carry an EpiPen,” she said. “But I guess it wasn’t enough to stop the attack from progressing. I know I should’ve told you about my allergy, but I’m normally very careful around poison ivy. I haven’t had a reaction like this in over ten years.”
She remembered being fourteen years old, straining to breathe, as her father carried her to the car to rush her to the hospital.
“It’s lucky I found your EpiPen on the seat beside you,” he said. “Is there anything else I should know about you? Any other allergies or weaknesses?”
He dabbed the lotion onto the blisters on her forehead. She realized that she must be puffed up like a balloon, and she didn’t want him to see her this way.
“No, sir.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, sir.”
His gaze rested on hers as he attended to her wounds. He seemed to be searching her eyes for the truth. Could he see through the facade to the ugly reality that she had watched her father die before her very eyes? And that it was her fault. It was her greatest weakness, one that would stay with her for the rest of her life.
She remained silent as he soothed her soreness and washed up in the small sink in the corner.
“Where is Gomez?” she asked, thankful to change the subject.
“Gomez is here with us. We’ve conducted a debriefing session, trying to figure out what happened out there yesterday, but you may be able to shed more light on things. We just needed to get you strong again.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Let’s cut the formalities, shall we, Hanson? Call me Dean.”
“Yes, sir.”
She managed to laugh as weariness overcame her, and she couldn’t fight the sleep that closed her swollen eyelids yet again. She watched Dean’s face fade to a blur while she drifted into slumber, and she prayed that his life would not be in danger because of her weakness. As a sniper, she had guarded many lives, but no mission had ever made her feel this protective. She didn’t know why, but she somehow felt connected with Dean, and she needed to recover so she could take her place by his side.
* * *
Dean stayed a little while as Cara slept, wanting to be sure that her breathing was steady and strong. She looked small and vulnerable, lying under the heavy woolen blankets. Looking at her face made him think of his mom, her eyes puffy and red after crying through the night. He pulled up the corner of the blanket and laid it over Cara’s exposed shoulder, making sure she was warm and comfortable underneath. Even with her swollen features and crisscross scratches on her cheeks, she was still beautiful, and he didn’t want to tear his gaze away from her.
He couldn’t shake the feeling there was something she wasn’t telling him. He knew that look in her eyes. He’d seen it too many times before. It was a haunted look that lingered behind the eyes of many soldiers in Special Forces—a look that said a thousand things about war and death.
As he watched her sleep, he wondered what she had seen to give her that same look. He thought he knew about all her combat experience from reading her dossier. Unless, he wondered. This wasn’t something she’d seen in war.
* * *
Cara splashed cold water on her face from the white sink in the corner of her room. She was drained of energy, and she gripped the edge of the basin tightly to hold herself up. The sound of male voices drifted through the thin walls. Dean’s voice was instantly recognizable, low and rumbling. She shivered. She was cold. And she was hungry. She pulled a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her body, tucking it under her chin before opening the door of the bedroom and stepping out into the hall.
Her socks slid on the bare wooden floor as she padded down the hallway, heading for the light escaping from a crack under a door. As she approached, she heard the voices more clearly. Dean and Gomez were deep in conversation.
“All I’m saying is we have to be careful,” said Gomez. “None of us in Tenth Group ever met this woman before, and as soon as she gets assigned to our mission, we get set up. It’s quite a coincidence, don’t you think?”
“I don’t think Sergeant Hanson is a rat,” said Dean. She heard his chair scrape on the floor and the sound of his heavy footsteps on the wooden boards. She flattened her back against the wall, hiding in the shadows. She heard the faucet running and the click of a kettle. She breathed out.
“Hanson says she had a chance to take out the sniper who took a shot at you,” said Gomez. “Why’d she let him go, huh?”
“That wasn’t part of the mission objective, Gomez. She followed protocol. You can’t blame her for obeying the rules.”
“It just doesn’t add up, sir.”
“Sergeant Hanson is a good, loyal soldier. I don’t think we have any reason to mistrust her, but she certainly will compromise our situation. She’s not one of us. She’s infantry, not Special Forces, and we’ll have to keep her safe until we know what threat is out there. It’s a problem we could do without right now.”
Cara’s head fell to her chest. A problem?
“Can’t we just take her to the nearest base and leave her there?” asked Gomez.
“I need to know exactly what we’re dealing with before any of us goes back to base. Moore has already terminated Sergeant Hicks. He may have his sights set on taking us all out, especially as he’s got help on the inside.”
“So what do we do now?”
She heard Dean sigh heavily. “We find out who we can trust before we go back in. We can’t risk being set up again. I’ll make contact with Fort Carson tomorrow. For now, we keep Hanson safe and make sure she’s well enough to travel. I’ll go check on her.”
Cara froze in the hallway, eyes darting back and forth. She sprang forward and raced for her bedroom door, just managing to get her hand on the frame when the kitchen door opened, flooding the hallway with light.
“Hanson,” called Dean. “You’re awake.”
“Yes, sir.” She could not bring herself to call him by his first name. “I was just coming to find you.”
He held the door open wide. “Come sit with us. You need to eat.”
He ushered her toward the kitchen table, laden with used coffee cups and scribbled notes on pieces of paper. She sat, and a bowl of hot, chunky soup was placed in front of her. She ate eagerly, not bothering to look up or make conversation. She realized that she was famished.
When she had finished, Dean placed a mug of steaming coffee on the table and she warmed her hands on it, surprised at the way they trembled slightly.
Dean laid his hands on the table, palms down. He looked at her, unblinking, and she met his eyes, saying nothing, allowing the silence to sit uneasily between them. He seemed to be trying to read her emotions, but she did her best to give nothing away. The way he studied her face unnerved her, and she felt her guard slipping. He seemed rock solid and unshakeable, and in her debilitated state, she was irresistibly drawn to his strength. But it was a dangerous path
