Part 7 (1/2)

A step behind Rhys, Jamie hadn't yet achieved the position of attention because the ground now rolled like the deck of a s.h.i.+p in heavy seas. The scene before her started to recede, which annoyed her. She really wanted to see this part.

* 61 *

In what seemed to Jamie like slow motion, Rhys waved to the back of the truck. ”Hey, Moss, all three.” Moss tossed out a sixty-pound black box. ”Squad One,” he said without emotion. ”Squad Two,” he said as the second box thudded into the dirt. The third box landed at the chief instructor's feet, drawing a whistle from the man. ”Squad Three.”

Several seconds pa.s.sed. No one made a sound. Jamie had to blink a few times to keep her vision from going blurry.

Rhys cleared her throat again. ”Marine Scout/Sniper Cla.s.s Two-Eight-Zero-One has completed its Combat Opponent Confidence Exercise mission, Gunnery Sergeant.”

A boisterous cheer erupted from the rest of the cla.s.s, now bunched behind the chief instructor, who signaled for quiet. ”Escape?” he said.

”Yes, Gunnery Sergeant,” said Rhys. ”Also-” She signaled to Moss again, who jumped out of the truck and reached back in to tug at an object clearly heavier than sixty pounds. With one ma.s.sive hand, Moss pulled out a hogtied Pirate and carried him about five feet to the chief instructor.

As Moss let the man go, Rhys finished. ”We've captured an enemy combatant.”

The Pirate hit the dirt belly-first and grunted, inspiring another long, elated roar from Cla.s.s 2801. Moss dropped cross-legged to the ground, a serene smile on his handsome face as his eyes gradually closed. And then he was gone, engulfed in blackness. Everything was gone, except for Rhys's voice.

”Drama queen,” said Rhys, sounding to Jamie like she had moved to the far end of a long tunnel. And then she was gone, too.

* 62 *

Chapter seven.

proMise How'd you do it?”

Oh G.o.d, please no. How could the Pirates have gotten her back? Had the lockpick, the escape, all of it, been a dream?

Jamie's eyes flailed open to find a low-lit room and high-tech guardrails rising up on either side of her. Hospital. The relief was intoxicating. Really is over. Her eyes closed and she tried to relax into the comfort of a pillow behind her pounding head.

Yet every cell in her body shrilled. Oh jeezus, I saw an IV line...

Pharma. It burned cold where the needle violated her left hand and it roiled up her arm in a ruthless plunder of her strength, her reason, her will. What kind of s.h.i.+t are they pouring into me?

”Shush.” Rhys's voice, almost whispering. ”Gwynmorgan's still out.”

”Okay, okay.”

Fontana? But Jamie's eyes wouldn't open again. She was dizzy, she was sinking. She wanted to run, but her body didn't work, and in her head all the thoughts and images that ever formed there brawled chaotically with each other.

”So come on, Rhys. How'd you do it?” Fontana repeated.

”Gwynmorgan can pick locks.”

”No s.h.i.+t.”

No s.h.i.+t no s.h.i.+t no s.h.i.+t ricocheted across Jamie's brain until it coalesced into something she could hang on to. Gotta get that IV line out.

”I have a question for you,” said Rhys. ”Why didn't the Pirates release us with the rest of the cla.s.s?”

* 63 *

”Answer depends on who's talking. Latest version seems to be that you guys offered what they're calling 'a valuable training opportunity.'” Pause. ”But-”

”But what?”

Jamie's hands had been crawling toward each other. Now her right hand grabbed for the needle in her left. Pull it! When she did, the effect was immediate. Everything hurt more, everything became clearer, all the world calmed down.

”Well, by some remarkable coincidence, you were the only ones who paint-blanked any of their guys. Gwynmorgan got two, so did Moss. You and Arnoldt each nailed one.”

”f.u.c.k!” Rhys's voice pitched low and venomous.

”Word is they crossed way over the line. Messed with Moss and especially Gwynmorgan really bad. Worse than you and Arnoldt.”

”f.u.c.king a.s.safra.s.s,” Rhys said. ”That explains a few things.” Jamie liked the way Rhys sounded. Protective, maybe even a little possessive.

”Scuttleb.u.t.t's saying Karpinsky wilted double-time,” said Fontana.

”Word is he told them right off it was Gwynmorgan who gave the alert.

Told them she'd been out there for a while, and right after Moss hooked up with her the two of them must've seen something.” How'd you do it? So that's what they meant. Jamie shuddered against the recollection, against the escalating pain. But at least the world made sense.

”And here I was worrying we might've gotten a little too stungun-happy,” grumbled Rhys.

Fontana snorted. ”So, ready for the good news?”

”There's good news?” Rhys's tone dripped sarcasm.

”Karpinsky's been dropped on request. And the whole Reconnaissance Field Interrogation Training Program is under formal investigation-what they do, how they do it. Officers scrambling for cover, NCOs transferred. It's one big f.u.c.king scandalous jackup.”

”And n.o.body wants to fry our a.s.ses?”

”h.e.l.l no, Rhys.” Fontana chuckled. ”All four of you are in the Scout/Sniper Finish with bells on. You guys've given our bra.s.s one whomping gloat.”

v * 64 *

”G.o.d, woman, you're soaked. Must've been quite the downpour,” said Rhys when Jamie entered their room. Short hair wet and spiky from her shower, only a towel wrapped low around her waist, magnificent b.r.e.a.s.t.s glistening, Rhys stared. ”The price of going last, huh?” Jamie decided the best reply would be a minimal shrug, offered as she peeled her gaze off Rhys to lay her E112 sniper rifle in its designated position in the cabinet next to the door. She'd managed to avoid the thrall of those b.r.e.a.s.t.s and look right into Rhys's eyes. Even so, she couldn't figure out if Rhys knew yet.

Now she had two reasons to keep her back to Rhys: The temptation of Rhys's b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and she didn't want Rhys to ask about her day. Jamie started removing sodden gear and tried to ignore the trill of arousal set off by even this sidelong glimpse of Rhys unadorned. ”The op order's been revised,” she said to the wall. ”I'm teamed with Moss next. You got Arnoldt.”

”Yeah, I know,” Rhys lamented. ”Wish me luck.” Scout/Sniper Cla.s.s 2801-now twenty-six strong-had moved to dormitory-style barracks, two to a room. So for Jamie, fourteen-hour days were punctuated by vertiginous nights in the bunk right below Martina Rhys's. Night after night, she fell asleep imagining the galvanic power of Rhys's touch, dreamed of Rhys wrapped around her, only to wake pulsing and wet and impoverished.

At least the days offered no opportunities for such inventions; the members of Cla.s.s 2801 were far too busy.

Usually the pigs, as the instructors labeled all scout/sniper trainees, operated in teams of two and four, alternating as spotter and sniper. But on this day near the end of the first phase of their training, they'd each worked alone on very long distance targets in an evolution called the Known Distance Solitary Shoot. Rhys had gone second out of twenty-six and finished up hitting the black four out of five times at 1500 meters-a fine performance that Jamie, the last shooter of the day, heard about well before she got to the 1500-meter line.

Yet for all the compet.i.tiveness of Scout/Sniper School, Jamie didn't think about Rhys's shot as something to beat. Getting into the zone, into that immaculate bubble with an E112 sniper rifle served as its own reward.