Taliban had done to them. Gavin’s team had had several firefights with the Taliban on their last mission. If not for the Apache helo drivers coming in with heavy fire support, they wouldn’t be here enjoying this beer with one another.

Gavin sat up and sighed. He knew his men needed a reprieve from their deadly work. They all had PTSD symptoms. Why not waltz up to this gal and ask her to join them? “Okay,” he growled at them, “I’ll go throw myself on her mercy for the likes of all of you and see what she says.”

The men clapped and cheered as Gavin stood up. He smoothed down his vest and adjusted the thick leather belt around his waist that carried a dagger and a pistol. Out in the field, he’d have body armor on, but not now. He adjusted the dark brown wool pakol on his head. To anyone seeing these men riding up on their tough mountain-bred ponies, they looked like a group of Afghan men. Of course, here in the canteen tent, they were out of place, but everyone on base knew Special Forces A teams dressed like Afghans.

Giving his group a wink, Gavin said, “Okay, men, keep it down while I work some magic.” They all nodded solemnly, lifted their glasses of beer and beamed excitedly like little children waiting for Christmas to arrive. Gavin shook his head and walked across the creaking plywood floor toward the bar. He noticed that although men were hanging around the bar, all of them gave the woman pilot some room to breathe. Not that they weren’t looking at her. But none made a move on her. Why? They were support and logistics men and worked in the camp, so they might know something about this woman pilot he didn’t.

Coming to the bar, Gavin stood about two feet away from her. The scalding look she gave him with those lion-gold eyes surprised him. He was clean, for once. He didn’t smell of sweat and fear. His black hair and beard were neatly trimmed and combed. Maybe she didn’t like A teams or Afghans, Gavin decided. The way her full mouth thinned, her hands tense around the white ceramic mug of coffee, told him everything. She really didn’t want this intrusion into her space.

“I’m Captain Gavin Jackson,” he said, pushing aside his fear of rejection. He looked at the upper arm of her green flight suit. “We’ve never seen a patch with a black cat on it. I was wondering what squadron you’re with.” That was a safe icebreaker, Gavin thought.

Nike Alexander, at twenty-six, did not want any male attention. Just a year ago, she’d lost Antonio, an officer in the Peruvian Army who had died in a vicious firefight with cocaine dealers. She glared icily at the man, who was decidedly handsome despite his rugged appearance. “I’m with the Black Jaguar Squadron 60,” she snapped.

“I’ve been out here on the front nearly a year. I’ve never seen this patch. Is this a new squadron?” Gavin opted for something simpler than trying to get this good-looking woman to come over to their table for a beer. He was frantically searching for ways to defuse her tension.

Shrugging, Nike lifted the coffee to her lips, took a sip and then said, “We’re basically Apache pilots in an all-women flight program. We got here three weeks ago.”

“Oh.” Gavin didn’t know what to think about that. “All women?”

Nike’s mouth twitched. “We’re black ops.” His thick, straight brows rose with surprise. While it was true there were women pilots in combat, no women-only squadrons existed. “We’re top secret to the rest of the world. Here at camp, they know what we do,” she added to ward off questions she saw in his large blue eyes.

Under other circumstances, Nike would be interested in this warrior. Clearly, he was an A-team leader. She knew these brave and hardy Special Forces teams were on the front lines, finding Taliban and stopping their incursion into Afghanistan’s space. His hands were large, square and roughened by work and the forces of the weather.

“Ah, black ops,” Gavin murmured. He saw the wariness in her gold eyes. “You’re new?”

“I arrived a week ago.”

“Welcome aboard,” he said, holding out his hand toward her. This time, he was sincere. Anyone who flew the border risked their lives every time they lifted off from this secret base.

Looking at his proffered hand and then up at him, Nike couldn’t help herself and slid her hand into his. He grinned like a little boy given a Christmas gift. Despite the neatly trimmed beard that gave his square face a dangerous look, he seemed happy to meet her. Well, they were both in the army and that meant something. Her flesh tingled as his fingers wrapped gently around hers. She admired his deeply sunburned face, laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. A wild, unexpected surge of excitement coursed through Nike. What was that all about? Why was her heart pounding? She broke the contact and pulled her hand away.

Oh, he was eye candy, there was no doubt. The boyish, crooked grin made him even more devastatingly handsome, Nike decided.

“What’s your name?” Gavin asked. He forced his hands off the bar, unexpectedly touching her olive-tone skin. The brief contact sent crazy tingles up and down his arm. The close proximity to this woman intoxicated him in quite another way. Gavin fully realized he was more than a little tipsy from the beer he and his team had been guzzling. But he was still alert, still fixated on this new person of interest.

“I’m Captain Nike Alexander,” she informed him in a clipped and wary tone. She’d just arrived with her squadron from the USA and wanted to focus only on the mission before them. As an all-women squadron they had a lot to prove—again. They’d done it in Peru, now it would be here. She didn’t want to tangle with some sex-hungry A-team leader who hadn’t seen a woman in God knew how long. Still, a secret part of her wondered what Gavin would look like without that beard. Not that he wasn’t handsome with it; maybe she was just more interested than she cared to admit.

“Nike,” he murmured, rolling the name around on his tongue. “That’s different.” He squinted and gave her a measuring look. “Are you…American?” Her husky voice had a trace of an accent. When she frowned, he knew he’d asked the wrong question.

“I was born in Athens, Greece, Captain. I was invited from my country to train and work for the U.S. Army.” She turned and showed the American flag on the left shoulder of her uniform.

“Greek.” That made sense, although he’d said it as if he were stunned by the information. Seeing the frustration in her large, clear gold eyes, Gavin asked, “Wasn’t Nike a goddess in Greek myths?”

“She still is,” Nike said in a flat tone. “I was named after her.”

“I see.” Gavin stood there, his brows dipping. “So, you’re part of a black ops, you’re a female pilot and you’re from Greece.” Brightening, he shared a look with her, his smile crooked. “That makes you a pretty rare specimen out here in our backcountry.”

“You’re making me feel like a bug under a microscope, Captain. Why don’t you mosey back to your team. I’m not interested in anything but my mission here.”

Her tone was low and dismissive.

Gavin kept his smile friendly and tried to appear neutral and not the leering, sexually hungry male he really was. It was now or never. “Speaking of that, Captain Alexander, we were wondering if you might not come and join us? My boys and I are going back for thirty more days in the bush tomorrow morning. We’d enjoy your company.”

Easing into a standing position, Nike glanced over at the table. Nine other bearded men in Afghan dress looked hopefully in her direction. English-speaking women who were not Muslim were a rarity in this country. Of course they’d want her company. “Captain, I’m not the USO. And I’m not for sale at any price. If you want female entertainment I suggest you find it somewhere else.”

Ouch. Gavin scowled. “Just a beer, Captain. Or we’ll buy you another cup of coffee. That’s all. Nothing else.” He held up both his hands. “Honest.”

“I appreciate the offer,” Nike said. She pulled out a few coins from her pocket and put them on the bar next to the drained cup of coffee. “But I must respectfully decline, Captain.” She turned and marched out of the tent.

“That went well,” Gavin said, his grin wide and silly-looking as she exited. He walked over to his men, who looked defeated.

“You crashed and burned,” Robles groaned.

Jackson poured himself another glass of beer. “She’s got other fish to fry.” He said it as lightly as he could.

The men nodded and nursed their beers.

At twenty-eight, Gavin understood that a little fun and laughter was good medicine for his men. Silently, he thanked Nike Alexander for her decision. What would it have been like to have her come over and sit with them? It would have lifted their collective spirits. They were starving for some feminine attention. Oh, she probably realized this, but didn’t get that his invitation was truly harmless. Gavin had seen a lot of sensitivity in her face and read it in her eyes. However, she was protective, if not a little defensive about sharing that side. He couldn’t blame her.

Gavin told them what he’d found out. His men were like slavering dogs getting a morsel tossed to them. In Afghanistan, Muslim women could not talk directly to any man. Consequently, it was a world of males with males and the women were hidden away in their homes. Gavin missed being stateside. Even though he’d crashed and burned with Laurie Braverman on his first tour here, he still hungered for conversation with an intelligent woman.

As he glanced toward the flap of the tent where Nike Alexander had marched through, Gavin lamented her departure. Clearly, she thought he was hitting on her. Well, wasn’t he? Digging into the pocket of his trousers, he produced a twenty-dollar bill and threw it across the table to his medic. “Here, Robles. Satisfied?”

Chuckling, Neal took the twenty and hoisted it upward. “You tried. Hey, Cap’n, this will give us another round of beer!”

The men clapped and hooted, and Gavin grinned crookedly. His team needed this kind of blowout before they got dropped in the badlands again. As he took one more look to where Nike had left, he wished he’d had a little more time with her. Would they ever meet again? Hope sprang in his chest. Nike was a fascinating woman, pilot or not. Gavin shrugged off any romantic thoughts and took a deep swig of beer. Chances of ever seeing Nike Alexander again were next to nothing.

* * *

“Nike,” Major Dallas Klein-Murdoch said, “sit down and relax. Welcome to BJS 60.”

Nike settled in front of her commanding officer’s desk. Every incoming pilot to the squadron did a one-on-one with the CO. This morning, it was her turn. Dallas Klein’s reputation with the original Black Jaguar Squadron, for which she had flown in Peru, was legendary. Nike was only too thrilled to be here under this woman’s command. They’d had a stint together in Texas chasing Mexican drug-runners before this latest assignment. There, Dallas had fallen in love with ATF agent Mike Murdoch. The Pentagon had then sent Dallas and her new husband to Afghanistan to oversee the latest Black Jaguar Squadron. Murdoch was now a captain in the U.S. Army and worked as a strategy and operations officer for the all-women Apache combat pilots that comprised BJS 60. And while the pilots were all female, some males in the ranks took care of the Apache helicopters. Nike was glad that Dallas was assigned here with her new husband. Taking off her baseball cap, Nike sat down and grinned. “Like old times, isn’t it?”

Dallas laughed. “Better believe it.” She reached for a file folder and handed it to Nike. “Here are your orders. We have twenty women Apache pilots here and ten helicopters assigned to us. The last two helos are being flown in today to this base. My executive officer, XO, is going to be Captain Emma Trayhern-Cantrell.”

Raising her brows, Nike said, “From the Trayhern family?”

“The very same. Shortly after you left Peru, Emma was assigned to BJS in Peru and flew Apaches down there for six months before I was able to convince the Pentagon to have her assigned here. She’s a chip off the old Trayhern block—a real woman warrior.”

“Whose child is she?” Nike wondered.

“Clay and Alyssa Cantrell-Trayhern’s oldest child. Emma has three younger sisters, two of whom are in the U.S. Naval Academy right now. They’re due to graduate next year. They’re twins. Clay and Alyssa were Navy pilots and flew P3 antisubmarine aircraft for twenty years. Emma, whom you’ll meet sometime today, is a long, lean red-haired greyhound with blazing gray eyes. I’m glad to have her on board. She’s a natural XO.”

Chuckling, Nike opened the folder. “Emma sounds perfect for this black ops.”

“Oh, she is. Her grandfather is the original black-ops figure behind the scenes,” Dallas drawled, smiling. “Let’s get down to business. I’m seeing my pilots individually to give them their orders.”

“Fire away,” Nike murmured, studying the papers.

“First of all, BJS 60 remains an all-women U.S. Army force,” Dallas began, leaning back in her chair. “The women I chose for this new squadron have more than one flight skill. For example, you are licensed to fly fixed-wing, single-engine planes as you did on the U.S.-Mexico border with me. And you’re also certified to fly the CH-47, which is the workhorse helicopter used here in Afghanistan.” Dallas looked over at the lean, wiry pilot. “Every woman in BJS 60 has multiskills in aviation. There may be times when I want you to fly the CH-47 and not the Apache.”

“Being multitalented has never been a problem for me,” Nike said, grinning.

Dallas leaned back in her chair. “We are under General Chapman and we work indirectly with the national Afghanistan Army. BJS 60 is going to be a ‘sparrow-hawk’ team that will be called upon in emergencies when the regular Apache pilots from the other two squadrons are not available. In other words, we’re going to pick up the slack to ensure that Special Forces A teams get immediate help and support out in the field. Our jobs will vary depending upon what General Chapman’s operations officer decides for us. One day you could be flying a CH-47, another, you’ll be back in the seat of an Apache helicopter. Mike, my husband, is working as a liaison between Chapman’s people and us. We’re going to try and get as much air time as possible in the Apache, but we also know our pilots will be flying other helicopters, too.”

Nike nodded. Instantly, she pictured Captain Gavin Jackson, who was a man’s man, supremely confident. Someone she was drawn to, but Nike wasn’t willing to admit that to herself now or ever. “I ran into one of the A teams over at the canteen a little while ago.”

“Yes, they’re our front-line defense here on the border,” Dallas told her. “These men go out for thirty days at a time. They are hunting Taliban and stopping terrorist insurgence from getting into Afghanistan. This is one of the most dangerous places in the world for our troops—the mountains and the border around the Khyber Pass, which connects Pakistan and Afghanistan.”

“And we thought Peru was dangerous,” Nike joked, turning the page in the file for her assignment.

“Yeah,” Dallas said grimly. “This is worse. Let’s talk about your assignment tomorrow morning. Part of a new project that’s being initiated by the top generals now assigned to Afghanistan is winning the hearts and minds of the border villages in this country. Tomorrow BJS 60 pilots will be assigned to certain A teams to fly them into Taliban-controlled villages. The dudes in Washington, D.C., have finally figured out that if we don’t make these boundary villages pro-American, we’ve lost the battle to stop terrorists from coming into this country from Pakistan.”

“Why are these villages pro-Taliban?” Nike wondered, perplexed.

“They aren’t. First of all, Afghanistan is composed of fiercely independent tribal systems. Even the Russians, who threw ten times the troops into this country, couldn’t defeat the Mujahideen. Afghans don’t count on anyone to help them. They have survived thousands of years with their tribal clans. In this century, the Afghan government, which has tried to force these different tribes or clans to acknowledge them, has failed to solidify them. The central government has always ignored the mountain villages along the border, anyway. They never poured any money, medical help, education or food from the government into these villages. Basically, the Kabul government didn’t think ignoring these border villages was a problem until Osama bin Laden surfaced. Now, it’s our biggest problem thanks to the government’s blind eye.”

Tightening her lips, Dallas added, “Kabul has Afghans who defy their own central government. They remain faithful only to their tribe and their chieftain or sheik. The Taliban uses force against the villagers, attacks their women and creates hostility among the tribal people. That is why these border villages don’t stop Taliban and terrorists from coming and going through their valleys. They hate them as much as we do, but they lack the resources to stop the Taliban from being the bullies on the block. And Kabul officials never sent out troops to protect these border villages from the raiding Taliban, so the villagers are understandably distrustful of the central government. And your demeanor toward these villagers will be as follows. If you, as a person, do something good for an Afghan, they will call you brother or sister until they die. They are completely loyal to those who treat them humanely and with respect. That is what I want you to cultivate as you interface with the villagers. This is the only way we are going to win their hearts and minds.”

“Nice to see these outlying villages hate the Taliban as much as we do. I’ll be happy to ‘make nice’ with these village folks,” Nike said.

“This new program the general has just initiated is beginning to bear fruit. Starting tomorrow, you’re going to fly an A team to Zor Barawul, a village that is located five miles away from the Pakistan border. This A team will stay thirty days to try and win the trust and respect of these villagers. This operation, which is along all of the border, is to get villagers to realize that Americans are here to help them. We’re not coming in like the Taliban with guns blazing and using brute force upon them. Furthermore, the medic in each of these A teams will be bringing in all kinds of medicine for villagers. We want to gain their trust with positive and consistent care. The only medical help these people have had in the last sixty years has been from Christian church missions and Sufi medical doctors who try their best to go from village to village helping the people.”

“Sufis? I thought they were Muslim.”

“Yes, they are. Sufis are the mystical branch of the Muslim religion. They are about peace, not war. Love and compassion instead of hatred and prejudice. We need more of that here and the Sufis are leading the way.”

Nike raised her brows. “Then Sufis are the antithesis of the Muslim terrorists, aren’t they?”

Dallas nodded. “Yes, and the Taliban is willing to kill the Sufi doctors who give their life to serving the village people, if they can. The terrorists are one end of the Muslim religion, Nike. They don’t represent the middle or the other end, which is the Sufi sect. Now, General Chapman wants to expand upon that humanitarian mission and bring in A teams to support what they’re doing.”

“Isn’t that dangerous—to put an A team down in a Taliban-controlled village?”

“Yes, it is,” Dallas said. “But the new general, who is taking over the country insofar as military help for the Afghans, sees that this is the only way to change the border.”

Nike was disappointed that she wouldn’t be flying the Apache right off the bat. She kept that to herself. “I wouldn’t want to be an A team, then,” Nike muttered.

“Fortunately, all you have to do is fly the CH-47 transport helicopter and drop them and their supplies off to the village and fly back here. I’m assigning you to six A teams that will be dropped along the border. When they need anything, you’ll be at their beck and call via radio. If they request more medicine, you’ll get the supplies from our base here and fly it in to them. If they need food, blankets or clothing, same thing. If they need ammo or weapon resupply, you’ll be on call to support that, too.”

“Sounds pretty routine,” Nike said, hoping to have an Apache strapped to her butt so she could give the troops air support.

Shrugging, Dallas said, “Don’t be so sure. The possibility of a Taliban soldier disguised as a villager sending a rocket up to knock your helo out of the sky is very real.”

“Except for a tail gunner, I won’t have any other weapons at my disposal to ensure that doesn’t happen,” Nike griped, unhappy. Each CH-47 had an enlisted tail gunner who doubled as the load master for the helicopter.

“We’ll be flying Apache support for you,” Dallas promised. “We’re not going to leave you out there without proper air protection.” She saw the unhappy look in Nike’s eyes and understood her resignation. Nike was a combat warrior, one of the finest. But not all her BJS 60 pilots were accredited to fly the CH-47 as she was. “Look, don’t go glum about this assignment. See what unfolds. Your work, as mundane as it might seem, is high-risk and important.”

“I think I’ll strap on a second .45. You can call me two-gun Alexander.”

Dallas grinned at the Greek woman’s response. Picking up another file, she said, “The border area is the Wild West and Dodge City, Nike. For real. It doesn’t get any more dangerous than here. Here’s your first assignment—the A team you’re flying out at 0530. Once you drop them off, you fly back here and we’ll give you the next village flight assignment.”

Opening the order, Nike gasped. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

Nike looked up, a pained expression crossing her face. “I just had a run-in with this dude, Captain Gavin Jackson, over at the canteen.”

Smiling slightly, Dallas said, “I hope it went well.”

“Not exactly.”

Chapter 2

Their air commander was Captain Nike Alexander. Gavin couldn’t believe his eyes that morning as his team trooped across the tarmac to the waiting CH-47 that would take them to the Taliban-controlled village of Zor Barawul.

He didn’t know whether to give her an evil grin of triumph or simply keep a poker face. As he approached the opened rear of the CH-47’s ramp, she was coming out of the right-hand seat, helmet dangling in her hand. When their eyes met, she instantly scowled.

Ouch. Gavin threw his pack behind the seat and pushed the rest of his gear beneath the nylon webbing. Looking up, he noticed her pursed lips and her narrowed golden eyes—on him.

“Don’t worry,” he told her teasingly, “I’m not infectious.”

Nike couldn’t help but grin. Despite Jackson’s ragged Afghan clothing and that beard, he was undeniably handsome. A part of her wanted him. The merriment dancing in his dark blue eyes made her heart race just a little. “Don’t worry, I’m vaccinated against guys like you.” He merely smiled at her obvious warning. Damn, why did he have to be so good-looking?

Nike threaded between the other nine men who were settling in on either side of the cargo hold. She strolled down the ramp toward her load master, Andy Peters. The sergeant stood at the bottom waiting for everyone to get settled before he started loading the many boxes. Her boots thunked hollowly against the corrugated aluminum surface. On one side rested a fifty-caliber machine gun that Peters would put into a hole at the center of the ramp. Once airborne, Andy would drop the ramp, the ugly muzzle of the machine gun pointed down at the earth below them. Peters’s job was to take out any Taliban who fired up at them or tried to launch a rocket or grenade at the bird. She nodded to short, stocky Andy, who was all of twenty years old.

Nike could feel Jackson’s gaze burning two holes between her shoulder blades. He was watching her. Intently. Like a wolf on the prowl. Hunting her. Well, it would get him nowhere.

The brisk, early April morning was chilly. New snow had fallen overnight, leaving about six inches on the tarmac. There was barely light on the eastern horizon, the silhouette of the sharp mountain peaks highlighted. She had a dark green muffler wrapped around her neck and dangling down the front of her bulky dark green winter flight suit. As her fingers slowly froze, a mist came out of her mouth when she spoke to Andy.

“All here and accounted for?”

“Yes, ma’am. Ten-man A team.” He consulted his papers on a clipboard, and then he looked over at an approaching truck. “We’ll be loading all the supplies and medicine in just a moment. We’re on schedule.”

After consulting her watch, Nike nodded. There was a timetable to keep and she was a punctual person by nature. “Very good, Sergeant. I’ll do my walk around the helo while you’re getting all those boxes on board.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

Scanning the area, Nike appreciated the towering mountains to the east of the small base. The village of Nar was two miles away. As the dawn grew brighter, she could see the mountains were still cloaked in heavy snow. Closer to the bottom, they appeared a dark blue color. Rubbing warmth into her arms, Nike wished she’d put on her flight jacket to keep her upper body protected against the gusting breeze coming off the mountains. She’d left the jacket on the seat in the cockpit of the helo. The sky was a deep cobalt blue above the backlit peaks. It would be a good hour before the sun, still hidden behind the peaks, would crest them. Nike noticed the last of the stars above her, twinkling and appearing close enough to reach out and touch. Most of these nap-of-the-earth flights were flown just above one hundred feet above the land. All flights departed early in the day when the dark-green-colored helicopter could be hidden in the mountain shadows from an ever-present enemy lurking below.

The canopied olive-green military truck backed up toward the chopper with Peters’s hand signals to guide it. Two men hopped out of the cab once the truck halted. Nike went to the starboard side of her helo to begin her check of all flight surfaces.

“Want some company, Captain Alexander?”

Startled, Nike turned on the heel of her boot. Gavin Jackson stood less than a foot away, a shy smile on his face. She hadn’t heard him approach. Stealth. That was what hunter-killer A teams were all about: you must not be seen or heard in order to kill your target. Gulping convulsively, Nike pressed a hand to her neck. “You scared the hell out of me, Captain!”

“Oh, sorry,” he said, shrugging. And then he brightened. “Call me Gavin when we’re alone like this.”

Scowling, Nike continued her slow walk along the two-engine helo. “I’ll think about it,” she said. Nike scanned the rivets in the plates for signs of wear or loosening. Craning her neck, she checked for hydraulic leaks from either of the two massive engines on each end of the bird.

Undeterred, Gavin fell into step with her. “Don’t you think it’s kismet that we’ve met twice in less than twenty-four hours?”

Giving him a long, dark look, Nike growled, “More like damnable karma if you asked me.”

“Ouch.”

“Oh, get over yourself, Captain Jackson.” Nike faced him, her hands on her hips. He was about six foot two inches tall and it killed her to have to look up at him. His blue eyes were warm and inviting. Without thinking, her gaze fell to his smiling mouth. He had a very, very male mouth. And for a moment, Nike realized he would be a damned good kisser. But a lover? Just because he was a man didn’t mean he automatically had the kind of maturity that Nike demanded. And why on earth was she even thinking along those lines with this rude dude?

Snorting, she jerked her gaze up. “Listen, hotshot, cool your jets. You’re obviously starved for a warm female body, but remove me from your gun sights. I’m not interested.”

Dark brows rising, Gavin backed off and held up his hands. “Whoa, Nike—”

“It’s Captain Alexander to you.” Nike flinched inwardly when she saw his cheeks beneath his beard go ruddy with embarrassment. He had enough humility to blush. Jackson wasn’t really the ego-busting officer Nike had first thought. Hands still resting on her hips, she added with less acidity, “We have a job to do, Captain. I’ll do mine and you do yours. All I have to do is fly your team into a village, drop you off and then I’m out of your life.”

“That’s not very optimistic,” Gavin observed. Her face was a mask of wariness. And yet, he sensed a crack in that facade. Oh, it wasn’t anything he could point to or see, but Gavin knew his little-boy expression had gotten to her. There wasn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t melt under that look. Of course, it wasn’t really a ploy. Gavin was a little boy at heart when he could get away with it.

“War is never optimistic, Captain.”

Shaking his head, Gavin said, “Now where did you pick up that attitude?”

“In Peru. Chasing druggies for three years. Give no quarter, take no quarter. That’s my maxim, Captain.”

“I like it,” Gavin said, properly impressed. The corners of his mouth moved upward. “You’re a brazen woman, Captain Alexander, and you make my heart beat faster.”

Nike ignored the comment, though it secretly pleased her. She finished her inspection of her helo. Maybe he’d get the message and leave her alone. She felt Jackson approach and walk silently at her side. When she halted to touch the metal skin to inspect something more closely, he would wait without a word.

What kind of game was this? Nike thought for sure if she gave him “the look” that he’d disappear inside the helo. Nope. Not Gavin Jackson. He still had that thoughtful and curious expression on his face. His blue eyes gleamed with humor. In his business, there wasn’t much to be merry about, yet he looked amiable, approachable and drop-dead handsome.

“You know,” Gavin said conversationally as she halted at the Plexiglas nose, “there isn’t a man on this godforsaken base out in the middle of nowhere that isn’t happy about BJS flying into town.” He rubbed his hands. “An all-women squadron. That’s really something.”

“We’re black ops,” she warned him. Jackson seemed absolutely joyous over the prospect of ten Apaches with twenty pilots and a mostly all-women crew coming to this base. No wonder. “Not sex on legs.”

“Ouch. Double ouch.”

“Oh, give me a break, Captain. That’s all you see us women as—bedding material.” She moved around the nose to the port side of the helicopter.

“That’s not fair.”

A burst of sharp laughter erupted from Nike. “It’s the truth, isn’t it? Who said anything in life was fair?”

Nodding, Gavin moved with her, his hands behind his back and face thoughtful. “I see you as sharing more than just my bed.”

“Oh sure,” Nike said, eyeing him. She ran her cold fingers across the metal. Rivets would come loose under the constant shuddering and vibration of the blades turning. Never did she want any of these light aluminum panels to be ripped off midflight. It could cause a crash.

“No, seriously,” Gavin pleaded. Leaning down, he caught her golden gaze. “I’m dying for some feminine companionship.”

“Intelligent conversation with a woman? I like that.”

The jeering in her tone made Gavin chuckle. “That’s all I want, Captain Alexander—just a little conversation.”

Nike shot him an I-don’t-believe-you-for-a-second look and continued her walk around. As she leaned under the carriage, she checked the tires. The tread was thick and obviously new. That was good because when she landed this bird on rocky terrain, she didn’t need a blowout. Tires had to be in top-notch condition.

“We have nothing in common except for this assignment, Captain Jackson.”

“Are you so sure?”

Straightening to her full height, Nike grinned. “Very sure.” He stood there with a quizzical expression on his features. And she had to admit, he had a nice face. She liked looking at him, with his wide brow and high cheekbones. He had a prominent nose and a solid chin hidden beneath the dark beard. His lips reminded her of those on a sculpted bust of Julius Caesar. They were his best attribute aside from his large, inquiring blue eyes. She found it tough to think of him as someone who could easily pull a trigger and kill someone if needed. Jackson just didn’t seem like the killer type.

“Why don’t you give me a chance to prove otherwise?” Gavin pleaded as they neared the rear ramp. He knew he could win her over. The men had just finished loading fifty boxes of supplies for the village. The truck fired up, the blue diesel smoke purling upward in thick, churning clouds. He halted. So did she. Nike seemed to be considering his challenge. Good.

Why did he want to engage her on any level? Hadn’t he had enough with Laurie and her inability to compromise? Never mind he’d fallen head over heels in love with her. He’d been able to take her stubbornness in stride. Her ego was considerable and dominating like his. And that was what had broken them up. Two headstrong egos unable to bend. Laurie had brought out the worst in him. And he was as much at fault in the breakup as she was. Gavin felt men and women were equals—not one better than the other. Laurie, however, had felt that all women were inherently better than any man and that grated on Gavin, too.

“This attention is flattering but I’m busy,” Nike told him with finality.

“Are you married?”

“That’s none of your business, Captain.” Nike glared at him. “Let’s get this straight—I’m your pilot. I fly you in, drop your team off and leave. I come back with any supplies you radio in to ops. Nothing more or less. Got it?”

Sighing, Gavin said, “Yes, I got it. I wish it was otherwise, though.” True, Nike had a helluva ego but didn’t seem as stubborn as Laurie. “You’re an interesting person. How many women have been flying against South American drug cartels?” He gave her a warm smile. “See? We really do have something to discuss. I’m kind of an interesting dude myself.”

“Oh, I’m sure you think that,” Nike said, laughing. She shook her head and moved up the ramp.

Gavin stood watching her pull on the helmet and get situated in the right-hand seat in the cockpit. Nodding to the load master, Gavin mounted the ramp.

His men were grinning expectantly at him as he made his way to his nylon seat right behind Nike. He held up his hands in a show of surrender and they all laughed. Gavin didn’t mind making himself the target of fun or prodding. His team had had a two-week rest, and now they were going out again. This time, he hoped, to something less dangerous, but he wasn’t sure of that.

The ramp groaned and rumbled upward until finally the hatch was shut with a loud clang. Darkness, except for the light coming in through the cockpit, made the inside of the helicopter gray. Gavin watched his men strap in, their weapons in hand, their faces belying their real thoughts. He prayed that as they approached Zor Barawul nearby Taliban soldiers wouldn’t be firing RPGs at them as they came in for a landing. He knew from the premission briefing that the townspeople hated the Taliban. But were they pro-American? There was no way to know except to walk in, offer humanitarian aid and see what happened next. They had no script written for this newest idea by General Chapman.

After pulling on his helmet, Gavin plugged in the radio connection and heard Nike’s honeyed voice as she talked with the base air controller for permission to lift off. She had already engaged one engine on the helo and then the other one. Gavin had found out at the briefing with his people that her usual copilot had food poisoning and there was no one to replace her. Nike was flying alone, which wasn’t a good thing, but Gavin had seen it happen.

If they weren’t wearing helmets, the noise created by the helicopter would be horrendous and would destroy their hearing in a short time. The bird shuddered and shook around him. The deck beneath his booted feet constantly shivered. If his men had any worry about a woman flying this huge, hulking transport helo a hundred feet off the earth, they didn’t show it. Flying nap-of-the-earth took a helluva lot of skill. Gavin wondered how many hours she had of flight time. When Nike had finished her conversation with the tower, Gavin piped up, “Captain, how many hours do you have flying this bird?”

All his men heard the question, of course, because they, too, had helmets on and were plugged in to the inter-cabin radio system. Gavin saw the load master at the far end turn and give him a questioning look. He also heard the explosion of laughter from Nike.

“Oh, let’s see, Captain, I got my helo-driver’s license at Disneyland in Orlando, Florida,” she drawled. “Does that count?”

His men were guffawing in reaction, but no one could hear it over the noise of the vibrating helo around them. Jackson chuckled. “I feel better, Captain Alexander. So long as Mickey Mouse signed off on your pilot’s license I feel safe and sound.”

Jackson thought some of his men were going to fall out of their nylon seats they were laughing so hard. He joined them. And then he heard Nike joining their collective roar of laughter. She had a wonderful, husky tone and it made his body ache with need. What kind of magic did this Greek woman have over him?

“Actually,” Nike said, chuckling, “it was Minnie Mouse who signed it. You have a problem with that?”

“No, not at all. Now, if Goofy had signed it, I’d be worried.”

Even the load master was giggling in fits, his gloved hands closed over the fifty-caliber. Unaccountably, Gavin felt his spirits rise. If nothing else, Nike Alexander gave as good as she got. Even more to her credit, she could take a joke and come back swinging. Looking into the faces of his men, Gavin felt a warmth toward the woman pilot. Did Nike realize how much she’d just lifted everyone’s spirits? Probably not. But he would tell her—alone—and thank her for being a good sport on a deadly mission.

“Okay, boys,” Nike said, catching her breath, “let’s get this show on the road. Sergeant, once we’re airborne, lower the ramp and keep that .50 cal ready to shoot. We’re not in Disneyland and where we’re going, the bad guys are waiting. Hunker down, you’re about to go on the wildest roller-coaster ride you’ve ever taken. I’m ready to rock….”

* * *

For the next fifty minutes, Nike’s full concentration was winding between, around and down into one valley after another in the steep, rugged mountain range. When they roared past Do Bandi, another village, she knew they would soon be climbing steeply. Zor Barawul sat in a rich, fertile valley ringed by the snowy mountains. On the eastern side of those mountains lay the Pakistan border where Taliban hid. The valley was a well-known Taliban route. They boldly passed through it because the Afghan villagers could not fire on or challenge them. If they did, the Taliban would come in and kill men, women and children.

The sunlight shone in bright slats across the mountaintops as she brought the Chinook up steeply, pushing with throttles to the firewall to make it up and over the snowy slope that blurred beneath them. How badly Nike wanted a copilot to do all this other work, but that wasn’t her luck today. Captain Emma Trayhern, the XO who was supposed to fly with her, had caught a nasty case of food poisoning and was laid low for the next twenty-four hours. Her CO, Dallas Klein, had faith in her to handle this mission all by herself. Helluva compliment, but Nike would have preferred a copilot, thank you very much. The sunlight made her squint even though she wore a pair of aviator’s sunglasses. The bird rocked from one side to another as she aimed the nose downward at top speed and skimmed headlong down a steep, rocky slope and into another valley.

Nike could see herds of sheep and goats being tended by young boys here and there on the bright green valley floor. They would look up, wave as the CH-47 streaked by them. The herds of animals would flee in all directions as the noisy Chinook passed low overhead. Nike felt sorry for the young herders who would probably spend half a day gathering up their scattered herds. What she didn’t want to see was yellow or red winking lights from below. That would mean the Taliban was firing a rocket up at them. Not good.

The mountains were coated with thick snow even in April. The lower slopes showed hopeful signs of greenery sprouting after enduring the fierce, cold Afghan winter. The helicopter vibrated heavily around Nike as she flew the bulky transport through the valley. Shoving the throttles once more to the firewall, she urged the helo up and over another mountain range and down into the next valley. And, as she glanced out her cockpit window, it was comforting to see an Apache helicopter with her women friends from BJS 60 flying several thousand feet above her, working their avionics to find the enemy below before they shot her Chinook out of the air. She might not have a copilot, but she had the baddest son-of-a-bitch of a combat helicopter shadowing her flight today. That made Nike smile and feel confident.

The village of Zor Barawul contained two hundred people and sat at the north end of a long, narrow valley that was sandwiched between the mountains. On the other side lay the border of Pakistan. As in all villages Nike had seen, the wealthy families had houses made of stone with wooden floors. Wood was usually scarce. Those less well-off had homes made of earth and mud with hard-packed dirt floors. Some who could afford it would have a few rugs over the earthen floor. Roofs were made from tin or other lightweight metals. The poorer families had thatched material on top.

As they passed over all kinds of homes, Nike felt the sweat beneath her armpits. Fear was always near since at any moment, they could be fired on. As she located the landing area, she ordered her load master to bring up the ramp. Moments later, she heard the grind and rumble of the ramp shutting. The ramp had to be up in order for her to land.

Nike brought the Chinook downward and gently landed it outside the village. The earth was bare and muddy. Nike let out a sigh of relief. They were down and had made it without incident. She powered down, shut off the engines and called to her friends in the Apache flying in large circles outside the village. This was Taliban-controlled territory and the Apache was using its television and infrared cameras to spot any possible enemy who might want to shoot at the Chinook after it had landed.

The whine of the engines ceased. The women in the Apache reported no activity and continued to circle about a mile from where she’d landed. Nike thanked them and signed off on the radio. The Apache would wait and escort her back to base as soon as everything was unloaded. Unstrapping the tight harness, she pulled the helmet off her head and stood. Andy had removed the fifty-caliber machine gun and set it to one side. He opened the ramp and it groaned down. Once the ramp lip rested on the muddy ground, Andy signaled the A team to dismount.

As she glanced to her left, Nike caught sight of Gavin. This time, he was grim-faced and not smiling. Right. He understood this was a very dangerous place. No one knew for sure how the villagers would respond to their landing. Bullets or butter? For a moment, Nike felt a twinge in her heart. Jackson looked so damned responsible and alert. This wasn’t his first dance with the Afghan people. She saw the grimness reflected in the flat line of his mouth as he gathered his gear and slung it across his shoulder.

His other team members were already moving down the ramp. Several took the cargo netting off the many boxes and prepared to move them outside the helo. What were the people of this village thinking of their arrival? Were they scared? Thinking that the U.S. Army was going to attack them the way the Taliban did? When the Russians had invaded Afghanistan a decade before, that’s exactly what they had done. People here justifiably had a long memory and would probably not trust the Americans, either.

“Hey, do these people know you’re coming?” Nike called to Jackson.

“Yeah, we sent an emissary in here a week ago.”

“So, they know you’re on a mission of peace?”

He took the safety off his weapon and then slung it across his other shoulder. “That’s right. It doesn’t guarantee anything.”

Worriedly, Nike looked out the end of the Chinook. She saw several bearded older men in turbans or fur hats walking toward them. “Well, they don’t look real happy to see us.”

Gavin glanced out the rear of the helo. “Oh. Those are the elders. They run the village. Don’t worry, they always look that way. Survival is serious business out here.”

“They’re carrying rifles.”

“They sleep with them.”

Smiling a little over the comment, Nike walked down the ramp and stood next to him. “Do you ever not have a joke, Captain?”

Gavin grinned over at her. Nike’s hair lay against her brow, emphasizing her gold eyes. He heard the worry in her voice and reached out to squeeze her upper arm. “You care….”

Nike didn’t pull away from where his hand rested on her arm. There was monitored strength to his touch and her flesh leaped wildly in response. Seconds later, his hand dropped away. “Oh, don’t let it go to your swelled head, honcho.”

“Hey, I like that nickname.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

Gavin chuckled. “I’ll take it as such.”

“Ever the optimist.”

“I don’t like the other choice, do you? Thanks for the wild ride, Captain.” He gave her a salute and smiled. “How about a date when we get back off this mission?”

“That’s not a good idea.” Nike saw the regret in his deep blue eyes.

“Okay, I’ll stop chasing you for now.” Looking out the rear of the helo, Gavin said, “I’ll be seeing you around, lioness.”

She felt and heard the huskiness of his voice as he spoke the word. Lioness. Well, that was a nice compliment. Unexpected. Sweet. And her heart thumped in reaction. She hated to admit it but she really did care. But before she could open her mouth, he turned and walked nonchalantly down the ramp and into the dangerous world of the Taliban-controlled village.

Suddenly, Nike was afraid for Gavin and his team. The ten elders approached in their woolen cloaks, pants and fur hats to ward off the morning coldness. They looked unwelcoming and grim.

Well, it wasn’t as if she could help him and she had to get back to base. A part of her didn’t want to leave Gavin. Nike looked up and saw the Apache continuing its slow circuit at about three thousand feet. Time to move. Grabbing her helmet, she gave Andy a gesture that told him to lift up the ramp. He nodded. As soon as they were airborne, he’d lower the ramp once more and keep watch with his hands on that machine gun.

Settling into her seat, Nike pulled on her helmet, plugged it back in and made contact with the Apache once more.

“Time to boogie outta here, Red Fox One. Over.”

“Roger, Checkerboard One. All quiet on the western front here.”

Nike chuckled and twisted around. The ramp ground upward and locked against the bird, causing the whole helo to shudder. Andy gave her a thumbs-up and put on his helmet. All was well. Turning around, Nike began to flip switches and twist buttons. As soon as she was ready to turn on the engines, one at a time, she’d get harnessed up for the harrowing one-hundred-foot-high flight back to base. It wasn’t something Nike looked forward to.

And then, her world came to an abrupt halt. A glaring red light began to blink back at her on the console—the forward engine light. Scowling, she flipped it off and on. Red. Damn. That meant either a problem with the engine or a screw-up with the light itself. Nike could do nothing at this point.

“Red Fox One, I have a red light for the forward engine. I can’t go anywhere. Can you contact base to get a helo out here with a couple of mechanics? Until then, I’m grounded. I’ll radio Operations and get further instructions from them. Over.”

“Bad news, Checkerboard One. Stay safe down there. Out.”

Well, it didn’t take long for Nike to get her answers. Major Dallas Klein, who was in ops, answered her.

“Stay where you are. We can’t get a mechanic team out until tomorrow morning. Stick with Captain Jackson and his team. Your load master will remain with the helicopter. In the meantime, go with the A team. We’ll be in touch by radio when we know the time of arrival to your location. Over.”

Great. Nike scowled and responded. “Roger. Over and out.”

Now what? She gestured for Andy to come forward because he had not been privy to what was going on. Shaking her head, Nike felt a sense of dread combined with unexplainable elation. She was stuck here with Jackson, who clearly would be delighted with her company. Double damn.

Chapter 3

Jackson walked toward village elders. The knot of men stood watching them. But before he could talk with them, Nike appeared at his shoulder, her face set and disappointed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, anchoring to a halt.

“My helo has engine failure and I’ve got orders to stay the night here with you and your team. My load master will remain with the bird. A mechanic team will be flown out to fix it tomorrow morning.”

She didn’t seem too happy about the news but joy threaded through Gavin. “Engine failure.” He tried to sound disappointed for her. “Sorry about that, Captain Alexander.”

Nike tried to avoid his powerful stare and glanced over at the knot of elders. They were a sour-looking bunch. Every one of them wore a deep, dark scowl of suspicion. She returned her attention to Jackson. “Let’s look at the positives. This engine failure could have happened en route. We’re damned lucky to have landed before the problem.”

“And here I thought you were a doom-and-gloom pessimist.” Jackson grinned and desperately wanted this moment alone with her, but the elders had to be properly greeted.

Nike shook her head and muttered, “Jackson, you’re a piece of work.”

He smiled quickly and then resumed his serious demeanor toward the elders. “Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“As always, I’ll take anything you say as a positive.”

“Get real,” she gritted between her teeth so that only he could hear her. On either side of them, the team had fanned out, hands on their weapons but trying not to appear threatening to the elders.

“Do me a favor?” Gavin said.

“Depends upon what it is.”

“These elders have strict laws regarding their women. I’ll be speaking to them in Pashto. They may have a problem with you not wearing a hijab, or scarf, on your head. That scarf is a sign of honoring their Muslim beliefs. So, if it comes to pass that someone hands you a scarf, wear it.”

Nike nodded. “No problem.”

“Thanks, I needed that.”

“Judging from their looks, you’re going to need more than a scarf on my head to turn this situation into a positive, honcho.”

Gavin said nothing. Nike took a step back, partly hidden by his tall, lean frame. The elders looked aged, their weathered faces deeply lined. Their skin was tobacco-brown, resembling leather, because of their tough outdoor life. Nike knew the elements at the top of the world in this mountain chain were unforgiving and brutal. Villages along the border had no electricity, no sewers and sometimes little water. These rugged Afghan people eked out a living raising goats and sheep. At this altitude, poppy crops wouldn’t grow because the season was too short. Winter came early and stayed late. Nike had found out through the weather officer at BJS ops that snow started in September and lasted sometimes into June. That was why they couldn’t grow crops and relied heavily on their animals for a food source.

The elders had good reason to be serious-looking, their hands hidden in the sleeves of their woolen robes, chins held high and their dark eyes assessing the A team. These proud and fiercely independent Afghan people had few resources. Beneath their threadbare woolen clothing, Nike saw the thinness of all the elders. There wasn’t a fat one in the group. Their leanness was probably due to the hardships of living in such a rocky, inhospitable place. She felt compassion and respect toward them, not animosity.

Gavin had been given an in-depth briefing on Zor Barawul before arriving at the village. Photos had been taken and the elders were identified in them. He recognized the chief elder, Abbas, who separated himself from the group. He was in his sixties and every inch like his name, which meant “angry lion” in Pashto. They approached each other like two competing football-team captains staring one another down. Tension sizzled in the cold morning air between the two groups of men. Walking forward, Gavin extended his hand to Abbas, who wore a dark brown turban and cloak. The man’s face was as narrow and thinned as a starving lion’s, horizontal lines deeply carved across his broad brow. Gashes slashed down on either side of his pursed lips. Ordinarily, the Afghan custom of greeting was to shake hands and then kiss each other’s cheeks as a sign of friendship.

That wasn’t going to happen here. Gavin fervently hoped that Abbas would at least shake his extended hand. The elder glared at him and then down at his hand. No, that wasn’t going to happen, either. Gavin pressed his right hand over his heart, bowed referentially and murmured, “Salaam-a-laikam.” This meant “peace be with you,” and was a greeting given no matter if the person were Muslim or of some other faith. It was a sign of respect and of the two people meeting on common ground.

Scowling, Abbas touched his chest where his heart lay and murmured, “Wa alaikum assalam wa rahmatu Allah,” in return. That meant “And to you be peace together with God’s mercy.”

Gavin could see that Abbas was surprised by his sincere and knowledgeable greeting. His scowl eased and his voice became less gruff. “We told your emissary last week, Captain Jackson, that we did not want you to come to our village. The Kabul government has always ignored us. There is no reason you should be here at their invitation. If the Taliban finds out we are dealing with the Americans, they will come back here and kill more of my people. We are a tribe and as such, do not recognize the government as having any power or control over our lives,” Abbas said in Pashto, his arms remaining tightly wrapped against his chest.

Halting, Gavin allowed his hand to drop back to his side. “Sahibji,” he began in Pashto, “we do not come as representatives of the Kabul government. I realize you do not acknowledge them. The American people have donated all of this—” he turned and swept his hand toward the stacked boxes “—as respect for your tribe. Americans believe in peace and when they found out that your children needed help, they sent these boxes of medicine to you.” Gavin kept his voice sincere. “There is also food and blankets for your people, if you will accept their heartfelt generosity.”

Gavin knew that Afghan people, when given a sincere gift, would never forget the heart-centered gesture and would be friends for life with the givers. They were a remarkable warrior class who judged others on their loyalty and honor. They held an ancient set of codes based upon Islamic belief and here, in these mountains, the villagers practiced these morals and values to this day. That was one of the reasons the Russians had never been able to break the spirit of these proud people. The more they tried to destroy the Afghan tribal culture, the more stubborn the people became. Gavin felt General Chapman’s operation to win the hearts and minds of these people, one village at a time along the border, was much wiser and more humane. Gavin knew the Afghans would respond to honest gifts given from the heart, for they, above all, were a heart-centered people.

Abbas’s thick black-and-gray brows lifted slightly as he looked longingly toward the boxes. Then, his mouth curled as he swung his gaze back to the captain. “And for this you want what?”

Shrugging, Gavin said, “The opportunity to earn your friendship over time. Judge us on a daily basis and allow us to earn your respect.” He knew that the Afghan people were a proud people and that they were slow to give their trust. It was earned by deeds alone—not by any words, but actions.

“I have families who are sick and ailing,” Abbas said abruptly. “Even if there is medicine, there is no doctor. So what good is all of this?”

Gavin turned to his medic, Staff Sergeant Neal Robles. “This is Sergeant Robles. He is my paramedic and one level below a medical doctor. We have brought him to help your people. We are here on a strictly humanitarian mission. We are not here to cause stress or fighting.”

Grunting, Abbas lifted his chin a little higher. He stroked his salt-and-pepper beard. Looking over at the paramedic, he demanded, “And this man can do what?”

“He can give vaccinations to all your children. Many Afghan children die unnecessarily of diseases and our vaccinations can stop that. He can examine a male and treat him accordingly. We have brought antibiotics, as well.”

At that, Abbas’s brows lifted in surprise. Hope flared in his narrowed eyes.

Gavin saw his response. Abbas knew antibiotics were as valuable a commodity as opium made from the poppy fields of southern Afghanistan. The elder understood, thankfully, that antibiotics could save a life. But in this remote village, there was no way to get them nor was there the help of a doctor to dispense the lifesaving drug. Gavin was sure that Abbas had seen any number of children, men and women die of ailments that could have been stopped and turned around by antibiotics. “Sergeant Robles will train a man and a woman whom you suggest to use the antibiotics that we will supply to you. Your village will always have them on hand from now on.” Gavin could see the surprise and then the gratefulness in the man’s narrowed dark eyes.

Abbas heard the elders of the village whispering excitedly over the officer’s last statement. Turning, he saw them eagerly nod over receiving such a gift. His tribe had suffered severely for years beneath the Kabul government, the Russians and now, the Taliban. Drilling a look into the captain, Abbas growled, “My people have died without the help of our own government. They do not care whether we exist. If not for a Sufi brother and sister who are medical doctors who visit our village twice a year, many more would have died.” He jammed a long, thin index finger down at the hard brown earth where he stood.

“The United States of America is trying to change that,” Gavin told him in a persuasive tone. “We are here on a mission of mercy.” He walked toward the boxes, printed in English and Pashto. “Come and see. This is not the Kabul government nor my government. This is from the American people who do not like to see anyone’s children die. Look at the gifts from my people to your villagers. There is clothing, blankets, food and medicine. All we ask is to be able to distribute it and have our medic help those who ask for medical attention.”

Abbas walked commandingly over to the bounty, his lean shoulders squared, head held at a proud angle. He reached out with long brown hands and placed them on the tops of several of the cardboard boxes. Walking around the fifty cartons, he stopped, read the Pashto lettering on one and then moved on. The rest of the elders came to his side at his gesture. Gavin watched the group of men carefully read each label and check out the gifts.

Gavin turned and to Nike spoke quietly, “Listen, I need a favor. There are women here who need medical attention. Abbas isn’t about to let Robles touch any Muslim female since it’s against their religion. Can I volunteer you to help him?”

“But I don’t have any medical training,” Nike whispered.

“Doesn’t matter. Robles will teach you the basics.”

She saw the pleading in his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt anyone with my lack of experience.”

“Don’t worry, that won’t happen.”

Abbas strode over and gave Gavin a brusque nod of acceptance. “Allah is good. The gifts are indeed welcome, Captain Jackson. Shukria, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, malik sahib,” Gavin murmured, touching his heart and bowing his head respectfully to the elder.

Mouth quirking, Abbas looked directly at Nike and jabbed a finger toward her. “And this is the woman who will help Dr. Robles?”

Gavin didn’t want to correct the elder. To do so would be a sign of disrespect. Besides, it would humiliate Abbas in front of the others and he had no wish to destroy what little trust he had just forged between them. “Yes, sir. Captain Nike Alexander will assist Dr. Robles, if you wish. With your permission, she will care for the women and girls of your village.”

“I wish it to be so,” Abbas said in a gruff tone. “My wife, Jameela, will bring her a hijab to wear over her head. She must respect Islam.” He folded his arms across his narrow chest. “You are welcome to remain here and help my people, Captain Jackson. We are a peaceful tribe of sheep- and goat-herders. I will have my second-in-command, Brasheer, help you.” He eyed Nike. “This woman is not allowed among your men. She will remain at our home. My wife will give her a room and she will remain in the company of women and children only.”

“Of course,” Gavin murmured, and he explained that Nike would be a transiting visitor because the helo was down. “You are most gracious,” he told Abbas, giving him a slight bow of acknowledgment. “We would like to stay as long as you need medical help.”

“I approve. Captain, you shall honor me by being my guest at every meal. We will prepare a room in our house for you. Your men will be housed at the other homes, fed, and given a place to sleep.”

“Thank you, malik sahib. You are more than generous. We hope our stay improves the health of your people.” Gavin could see the hope burning in the old man’s eyes. As an elder, he carried the weighty responsibility for everyone in his village. It wasn’t something Gavin himself would want to carry. Abbas must realize what these gifts would do to help his people. And he knew he was weighing Taliban displeasure over it, too. The Taliban would punish the village for taking the offered supplies and the old man took a surprising risk. With such humanitarian aide, this village might become less fearful of the Taliban and provide information to stop the terrorists from crossing their valley in the future. For now, no one in the villages gave away that information.

Gavin finished off the details of where the boxes would be taken and stored. All his men could speak Pashto. Robles was as fluent as Gavin and that would work in their favor. The other elders took over the management of the boxes while his A team became the muscle to carry the cartons toward the village.

Gavin watched as the elders left, parading the groups of carriers and boxes back into their village like conquering heroes. “Do you know any Pashto?” he asked Nike.

“I have problems with English sometimes and I’m Greek, remember?”

“So, I guess that’s a no.” Grinning, Gavin felt the tension melting off his tense shoulders. Just looking into Nike’s gold eyes made him hungry for her again. Black curls framed her face and Gavin had to stop himself from reaching out and threading his fingers through that dark, shining mass. “Pashto isn’t that difficult. Most villagers don’t speak English. I’ll get one of my other men to help interpret from a distance. You can always go outside the home and talk to him out in the street and he can translate. He won’t be allowed in where there is a female.”

“That sounds like a workable strategy.” She narrowed her eyes on Gavin. “So how did it go with Abbas? He looked like he’d just won the lottery when he read some of the labels on that shipment.”

Gavin laughed a little while keeping alert. Taliban came through this valley all the time, and he knew that with an American A team here, word would get out to their enemy. “The elders’ main concern is the health of their people. We’ve done this type of mission in southern Afghanistan for the last year and it was a great success. The key is in establishing trust with the Afghans.”

Nike nodded and noticed how Jackson remained alert. She was glad the .45 pistol was strapped to her left leg. And wearing a bulletproof vest gave her a strong sense of protection. She hated wearing the chafing vest, but this was Dodge City and bullets could fly at any time. “I thought I saw tears in his eyes. He kept stroking the tops of the boxes that contained the antibiotics. It reminds me of a Greek proverb—Upon touching sand may it turn to gold. Only this time, his gold is the lifesaving drugs for his people.”

Grimly, Gavin agreed and said, “I’m sure he’s seen many of his people die terrible, suffering deaths that could have been avoided if they’d only had antibiotics available to them.”

“Pnigese s’ena koutali nero,” she agreed softly in Greek.

Cocking his head, Gavin said, “What did you just say?”

“You drown in a teaspoon of water. Another one of my Greek sayings I was raised with. It’s the equivalent to your saying that for want of a nail the horse’s shoe is lost, and for want of a shoe the horse is lost, and for want of a horse, the battle is lost.” She held up her finger. “Antibiotics are a small thing, but in his world, they’re huge,” Nike said. “Why was Abbas pointing at me earlier?”

“His wife, Jameela, will bring you a hijab to wear. Just be grateful to her for the gesture. Muslim women always wear the hijab any time they’re outside their home. In Arabic it means covering or concealing.” His mouth pulled into a devilish grin. “The best part is Abbas inviting us to stay at his home. The men and women are always separated. You’ll be on the women’s side of the house and have your own room. You’ll also eat separately, too.”

“That’s a little strict.”

“I agree, but we have to be aware of their religious laws. Afghans see that as a sign of respect. And respect can, we hope, earn us friendship with them.”

Nike said, “Okay, boss, I can do it. Not exactly military issue, but in black ops you have to be flexible.”

“Good. Come on, I see a woman coming toward us. She’s got a red hijab in hand, so that must be Jameela.”

When Gavin placed his hand beneath her elbow, Nike was surprised. She felt a sense of protection emanating from him. It was like a warm blanket surrounding her and she couldn’t protest the nice gesture. The entire village, it seemed, had come out to view the boxes. Indeed, word had traveled fast. Women, men and children stood as the elders marched past them with the A team carrying some of the boxes. There was crackling excitement and expectation in the air.

“Women are pretty well hidden here from the outer world. When they’re inside their homes they don’t have to wear a burka or hijab. And there’s real power among the women. They treat one another like sisters. Even though you may think the women have it bad, they really run the place. They have a lot of power in the household and in the village decisions in general. The women learned a long time ago to stick together as a unit. United they stand and divided they fall. Woman power is strong among the Afghan women and I think you’ll enjoy being a part of it,” Gavin told her conversationally as they walked toward Jameela. The elder’s wife wore a black burka. The black wool robe swathed her from her head to her shoes. A crosshatch opening revealed her cinnamon-colored eyes.

“Don’t expect me to wear one of those things,” Nike warned him with a growl. “All the women are dressed like her. I’m not going to wear a burka. I’ll stay in my uniform.”

“They won’t ask you to don a burka, so don’t worry. Little girls don’t start wearing them until around age seven. Until then, they’ve still got their freedom from the burka.”

Nike grumbled, “I have a really hard time thinking any woman would be happy wearing a burka.”

“Try to be gracious and don’t stir up trouble with Jameela—she’s the chieftain’s wife. There’s an unspoken hierarchy here in these villages. She’s boss of the women and children. Jameela wields a lot of power even though she’s hidden under that burka. Don’t ever underestimate her position and authority. In reality, the women have equal power to any of these men. It may not appear to be like that, but from what I’ve seen, it is.”

“All women are powerful,” Nike reminded him. She felt his hand slip away as they walked to meet the tall, thin woman swathed in the black wool robe.

“No argument from me.” And then Gavin turned slightly, gave her a wink and added teasingly, “Especially you…”

Nike had no time to retort. She felt heat rising in her face. Gavin chuckled with delight. Focusing on Jameela, Nike searched the woman’s spice-brown eyes between the fabric crosshatch. It was Jameela’s only opening into the outside world. Nike felt at odds with the woman, who stood about five foot six inches tall. Only her hands, reddened and work-worn, told Nike of her hard, unrelenting life.

Gavin bowed in respect to Jameela and offered the Islamic greeting to her as they halted about six feet from one another. Jameela whispered softly the return greeting to Gavin and to Nike, who bowed slightly, pressed her hand to heart and said, “Salaam.” She didn’t know what else they said to one another, but at one point, Jameela leaned forward and gave Nike the hijab. She made some gestures indicating she should wrap it around her head.

Nike gave her a friendly smile and put it on. Once the knotted scarf was in place, Jameela’s eyes crinkled as if she were smiling. Perhaps she was grateful to Nike for honoring their customs. Not being able to see another person’s body language or their facial expressions was highly disconcerting. Nike realized in those minutes how much she truly assessed a person through nonverbal means. Jameela remained a mystery to her.

“I speak…English…little…” Jameela said haltingly to Gavin and Nike, opening her hands as if to apologize.

Nike was delighted and grinned. She saw Gavin smile and nod.

“Where did you learn English?” Gavin asked her politely. He knew that Jameela shouldn’t be talking to him. Under the circumstances, he felt it was all right but not something to be done more than once outside her home.

“When I was little, my parents lived in Kabul. I was taught English at a Christian missionary school.” Shrugging her small shoulders beneath the burka, Jameela laughed shyly. “Coming out here, I could not practice it. So, I am very poor at speaking your language, but I will try.”

“Thank you, memsahib,” Gavin told her quickly in Pashto. “My friend, Captain Nike Alexander—” he gestured toward her “—is here to help the women and children. Perhaps you could interpret for her? She does not know Pashto.”

Jameela nodded in deference toward Nike. “Of course, Captain, I would be happy to. Please, apologize to her that I speak broken English?”

Gavin nodded. “Of course, memsahib, but you speak English very well. I know Captain Alexander will be grateful for your English and translation help. Thank you.”

Jameela bowed her head slightly, her long hands clasped in front of her. Nike could have sworn the Afghan woman blushed, but it was hard to tell with the burka like a wall between them.

“You are the first Americans to come here,” Jameela told Gavin in a softened tone. “There are Sufi twin brother and sister medical doctors, Reza and Sahar Khan, who visit us once every six months. The Sufis are heart-centered and they help us greatly. The Khan twins travel from the northern border of Afghanistan and follow it all the way to the south helping the villages along the way. Then, they turn around in their Jeep and come back north to do it all over again. We bless them. The Sufis are a branch of Islam who are dedicated to compassionate love toward all, no matter what their beliefs.”

“Yes, I’m aware of the Sufis’ nature,” Gavin told her in Pashto. “I’m also aware that the Taliban hate them. The Sufis practice peace at all costs and the Taliban has been known to kill them.”

Jameela nodded sadly. “That is so, Captain Jackson. But Doctors Reza and Sahar Khan are welcomed by all our villages along the border, regardless. We greet them and bring them into our villages on two white horses. We place flower wreaths around their necks and sing their praises. That is our custom of honoring their courage to care for us regardless of the personal danger they place themselves in. They have saved many of our people over the years.”

“I’ve heard the Khans mentioned by other villagers,” Gavin said. “I hope one day to meet them. They’re heroic people and give the Sufis a good name around the world for their courage and generosity.”

Jameela hesitated and then said, “My husband is afraid Americans coming here will invite another Taliban attack upon us. Surely you know this?”

Nodding, Gavin said gently, “I understand that. We hope to win his trust over time, memsahib. And my team will be in your valley here to protect you from the Taliban. Our mission is to show that the American people are generous and care, especially for those who are sick.”

Jameela looked toward the sky. “Allah be praised, Captain. You have no idea the prayers I have said daily to Him, asking for more help. If you stay in our valley then the Taliban won’t attack us. Our Sufi brother and sister constantly travel. We understand they can only visit us twice a year.” She gestured gracefully toward the village. “Captain Alexander, you will come with me, and I will put you to work. Captain Jackson, you may join your men.”

“Of course,” Gavin said, and he winked over at Nike. “I’ll catch up with you later. And I’ll have Sergeant Robles alerted to your requests. Just relax. It will all work out.”

Nike wasn’t so sure, but said nothing. She didn’t want this humanitarian mission scuttled because of her lack of medical knowledge. As she walked with Jameela, she said, “Are your duties the same as your husband’s in running this village?” Nike knew little of the Afghan culture and didn’t want to make a gaffe. Better to ask than to assume.

Jameela nodded. “My duty first is to my husband and our family. After that, I am looked upon to provide leadership to the women of the village in all matters that concern us.”

“I see,” Nike said. She suddenly had a humorous thought that couldn’t be shared with Jameela. Wearing a bright red scarf, a dark green flight suit and a pistol strapped to her waist, she must look quite a sight! The women of the BJS would laugh until it hurt if they could see her in her new fashion garb. Still, Nike wanted to fit in, and she would allow the course of the day to unfold and teach her. Often, prejudices and misunderstandings from one country or culture to another caused tension and she would not want to create such problems.

As Nike followed Jameela down the muddy, rutted street, she was struck by the young children playing barefoot on such a cold April morning. The children’s clothes were threadbare with many patches sewn in the fabric. They shouted and danced. Their gazes, however, were inquisitive and they stared openly at Nike. What an odd combination she wore—a man’s trousers with the prescribed headdress of a Muslim woman. Fired with curiosity, the group followed them down the middle of the wide street where mud and stone homes sat close to one another.

As Nike smiled at the children, she regretted not knowing Pashto. Their eyes were button-bright and shining. Little girls and boys played with one another just as they would in the States or in her homeland of Greece. But then, as she glanced farther up the street, her heart saddened. A little girl of about six years old stood on crutches near a large stone home. The child had only one leg. Nike remembered that damnable land mines covered this country. Most of them had been sown by Russians, but of late, it had been the Taliban, too. Had this child stepped on one? Nike’s heart contracted. There was no doctor here to help her. No painkillers. No antibiotics. How had she survived?

“Jameela? That little girl over there? Who is she?”

“My youngest daughter, Atefa. Why do you ask?”

Gulping, Nike hoped she hadn’t made a fatal mistake by asking. “I…uh…she’s missing one leg. Did she step on a land mine?”

“Yes, as a four-year-old.” Jameela’s voice lowered with anguish as she pointed outside the village and to the east. “Afghan national soldiers laid land mines everywhere outside our village two years ago. They wanted to stop the Taliban from coming through our valley.” Choked anger was evident in her quiet tone.

“How did Atefa ever survive such a terrible injury?” Nike asked softly.

“Allah’s will,” Jameela murmured. “Everyone said she would die, but I did not believe it. Dr. Reza Khan and his sister, Sahar, found her near the road where it happened. They saved her life and brought her to the village in their Jeep. Then, we had Farzana, our wise woman, tend her with the antibiotics the doctor left. Also, Dr. Sahar knows much about herbs and she directed Farzana how to use them.”

“That’s an amazing story,” Nike said, her voice thick with unshed tears. People like the Sufi medical doctors inspired her. She’d never heard of Sufis or that they were Muslim. Nike decided she was very ignorant of Muslims in general. What if the Sufi doctors hadn’t been on the road driving by when Atefa had been injured? Nike watched as the child hobbled toward them on carved wooden crutches. “She’s so pretty, Jameela. What does her name mean?” Nike wondered.

“It means compassion in our language. Little did I know when my husband and I chose that name for her that she would, indeed, bring exactly that to our family and village. My husband wants her to go to a school in Pakistan when she’s old enough. He feels Allah has directed this because she was saved by Sufis.”

Atefa had dark brown, almond-shaped eyes; her black hair was long and drawn into a ponytail at the back of her head. She wore a black woolen dress that hung to her ankle; her foot was bare. To Nike, she looked like a poor street urchin. But then, as she scanned the street, she realized all the children shared in the same impoverished appearance as Atefa. The children were clean, their clothes were washed, their skin was scrubbed clean, their hair combed, but this was a very poor village.

“Maybe,” Nike told Jameela, briefly touching her arm for a moment, “there is something that might be done to help Atefa before she goes to her school.”

Chapter 4

“How are things going?” Gavin asked as Nike finished ensuring her helo was protected for the night. She’d just sent Andy into the village to grab a bite to eat at Abbas’s house before staying with the bird during the coming darkness.

She turned, surprised by Gavin’s nearness. The man walked as quietly as a cat, never heard until he wanted to be. His cheeks were ruddy in the closing twilight. “Doing okay.” She held up her gloved hands. “Today, I became ‘Dr. Nike’ to the women and children in the village.” She laughed. The look in his narrowed eyes sent her heart skipping beats. She stood with her back against the Chinook, for the metal plates still exuded the warmth of the sun from the April day.

“Yeah, Robles said you were doing fine. He’s proud that you can give vaccinations. You’re a fast study.”

Nike grinned. “I had to be! I wasn’t given a choice.”

The jagged mountain peaks became shadowed as the sun slid below the western horizon.

“From all accounts, old Abbas seems to be satisfied with our efforts.”

“Him.” Nike rolled her eyes. “That old man is married to a woman thirty years his junior!”

“That’s not uncommon out here,” Gavin said. “Wives die in childbirth and there’s no medical help to change the outcome. The man will always marry again.” He grimaced. “And let’s face it, there are many widows around and they need a man in order to survive out here.”

“Jameela said Abbas has had two other wives before her. Both died in childbirth.” Shaking her head, Nike muttered, “Things were bad in Peru, too. BJS did a lot of flying into the jungle villages to deliver health care when we weren’t chasing druggies. This place is a lot worse.”

Gavin enjoyed being close to Nike. About six inches separated them and he wished he could close the gap. The best he could do was keep them talking. “These people deserve our help. You look kind of pretty in that red hijab. Do you like wearing it?”

“No, but I respect their traditions. At least Abbas didn’t demand I climb into one of those burkas.”

“Indoors, the women wear more casual clothes and no hijab,” Gavin told her. “It’s just when they go out in the community that they put on the burka or hijab.”

“That robe looks like a prison to me,” Nike muttered. “I asked Jameela today what she thought of the burka and she liked it. I couldn’t believe it.”

“In their culture, most women accept that their body and face are to be looked upon only by their husbands. The way the men figure it, if the woman is hidden, she’s not a temptation to others.”

“Why don’t their husbands show some responsibility for what’s between their legs? Then a woman would be safe to wear whatever she wants.”

“Yeah, I can’t disagree with your logic, but that’s not the way their world turns, and sometimes we have to fit in, not try to change it.”

Nike felt the coldness coming off the mountains in the evening breeze. “I feel absolutely suffocated by their culture’s attitudes toward women. You don’t find an Afghan woman flying a combat helicopter.”

“No doubt.” Gavin saw her put her hands beneath the armpits of her jacket to keep them warm. He took a step forward and allowed his heavily clothed body to contact hers. Her eyes widened for a moment. “I’ll keep you warm,” he soothed.

“Right now, I’m so damned cold I’m not going to protest.”

Chuckling, Gavin continued to look around. “Things seem to be quiet. I’ve been working with Abbas most of the day. You know, he won’t admit that the Taliban comes through their village, but we have satellite photos as proof.”

“Is he pro-Taliban? Or just afraid of them like everyone else?” Nike absorbed the heat from his woolen Afghan clothes. For a moment, she wondered what it would be like to slide her hands beneath the folds and place her hands against his well-sprung chest. It was a forbidden thought, but tantalizing, nonetheless.

“I’m pretty sure he’s afraid of them. There aren’t many village chieftains or sheiks who get in bed with the devil and the Taliban is all of that,” Gavin said, his mouth quirking. “He told me that the Taliban came in here and ordered their girls’ school shut down. He’s a man of education, and he didn’t like being ordered to do that. Abbas continues to teach the girls and women of his village behind closed doors in defiance of their orders. He’s a man of strong principles and morals. He believes women deserve education just as much as any man. And Abbas is enlightened compared to other village leaders.”

“He was a teacher?” Nike found that inspiring for a man who lived in such a rugged, isolated area.

“Abbas was born here in this village. His father sent him to Kabul for higher schooling. He graduated with a degree in biology. When Abbas returned home, he helped the village breeding programs so that their sheep produced better wool. That helps to raise their economy because better wool demands a higher price at market. And he increased goat-milk output. He’s done a lot in the region and he’s respected by everyone because of this.”

“Wow, I’d never have guessed. No wonder he’s the head elder.”

“Looks are deceiving.” Gavin watched the high clouds across the valley turn a dark pink as the sun set more deeply below the western mountains. “He’s carrying a lot of loads on his shoulders, Nike. Abbas takes his responsibilities as leader seriously. He’s got a lot of problems and few ways to resolve them. When I asked him about medical and health help from the Afghan government, he got angry. Over the years, he’s made many trips to the capital to urge them to bring out a health team every three months to these border villages, but he could never get them to agree to it. And Afghan people are superindependent. They really have a tough time looking at a centralized government to rule over them.”

“That’s awful that the politicians in Kabul wouldn’t help these people. Can you imagine that happening in the USA or Greece? There would be a helluva uprising.”

“Abbas doesn’t accept his government’s lack of care,” Gavin said. “When you realize Afghanistan is cobbled together out of about four hundred different clans or tribes, you can see why they wouldn’t place trust in a Kabul government. Our job is to try and persuade Abbas that his own government does want to work with him.”

“How are you going to convince him Kabul’s listening and willing to pitch in some medical help out here in the border area?”

“I told Abbas that the report I write up regarding our visit will be given to the health minister of the government. This minister is trying hard to change old, outdated policies. I pointed out to Abbas other border villages south of him already have intervention, supplies and funds on a routine schedule from Kabul.”

“Does he believe you?”

“No, but over time he will.”

“And you and your team will stay here four weeks?”

“Yes. From the satellite photos, we know that the Taliban uses the north end of this valley twice a month. We’ve set up to be here when they try to cross it a week from now.”

“And then what?” Nike grew afraid for Gavin and his team.

He shrugged. “Do what we’re good at—stopping them cold in their tracks and denying them access across this valley.”

“What will Abbas do?”

“I don’t know. He knows if we stop the Taliban from crossing, they could take revenge on this village. This is what Abbas is worried about.”

“He’s right about that.” Nike leaned against Gavin a little more. The dusk air had a real bite to it. His arms came around and bracketed her. For a moment, she questioned her silent body language. Why had she done this? Something primal drove her like a magnet to this military man. Fighting herself, Nike finally surrendered to the moment. She had been too long without a man in her life, and she was starved for male contact. Yet, what message did this send to Gavin? Was he reading her correctly or assuming? Unsure, Nike remained tense in his embrace.

“Comfy?” he teased quietly. Surprised by Nike’s unexpected move, Gavin hungrily savored her nearness. He had wrapped his arms around her but resisted pressing her tightly against himself. Right now, just the fact she’d allowed this kind of intimate contact was enough of a gift. Even though they sparred like fighters in a ring, he’d seen something in her gold eyes that he could never quite accurately read. Maybe this was the result of that smoldering look he’d seen banked in her expression. Only time and patience would tell.

“Yes, thank you.”

Gavin wasn’t about to do anything stupid. She had given herself to him in a way that he’d never entertained. Maybe it was the pink beauty of the clouds across the valley that had inspired her in this wonderful moment.

“What are you going to do here?” Nike asked.

“We know from satellite reconnaissance that the Taliban uses the north end of this valley at the new moon, when it’s darkest. We’ll be intercepting them if they try it next week.”

“There’s only ten of you. There could be a hundred or more fighters crossing that border and coming down into this valley.”

“Are you worried?” Gavin ventured.

“Any sane person would be.”

Laughing quietly, Gavin closed his eyes for a moment and simply absorbed the curves of Nike’s womanly body against him. What an unexpected reward. It was precious in his world of ongoing war and violence. A sweet reminder of peace, of love and nurturance. Something he hadn’t experienced for a long time. “You’re right,” he admitted. “But we look at it this way—our base camp where you’re assigned isn’t that far away. We have BJS here with Apache helos to help us out if we’re attacked. We know you gals will hightail it in our direction and drop the goods on the Taliban so we’ll survive to fight them another day.”

“I have never met such an optimist,” Nike said.

“I don’t like the other possibility. Do you?” Gavin asked. He watched the clouds reflect pinkish light across the valley. In the background, he could hear the bleating of sheep and goats from their pens within the village. At dusk, boys tending the herds brought them into the village to protect them against wild animals and roving Taliban. Both two- and four-legged predators were always hungry for village meat.

Feeling uneasy and caring too much for Gavin even though she didn’t want to, Nike said, “No, I don’t like the alternative. This is a dangerous mission.”

“Yeah, it is. We’re out in the wilderness and the bad guys are right over that mountain to the east of us.” He lifted his gloved hand to point at the darkened peaks. Bringing his hand down, he wrapped his arms around her once more. “Don’t worry, we know our job, Nike. We’ve already survived a year here.”

“And you’re on your second tour.”

Hearing the flatness in her tone, Gavin nodded. “We’re slowly making a difference. I’d give my right arm to find bin Laden. All of us would. It would change the tempo of this war against the terrorists.”

Nike understood army hunter-killer teams were all about finding terrorists and Taliban. “So, how are you feeling about this more peaceful assignment of working in this village as an ambassador of goodwill?”

“I like it.”

“But it takes you off the front lines.”

“Not really.” Gavin looked to the north of the village. Kerosene lamps were lit and the mud and stone homes that had windows glowed golden. He liked dusk, even though from a wartime perspective, it was a killing time, when the enemy sneaked up and took lives. “With General Chapman coming here to Afghanistan, the priority has shifted to focus on these boundary villages. If we can get these people to trust us, they will let us know when Taliban are coming through. The villagers could be our eyes and ears. If we can stop the Taliban’s advancement into this country, that’s a good thing for everyone. In the end, it will save a lot of lives.”

“I like your general’s philosophy.”

“So do I. If I could, I’d have world peace. As it is, there’s world war.”

Nike shook her head. “I grew up in a peaceful Greece.”

“And yet, Greece has had its fair share of revolutions, too.”

“Granted.” Nike observed the pinkish sky, now fading. Darkness began to encroach across the narrow valley. “I wish for the day when there are no more wars anywhere. No more killing. I’ve seen enough of it. All people want to do is live in peace and get on with their lives.”

“It’s the same here,” Gavin acknowledged. “Abbas was saying that all he wanted for his people was to be left alone to eke out their survival in this valley. He’s grown old before his time because of the Russians and now the Taliban intrusion.”

“Afghanistan needs decades of peaceful downtime,” Nike agreed. But there had been none for them.

A wonderful sense of happiness bubbled up within her but it warred with sadness at her loss of Antonio. Suddenly bothered by her proximity to Gavin, she frowned. “I don’t know what’s going on between us,” she admitted quietly.

Gavin gazed down at Nike. Even in the semidarkness he could see the worry register in her face. “Why try to decipher it? Why not just let it be natural and flow?”

Her stomach was filled with those butterflies. The only other man to make her feel this way had been Antonio. “It’s not that simple,” she told him.

“When I first saw you, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Most of all, I liked your gold eyes,” Gavin confided softly. “You have the look of a lioness.”

Her heart beat a little harder. Gavin was sincere. Or at least, he sounded sincere. That meant she had to take his compliment seriously. Antonio had been so much like him: a gentle warrior, a man of philosophy, of much greater depth and breadth than most men. “Thank you. My grandmother had the same color eyes. They run in the women of our family.”

“You’re feeling tense. Why?”

Nike pulled out of his arms and faced him. Oh, she didn’t want to do that, but if she remained in the protection of Gavin’s arms, she would lose all reason. Did this man realize the mesmerizing power he had over her? She searched his hooded blue eyes. The shadows of the night made his face dark and fierce-looking. “Look, I’ve got a lot of past history, Gavin, and I don’t want you to think the wrong things about us.”

Hearing the desperation in her tone, he nodded. “What happened to make you feel this way?”

It was the right question. Again, Nike squirmed inwardly. She’d talked to no one about the loss of her beloved Antonio nearly two years ago. Only Dallas, who had been executive officer of BJS in Peru, knew the full story. She had been her confidante, her healer up to a point. A heaviness settled into Nike’s chest and once more she felt old grief discharging from her wound. Opening her gloved hands, Nike said, “I fell in love with a Peruvian army officer whose job it was to locate and capture drug-runners.” The next words were so hard to say, but Nike felt driven to give Gavin the truth. “Antonio was an incredible person. He had graduated from Lima’s university in archaeology, but the men in his family all had served in the army. So he went in and I met him when he was a captain. He loved his country and he saw what the drug-running was doing to it. Without fail, he would volunteer for the most dangerous missions to eradicate the dealers.”

“He sounds like a fine man,” Gavin said. “Courageous.”

“Yes, well, that courage got him killed,” Nike bit out. Looking down at the dark, muddy ground, she added, “I told him that he was going to get killed if he kept it up. But he wouldn’t listen. And then…it happened. Two years ago.”

Gavin measured the look in her wounded eyes and heard the hurt in her husky voice. Reaching out, he placed his hand gently upon her drooping shoulders and whispered, “I’m sorry. He must have been one hell of a man to get your attention.”

Tiny ripples of heat radiated from where his hand had momentarily rested on her shoulder. Looking up, Nike searched Gavin’s narrowed, intense blue eyes and shook her head. “Listen, I learned the hard way—in our business if you fall in love with a military person, you’re going to lose him.”

“That’s not always true.”

“Yes, it is.”

Gavin heard the stubbornness in her tone. Looking into Nike’s eyes for some hint that it wasn’t the truth she really believed, he felt a sinking sensation in his gut. Something hopeful and newly born shattered in his chest. After all, he had been burned but good by Laurie Braverman a year ago. Gavin had sworn off military women for another reason. He hadn’t lost someone he loved to death. He had lost her because they simply could not compromise with one another.

“Maybe you just need time,” Gavin counseled gently, removing his hand. He ached to kiss Nike. The set of her full lips, the way the corners of her mouth were drawn in, told him the pain she still carried over the death of the Peruvian captain.

“No,” Nike said grimly, “time isn’t going to change my mind.” She stared up at him, her voice firm. “You need to know the truth. I shouldn’t have led you on. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not sorry at all, Nike. Look, we all need someone at some time.”

His mouth was so beautifully sculpted. Good thing he couldn’t read her mind. He had the lips of Apollo, the sun god. And wasn’t Gavin a bit of sunshine in her life? Nike didn’t want to admit that at all. But he was. All day, she’d longed to have a few quiet, uninterrupted moments with him. She was hungry to find out who he was, his depth and what mattered to him. Far more curious than she should be, Nike said, “I can’t need any man who is in the military, Gavin. Never again.”

Looking toward the village that was barely outlined by the dying light, the windows gleaming with a golden glow, Nike sighed. “You deserve to know the truth.”

“And I’m glad you trusted me with it.” Gavin smiled down at her upturned face. Her lips parted and almost pleaded to be touched by his mouth. “It’s a good first step, don’t you think?”

Seeing that gleam in his eyes, Nike knew Gavin wanted to kiss her. Yet, he hadn’t made a move. The tension swirled between them and her heart screamed for his kiss. Her past resurfaced, frightening her. If she surrendered to her desire for Gavin, she would be right back where she was before—heartbroken. “There are no other steps,” she warned him.

“I don’t believe that,” Gavin said, his voice a low growl. Reaching out, he took that step forward, his arms coming around her shoulders. Surprise flared in her golden eyes, her need of him very readable and yet, as he closed the distance, Gavin could see her fear. As he gently brought Nike against him he wondered if she would resist. If she did, he’d instantly release her, of course. Gavin didn’t want that to happen and he sensed she wanted him, too. He leaned down, searching, finding her parted lips.

The world exploded within Nike as her arms swept across his shoulders, his mouth capturing hers. It was a powerful kiss, yet gentle and welcoming. His lips were tentative and asking her to participate fully in the joy of connection. The moisture of his ragged breath flowed across her face. The whiskers of his beard were soft. Gavin’s mouth guided her and slid wetly across her opening lips. He cajoled, passing his tongue delicately across her lower lip. Instantly, Nike inhaled sharply as the throbbing sensation dove deeply down between her thighs.

He smelled of sweat, of wool and the sharp, clean mountain air. She reveled in his weather-hardened flesh against her cheek. His arms were cherishing and Nike surrendered as he swept her hard against his body. Their breaths mingled as they explored one another like hungry, greedy beggars. Well, wasn’t she? It had been two long years since she’d kissed a man. And how different Gavin’s kiss was! Nike tried not to compare him to Antonio. Gavin’s mouth wreaked fire from within her as his lips molded hotly with hers. One hand moved sinuously down the back of her jacket, following the curve of her back. His other hand held her close. Her nipples hardened instantly as he deepened their kiss.

Nike was starved! Her entire body trembled just as he reluctantly withdrew his mouth from her wet lips. Nike saw the glint of a hungry predator in his eyes as surely as it was mirrored in hers. Knees like Jell-O, Nike felt weak. Inwardly, her body glowed brightly and she yearned to know his touch upon her aching breasts, and how he would feel entering her.

All of these crazy sensations exploded through her now that they stood, watching each other in wonder. The night air was cold and their breath was like white clouds between them. Nike noted the satisfaction glittering in Gavin’s narrowed eyes. He held her gently and didn’t try to kiss her again.

“Now,” Gavin rasped, “let’s start all over. I’m me and you are you. I’m not the man from your past. I’m the one standing with you here in the present. Judging from the kiss, I think we have something to build upon. I’m a patient man, Nike. I wasn’t looking for a woman, but you walked into my life.” His hand against the small of her back tightened. “And I’m not about to let you walk out of my life.”

Chapter 5

Nike hadn’t slept well and was finishing up breakfast with Jameela and her three daughters. Chapatis, a thin pita bread, had been filled with vegetables and seasoned with curry. She had trouble focusing on food when she kept remembering Gavin’s kiss. It was completely unexpected—but welcome. Groaning inwardly, Nike remembered all her nightmares of Antonio’s death. He’d been shot to death in the jungles of Peru. She’d sworn never to fall in love with a military man again. Not ever.

So why had she kissed Gavin? Why did she still want him? Nike had seen the predatory look in his eyes. She could have easily brushed him off. Why hadn't she? First things first: stop thinking about it. Nike watched as the older daughters of the family cleared away the dishes and went to clean them in the kitchen.

Jameela was helping six-year-old Atefa wrap her leg, which had never had any surgical intervention. The little girl’s leg was missing below the knee. Jameela had her daughter lie on the rug as she carefully wrapped the red, angry-looking stump with soft cotton fabric. Once it was tied in place, Atefa sat up and took her handmade crutches.

“Have you sought help for your daughter’s missing leg?” Nike asked the mother.

“When it happened, we were shocked. My husband tried to get help from our government. He pleaded and begged a regional official to bring a doctor out here to help her,” Jameela responded.

Nike frowned. “I’m so sorry. Who planted those mines?”

With a grimace, Jameela whispered, “The Afghan army did, to stop the Taliban.”

Surprised, Nike blurted, “Why?”

“They hid them along the edges of our fields where we plow. They didn’t want Talibans coming in here.”

The whole conflict and mind-set of the Taliban didn’t make sense. As soldiers, they could only do their part and hope families would be saved. Nike had to get to work pronto. Getting up, she shrugged on her coat and put the red scarf in place around her head. It was 0700 and dawn crawled up on the horizon. A mechanic team would arrive this morning to try and assess what was wrong with her CH-47. Every minute on the ground kept the helo a target of the Taliban. She had to get out and relieve her load master so he could come to Abbas’s house and get breakfast.

“I’ll come back later,” Nike promised the woman. “Right now, I have to check my helicopter and relieve my sergeant.”

Jameela stood and nodded. “Of course.”

In the freezing cold of the spring morning, Nike hurried down the muddy, rutted street. The men were already busy. A donkey hauled a wooden cart filled with wood brought from the slopes of the nearby mountains. She saw no one from Gavin’s team, which was just as well. Right now, Nike couldn’t bear to see him. She was too confused about what happened between them, that part of her wanted it to happen again…

Andy was delighted to see her and climbed out of the CH-47. He rubbed his gloved hands to warm them up. Even though Nike had provided heavy bedding for him, she knew it was no fun to sleep in a helo in freezing weather. After motioning for him to hightail it to the awakening village for breakfast, Nike took over watch of the helicopter. He handed her the binoculars.

Around her, the valley awakened. The brownish-red haze above the village came from the many wood fires prodded to life to feed a family in each of the mud-brick and stone dwellings. Above, the sky was a pale blue and she could see the tips of the mountains illuminated as the sun peeked above them. When the first rays slanted over the narrow valley, Nike could feel the warmth caressing her.

Dogs barked off and on. It seemed as if everyone had a dog or two. She never saw any cats and wondered why. Her breath was white as she exhaled. This was a very cold place even in the spring. But then, they were at eight thousand feet, so what did she expect? Moving around the helicopter, which sat out on a flat, muddy area, Nike looked for movement below. There didn’t seem to be any, but she didn’t trust the naked eye. The binoculars around her neck were a better way to search for the enemy.

Standing behind the helo for protection against sniping, she scanned the slopes below her. Nike noted small herds of sheep and goats being prodded out of the village center and down to the green grass below. It was a tranquil scene. The sun’s emergence had already upped the temperature by several degrees. Several dogs herded the animals farther down into the flat of the valley floor. It all looked so peaceful.

By the time Andy had gotten back to resume his duties, Nike was more than eager to go back to Jameela’s home and grab another hot cup of the delicious and spicy chai tea. The woman had shared her secret recipe with Nike. Chai was individual to every family and Jameela’s was legendary among the villagers. With some gentle persuasion, Nike got Jameela to divulge her recipe. Chai consisted of strongly boiled tea with goat milk, a pinch of brown sugar, cardamom and nutmeg. Her mouth watered just thinking about it.

She gave Andy a welcoming smile. He grinned as he walked up to her.

“Nothing?” he asked.

“No.” Nike handed him the binoculars. “Keep watch. Captain Jackson was saying that the Taliban come through the northern end of this valley at the new moon, which is next week.”

“Under cover of darkness,” Andy said, placing the binoculars around his neck.

“Most likely, but you never know.”

“I wouldn’t know a Taliban from a villager. They all dress alike.”

Grimly Nike said, “The villagers know they cannot approach this helo. So, if someone does, you draw your pistol and assume it’s the enemy.”

“Yes, ma’am. I just hope no one approaches,” Andy said unhappily.

“I’ll ask one of Captain Jackson’s men to relieve you once an hour,” Nike responded with understanding.

“Thanks.” Andy looked up at the helo. “I’ll sure be glad to get out of here and back to base. I didn’t sleep hardly at all last night.”

“Neither did I.” Nike smiled a little. Looking at her watch she said, “The team’s supposed to arrive at 0800. That’s not long from now.”

“Can’t be too soon. I’m spoiled,” Andy said with a grin. “What I’d give for some bacon and eggs now. Not that the hot grain cereal wasn’t good. It was.”

Chuckling, Nike lifted her hand and walked back toward the village. Her heart thumped hard when suddenly she saw Gavin walking down the street, his rifle over his shoulder, looking as though he was hunting for someone. When he noticed her, his mouth lifted in a smile. He was the last person Nike wanted to see, but she couldn’t turn around and avoid him.

“Good morning,” Gavin called, catching the wariness in Nike’s narrowed gold eyes. Those lips he’d caressed yesterday were pursed with tension. Over their kiss? He wasn’t sure. Maybe she was upset over something else?

They met near the last mud-brick home. Both were aware that they might become targets and stepped into the alleyway between two homes for more protection. “I had sweet dreams,” he told her.

“I didn’t.”

The flatness of her voice startled him. “Sorry to hear that. Everything okay?” He hooked a thumb toward her helo. Maybe Nike was discouraged over the fact her bird was down.

Nothing was okay, but she couldn’t stand here discussing her personal stuff. Instead, she said, “You’ve seen Atefa? Abbas and Jameela’s little girl who lost a leg to a land mine?”

“Yes.”

“What are the chances of flying her and her mother out to Kabul to get some medical help with a prosthesis?”

Shrugging, Gavin said, “I could make some calls and find out.”

“I’d appreciate that. That kid lost her leg to a land mine. She needs some type of medical help. Why can’t the U.S. supply her with a prosthetic limb?”

Assuming Nike’s worries were over the little girl, Gavin relaxed. Several black curls peeked out the sides of the red scarf she wore around her head. Nike looked even more vibrant and breathtaking to him. “There’s no reason we can’t. I’ve already radioed Kabul to tell them to get a medical doctor out here in the next two weeks.”

“What about dental? A lot of people here have tooth problems,” Nike said. She was relieved to be talking business with Gavin.

“Good idea. I hadn’t gone that far with my plans for this village. Usually, it takes us a good three to four days to assess their health needs. Then I create a report and suggest a plan of action. After that, other medical or health teams are flown in to supplement the initial work we’re doing right now.”

“I see.” Nike wasn’t familiar with the tactics, but it sounded like a logical approach. “I think if you can help Atefa that it will go a long way to lessen Abbas’s distrust toward us.”

“Yeah, the old codger is definitely questioning everything we’re doing,” Gavin agreed quietly. “I’ll give a call this morning to the medical people in Kabul. Several American programs help children who have lost limbs to land mines.”

Warming to his concern, Nike tried not to look at his mouth. Memory of the kiss came back hot and sweet. Frowning, she said abruptly, “Look, what happened yesterday is in the past, Gavin. I don’t have time for any type of a relationship right now.”

Gavin heard the desperation in her husky tone and trod carefully. “It was a shock for me, too,” he admitted. “I came out of a relationship with a woman helicopter pilot about a year ago. I swore off military women.” He gave her an uneven grin. “Until you came along.”

Nike held up her hands. “Listen, I’m stopping this before it starts. I do not have room in my life.” His blue eyes became assessing and furrows gathered on his brow. He took the Afghan cap off, pushed fingers through his short, dark hair and settled the cap back down on his head.

“It’s not that easy, Nike. You know that.”

“It is that easy.” Feeling frantic, she couldn’t face the stubborn glint in his eyes. “One kiss doesn’t give you access to me or my life.”

“That’s true,” he murmured. Gavin knew if he could just bring her back into his arms, capture her mouth, he’d persuade her differently. That time would come. But now, she was too scared, too prone to push him away. He had to let her go…a little bit. “I’m a patient person. Let’s just take this a day at a time?”

“No.” Giving him a hard look, Nike said, “It’s over, Gavin. I’m sorry but I am not going to lose someone I love to a bullet. My heart just can’t handle it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I do,” he answered honestly, feeling bereft. In his heart he knew that whatever they had would be long-term. Looking into Nike’s eyes, however, he saw the fear and grief entwined. There was nothing he could do. Time to give up. “Wrong time and place.”

“Exactly.” Taking a step back, Nike said, “You’re a nice guy, Gavin. Maybe if we’d met a few years earlier…Oh, who knows? Just be safe, okay?”

As he watched Nike walk away, Gavin scowled. It felt as if someone had grabbed his heart and torn it out of his chest. Rubbing that sensitive area, he wondered how this beautiful Greek woman had captured him so easily. Gavin decided it was her personality. Nike had compassion for others, which his ex had lacked. Laurie had been out for herself and to hell with the rest of the world. By contrast, Gavin had seen Nike’s care for others, whether it was concern for her load master, the people of this village or even his team.

“Well, hell,” he muttered. Stepping out from between the homes, Gavin thought of the long day ahead. He was especially edgy because, according to headquarters, tonight was when the Taliban would start coming through the valley, and his mission would be to stop them dead in their tracks. Had the Taliban heard of their landing here, and were they coming in early instead? Ten men against a hundred of the enemy was not good odds. Gavin would not make the village a target. No, his team would take the fight with the Taliban elsewhere. He was glad of one thing: Nike would be out of here and safe. Her helo would be fixed and she’d be gone. That was important to Gavin.

* * *

Nike wanted to whoop for joy. She was sitting in the right-hand seat, her CH-47 idling along, both engines working once more. The mechanic team had arrived via Chinook and by noon, the damage to the front turbine was fixed. Andy, who was sitting in the copilot’s seat, grinned like an idiot, but she understood why.

With her helmet on, she spoke into the microphone set close to her lips. “Okay, we’re good to go. Did you contact Captain Jackson and let him know we were taking off?”

“Yes, ma’am, I did. He said for you to have a safe trip back to base.”

Relieved, Nike gave him a thumbs-up. To her right, the first Chinook was taking off. Above them, an Apache circled to ensure no enemy was close to the U.S. Army helicopters. It felt good to have that firepower and she could hardly wait to get back to civilization. Andy left the seat and walked to the rear. Once she took the helo skyward, the ramp would be lowered and he’d be sitting out on the hip with the machine gun, watching for possible Taliban attacks from below.

Even though the helo shook and shuddered around her, Nike loved the sensations. Strapping in and tightening her harness, she radioed to the other helos. Within a minute, the rotors were at takeoff speed. Just feeling the Chinook unstick from the surface made Nike feel good. She saw a number of women and children at the village’s edge watching in wonder. It was impossible to lift a hand and wave goodbye to them. One of her hands was on the cyclic, the other on the collective. Together, these kept the helicopter in stable, forward movement.

Most of all, Nike was relieved to leave Gavin behind. She felt guilty, but pushed all that aside. As the helo moved out over the green, narrow valley below, she followed the other Chinook at a safe distance. Within a minute, they’d begin their nap-of-the-earth flying, one hundred feet over the terrain in order to avoid being brought down by their enemy. Pursing her lips, Nike focused on the business at hand. For at least an hour, she wouldn’t have to think about Gavin. Or about his kiss that had rocked her world.

* * *

“Any word from that A team in Zor Barawul?” Nike asked the communications tech in the ops building. It was nearly midnight and Nike couldn’t sleep. She was worried about Gavin and his team interdicting the Taliban in the valley.

The woman shook her head. “Nothing—yet.”

“Okay, thanks,” Nike muttered. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her trousers and walked out of the small building. Above, the stars twinkled brightly, looking so close Nike could almost reach out and touch them. There wasn’t much light around the camp, which helped keep it hidden from the enemy. She had a small flashlight and used it to get to her tent.

Just being back on the roster and assigned an Apache helicopter made Nike feel better. At least she was off the workhorse helicopter list. Despite this, worry tinged her happiness. Five minutes didn’t go by without her thinking of Gavin or remembering the heated kiss they’d shared.

“Dammit,” she breathed softly. Why, oh why couldn’t she just let that kiss go? Stop remembering the strength of his arms around her? The pressure of his mouth caressing her lips as if she were some priceless object to be cherished?

Upon reaching her tent, she pulled the flap aside and then closed it. The warmth from the electric heater made all the difference in the world. Each of the twenty women Apache pilots got a small tent with a heater and a ply-board floor. The cot wasn’t much, but it was a helluva lot better than what she’d had at the village.

Because she was on duty for the next twenty-four hours, Nike remained in her clothes. She took off her armor and boots and laid them at the foot of her cot. She had to sleep, but how? She worried about Gavin and his team. Had they discovered the Taliban coming across the valley yet? Lying down, she brought her arm across her eyes. And then, in minutes, she fell asleep—a small blessing.

Chapter 6

“This week, you’re assigned to the CH-47,” Emma Trayhern-Cantrell, the XO, told Nike as they sat together at an ops table. “You’re going to be bringing in supplies to several boundary villages. And we’re short on copilots, so you’re flying without one.”

“Thanks,” she told her XO. Nike nodded and tried to hide her disappointment. For a week, she’d flown the aggressive Apache and done her fair share of firing off rockets and rounds to protect A teams up in the mountains hunting Taliban. Because she loved the adrenaline rush, it was tough to be relegated to a lumbering workhorse instead.

Her XO handed her the list of villages along with the supplies to go to them and the times of delivery. Emma Trayhern was all business. She had the red hair of a Valkyrie with large gray eyes and a soft mouth. She had her uncle Morgan Trayhern’s eyes. However, Nike already knew that this Trayhern child was no pushover even if her face spoke of openness and compassion. Emma was an Apache pilot and as tough as they came.

“I know you’re bummed. CHs don’t rock.” Emma tried to smile. “There’s always dirty work along with the rockin’ Apache. You’re just lucky enough to have skills in the CH-47.”

“Yeah,” Nike said grumpily, folding up the orders. “I wish they’d give us another Apache or two.”

Shaking her head, Emma said, “They’re stretched to the max over in Iraq. We get the leftovers. It sucks, but it is what it is.”

“I’m not so philosophical,” Nike said, rising. It was near dawn, a red ribbon on the eastern horizon outside the ops hut. Already, the air base was in full swing and with plenty of action.

“You hear anything about your guy? Captain Jackson?”

Giving Emma a frown, Nike said, “He’s not my guy. How did that rumor get started?”

Grinning, Emma folded up the huge map and left it on the ops table. “Blame your load master, Andy.”

“Blabbermouth,” Nike muttered.

“We were expecting the Taliban to go down through that valley near Zor Barawul, but they didn’t. I told Dallas that I thought someone from the village probably sneaked off to tell them the A team was in town, so they took another trail into the country.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Nike said. She put the paper into the thigh pocket of her dark green flight suit. “When I was there overnight, there was a lot of wariness toward Americans.”

“Well,” Emma said, “you’ll be delivering the last load of the day to them. If you get a chance, stay on the ground for an hour and find out what’s going on. I like to get eyes and ears out there on those villages. Dallas wants to keep a check on them and whether they get slammed by the Taliban.”

“Good idea.” Nike wasn’t too sure she wanted to spend an hour on the ground to visit with Gavin. She saw the curiosity in Emma’s eyes. “I’ll do my best.”

“Do it at each stop, Nike. We want you to talk to the leader of each team and get their latest assessment.”

It wasn’t a bad idea, Nike thought as she put on her black BJS baseball cap. “Okay, will do,” she promised. “This is going to be more like a milk run.”

Emma walked her to the door. “I hope you’re right. But be careful. Those four villages are not on our side. Yet.”

“Getting food, medical personnel and medicine in to them on a regular basis will help,” Nike said, opening the door. The crisp air was barely above freezing. Nike would be glad when June came. Everyone said it got warmer at the beginning of that month. In the mountains at eight thousand feet, a local gardener told her that there was less than a ninety-day growing period. This made gardening tough, which was why most people had goats, chickens, sheep and few vegetables. Certainly, fruit was scarce, too.

Clapping her on the shoulder, Emma reminded her, “Be careful out there. Dallas does not want to lose any of her pilots.”

Grinning, Nike gave her a mock salute and said, “Oh, not to worry, XO. We’re a tough bunch of women.” She decided to swing by the base exchange and picked up four boxes of dates and four pounds of candy for the kids. Dates were a delicacy usually eaten only at the time of Ramadan. Poor villages couldn’t afford such a wonderful fruit and Nike wanted to give it to the wife of the chief of each village. The meaning of her exchange would go far with the women of the village to cement a positive connection. And the children would love the sweets. That made her smile because the Afghan children were beautiful, so full of life and laughter.

* * *

Gavin was surprised as hell to see Nike walking toward him from the helicopter. She’d covered her short, shining dark curls with a black baseball cap. He grinned, feeling his heart open up.

“Hey,” he called, “this is a pleasant surprise.”

Her lips tingled in anticipation. Nike could see the happiness burning in his blue eyes as he approached her. While part of her wanted to rush into Gavin’s arms, she halted a good six feet from him, hands on her hips. “Just dropping off supplies, a doctor and dentist, and getting the lay of the land and giving Jameela a box of dates as a goodwill gesture.”

Gavin sensed her unease but kept his smile. “Dates. That’s a great idea.” He added, “I missed you.”

Though wildly flattered, Nike couldn’t get on a personal footing with him. Lucky for them, there was all kinds of activity around the unloading of the helo. A number of men carried the cardboard boxes into the village. The doctor and dentist were led into a group of awaiting men and boys. “My boss wants me to spend an hour with you getting a sense of how things are going at the village. She’s compiling an ongoing dialogue with the generals above her on where each village stands.”

Raising his brows, Gavin said, “You ladies are on top of things.” He gestured for her to follow him. “Come on, we’ll go to the team house, have some chai and chat.”

Nike did not want to be alone with Gavin. He was too damned masculine. She wished for the thousandth time her traitorous body would stop clamoring for another kiss from him. Her mind was in charge and no way could she get involved again. Ever. “Okay, but this is business, Captain.”

“No problem,” Gavin said smoothly.

Walking at his shoulder, a good twelve inches between them, Nike said, “You never got that attack you were expecting. I’m glad.”

Gavin dodged the muddy ruts made by the continuous donkey-cart traffic through the village. “Yeah, we’re relieved. But suspicious.” The sun had warmed the village and children played in the late afternoon. Dogs ran around barking and chasing one another. Women in burkas were here and there, but mostly, they moved the window curtains aside to stare at them walking by.

Nike saw a number of barefoot children with mud up to their knees. She smiled a little. They were tough little kids in her opinion and yet, so huggable. She started handing out the bag of candy she carried in her hand. In no time, every child in the village surrounded them. Nike made sure each child, no matter how little, got a handful of jellybeans. When it was gone, they disappeared with their treasures. She turned to Gavin. “I’m glad for you it’s been quiet around here. Why do you think that happened?”

Gavin nodded as they sauntered toward the stone home on the left. “We think the Taliban got tipped off by someone here in the village and they decided to take other paths into the country.”

“But that doesn’t guarantee anything for long,” Nike said.

“True, but we’re making progress. Abbas is softening his stance toward us. He’s still worried the Taliban will see him consorting with us. And I think someone in the village was scared to death of the same thing, intercepted the Taliban and told them to take another track. That way, it would look like this village was still helping the Taliban. It’s a real balancing act out here for Abbas.” Gavin halted and gestured to a large mud-brick home. “Here we are. Come on in. I’m ready for some hot chai.”

Inside, the hard-packed earth had been swept. Everything was clean and neat. The men’s equipment stood up against the walls in neat rows. There was a stove in the corner with plenty of wood, the tin chimney rising up and out of the roof. The windows were clean and sunlight made the room almost bright, if not cheerful.

“Have a seat,” Gavin said, taking off his hat and putting his rifle nearby. He shrugged out of the dark brown tunic and then removed his body armor. “Feels good to get out of this thing,” he muttered. “I live in it almost twenty-four hours a day.”

“Armor is the pits,” Nike agreed. She saw several small rugs and pillows near the stove. Taking a seat on one, she watched as Gavin went through the motions of putting water in a copper kettle and then sitting it on top of the stove. Her heart pined for his arms around her, his mouth cherishing her lips. For now, she fought her desire, crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap.

“If your CO wants to know about this village,” Gavin said, pulling a tin of loose tea off a shelf, “tell her that we’ve got about a twenty-percent pro-American base here now. The men are starting to open up to us.”

“Is that all?” Nike pulled out a notebook and a pen from her left pocket.

Gavin filled the tea strainer and gave her a one-raised-eyebrow look. “Is that all? It’s only been a week. I think that’s pretty amazing.”

Jotting it down, Nike said, “I’ve brought a medical doctor and a dentist and hygienist with me. That ought to encourage a little more loyalty.”

He poured hot water into two tin mugs and then dipped in the strainer filled with loose tea. “If we could gain loyalty like that, all we’d have to do is hand out money and buy them off.”

“I understand.”

“Honey?”

“Yes, please.” She watched as he poured goat’s milk into the mixture and pulled another tin from the shelf. He ladled out a teaspoonful of golden honey into each cup. Another tin contained a spice mixture and he put a pinch into the steaming chai. There was something solid and steady about Gavin. He had a confidence born from experience in the field. Everything he did had a sureness to it. Nike realized that he was the kind of leader anyone could trust completely. That was just another reason to like him way too much.

Gavin brought over the steaming mug. “Chai for two,” he teased. He set his cup on the ground and brought up a small gold rug and pillow, sitting opposite her. “And I know Jameela’s chai rocks, but she isn’t about to give her secret recipe to anyone.” He chuckled.

“She gave it to me. I loved staying at her home. At the base I keep trying different chai mixtures to duplicate it, but so far, no luck.” Nike sipped the delicious chai. “Hey, this isn’t bad, Jackson.” She tried to relax, but being so close to him made her squirm endlessly. Not to mention Gavin seemed even more handsome with his long-sleeved cotton shirt and brown Afghan trousers. His beard, as always, was meticulously shaped and trimmed. Even his hair was longer in order to emulate the Afghan men’s hairstyle. His skin was so suntanned he could easily have passed for an Afghani.

“So, did you miss me?” he inquired with a wicked grin.

Nike refused to meet his eyes. Her hands tightened imperceptibly around the tin mug. “I didn’t have time.”

“Pity,” Gavin teased. He saw how uncomfortable Nike had become. Yet, her cheeks reddened and there had to be a reason for it. “Well,” he said conversationally, “I sure missed you.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

“Why?”

“You know why, Gavin. I just can’t fall for another military man.”

“Oh, that’s right—you think I’ll die in combat.”

“There’s a damn good chance of that.”

“Well,” he pointed out, “look at you. You have an Apache strapped to your butt and you’re always a fair target for the Taliban, too.”

“That’s different.”

“How? A bullet is a bullet.”

“You’re infuriating. Were you on the debate team at your college?”

“Actually, a university. And yes, I was on the debate team for four years. I like arguing.” He flashed a smile even when revealing this nugget of truth.

“Of course you do.” Nike couldn’t help but smile back, all while trying to steady her racing heart. “Which university?”

“Princeton. Where did you get your degree?”

“The University of Athens.”

He gave her a warm look. “Congratulations.”

There was an uncomfortable pause and Nike could feel him warming up for some heady declaration. Why couldn’t this be a business meeting? Well, she knew why but just couldn’t face it.

Sipping his chai, he sighed. “I’ve dreamed about you every night. About our kiss.”

“That’s your problem.” Nike had to look away, until she realized she was being a coward.

“I don’t believe you mean that.” Gavin searched her narrowing gaze. “You’re scared, Nike. That doesn’t mean there isn’t something between us. I grant this is a lousy place to become aware of it. I’m interested in you for all the right reasons. And I know why you’re gun-shy. But can’t you give us a chance?”

His words were spoken so softly that Nike felt her heart bursting with need of him. This was a side to him she’d not been aware of until now. “I’ll bet you are a damned good used-car salesperson, too.”

Laughing heartily, Gavin finished off his chai, got to his feet and made a second cup for himself. “Thank you for the compliment. Frankly, I’d rather sell you on me.”

“I got that.” She sipped her chai and wanted to run away. The room became smaller and smaller and Nike felt trapped. Or maybe she was trapping herself.

“My team is coming back in a week to base camp,” he told her conversationally, sitting down once more. “We get two days off. I’d like to take you to Jalalabad, to a nice little restaurant I know about, and have dinner with you. How about it?”

“I don’t think so, Gavin.”

“Are you sure? I see some hesitation in your eyes.”

Setting the cup down next to her knee, Nike said, “I just can’t.”

Nodding, Gavin said nothing. His instincts were powerful and he knew she liked him. Just how much, he didn’t know. He’d tried to play fair and that hadn’t worked. Honesty wasn’t necessarily the best policy with Nike, who was jumpy and wary. While he understood her reasons, Gavin wasn’t about to back down. He watched as she drew out her notebook and pen once more.

“Ready for my village assessment?” he asked her. Instantly, he saw Nike’s face relax. So long as he remained on a professional, hands-off basis with her, she wasn’t distrusting.

“More than ready.” Nike looked at the watch on her wrist. “I have to lift off in thirty minutes.”

“No problem.” Gavin launched into the many details, names, events and places that he knew her CO would want. It was still an unadulterated pleasure to be with her. She was a feast for his eyes, balm for his heart and Gavin felt as if her presence pumped him full of life and hope again.

* * *

Nike just about ran out the door of the house when they were done. She did not want Gavin to trap and kiss her. If he ever kissed her again, she’d melt away in his arms, completely defenseless against his heated onslaught. Moving out into the late-afternoon sunshine, she saw that the shipment of boxes had been removed from the CH-47. Next, she visited Jameela at her home and gave her the box of dates. The woman nearly cried, threw her arms around Nike and hugged her.

“You are my sister,” Jameela whispered, wiping her eyes as she held the precious box of dates.

Feeling the warmth of true friendship, Nike reached out and squeezed her hand. “All women are sisters,” she told her with a grin.

Jameela nodded and understood exactly what Nike was saying. In this man’s world, ruled by men and where women were considered secondhand in every way, they needed to band together and support one another. “The next time you visit, you must have time to have chai with me,” Jameela said.

“Ah, I love your chai,” Nike said with a laugh. “And yes, if I get this mission again, I’ll ask my CO for a half hour more and we’ll sit and talk over chai.”

Bowing her head, Jameela’s eyes burned with warmth. “I would like that, my sister. Allah keep you safe.”

“Thank you,” Nike murmured, meaning it sincerely. “I can use all prayers.” She left the house and hurried down the muddy street. She wanted to do nothing more than get out of here and away from that man who drove her to distraction.

Nike ordered Andy into the helo to raise the ramp, and she settled into her right-hand seat. Just the act of putting on her helmet and running through the flight list before takeoff soothed her taut nerves. From time to time, Nike would give a quick glance out the window, looking for Gavin to show up. He had a way of quietly walking up to her so that she never heard him coming. Not today.

Within minutes, they were airborne. Some small part of her was disappointed that Gavin hadn’t come to see her lift off. Moving the heavy two-engine helo into the blue sky, Nike now had to focus on more important things—like surviving this flight back to base.

As she flew nap-of-the-earth throughout the region, she never took the same route twice. Consequently, the route through the mountains was always different and filled with unexpected new difficulties. Nike was glad for the challenge. It kept her mind—and her heart—off Gavin. Still, even as she flew, she wondered what would happen when he and his team came back to base for a two-day rest.

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