Page 62 of Lucky Charm
She’d been wavering on a decision since the mountains, and now – she was very much ready to go home. A relationship with two commands interfering was a bad idea – despite Jo’s positivity. An hour ago, she would have said meeting Hunt was one of the high points in her life, but now she was face-to-face with the reality of his profession for the second time – and feeling alone, scared, andvulnerable. Since she apparently couldn’t do sex without getting emotional, the decision was to give up the job or give up Hunt. Those months without him kept digging into sore places inside.
She had quit doubting herself a long time ago, but her solution identity issues focused on the professional where she knew her business. This sex/relationship stuff was for the birds, and when his profession slopped into hers, it got even messier. She couldn’t handle messy. She liked her ducks in a row. She liked knowing what she was doing from minute to minute. She was not a go-with-the-flow girl except when she needed to be flexible in the surgical theatre. What did that say about her? For the first time it occurred to her that the military gave her predictable structure. But it was also stifling her. She didn’t need a math degree to add that up.
She turned the page, ready to turn another and another and get this over with.
Black eyes stared at her. Her breath froze mid-chest rattling to a standstill.
The man from the kitchen!
The military-bearing man from the kitchen! She clamped her hand over her mouth. She wouldn’t scream it. She wouldn’t.
He’d been two feet from her. Two feet!
His eyes lasered off the page with bloody, violent intent. His body smell swamped her memory – the sensory reaction to harsh tobacco, wet animal, and man sweat made her gag.
She turned in the armless chair, bent her head between her knees to stop the spinning, and fought to keep the coffee, water, and her breakfast from coming up her throat. The burning, choppy roll of her stomach wouldn’t subside.
He’d left her standing. Alive. Why?
Every instinct had loudly screamed danger. So much so, she’d backed out of the kitchen to Carter.
Who? Who? Who?
She forced herself upright and searched for his name, hands shaking as she read the information. Her eyes blurred, and she swiped at both. They cleared.
Ibrahim Qurban Sadozai. IQS.
Gray hair. Yes. Dark brown eyes. Yes. Pakistani-Iraqi descent. Okay. Responsible for New Delhi, a U.S. Base in Iraq, Cairo, Syria, Turkey, and Oman bombing incidents not to mention killing fourteen U.S. servicemembers in separate incidents in Afghanistan. He’d killed hundreds for a vague ideology about hate. Number four on the Department of Defense Most Wanted List flashed before her rapidly reading eyes. Last sighted in Syria. Could be anywhere.
He wasn’t anywhere. He was here.
She had looked a terrorist in the eyes.
∞∞∞∞∞
Small fissures marred Hunt’s way over the rock-covered terrain. Bigger boulders didn’t help. Even a goat couldn’t get through here. Still, he’ddone enough rock climbing he could manage even though this wasn’t a vertical surface.
The thud from Carter’s jump sounded. Hunt slowed to calculate a path. He took another large step forward to the top of a flat rock.
“Holy smokes. Fall and you’ll be a shish kabob.” Carter stopped three paces behind him.
“Yep. Not today.” His gut twisted even as he said the words.
“How far is he from here?”
Hunt studied the terrain. “Twenty feet, I think, behind that outcrop.”
“Can we get through there?”
“Possibly.” Hunt stepped again, then again. Like crossing the creek back home. Carter stayed at his back.
Good thing.
Hunt slipped on the fourth sloped rock and went to his knee. Carter grabbed him from behind and kept him upright.
“Let’s not do any injuries, LT. Not here.”
“Copy that.” He stepped carefully to the path near the jog in the outcropping and slid around to the other side. The body was five yards in front of him. “Got him, Carter. Five yards.”
