to go with all that sexual lightning.
Her gaze lifted to his. They stared at each other for a second that stretched out to infinity. Whoa. The moment snapped back into real time sharply, like a rubber band, with the same painful slap against his skin.
He tugged and all but launched her airborne into the plane.
“Crud, you’re strong,” she breathed under her breath.
He didn’t think she’d meant for him to hear it, but he replied, nonetheless. “All special operators have to be.”
“I’m the first to admit that no woman will ever be as strong as a guy at the top of his fitness game. Not even someone like me who’s ridiculously strong relative to most other women.”
“Then why put yourself through the misery?”
“Just because I won’t ever be as strong as a man doesn’t mean I’m not strong enough to do the job. Strength comes in many forms.”
She was right, of course, but he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of saying so. “Take a seat,” he ordered.
“No other passengers? This bird is just for me?” she asked.
He moved forward to a small cabinet behind the copilot’s seat. He dug out several bottles of water and tossed them one by one to Wilkes. She caught each easily. Good reflexes. That was something, at least.
“Major Torsten is in a hurry to get you out of here,” he replied as he moved back toward her.
She finished chugging a bottle of water, coming up for air and muttering, “Yeah, I got that memo.”
She sounded a shade bitter. Like it was dawning on her that she really was not going to be a Special Forces operator. He knew the feeling. And he was definitely bitter about it, too. He wasn’t about to accept the doctor’s final word that his knee would never be strong enough for him to operate on the teams again.
He’d transformed from a scrawny, picked-on kid into a hard-core warrior, hadn’t he? He could transform one lousy, busted knee into a joint strong enough to do the job. No way was he walking away from his brothers in arms. They were his family. His life. What would he do if he couldn’t be a special operator?
He dropped into the seat across the aisle from her, and Wilkes stopped slugging the second bottle of water to squeak, “What are you doing?”
“You heard the major. He told me to see to it you get where you’re going.”
He realized he was massaging his right leg, just above the knee, and jerked his hand away. No weakness. No pain. His knee was fine.
She snapped, “I’m not going AWOL just because Torsten tossed me out. I’m going to be pissed off for the next several decades, but I’m not going to throw some giant, career-destroying tantrum over it.”
He shrugged. “I’ve got my orders.” As the engines cranked up outside, he leaned his seat back, closed his eyes and settled in for a nap. If she knew what was good for her, she would do the same.
Nope. She was feeling chatty apparently, for she said, “Just how crappy an assignment is Torsten sending me to? Is this punishment for my daring to try for the Special Forces?”
The plane started to taxi. Without opening he eyes, he said shortly, “Operations 101—eat and sleep whenever you get a chance to do either.” Surely, she’d already learned that one. Didn’t she know anything? God almighty, this mission was going to suck worse than he’d thought. And he already thought it was going to suck pretty damned hard.
The plane accelerated down the runway, and he caught her surreptitiously wiping tears away from her cheeks as she stared out the window, her face averted from him. Aww, hell. Now he felt bad for her. And that was the one emotion he couldn’t afford where she was concerned.
Thankfully, she had no more inclination to talk. She reclined her seat and went unconscious in a matter of seconds. She had to be beat. He recalled his training as if it was yesterday, and saying it had been hell on earth would not be an exaggeration.
Of course, the real misery for her had just begun. Not that it was going to be any better for him. Someday, somehow, he would find a way to get even with Torsten for this.
Tessa jolted awake as the plane bumped onto a runway. It was dark outside the small window at her elbow. She was disoriented. Groggy. Airplane. Kicked out of the Special Forces pipeline. Orders from Torsten. A god sent along to deliver her to Phoenix.
She peered out the windows and saw the tall, black silhouettes of trees crowding an unlit runway. Trees? In Phoenix?
She’d been to Arizona before. It had been a thousand degrees outside, and all that grew in the sandy desert were rocks and cacti. She peered out her window again. Not only were those trees, they also looked like a mix of moisture-loving deciduous species and conifers. Totally not trees that would survive the hellish heat of summer in Arizona. And the air in the plane was muggy. Humidity in Phoenix often ran in the single digits. It was warm wherever they had landed, though. And the air smelled strongly of...plant decay.
She glanced over at Lambert. “Do you know where we are?”
“Yup.”
The man had the conversational skills of a caveman.
She waited for him to share, but nada. He just stared out his own window, jaw set and a grim expression on his face. “Well?” she demanded. “Where are we? This is obviously not Phoenix.”
“Are you always this impatient?” he asked laconically.
“Guess I am. I have this funny thing about liking to know, oh, what state I’m in.” One thing she knew for sure. This was not Arizona.
His lips twitched, but he didn’t deign to enlighten her. Apparently, he was as stubborn as his boss. Jackasses, both of ’em. Yeah, well, she could play that game, too. She’d be darned if she asked him any more questions.
The jet came to a full stop. Deep silence fell as the engines shut down. The copilot came back to open the clamshell hatch and lower the steps. She smiled flirtatiously at the young Air Force officer and asked him, “Could you please tell me where we are?”
He glanced up at her in surprise. “Louisiana.”
What on earth was there for her?
At least she’d caught what felt like a couple hours–long nap. If only she felt better after it. Not that anyone in the history of aviation had ever napped comfortably in an airplane seat. She hoisted herself out of the chair, every bit as stiff and agonized as she expected. Bent over in the low-ceilinged cabin, she hobbled to the exit.
She eyed the stairs warily. There were only four steps, yet that was enough to be problematic in her current state of pain. But no way was she going to ask Lambert, waiting impatiently at the bottom of the steps, for help. She made it down the first couple of steps, but her entire right leg cramped
