turned his head to his left, where the remaining three team members lay spaced a good hundred feet apart. Sergeant Larry Shelton, a redheaded marine from the hills of Tennessee, was flattened against the earth, practically invisible. Craig couldn’t see Barker and Miles at all. When he gave the command, however, the other men would be contacted with a hand signal. Recons rarely spoke; everything was done with an advanced hand-signal alphabet.
The enemy squad was completely engrossed in placing wire across an old path and planting the mine. For a moment, Craig relaxed. The second hand on his watch was moving swiftly. In ten minutes, the helo would be over the landing zone to extract his team. Within five minutes, the enemy would hear the heavy whapping of the blades of the approaching aircraft. It was too much to hope they would turn back after planting the mine. As a practice, recons never followed paths made by the enemy—deadly offerings filled with punji sticks hidden beneath foliage and trip wires that could blow off a man’s leg or arm.
As Craig lay waiting, Susan Evans’s face suddenly loomed before him. He blinked, shocked by her appearance, and just as quickly, her image faded. Susan. Bittersweet memories welled up through Craig, catching him completely off guard. Where had she come from?
Craig wrestled with the unexpected memory. His heart was pounding in his chest, and as her serious, lovely face lingered in his mind, his throat constricted. Tears! With a muffled sound, he crushed his face against his hands. What the hell was going on? Her face shimmered once more behind his tightly shut eyelids. How could he ever forget her dark brown hair, which took on a reddish cast in the sunlight? Or her somber blue eyes, so innocent and wide as she looked up at him?
Opening his mouth with a silent cry, Craig felt a far worse pain than any injury he’d yet sustained in his work as a recon. He’d thought Susan was completely behind him. In the past. Lifting his head, he forced himself to concentrate on their dangerous predicament. Still, he couldn’t dislodge the sudden memory of Susan’s square features, classic nose, parted lips—and her searching eyes, which tore at his soul. He’d been such a fool. Why hadn’t he had more gumption? Been quicker to ask her out than his best friend, Steve, who had ended up marrying her?
The grief, the loneliness, cut through Craig like a knife. He lay on the hard ground, overwhelmed by his loss—because he’d never stopped loving Ensign Susan Evans. She had been his one-and-only sweetheart, and for the last four years, Craig had carried her memory in his heart. Suddenly he wondered if his time was up. Susan’s face had never appeared to him before in a situation like this. Was he going to die? Was the vision a premonition? Bitterness coated his mouth as he keyed his hearing between the sky, barely visible above them, and the banter of the enemy down the valley.
In the four years since he’d seen her, Craig admitted to himself, swallowing hard, he’d never forgotten Susan. They had met when he was a fourth-year cadet at Annapolis, when he had decided to become a marine officer instead of a navy officer. Steve Placer, his roommate and best friend, had fallen on some ice at the academy that winter, and Craig had helped him limp over to the hospital dispensary on the Annapolis grounds. Susan had been working as a nurse there and had helped the doctor wrap Steve’s badly sprained ankle.
Craig released a shaky breath as he forced himself to pay attention to the enemy. Still, his heart swung around to the past—to that first time he’d met Susan. She’d been shy around them, and Craig had been struck by her serious nature, her care and commitment to nursing. There was a vulnerability about Susan that beckoned to Craig. Although she had been thoroughly professional as Steve sat on the gurney and she wrapped his ankle in an Ace bandage, Craig had seen her cheeks flame red with the awareness that the two young men were studying her like starving wolves.
Steve, the extrovert, had managed to tease a small smile out of her, and Craig recalled sharply that as the corners of her wanton mouth had hesitantly curved upward, he’d felt a sheet of heat tunnel through him, one that had left him speechless in its wake. So Craig had stood stupidly by as Steve boldly hunted Susan, stalked her with his practiced charm and expertly maneuvered her into agreeing to go out with him at a later date when he didn’t have to be on crutches.
With a violent shake of his head, Craig tried to clear away the welling memories. He lay there feeling his heart throbbing in his chest—more than a symbolic reminder of the past that walked with him into the present. Angry at himself because he was an introvert, shy rather than bold like Steve, Craig had not pursued Susan. Instead, he’d become her friend and confidant. Once he’d plucked a springtime daffodil from one of the flower gardens at the academy—a decided risk in itself—and given it to her. The night before, she’d experienced the death of a plebe who had gotten into an accident, and he’d wanted to cheer her up somehow.
The sadness in Susan’s face had lifted, Craig remembered, and her face had glowed with joy as he’d given her the flower. He’d never forget how her slender fingers had wrapped around the stem. When she closed her eyes and raised the yellow daffodil to inhale its heady fragrance, Craig had breathed with her.
What the hell was happening? Craig angrily smashed the remnants of memories and ruthlessly suppressed his aching feelings of loss. He’d lost touch with her after the fateful night that she hadn’t met him at the restaurant for dinner. Susan had stood him up without explanation. The next morning Craig had shipped out for his first assignment after graduating from the academy, shattered. Through the grapevine shortly afterward, he’d heard that Steve had married Susan, and Craig’s anger over his inability to keep the woman of his dreams because he was too cautious ate away at him.
But it had been better to walk out of their lives—to never contact them again—because Craig had known he couldn’t control his wild emotions toward Susan. He’d never forget her one innocent kiss, her shyness, which matched his own. He’d never forget the incredible butterfly lightness of her fingertips as she’d touched his shaven cheek after he’d kissed her with all the fire and love he possessed in the depths of his soul.
It’s over, he told himself furiously. Over and done. Stop thinking of her! Was he going mad? Why would Susan’s face and those excruciating memories from four years ago suddenly pop up to haunt him now? Craig was breathing hard, opening his mouth so that the sound couldn’t be detected. Andy gave him a quizzical look, but he ignored the question in the young ma[chrine’s eyes. Pressing his brow against his hands, Craig closed his eyes momentarily. He was going to die; he was sure of it now. Craig had heard other marines tell him that just before a severe injury—a life-threatening situation—they had seen their lives run in review before their eyes.
A haunting ache filled him as he lifted his head. He gave the hand signal for his unit to move out, and they did so, without ever gaining the attention of the enemy squad below. They made it across the crest of the hill and waited tensely. Craig’s doglike hearing caught the first whap, whap, whap of helicopter blades, and his hands tightened around his rifle in anticipation. With a sharp signal, he put his men on alert. There was nothing they could do now except wait. But even if the enemy heard the engine, they could never get to them in time. Right now, his team was safe. Still, Craig couldn’t shake a cold shiver of unadulterated fear. What was going on?
As he slowly got to his knees, the foliage undisturbed, he bitterly accepted that he was going to die. It was an intense feeling, so overwhelming that he didn’t question it, although it seemed illogical. And it seemed the only explanation for Susan Evans’s sweet, haunting face to be hovering before him. That was the only thing Craig regretted: not marrying Susan, not being aggressive enough—as Steve had been—to step in between them. Steve had chased Susan because she was the quarry, had focused on getting her into his arms, his bed and making love to her. With his strict Idaho farm heritage, Craig had been brought up differently. He would never dream of chasing a woman just to bed her. No, love had to be the motive, not the thrill of the chase.
As Craig slowly eased upward, using the foliage as a barrier between
