Protecting His Own Page 3

  February 3: 0600

  Sam gathered her team on the landing pad next to where the Sea Stallion sat ready to go. The two marine pilots were already in the cockpit, going through pre-flight procedures before the blades started to turn. The airport was a noisy cacophony of screams, shrieks and whistles from fixed-wing aircraft, the thump, thump, thumps of rotorcraft. It was 0600. They were slated to take off in fifteen minutes.

  “Jonesy, have we got all the supplies on board?” she called to her corpsman, Jones Baker, a twenty-two-year-old African-American.

  “Yes, ma’am, we’re good to go!” Jonesy flipped her a thumbs-up.

  Sam smiled, noting the excitement and eagerness in Jonesy’s brown eyes. He was one of her best corpsmen, and had worked with her in E.R. for two years. Nothing rattled the Harlem, New York native. Nothing. He’d grown up on the city streets and knew how to survive anything. When things got hot, heavy and intense in E.R., Sam could always count on this young man to keep a cool head and calm presence.

  Though a gangly six foot tall, Jones had the hands of a concert pianist. Sam had talked to him early about taking premed classes at a nearby college, and had told him she felt he’d make a great doctor. Jonesy had taken her belief in him to heart. He was now in his second year, a straight-A student. When he wasn’t working in his navy functions, she’d always find him with a book open, studying relentlessly. Often he came to her with questions, and they’d discuss medical points and symptoms. The world needed more people like Jonesy—self-motivated, smart, and hungry to better themselves. Sam was glad he was along on this mission.

  “I’ve got all the IVs boxed up, Dr. Andrews,” Lieutenant Lin Shan announced, approaching the open cargo door of the helicopter, near where Sam stood.

  “Great, Lin. Think we’ve got enough?” She looked down at the surgical nurse, her right-hand woman in the operating room. Lin was Chinese-American, her parents having escaped from their own country under political duress. Born in San Francisco, the twenty-seven-year-old nurse was five foot two inches tall, thin as a reed and beautiful. Today, her dark, almond-shaped eyes shone with excitement. Like the rest of Sam’s team, Lin was dressed in dark blue slacks, a pale blue, long-sleeved shirt, a flak vest, mandatory protection for the upper body, and wearing a dark blue navy baseball cap with Camp Reed Hospital, USN, embroidered in gold across the front.

  “We’ve got three hundred IVs,” Lin said with a grin. “As many as the loadmaster would let me load on board. I tried to get more, but that would make us exceed the weight limit. The head guy told me if I wanted more, some of us would have to stay behind. I didn’t think you’d like that.”

  Sam nodded. “Not on this trip, at least,” she said with a laugh. “Good job, Lin. Go ahead and board. I’ll be in shortly.”

  Holding her clipboard in her hands, Sam looked around for her other cohorts. Corpswave Ernestine Larrazolo, whose parents came from Nicaragua, hurried around the chopper, an expectant look on her face. “You got all the dressings, antibiotics on board, Ernie?” Sam asked.

  “Yes, ma’am, all that they’d let me stow away on this bird.”

  Sam smiled. “I hear you, Ernie.” A corpswave first class, Ernie was priceless, in her opinion. She spoke Spanish, which was a big help, and she was quick and efficient in emergencies. Sam knew that Ernie didn’t want to leave her husband, Jose, and their two young children, but she understood the importance of this mission. Five foot three inches tall, with a stocky build, Ernie was not only strong physically, but had a big warm heart, as well. Sam had picked her for several reasons. Ernie had come out of the barrio of Los Angeles and knew the area and its people. Sam suspected that, on this mission, they’d run into many Hispanics who were in the States illegally. She wanted Ernie there as an interpreter as well as a nurturing mother figure. No one was a better mama in the E.R. than Ernie. She was able to put her chunky arms around a crying child, or settle her dark brown hands on a man in pain, and soothe child or adult with her touch and soft voice.

  “Climb on board,” Sam said as she checked off the supplies that Ernie had been responsible for getting on the helo.

  “You betcha.” Ernie eagerly clambered up the lip of the chopper, with a helping hand from Jonesy, and into the cargo bay.

  Sam smiled to herself as she signed off the supply sheet and handed it to the marine loadmaster, Sergeant Dunway. “Thanks,” she told him. It was cold, so she slipped her dark blue wool gloves back onto her chilly fingers. Cold was not something Sam liked. The morning was frosty, near freezing, she guessed, for she could see the white vapor coming out of her mouth as she spoke.

  “Thanks, ma’am,” Dunway said, tucking the order into the breast pocket of his desert-colored jacket. “This bird is loaded to the gum stumps.” He turned and looked at an approaching Humvee. “And if I don’t miss my guess, here’s the rest of the weight load—the Recon team.”

  Heart pounding briefly, Sam stood at the opening and watched the heavy vehicle approach at high speed. As it drew up to within thirty feet of the Sea Stallion, she could see Captain Roc Gunnison in the passenger seat—the last man on earth she ever wanted to work with. Lips tightening, Sam tried to gird herself as she stared at her through the window of the Humvee. There was no welcome in those hard eyes.

  Trying to appear nonchalant, which was tough for Sam, since she usually wore her emotions on her face, she watched as the door to the Hummer opened. Out stepped her nemesis, and her heart thumped again. Only not from dread. What was it, then? Stymied, Sam took a deep breath, studying his hard, unyielding profile as he turned and allowed his team to climb out.

  Roc Gunnison was thirty-two years old, a seasoned marine vet. Highly decorated, he had seen action, she understood, not only in Somalia, but in Kosovo. Lanky and broad shouldered, he appeared strong, capable and athletic in his desert cammos. There was something confident and sure about his every movement. His black hair was close cropped and barely visible beneath the helmet on his head. Those eagle-like blue eyes, the color of the Montana sky she’d been born under, always got to her. Once, as a teenager, she’d rescued a bald eagle that had been shot by a hunter, its wing broken, and had carried it back home to her father, who was a veterinarian. Sam had never forgotten the hours she’d spent watching that eagle recuperate in the huge, airy cage outside her father’s office. More than anything, she’d loved the way the eagle looked, the alertness in its eyes, which never missed a thing. Roc Gunnison had that same alert quality.

  As he swung his head in her direction, Sam’s heart thundered briefly. Their eyes met and locked. Frozen beneath his assessing gaze, Sam felt naked and vulnerable. Under any other circumstance, she’d find him handsome, with his square face and craggy, good looks made rugged by many hours out in the elements. Sam never liked pretty boys; instead, she was fascinated by faces of experience and character. Unfortunately, Gunnison’s face fit that profile. She found herself staring almost hungrily at him now. Remembering how revealing her face could be when she was entangled in an emotional situation, she did her best to keep her expression deadpan as his gazed raked over her.

  Maybe the chaos she felt inside was simply a result of the times. The events. The pressure of the crisis situation she had been living and working in, she thought, as he stared belligerently across the vehicle at her. She saw his mouth thin, the corners turning down as his black, thick brows drew into a V of obvious displeasure. A part of her knew that Gunnison had already formed an opinion about her, and he wasn’t happy with her presence on this mission. Why couldn’t he be more compassionate? More understanding? What had happened in the E.R. six months ago should be over and done with. Somehow, Sam had hoped for a less nasty reception from the captain. Obviously, he wasn’t one to let bygones be bygones. A part of her wanted to cry at that discovery.

  Roc couldn’t tear his gaze from Dr. Andrews. She stood near the helicopter in her U.S. Navy regulation clothing, her desert-colored flak jacket hiding the upper part of her five-foot-seven-inch frame. She was larg
e boned, and despite the mannish clothing she had to wear, he could see she was curvy. He glared at her, trying to let her know silently that he wasn’t going to brook any arguments on this mission. Eighty percent of all communication was on a nonverbal level, Roc knew. He hoped that by nailing her with a lethal, I’m-not-going-to-take-any-crap-from-you look, she’d get the message, loud and clear.

  The early morning breeze lifted some strands of her red hair, which gleamed with threads of gold. Her thick, shoulder-length locks, framed her oval face, the color emphasizing her large green eyes, which glittered with intelligence. Roc didn’t fool himself; this wasn’t just any woman. She was sharp and articulate, and could be lethal with that cutting mouth of hers. And speaking of mouths…He groaned inwardly. Why did Andrews have to have such a soft, full mouth? Now, as he stared at her across the distance, he saw her lips part slightly. That was his undoing, dammit. He didn’t want to like her, but he couldn’t help but admire her clean, fine-boned features. She looked like a Grecian statue he’d seen in Athens as a kid on a vacation with his well-to-do parents. And with that blanket of copper freckles dotting her high cheekbones and nose, she looked more like a teenager than a medical doctor.

  He scowled even more deeply. Andrews was not fashion-model pretty, but she had an arresting and interesting face, Roc had to admit. He saw the gentleness in her mouth, the bear-trap intelligence in those huge green eyes that gave away her every feeling. And that red hair was a warning to anyone not to cross her, because she was a warrior at heart.

  Snorting, Roc ordered his men into the helicopter. After thanking the driver for bringing them to the landing pad, he shut the door of the Humvee. Girding himself emotionally, he hefted his pack in his left hand, the M-16 in his right, and stepped around the vehicle. The hum of the Sea Stallion’s engine began. In a few minutes, the rotors would begin to turn. As he walked toward the helo, Roc saw Andrews still standing there, her gloved hands crossed in front of her body. He felt her tension, saw it in those huge green eyes.

  As he approached, she looked up, defiance clearly written on her face.

  “Nice to meet you again, Lieutenant,” he drawled, as he proceeded to toss his pack into the cargo bay of the helo.

  “Liar.”

  Stunned, Roc paused and turned to take a second look at her. “Excuse me?”

  Sam met and held his surprised gaze. “You’re a liar, Captain Gunnison. Don’t try and sweet-talk me, because it won’t work. I call a spade a spade.”

  So much for her soft mouth and eyes. Lips tightening, he stared at her. “Okay, Lieutenant, have it your way. I was just trying to be social.”

  “Yeah, right. I saw the look you gave me. It said it all. Fine. I know where I stand with you on this mission.” Sam could get away with being honest because everyone else was in the chopper, unable to hear them. She was glad to see she’d caught Gunnison off guard. She had to keep her wits about her so he wouldn’t box her in. She was just as much in charge of this mission as he was, and she wasn’t about to allow the Recon to intimidate her, as she knew he’d been trying to do with that frosty look he’d given her earlier.

  Facing the chopper, Roc hefted his pack up into the hands of his sergeant. Then he turned and, his hands on his hips, glared down at her. “We need to talk. But not here. And not now. Once we get to area 5, you and I are going to have a chat, out of earshot of everyone.”

  Giving him a cutting smile, Sam said, “Fine with me, Captain. But you might as well know now that you’re the last man on earth I’d ever want to have with me on a mission.”

  With that lob of a grenade, Sam brushed past him and leaped up into the cargo bay of the helicopter. She found her nylon seat against the bulkhead and sat down. Looking up, she watched as Gunnison, frowning now, climbed lithely into the hold and sat on the opposite side with his men. The loadmaster slid the door shut and it locked.

  Sam couldn’t steady her fluttering heart. She felt like she’d been in combat, adrenaline was pumping so hard through her veins. If Gunnison thought she was a weakling and he could run over her or intimidate her with just a look, he was badly mistaken. Judging from the frustration she saw on his face as he strapped in, Sam knew he’d gotten her message, loud and clear. She smiled to herself. This was her mission. People needed her and her team’s help. Gunnison was going to play second fiddle—or else.

  Chapter 3

  February 3: 0615

  Once they had taken off from Camp Reed and were en route to area 5, Roc decided to tip the balance of power between Dr. Andrews and himself. After taking off his helmet, he donned a headset, unstrapped his seat belt and stood up. Pinning her with his gaze, he walked across the shaking and rattling green metal deck. Her eyes widened as he reached up, his finger brushing her thick red hair and grabbed the set of earphones that hung nearby.

  She wore nothing on her head, so he simply took a step back and lowered the headset over her ears. The noise in the Sea Stallion was so bad no one could hear another without putting on the protective earphones that hooked them up to intercabin communication.

  “Get up,” he told her, “and follow me.”

  Stunned at his aggressive and unexpected move, Sam stood. Grabbing at the overhead nylon webbing for stability, she followed him as he walked, legs apart for balance, toward the cockpit. Her heart was hammering. The captain’s unexpected move toward her was a surprise. What was he up to? She’d seen him studying her from the other side of the helicopter, his eyes a flat blue color, intent upon her. Sam squirmed inwardly but she was damned if she was going to let him know how uncomfortable he made her feel. When his fingers had accidentally brushed her hair, she’d gasped. Contact with Gunnison wasn’t in the game as far as she was concerned. But at just the right moment, the helo had pitched slightly to port and he’d swayed forward, off balance for a moment. Nevertheless, her scalp tingled.

  Sam kept her distance as she followed Gunnison. Even in the cool morning air, there was some turbulence and the helicopter wasn’t all that stable beneath her booted feet. When he reached the open door to the cockpit, he jabbed a finger at the window near the dark green panel behind the pilot’s seat. “Get down on your hands and knees and look out that window,” Gunnison growled. “You need to get a gander of area 5 from the air. If you’re looking for possible sites and locations for your medevac models, it would help to see the terrain from up here first.”

  It made sense. Why hadn’t Sam thought of this? Stung by his foresight, his understanding of her mission, she gripped the nylon webbing tightly. She really didn’t want to get that close to Gunnison, but he stood with his back to the bulkhead, only inches from where she’d have to kneel to look out the window. Sam didn’t relish the idea. Dressed in his military camouflage gear, Gunnison appeared even larger and more intimidating than usual. The look on his face was grim.

  “Yeah…okay,” she muttered defiantly. She’d just started to step forward when the Sea Stallion pitched unexpectedly. Sam let out a little cry as she found herself knocked off her feet.

  Hands, strong and caring, grabbed for her. A second later she found her face pressed against Gunnison’s chest as he planted his feet far apart to take her full weight. Oh! The mortification of it all!

  Sam made a strangled sound and instantly pushed away from Gunnison’s chest. He was laughing at her; she saw his blue eyes gleaming with humor. His mouth, however, was still a thin, disapproving slash as he helped her regain her footing. His hand remained firmly on her arm as she quickly knelt down and gripped the metal bars on either side of the window for support and balance. She felt heat flooding her neck and face. Oh, God, she was blushing! Fortunately, Gunnison couldn’t see her schoolgirl reaction.

  Or so she hoped. As she looked out the window, her heart pounding, her pulse erratic, she felt his bulk settle directly behind her. Jerking her head to glance over her right shoulder, she saw him kneel down on one leg, his body barely an inch from her back. What was he doing? Intimidating her? She watched as he settled the mik
e of his headset close to his lips.

  “Look to your left. That’s area 5 coming up in a hurry.” Roc leaned over her right shoulder, his left hand brushing her hair again as he pointed. He felt her tense as he loomed over her. The slight turbulence of the helicopter kept both of them off-kilter. Every time the helicopter bobbled, he would accidentally brush her shoulder or back, though he’d immediately compensate and pull away.

  The look on her face was one of anger and frustration. Did she think he liked this any more than she did? That he was doing it on purpose? Was she going to be able to rise above personal dislike of him and focus on their real objective? Knowing that both their headsets were tuned to a private intercom channel, he said, “Look, Doc, settle down, will you? Focus on the objective, the sites. Take a look down there instead of staring at me like I’m attacking you.”

  Gasping again, Sam glared up at him. Then, jerking her attention to the yellow-brown earth five thousand feet below, she tried to steady her chaotic breathing. Gunnison was so damn male, and very intimidating. He knew it, too, the bastard. He was doing this on purpose. Sam could see the glimmer of laughter in his narrowed eyes as he snapped at her.

  “What am I looking at?” she demanded tightly.

  Roc pulled a folded map from a jacket pocket and passed it to her so she could study it.

  Sam gripped the dirty, well-used map. The chopper was bobbling again. She felt Gunnison tense behind her, straightening his left leg and bracing his boot against the bulkhead. To his credit, he was trying not to brush against her, but the turbulence made it impossible.

  His face was so close to hers as he leaned forward and traced his index finger over the map that Sam felt trapped. Suffocated. He was so tall, almost larger than life as he framed her body with his.

  She winced as he spoke. “This is area 5. There are a couple visual markers to indicate the boundaries, and I’ll point them out to you. Out there, at three o’clock, is a radio tower. See it?”