Down Range

“The biggest reason why we’re involved with them is that the Khyber Pass, between Pakistan and Afghanistan, occurs in their territory. They are the front door to all al Qaeda coming from Pakistan into their country. They’ve promised to give us intel, and they have. They are Pashtuns who live by a fifteen-hundred-year-old code where your word is your bond.”

Jake nodded. He slipped a glance over at Morgan. She had turned her chair, fully facing General Stevenson. Maybe he should, too? A sign of respect?

“Questions?” Stevenson demanded.

Jake said, “Ma’am, it’s my understanding, after being assigned to that region of the Hindu Kush, Sangar Khogani is a menace to everyone in the area.” Jake opened his hands. “The Shinwari call him the Phantom. He’s got two hundred men on horseback and literally strikes and hides in one of those thousands of caves in those mountains. This is the same man we’re talking about?”

Maya looked pleased. “Yes, it is, Lieutenant Ram­sey.”

Jake relaxed a little, the General’s smile easing some of his inner tension.

“But let’s move forward to three months ago. Turn to page ten. You’ll see a map.”

Jake turned to the map, instantly recognizing the village of Margha. It was the same one where he and his team had holed up to wait out a blizzard two years ago in December. Heat tunneled through him. It was the village where he’d unexpectedly met Morgan. They’d shared three days of incredible sex and intimacy. Until he’d opened his big mouth about women being weak and everything had gone to hell in a handbasket. Gulping, Jake didn’t dare look over at Morgan. She had to be thinking the same thing. Damned karma…

“Margha,” Maya said, jabbing her index finger at it, “had a hundred and fifty Shinwari men, women and children. All pro-American. Captain Boland was in that village along with an Army Special Forces team a year ago. They were there rendering medical aid to the populace for five days and were going to leave the next day. Khogani descended at dusk and attacked the village.” Her voice lowered. “The Special Forces team tried to protect the villagers, but it was eleven people against an estimated two hundred riders on horseback. Even they can’t buck odds like that. And it was impossible to bomb the village with a drone or fighter jet or they would end up killing the very people we were trying to protect from Khogani.”

Maya gestured toward Morgan. “Captain Boland had a couple of guns in that fight, Lieutenant Ramsey. What you don’t know is that the Special Forces team had to evacuate and hightail it to a rally point to be lifted out by the Night Stalkers MH-47 helicopter. Every person in that team was more or less wounded. So was Captain Boland. They fought until they ran out of ammunition, and only then did they run for their lives.”

Jake sucked in a quiet breath, twisting a look toward Morgan. She refused to look at him, her attention on her clasped hands in her lap. His heart squeezed with pain for her. Unconsciously, Jake rubbed his chest, remaining silent but wrestling with unexpected emotions about her being wounded.

“The next day,” Maya went on, “Captain Boland returned with reinforcements, but the damage had already been done. When Captain Boland landed with two SEAL teams and two Special Forces teams, they found a hundred and fifty people murdered.” Her voice lowered even more. “Khogani slaughtered innocent people because the elders of the village had refused to allow opium transport through their valley. This is why we’re initiating this op. We feel it’s best to send in a sniper team. And that’s the two of you. You will have time on target for as long as it takes. Snipers know how to stalk. And they know how to track and be patient in finding someone like Khogani. Questions?”

“This is a SEAL op?” Ramsey demanded.

Houston said, “Yes, but you’ll have any other military assets available you need via GPS satellite and/or radio communications. Camp Bravo, an FOB, has a squadron of Apaches on standby, a medevac squadron, the CIA is there with drones and so are a number of Special Forces teams. There are a number of Operation Shadow Warrior women combat operators who are already assigned to some of these teams.”

Jake asked, “Who’s my SEAL contact? Is he out of Camp Bravo or J-bad, Jalalabad?”

“Lieutenant Ramsey, let’s starting thinking plural here, shall we?” Maya met his startled look. “You said ‘my contact.’ It should have been our contact.”

Realizing his mistake, Jake nodded. “My apologies, ma’am. I meant our.”

Morgan almost felt sorry for Jake. He wasn’t about to back up on a General, man or woman. He’d backed up on her in many a furious argument about women being weak. She saw the banked anger and confusion in his eyes for a moment, but being a SEAL, he moved on to the next important item.

“Who’s running radio comms?” Jake asked.

“Captain Boland will,” Mike Houston said. “She’s taken SEAL schooling in every kind of communications gear you presently utilize.”

Relief sizzled through Jake, because that was not his specialty. “That’s good to know,” he murmured, lifting his gaze and meeting Morgan’s cool green eyes. He’d leafed through the report last night and seen her impressive list of training. If Morgan wasn’t in Afghanistan with black-ops teams, she was stateside getting more training. He respected her for that. And it could save their lives out in the field.

“You’re going to be working with Lieutenant-Commander Viera out of J-bad,” Houston said.

More relief showered through Jake. He might be forced to have a woman on this mission, but at least he had a solid SEAL officer supporting it. “Yes, sir. He’s the best.” And Julio Viera, or Vero, his nickname in the SEALs, was a badass Puerto Rican from the slums who had worked his way up through the ranks. He was a mustang, someone who started out as an enlisted person but eventually got to officer’s school. With a decade of experience behind him, Vero’s reputation in the community was as one of the best SEAL planners in the business. Vero would have their back, and Jake was grateful. His karma had just turned into dharma.

Houston looked at his watch. “You’re wheels up at 1100 from Andrews. You’ll be hopping a C-130 flight to Travis Air Force Base, California. From there, you’ll fly across the Pacific and get a hop on a C-5 heading for Hawaii. You’ll stay overnight at the Schofield Army barracks in Honolulu. The next morning, you’ll grab another C-5 flight heading into Bagram Air Base north of Kabul, Afghanistan. From there, you’ll meet Captain Khalid Shaheen, U.S. Army. He’s an Apache combat pilot, but works closely with the Black Jaguar Squadron out of Camp Bravo. He’ll fly you into J-bad. From there, the Night Stalkers will drop you into the valley where you’ll meet our ground asset, Reza.”

“Afghan local?” Jake wondered.

“He’s more than that.” Morgan spoke up, her quiet voice carrying emotion behind it. She quickly looked at General Houston, apology in her expression. She shouldn’t have interrupted a briefing.

“Go on,” Houston said, unruffled by her comment.

“Thank you, sir.” Morgan turned her attention to Jake. “Reza is a thirty-five-year-old Afghan from the Shinwari tribe. He’s worked with SEALs and Special Forces over the last seven years. He’s pro-American.” Her voice caught, and she cleared her throat, getting ahold of escaping emotions. When she spoke again, Morgan’s voice was husky. “Reza lived in the village of Margha that Khogani attacked. The only reason he lived was because he was out with another SEAL team twenty miles south of the village at the time it was attacked.”

“I see,” Jake murmured. But maybe he didn’t. He could have sworn he saw moisture come to Morgan’s eyes. For just a split second. Her lips, full and soft, twisted. He knew that gesture. She was trying to hide emotions. And when she tucked her lower lip between her teeth for a second, Jake knew there was a lot more to this story.

“Reza,” Morgan added, her voice low, “is the soul of Islamic kindness. He lives the Koran as it should be. He’s kind, gentle and helps others. He was beloved by everyone in Margha. He was responsible for bringing in the Special Forces and getting medical help for the children seven years ago.” Morgan blinked, pushing the tears away. She forced herself to go on. “He lost his wife and five children in the attack.” Bowing her head, she muttered, “I couldn’t even save one of his children….”

An unexpected lump formed in Jake’s throat. He swallowed a few times. There was pain mirrored in Morgan’s face, even though the wall of red hair hid most of her expression from him. This time, she wasn’t trying to hide anything in spite of the fact there were two Generals present. Her cheeks had gone pale.

Jake found himself wanting to reach out, touch Morgan’s tightly gripped hands on the table. But he remained still, buffeted by her grief. And that was probably how she ended up getting injured during the attack, trying to rescue Reza’s kids. She loved children with a passion.

Old memories began to rise in him. God, he had to contain them. He couldn’t afford to relive that two years back at the Academy when they’d been lovers. It had been a mixture of incredible happiness, brutal sorrow and serrating pain.

“War sucks,” Maya agreed in a quiet tone. “You did what you could. Sometimes, it’s not enough, Captain.”

Morgan nodded, blinking away unshed tears. “Yes, ma’am, you’re right.”

Jake saw the natural warmth between Maya Stevenson and Morgan. Clearly, they knew each other very well. For a moment, he wondered if the General was Morgan’s sponsor. Every young officer hoped that a higher-ranking officer would take them under their wing and give them opportunities other officers would never get. They were groomed for leadership and put on a fast track for higher rank and responsibility. Yes, he would bet his right hand Stevenson was her sponsor and mentor. “Any other questions?” Houston demanded.

“No, sir,” Morgan said.

“No, sir,” Jake said.

“Good hunting out there,” Maya told them, meaning it as she rose.

Both officers leaped to their feet, coming to attention.

“At ease,” Houston murmured, standing and placing two folders into his briefcase. The other two would go with the snipers. “Do yourself a favor and take advantage of the chow in the Pentagon cafeteria.” He smiled a little. “Pig out on hamburgers and French fries. Where you’re going, there won’t be any for a damn long time until you nail this son of a bitch. Stay safe out there.”

Morgan smiled at the tall, broad-shouldered General. “Thank you, sir. We will.”

“Makes two of us,” Jake said, standing aside to allow General Stevenson by him.

“Better load up on Butterfingers,” Maya called over her shoulder to Morgan as she left.

Morgan grinned, especially as Jake cocked his head. He knew her favorite candy was Butterfinger. For a moment, she felt happy. An emotion she hadn’t felt since… Morgan’s smile faded. She picked up her black leather purse and bucket hat. That spark of happiness died quickly in the wake of a wall of grief and loss. Her husband, SEAL Lieutenant Mark Evans, had been killed by Khogani five years earlier. She had two good reasons to hunt Khogani down, once and for all.

Jake gestured for her to leave the room first, his hand on the doorknob. His whole body responded when she managed a slight smile of thanks. Morgan’s face and those mesmerizing green eyes of hers radiated such intimate warmth. It was a peek into the real Morgan when she didn’t have to maintain officer and military decorum.

Morgan hesitated in the outer office where the secretary was busy. Jake was her sniper partner, and she should wait for him. A part of her wanted to run away as fast as she could. That was the wounded woman in her. The rest of her, the military officer, knew they needed time to go over the op, look at it, figure out the details, fill in any holes that could be found in it and get on the same page with the mission—together.

When Jake emerged, hat in hand, she felt a rush of heat blossom deep inside her. Startled by it, Morgan thought that two years would have ended their tempestuous on-again, off-again relationship. She pursed her lips as he walked up to her. It hadn’t.

Morgan could feel raw male energy radiating off him like invisible sunlight. Did he realize how damned charismatic and sexy he was? She didn’t think so. Jake’s whole life, his entire focus, was about his SEAL fraternity. He never wanted a serious personal relationship standing between him and his SEAL career. A roll in a bed was fine with him, but he was Mr. No Strings Attached. As she’d found out too late, in her third year at Annapolis. Jake Ramsey had devastated her, sheared her world in half and never looked back. Never apologized. She should know better. How many times had she fallen for him? Twice. Twice too many times.

“Ready to rock it out?” he asked her quietly, looking down into her eyes.

“Funny you should use that word,” she murmured, turning. It was a favorite SEAL saying when live fire or an attack was just about to be initiated against an enemy. “Let’s go chow down.”

Chapter Four

Jake sat opposite Morgan at one of the many lunch tables in the cafeteria. Most uniformed personnel who came in at this hour of the morning went for coffee, doughnuts or rolls. They sat with huge platters of hamburgers and French fries, plus a Pepsi on the side. Jet lag did wonders for the digestion.

“I don’t know where to start with you, Morgan,” Jake admitted.

“Makes two of us. I didn’t know you were selected for this mission, either. It was a shock.”

He watched her eat, and his lower body tightened, which didn’t make him happy. Taking a deep breath, he decided to ignore their history together. And there was plenty of time in the next two days to get clear on the op. “I’m sorry for what happened to you at that Afghan village. It had to be tough.”

The vibration of his voice, that whiskey tone of his, sent a keening ache through her. Morgan lifted her head and met his tender gray gaze. Jake was really trying to be humble and caring. On occasion he could be so damn warm and persuasive, moving her from ice to fire.

She gave him a hard look. “Let’s stick to business, Ramsey. It’s the only place I want to be with you. I don’t want to discuss that attack.” It was too painful for her. She’d break down in tears, something Jake had never seen her do. And Morgan wasn’t about to bare her soul to him in, of all places, the Pentagon cafeteria.

Jake sat back, his mouth tightening. His gray eyes going glacial as he stared into her stubborn-looking face. “This is business,” he ground out. “I didn’t know you were a sniper. When did you get your training?”

“Three years ago.”

“As part of Operation Shadow Warriors?” He searched, trying to piece her training. Oh, he’d read her résumé, but he wanted a hell of a lot more.

“Yes, ten of the women from Shadow Warriors were sent to SEAL sniper school. Five made it through.” Her heart fluttered, and she hated herself for wanting Jake. She could see through him like glass. He was twisting in the wind, not sure how to handle or approach her.

“Did either of your parents hunt?”

Mouth quirking, Morgan picked up a fry. “Since when did you ever want to know anything about my home life, Ramsey? Funny, you had a year at Annapolis to find out everything you ever wanted to know about me. But you never asked me once about my family.”

He winced.

Served him right. Would Jake ever grow up? He was twenty-nine, same age as her. And he had the personal irresponsibility of a fifteen-year-old hormone-driven teenager. Relationships meant nothing to him. She’d meant nothing to him outside of the bed. Even if Jake hadn’t grown up, Morgan had.

Holding up his hands, he rasped, “Look, that was a long time ago. I’ve changed.” He smarted beneath her accusations. Morgan didn’t know he’d married to settle down to raise a family.

“Really?” The word came out filled with derision.

“I’m waving a white flag. Can I surrender and we talk about the mission?” It was then Jake began to understand the depth of hurt he’d caused Morgan in the past. She couldn’t hide anything from him, no matter how hard she tried. Running his fingers through his short hair in frustration, Jake sat back, staring at her.

“A SEAL surrendering.” Morgan smiled a little, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Jake, you always say the right thing at the right time. The problem is, it doesn’t stick for long. You’re like the Velcro you use on your gear. Sticks when you want it to, rip if off when you no longer need it.”

“I’ve changed, Morgan.”

She heard an edge to his voice, his eyes going a slate-gray. That color meant he was emotionally upset about something. Her, most likely. Morgan took the last bite of the delicious hamburger and wiped her fingers on a nearby paper napkin. “You haven’t changed since I met you at Annapolis, Jake.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Well, I guess you’re going to have to find out differently on this op, then.” He paused for a moment. “Look, I don’t even know anything other than you’re a sniper. General Stevenson seems to think you’re very good at it.” He searched her hooded eyes. “Can we at least talk about that?”

“Sure,” she said, wadding up the napkin and dropping it on her plate. “Since becoming a qualified sniper, I’ve been out nine months out of every year with either SEAL or Special Forces teams in Afghanistan. I would be assigned when a team lost one of their two snipers and would take over that position as a straphanger.”

“You asked to go along? I’m trying to understand how this top secret Operation Shadow Warriors works.”

She sat back, arms across her chest. “I was asked to volunteer for it the second year I was assistant commanding officer of a Marine Corps company in Kandahar.”

Surprised, Jake’s brows rose. “You’d always wanted to fill a billet in a combat company.”

“Yes, and I got my wish.” Morgan hitched a shoulder. “In part, it was because I had four years of Pashtun language under my belt. My CO, Captain Davis, was desperate for anyone other than an Afghan terp, interpreter, he had to use to speak to the elders. He was trying to make serious headway with a number of villages, and he felt the interpreter was not giving him accurate info.”

“So, your minor in linguistics landed you in Kandahar?” he said, almost to himself.

“Yes. And when Davis found out I was a damn good executive officer for the company, he was a happy man. He gave me more and more responsibility. By the end of my first year I was running missions with the recon Marines. I’d rather be out in the field than in a stuffy tent at a hundred and ten degrees. At least outside, you can breathe in fresh, hot air instead.”

He smiled a little, nodding. “You always wanted combat.”

“I wanted a shot at what I knew I’d be good at, that’s all.”

“You must have been.”

“Davis gave me rave reports for my leadership ability. I had three months left in my second tour when I was invited to volunteer for Operation Shadow Warriors.”

“So, what does this operation do?”

“It takes volunteer officer or enlisted women who want to be in combat and they’re trained up for it. Then a woman is rotated into a SOF team, special operations forces.”

He shook his head. “You were with SEAL teams? I never heard anything about it.”

Morgan rolled her eyes. “You weren’t supposed to, Ramsey. It was, after all, top secret. The men in that platoon signed their lives away legally on paper to the Pentagon, never to breathe a word of it.”

“Well, it’s sure as hell worked.” He couldn’t help but look at her left hand. No wedding ring, though he didn’t expect to see one. People in combat never wore jewelry. It could get hung up on a rifle and screw things up in a damned hurry. This didn’t mean she wasn’t married. He couldn’t ask. Morgan was prickly with him anyway, and he couldn’t blame her. He didn’t deserve much respect for what he’d done to her. He’d been a first-class bastard. But damn, she was hotheaded, and when she got wound up, he felt overwhelmed by her intense, focused anger at him.

Morgan allowed her arms to drop to her sides. “My gear is in Hawaii, at the Army barracks. I want to use my sniper rifle on this mission.”

Jake nodded. In a sniper op, there was one sniper rifle shared by both snipers. The other team member always had another weapon on him—or her, in this case—to protect the sniper and play rearguard action if they were discovered. “Okay. I’ll take an M-4 with a grenade launcher on it with me.”

“Good choice. Grenades come in handy upon occasion.”

“Oh? You found that out?”

She grinned wickedly. “Yeah, but that’s a story for another day. I’ve got a SIG Sauer 9 mm pistol. I’m assuming you’re bringing yours along, too?”

His mouth dropped open, and just as quickly, he snapped it shut. “How in the hell did you get your hands on a SIG?” It was a special German pistol made only for active-duty SEALs. He saw her grow sad for a moment.

“It was a gift,” Morgan admitted in a voice riddled with barely held emotions. “The Commander in charge of the SEAL squadron approved the gift to be given to me. He said I’d earned it even though I wasn’t a SEAL.” Her voice dropped, a hint of sadness in it. “He said I was a SEAL by proxy.”

“That’s—” Jake struggled for words “—a hell of a gift.”

“It saved my life a few times. Every time it does, I write to the Commander and thank him all over again. He gets a chuckle out of it.”

Morgan had always wanted to head into danger. It was in her genes. Now, from what she was saying, and Jake did believe her, she was in combat most of the time. “Look, let’s get over to Andrews. I’ve got my gear in the Jeep, and I need to stow it on that Herky Jerky, a C-130, we’re taking at 1100.”

Nodding, Morgan pushed the chair away and stood. “I’m going back to the hotel and jumping in my SEAL work uniform and boots. I’ll meet you at Andrews at noon.”

“Sounds good,” Jake said, standing there, feeling a bit overwhelmed. She was a woman. And she carried a SIG. And she was working in SEAL teams! Damn, what was the world coming to?

Picking up his cover, he left the cafeteria. No doubt, a lot had happened to Morgan, and she was closedmouthed about it. If she was going to be his sniper partner, he needed to know a hell of a lot more, because right now, he didn’t trust her with his back in a firefight.

Morgan had taken the opportunity to sleep, no matter how noisy and loud the aircraft around her was. She’d hung up her hammock in the rear of the C-130 and dozed off. By the time they landed in Honolulu, Hawaii, it was late afternoon because of time-zone changes.

Jake had slept a lot but had also worked on his Toughbook laptop, which every SEAL officer carried with him. When Morgan awoke, she figured he was probably trying to check up on her, find out what she was made of. Jake had such little belief a woman could be strong, resourceful or half as smart as he was.

As they walked into the terminal and requisitioned a military vehicle to drive to the BOQ, he seemed deep in thought.

They located the dark olive-green car in the black asphalt parking lot; Morgan breathed in the warm, moist air. “I love Hawaii. It’s one of my favorite places on earth.”

Jake smiled a little, responding to her unexpected spontaneity. This was the Morgan he knew from his Annapolis days, and he wanted to see more of that side to her. But would she reveal herself? To do that she had to trust him. Not an easy issue to resolve in two days’ time. Not with their spotty record. “They’ve got a nice pool at the BOQ.”

“I want to grab my swimsuit out of my duffel bag and head for the beach.” She gave him a droll look. “You’re a SEAL. Water’s your home.”

“Is that an invite to come along?” His hopes rose. Maybe another six hours of sleep had put her in a better mood. The serious look on her face melted his heart. He wanted her so damn bad.

“Up to you. After all these flights, murderous jet lag, I need to move into Mom Ocean’s arms and just be.”