Page 31 of Asher

“We know,” Judy quipped. “Now give me that beanie.”

Marlowe slapped her free hand firmly over the beanie Asher gave her. “Why?”

“Judy,” Kelsey warned.

“Nope. It goes,” Judy declared, holding her hand out as if she totally expected Marlowe to obey. “It’s part of the mask. It has to go. Hand it over, sister.”

“When she’s ready to let it go, she will,” Kelsey said firmly.

Judy shook her head. “That’s the thing.” She looked right into Marlowe’s soul. “You’re ready, aren’t you?”

Marlowe bit her bottom lip, unsure and afraid; trembling for nothing, darn it. Shewasbrave. She didn’t need a beanie to prove it, because she didn’t care what anyone thought of her. Not anyone. Except Asher. “Asher gave it to me.”

Kelsey’s brown eyes brimmed with what Marlowe recognized now as, not love, but understanding. And if Kelsey believed in her... Marlowe closed her eyes, clenched her teeth, and dragged the beanie off.

“There,” she snapped at Judy. “Are you happy now? I’m bald. Ugly. I had lice, damn it, so I shaved my head. I did what I had to do. I’m not rich and I’ll never be as beautiful as any of you.” She hadn’t intended to sound vindictive, but what was so wrong about a woman wearing a beanie? What was beauty anyway? Skin deep, that was all. Some of the world’s prettiest people were pigs at heart and some Taliban soldiers were handsome. But none had a problem punching a woman in the face.

“I’m sorry,” Judy said. There were tears in her eyes, and Libby was sniffling, but it was Kelsey who whispered, “We’ve got your six, little girl. You’re not alone now, and you’ll never be alone again.”

Something cracked open in her chest. It hurt. “It’s too hard. I can’t do this.”

“You already did, sweetheart,” Kelsey told her firmly. “The TEAM is a family, and you belong to us now. You are finally home. Let it out. We’re here, and we already love you.”

“I second the motion,” Judy whispered hoarsely.

Marlowe looked at them through tears. Libby was hugging Judy. Everyone was crying. Well, except for Grandpa Stewart. He was still in his wheelchair, sound asleep, and snoring.

“Here, here,” Libby murmured. “Motion approved. You’re stuck with us, Marlowe.”

Chapter Fifteen

On the flight from Germany to Incirlik Air Base, Asher used whatever time he wasn’t napping to study the files he’d saved on his tablet. He purposely avoided thinking of Marlowe. She’d be pissed when he got back, if she was still in America. He couldn’t blame her. He’d be pissed if he’d been left behind, too. But it’d sure be nice if she was happy to see him for a change. If she’d run to him and throw her arms around him like she cared.

He liked the feel of her in his arms, and he was dying to kiss her. Yes, his feelings for her were most likely leftover trauma from the horrific scene of finding her in that cave. Transference, that was all it was. The instantaneous emotional connection between female victims and male rescuers, and vice versa. Between female nurses and male patients, too. Some called it rescue romance. Sometimes it led to short-term relationships and one-night stands.

Asher ran a hand over his face. He didn’t do one-night stands, but if that was all Marlowe wanted, he might consider it. Just this once. She was a mixed-up mess, one minute pushing him away, then sending signals she was drawn to him. Wouldshacking up for one night be enough? He hoped not. One-night stands were dead-ends. They went nowhere, and he’d already been there. Was still there. Guess there was always Walter, the deaf pup that was afraid of his shadow. Maybe Walter would be the distraction Asher needed to stay sane when he went home and discovered Marlowe’d left him.

Asher turned toward the dark window across the way. He’d had a few girlfriends in high school, a couple more in college. None of them amounted to anything, but Marlowe was different. She was driven, and she stood for something. She should be proud of what she’d singlehandedly accomplished. And she was. Hell, he was proud of her. She’d rescued a total of twenty-one women in a matter of months. That equated to twenty-one happy families and dozens of rescued children who would never witness another bloody Taliban execution.

But could Marlowe ever give that up to be with him? Was he a big enough asshole to ask her to? Hell, no. Marlowe was perfect just the way she was, and maybe it was time he got used to the idea of letting her go. Of not wishing for things he had no right to want. Like the most beautiful woman in the world…

He scrubbed a hand over his face. Maps. He needed to study maps. Okay then. Tapping his tablet screen to wake it up, Asher got back to work. Sucking in a deep breath of forgetfulness, the first thing he noticed was the hostile, rugged terrain between al-Tanf and Ibrahim ah-Jamah’s mansion east of Damascus. Mostly desert with little arable land, it would’ve made better sense if he’d chosen a spot along the Mediterranean coast to lie low. He could afford it. Why hadn’t he?

Only a hundred and ten miles long, Syria’s coastline lay between Turkey to the north and Lebanon to the south. Surely Jamah was powerful enough and feared enough to access a more defensibleposition than a century-old mansion in the desert. Unless that mansion had strategic value. Did he know something Alex didn’t? As much as Asher studied his future trek through the desert, he couldn’t come up with a logical reason for Jamah’s suspected current location. There was no sense worrying. Eventually, time would tell.

Asher stowed his tablet and slept the rest of the way to Incirlik. There, they boarded an equally uncomfortable C-130 and flew onto Al-Asad Air Base in Iraq. Due to weather, the thirty-six-hour flight was now a forty-eight-hour endurance test. By the time they arrived in al-Tanf, Asher was sick of C-rations, bottled water, sitting on his ass, and still wondering about Marlowe. Was she healing? Was she staying? Would she leave without that little golden pup, the one she’d named Darling? Cute name. Beautiful owner. Better question: Would she leave without saying goodbye? He deserved it if she did. He’d done that to her and she was a titch vindictive.

Damn, he was screwed. Asher couldn’t do it. Forgetting Marlowe wasn’t in the cards. If he did nothing else when he got back to Virginia, he’d find her and he’d kiss her. Then, he’d know. He was sure of it. There was chemistry between them. He’d felt it and so had she. He had to try. God, he hoped she was waiting for him.

Once on the ground, the current commander of al-Tanf, USMC Sergeant Rodney Calhoun, met Alex as he deplaned. Words were exchanged, and of all things, Calhoun saluted Alex and Alex returned the salute. What was that about?

Alex waved for them to follow, and they spent the rest of the day showering, eating actual food, and just plain recovering. Asher made sure everyone, including his boss, took a pair of thesunglasses he’d brought with him. “Keep them with you. They’ll come in handy later,” he warned.

The good times ended at twenty-three hundred hours, when Alex sent a terse group text. “Gear up. Meet me in the mess tent. We depart at zero-dark-thirty.”

“Finally,” Tripp McClane grouched as he ran to catch up with Asher on their way to the meeting. They were both wearing midnight black jumpsuits, not the extensive gear HALO jumps required, which was fine by Asher. He preferred low altitude, low opening insertions. There was still a significant risk factor, but tethered to a slow dropping chute over any LZ made him an easier target. He wasn’t here to view the scenery midnight drops offered. The less time a man spent hanging helpless overhead, the better.

The mess tent was a plywood, two-by-four, canvas structure, with mess tables in rows down the center and a self-serve buffet area of now empty warming trays along one side. Alex sat at a corner table with Sergeant Calhoun, his back to the wall and watching. Asher and Tripp stowed their bags under the same table and took the opposite seats.

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