SPECIAL FORCES, DEADLY FORCES

Recruited for a top secret mission, elite sniper Sergeant Cara Hanson is determined to prove herself—as a female sharpshooter—to her commanding officer. But when the assignment goes horribly wrong, Captain Dean McGovern takes their team into hiding in a remote Wyoming cabin. Both fiercely protective, Cara and Dean work overtime to figure out who’s leaving notes and taking shots at them. Cara tries hard to resist the more-than-professional feelings she’s developing for Dean…and when their lives are on the line, it’ll take the soldier in her to keep them both alive.

“It’s not too late to change your mind,” Dean said. “I can turn around and head for Fort Carson.”

“Can you please stop offering me the chance to change my mind?” Cara said. “My place is here.” She almost added with you. But she didn’t want him getting the wrong idea.

She felt a growing closeness between them, but they were totally at odds with each other. His world was one of knights in shining armor and damsels in distress. It was a world that she didn’t belong in.

He glanced down at her with a solemn expression. “I wish you’d gone back to base,” he whispered, “but it means a lot knowing that you want to stay with your commanding officer.”

“I do,” she whispered back, “I need to stay with you.” She’d never been so sure of anything in her life. Her place was by Dean’s side whatever the storm ahead. She touched his forearm. “We’ll get through this. Don’t worry.”

His arm flexed beneath her touch and his body stiffened. “It’s not me I’m worried about.”

Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoyed reading my debut book. I had a great deal of fun writing it. I knew from the get-go that I wanted to write a story to conclude with the words I will lift up my eyes to the hills. From where shall my help come? The power of Psalm 121 is strong, speaking to all those who need reassurance that God’s protection is always enduring.

Both Dean and Cara are fierce protectors, striving to save each other from danger. They seemed like a good match, both determined to atone for past events and make the world a safer place. But ultimately, it is neither Dean’s physical strength nor Cara’s rifle that wins the best result in the end—it is the power of prayer. As Cara’s life hangs in the balance, Psalm 121 provides the inspiration that both Dean and Cara need to find their way back to each other. And, through prayer, he is able to guide her home.

Thank you for reading my story. I hope it will be the first of many, and I look forward to welcoming you as a reader again.

Elisabeth

ELISABETH REES

was raised in the idyllic Welsh town of Hay-on-Wye, which is famous for its vast array of secondhand book stores. She grew up as one of four sisters, the daughters of the local parish vicar, and she spent much of her childhood reading historical romance novels. A love of romantic fiction stayed with her through her adult life and, after pursuing a very unfulfilling career in information technology, Elisabeth decided to try her hand at writing romance herself. Something clicked into place, and she now writes full-time from her home in Carmarthenshire, West Wales, where she lives with her husband and two children.

Caught in the Crosshairs

Elisabeth Rees

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you profess your faith and are saved.

—Romans 10:10

To David, Lloyd and Alys—my wonderfully perfect family

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Cara Hanson lay in the cool grass and lined up the target in her crosshairs.

The target was moving, searching for her, but she was invisible. Like a cat stalking its prey, she kept her weapon trained on the movement in the undergrowth. This would be an easy shot. She curled her finger around the trigger and smiled as she squeezed.

She heard the man cry out as he felt the impact on his back, and a deep, red stain appeared on his jacket. She’d got him! A cry of triumph left her lips, and she rose from the bracken like a monster looming from a lair. Her ghillie suit was covered with camouflage netting, making it impossible to tell whether she was man, woman or yeti.

“Aw, man, these paintballs really sting.” A U.S. Army private crawled out from the thick bushes and clambered to his feet. He turned to Cara standing on the hillside and shouted, “How did you do that? I didn’t have a clue where you were.”

“And you never will,” she shouted back, laughing.

The private took off his jacket and laid it on the ground, shaking his head in amazement at the perfect shot, right between the shoulders, just below the head.

“Nice job,” he called. “Thanks for not taking the head shot.”

“It didn’t seem fair to fill your ears with paint,” she called back. “It never washes out.”

She knelt to the ground and removed her standard-issue M24 sniper rifle from its tripod, laying it on the grass beside her.

“Well-done, Sergeant Hanson,” said a voice in the distance. She looked up to see one of her commanding officers walking toward her. “Your accuracy never fails to astonish me.”

She rose to her feet, saluting as she did so. “Thank you, sir.”

“At ease, Sergeant.”

Colonel Carter Gantry approached her with an outstretched hand. She gave hers and he shook it warmly.

“Time for me to come clean, Sergeant,” he said, releasing her hand. “There’s a reason for this prolonged target practice today.”

The colonel extended his hand toward a tall, dark figure in the distance. She’d noticed him watching the hills while she carried out her shooting exercises; saw him continuously scanning the mountainside with binoculars, hoping to search her out. This type of training drill usually employed the use of two spotters. Colonel Gantry had taken the elevated position, but she had not recognized the second spotter on the ground. Turned out, she was about to meet him. He began to walk toward her, and she took the opportunity to observe him, noting his wide shoulders and smooth, confident stride. He was wearing black combat pants and a black T-shirt. The fabric of the shirt stretched against the muscles on his arms, and she suddenly felt diminutive in his presence. His face was weathered; he obviously spent a great deal of time outdoors, and the dark stubble added to his rugged exterior. She squinted against the sun. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she could just make out dark curls extending beneath his green cap. She recognized the beret instantly. This was no ordinary soldier. Only a Special Forces soldier was permitted to wear the distinctive green beret.

“Sergeant Cara Hanson,” said Colonel Gantry, as the mysterious man came into plain view, “I would like you to meet Captain Dean McGovern.”

Cara brought her hand up in another salute, as she always did when facing a senior officer. The captain saluted and she stood at ease. She instantly felt uncomfortable when he began to look her up and down with an expression of surprise on his face. Her skin prickled with heat, and tiny beads of sweat ran down her back. She saw his deep, brown eyes assessing her, crinkles appearing at the edges as they caught the sun’s glare.

He turned to Colonel Gantry. “This is the sniper I’ve been watching all day?”

The colonel laughed. “Don’t let appearances deceive you, Captain McGovern. Sergeant Hanson may not look fierce but, as you’ve witnessed today, she could take you down with a clean shot any day of the week.”

The captain rubbed his face with his hands. He led the colonel a few paces away from Cara and lowered his voice. “She isn’t exactly what I was expecting.” He cast a backward glance at her. “Special Ops isn’t for the fainthearted. I need to be totally sure of her mental toughness.”

The colonel put his hand on the captain’s shoulder. “Dean, I’ve been asked to provide you with the absolute best sniper that the U.S. military has at its disposal. Sergeant Cara Hanson is that sniper. Don’t underestimate her. She’s one tough cookie.”

Cara remained standing at ease on the hillside, her knees buried in thick shrubbery. She had experienced this same kind of reaction many times since joining the army seven years ago. She was petite in stature with small, elfinlike features and she knew that she didn’t strike an imposing figure among the other soldiers of her Bobcats regiment. After all, no one was scared of a woman who looked like a Disney princess. But when she stalked her prey through the lens of her rifle, she felt as tough as any of her male colleagues.

The two men approached her. Captain McGovern’s face was unreadable as he came to stand directly in front of her, his vast shoulders casting an enormous shadow on the grass. She couldn’t help but steal a glance at his face. She saw that his nose was crooked, broken at some point, maybe more than once. His gaze rested upon hers for the tiniest of moments, and she gave a small shiver at the intensity behind his eyes.

“Sergeant,” he began, “U.S. Special Forces have been given credible information regarding an illegal weapons drop due to take place in a region not far from here. The weapons are destined for a major terrorist organization, who will use them to launch an imminent attack on U.S. soil. We must take out their main man. And fast. We need a sniper who can deliver.” He brought his face inches from hers. His breath was sweet and warm. “You only get one shot.”

She gave a small nod of the head. “Understood, sir.”

A hint of a smile passed his lips. “You up to the job?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

He took a step backward and gave her one final look up and down.

“Report to B wing, Fort Carson, tomorrow, 0900 hours. Tell them you’re assigned to Operation Triton. Don’t be late.”

“Yes, sir.”

She saluted, but he had already turned to stride back down the hill.

Colonel Gantry smiled at her. “Trust me, Sergeant. His bark is a lot worse than his bite.”

* * *

Dean paced the briefing room where his men would soon assemble. Correction, he said in his head, men and woman. He opened Sergeant Hanson’s personnel file on the desk, despite having read it several times already. His admiration for her had increased considerably on reading that she had successfully taken out a suicide bomber in Baghdad, saving the lives of hundreds of civilians—an act for which she received the Army Commendation Medal.

He had been taken aback the previous day, seeing her skills for himself, the way she was so patient, waiting for the target to appear, her discipline in lying low, never once giving away her position. He had to admit that it was an impressive display of exquisite marksmanship. If only she wasn’t a woman, he couldn’t help thinking. He had no objection to women serving in the military; he just wasn’t sure of his own ability to serve alongside them. His instinct was to protect women and shield them from danger. It was something he’d done during his entire teenage years, having continually guarded his mother and sister from his violent bully of a father. As he grew into a strong, muscled young man, he was able to use his own power to counteract that of his father’s, but the image of his mother and sister cowering from yet another of his dad’s drunken rages had been burned into his mind. By the time he was sixteen, he’d developed such a strong protective instinct that he knew his path lay in the military, serving those who needed defending the most. To wear the green beret was his one true desire, the ultimate symbol of male strength and prowess. Sergeant Hanson may be the best sniper for this job but, in his world, it was men who provided the safe havens. And the one person he wanted to place at the center of his safe haven at that moment was Cara Hanson herself. She had awakened feelings that he would need to guard against.

A knock on the open door broke through his thoughts. He closed the file and pushed it to one side, along with his feelings.

Cara Hanson stood in the doorway, her bright blue eyes staring straight ahead as she saluted.

“Sergeant Hanson, reporting for duty, sir.”

He flicked his eyes over her body, which appeared even smaller in stature than the previous day. She looked very different without the ghillie suit and was wearing standard-issue fatigues. He was now able to see her face in its fullness, sun kissed and healthy. Her shiny blond hair was neatly tied in a ponytail, highlighting her high cheekbones and Cupid’s-bow mouth. As a deep, primal emotion stirred within him, he wondered if he had made a grave mistake in allowing her to enter his perfectly ordered domain.

“At ease, Sergeant. Come in, take a seat.”

Two more soldiers entered the room, and Dean rose purposefully.

“Sergeant Hanson, I would like you to meet Sergeants Gomez and Hicks. We’ll be operating as a four-man team for this mission.” He looked toward the two male sergeants, who were exchanging looks of surprise while shaking Cara’s hand.

“Sergeant Hanson has been granted special dispensation to serve, on a one-off basis, as a combat sniper for this mission,” he explained.

Female operatives were a rare species in Special Forces and he knew she would be regarded with curiosity. Even he was curious about her but he knew that, within forty-eight hours, she would be back in her regiment and out of his life. Keep it professional. Don’t get too involved. That was his mantra.

The soldiers took their seats, and Dean handed them a photograph of a man wearing the same distinctive green beret as each of the men in the room.

“This,” he said, “is your target.”

He heard a collective gasp from the room.

He raised his eyes to his team. “This is Major Christopher Moore from Tenth Special Forces Group. Twelve months ago, he infiltrated a terrorist cell in Ohio with the intention of supplying information back to the U.S. Government regarding intended targets. Six months ago he went rogue and disappeared from our radar. Intelligence has confirmed that he’s turned against us and is now assisting the cell, helping them purchase illegal weapons and bomb-making equipment. In short, he’s gone to the Dark Side.”

Sergeant Hicks raised his hand. “How do we know this for certain, sir?”

“The terrorist cell in Ohio was raided three months ago by the military. Secret documents recovered there confirmed our worst fears. They state that Major Moore revealed himself as a spy and pledged his allegiance to the group.” Dean walked to the desk at the front of the small, windowless room and placed the photograph on it. His shoulders dropped. “Major Moore used to be my commanding officer. We trained together. I would never have believed he could turn his back on the Green Berets, but there is no place for sentiment in this mission. He is a very dangerous and wily enemy. We’ve been trying to track him ever since the raid in Ohio, and we finally have our shot at taking him out.”

Cara raised her hand.

“Yes, sergeant,” he responded.

“Is termination the only option here?” she asked. “Could we not take him into custody?”

Dean sighed heavily. “Sergeant, if that was an option I would take it. Major Moore is a highly trained Special Forces soldier and won’t come in without a fight. We know he’ll be taking part in a weapons-smuggling operation tomorrow in the Four Corners region. These weapons are seriously powerful, capable of killing hundreds in one deadly swoop. We can’t risk his escape. I’m afraid we have no choice.”

He felt his chest tighten, and his heart heaved. He straightened his back. “It’s always difficult when faced with a soldier who’s turned his back on his country, but this man is no longer on our side. He is no longer a patriot. He is a terrorist, so let’s put personal feelings to one side.”

Easier said than done, he thought. Major Chris Moore had been his loyal friend as well as his commanding officer. He’d thought Chris was a man of honor, a man of integrity, a man of faith. But he’d been wrong, wrong to believe that God’s plan would spare him the pain of facing his best friend as an enemy in combat. After months of prayer, he’d eventually reasoned that God had turned His back on him, and he would need to trust in his own judgment rather than wait for a Heavenly answer that would never come. He turned to his soldiers and drew a deep breath.

“We reconvene at 0600 tomorrow morning for Q&A. Read your brief, get some rest and prepare your minds.”

His eyes scanned the three soldiers and came to rest on Cara. He watched her for a few seconds as she studied the photograph intently, her face betraying a sadness that she’d successfully locked tightly away from view. Her face was open, readable and it momentarily mesmerized him. She looked up and caught his eyes upon her, and he felt her gaze penetrating his shell to the tortured core within. He quickly looked away and walked purposefully from the room, creating a draft that caught the loose strands of hair falling around her cheeks.

Glancing back from the doorway, he wondered what thoughts were going through her head. They were revealed to him when he saw her finger trace the smile of the young soldier in the photograph, before she hung her head to her chest. In that moment he felt a kinship with her that he’d never experienced before.

* * *

Cara steadied her hands as she pulled camouflage netting over the small army jeep. She was nervous, more nervous than she had ever been. She reached into the neckline of her suit and took out the silver cross which she wore around her neck. She held it in her fingers for just a second before tucking it securely back inside.

“Sergeant, it was clear on the briefing that no form of jewelry is permitted on this mission. Dog tags only.”

She looked over to Captain McGovern, who was staring at her sternly. The whites of his eyes shone against the black smears on his face. Yet beneath the tension on that face, his handsome features still clearly stood out. She tried not to notice but it was hard. She may be an elite sniper but she was still a woman.

“This necklace travels everywhere with me, sir. It never comes off.”

She saw a fleeting softness in his eyes. “Very well, Sergeant, I’ll turn a blind eye this time.”

He turned to face his unit and all three soldiers lined up, standing at ease before him. He looked at each of them. “Radio contact is limited to target identification and emergency protocol. We use call signs only. Gomez and Hicks, proceed as agreed. Hanson, you’re with me. Let’s roll.”

The chirping sound of woodland birds echoed in Cara’s ears as she followed in the captain’s footsteps. He led her through thickets and streams, continuously looking behind to check her position. She started to relax. She loved the outdoors and moved through it like a quiet wind through the trees. It was where she was raised. Since she was ten years old, she’d been able to hit a tin can from five hundred yards with her dad’s hunting rifle. Her father had taken her on regular hunting trips and she had never disappointed him. He proudly proclaimed to the world that his teenage daughter possessed an aim that far surpassed his own. Her mom playfully complained about being a “hunting widow,” but she loved the fact that Cara and her dad were so close. It was a bond that could never be broken—except by death.

No, she pleaded in her head, not now. She pushed the picture from her mind—the image of her father lying cold and still at the edge of the lake, blood seeping into the water from his outstretched hand. That fate would not befall anyone else in her life. She’d made sure of it. She’d become the best of the best.

Dean stopped ahead of her and signaled for her to come closer.

“You okay?” he whispered into her ear. “This is where we go our separate ways.”

She nodded.

“Let me check your earpiece,” he said, brushing his hand across her face to rest on the speaker in her ear.

Her breathing quickened as he adjusted the small black device, securing it firmly in place. As he pulled his hand away, she felt rough, calloused skin on her smooth cheek.

“Ready?” he whispered.

“Ready,” she replied. And she was. She was born ready.

She navigated easily to her designated position and began her routine of prayer. Her heart was heavy with the thought of taking out one of their own. She valued the sanctity of life and didn’t take her job lightly, but she knew that taking just one life could save hundreds, maybe thousands. When she had been tasked with shooting a suicide bomber in Baghdad three years ago, she hadn’t hesitated. She saw the crowded market, with women and children walking freely, and she’d pulled the trigger to take a clean shot. The choice was hers, but she trusted that God would understand her reasons—protecting the innocent would always be at the top of her agenda. She would do whatever it took to fulfill the promise to her father at his funeral, when she had resolved to dedicate the rest of her life to using her weapon to save as many lives as possible. She would atone for her fatal mistake seven years ago, and her father’s death would not be in vain. Even if it meant a lifetime of shutting herself off emotionally, it was the price she must pay for redemption. A click in her ear took her to high alert. It was Captain McGovern using her call sign.

“Red Four. Truck approaching. Target identification imminent. Prepare.”

Cara watched as a gray truck drove into the woodland clearing about a quarter mile away. It moved slowly, like a lumbering elephant, coming to rest partially covered by the branches of a low-lying tree. She aimed her rifle on the door of the truck as the face of her commanding officer settled on her mind. His safety was paramount on this mission and she would not let him down.

Suddenly, she saw movement: a glint in the hillside to her right. A finely honed instinct told her that this was a telescopic sight, another sniper playing the waiting game just like her. She scanned the hillside with her binoculars, trying to make out a figure, a shape, anything. There! She’d found him—someone lying in the undergrowth, unmoving but not well hidden. She traced the line of his sight with her binoculars. In the distance, lined up perfectly in his vision, was another figure, crouching down close to the clearing. Her heart began to hammer. She took out her radio.

“Red One, please raise your right hand.”

Dean McGovern’s reply was thick with anger. “Red Four, stand down, await target instructions.”

“Commander, raise your right hand.” She felt the panic rise in her voice. He must have heard it, too. He raised his hand. She gasped, realizing that the sniper in the hills had his weapon trained on her commanding officer. She spun her body around to face this new threat and breathed hard, lining him up in her sight. She gripped her radio.

“Commander, new threat detected. Move position.”

“Give details, Red Four.”

There was no time to explain as a shot rang out from the sniper in the hill. She took aim and fired her shot immediately. The figure scrambled to its feet and ran, stumbling into the darkness of the woods beyond. She lost vision on him within seconds.

More gunfire echoed in the valley below. Voices bounced through the air, chaotic and aggressive. Before she could react, a huge explosion rocked the hills, sending a vast fireball billowing into the air. She watched it rise like a demon into the inky sky. She couldn’t catch her breath. She froze.

Captain Dean McGovern’s voice snapped her back to attention as his words echoed, loud and strong, in her ear. “Red Team, abort, abort! Fall back and regroup!”

She picked up her rifle and ran.

* * *

Dean banged the steering wheel in frustration.

“What just happened back there?” he shouted.

He looked at Cara in the rearview mirror. She sat, hunched and breathless in the backseat with a look of deep shock on her face. The jeep raced along the lane, whipping up leaves and woodland debris as it gathered speed. Dusk was settling, and the sky gave off an eerie half light, illuminating the black hills into which they fled.

He quickly slammed on the brakes as he realized he’d reached his rendezvous point. “Where are they?” he shouted, looking around anxiously, searching the hills for any sign of danger. “Gomez and Hicks should be here.”

In a flash, Sergeant Gomez darted out from the trees and ran toward the jeep. He looked like a rabbit caught in headlights. He was covered in mud and brushwood, but he kept his gun raised, pulled close to his body. Dean pushed open the door of the jeep. Gomez hurled himself onto the front seat, slamming the door behind him.

“Go!” he yelled.

“Hicks,” Dean yelled back. “Where do we pick up Hicks?”

Silence.

“Gomez, you and Hicks were paired, where’d he go?”

The sergeant stared straight ahead. “He’s gone, sir.”

“Gone?”

“He was in the direct path of the explosion.” Gomez’s voice cracked. “I couldn’t retrieve him.”

Dean gripped the wheel tight. “You sure?”

“Yes, sir, absolutely sure.”

Dean clenched his jaw and his breathing grew quick and strong. The tires squealed as he pressed the accelerator hard. “What on earth just happened there?”

He noticed Cara jump at the force of his shout.

Gomez sat back heavily in his seat, rubbing his face. He was pale. “The truck was packed with explosives. This was no weapons drop. There were two heavily armed militia soldiers in the front seats. They knew we were coming. This was a setup.”

Dean banged the wheel again. “Someone set us up?”

“There was a sniper trained on you, sir,” Cara said, clearly trying to control the tremor in her voice. “I scared him off with a shot, but he was trying to take you out.”

“Did you get a good look, Sergeant?”

“No, he was too far away.”

“Did you injure him?”

“I don’t think so.”

“So you missed?”

“No, sir, I was firing a warning shot. I wasn’t trying to hit him.”

Of course, he should’ve known. She never missed.

The jeep’s small engine whined against the speed at which Dean drove. He had to think. He needed somewhere secret, secluded. There was just one place he knew, and he wouldn’t feel safe until he got there.

He looked at Cara again through the rearview mirror.

“Sergeant Hanson, are you hurt?”

She rubbed her knee, wincing. It looked as if she’d fallen heavily through branches and thorns. Her face and hands were badly scratched.

“No, sir.”

His eyes flicked between her and the road ahead.

“This mission just got messy. You’re not trained for this kind of assignment, so it’s my job to protect you. You stay close to me, and you do what I say, when I say, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

He wasn’t convinced of the sincerity behind her standard response.

“Until we find out who tipped off Major Moore, we trust no one.”

Dean watched her closely through the mirror. She blinked slowly and seemed to be trying to steady her breathing. She took off her helmet and pulled the band from her hair, allowing it to fall loosely around her face. She put her head in her hands. He grew concerned.

“Sergeant Hanson, stay focused. I need to ditch this vehicle and acquire another. While I look for something suitable, why don’t you lead us in prayer for Sergeant Hicks? He was a good soldier and a brave man. Let’s honor him and the sacrifice he made for us today.”

Cara lifted her head and gave him a weak smile. She closed her eyes and pressed her palms together. She managed to say a few words before she slumped sideways on her seat and his heart leaped into his mouth.

He willed the jeep to go faster, in a race against time to reach a place of safety where he could tend to her wounds, whatever they may be. He knew she must be in a serious condition to succumb to total defenselessness. She was too proud and strong to let her guard down so easily. He allowed his protective instincts to come to the fore, having decided that he would do everything in his power to steer her away from danger. He suspected that she might rail against his authority, but he was adamant that she would not come to harm—not now, not ever.

TWO

Cara tried to open her eyes but they were gritty and sore. She struggled to sit up as the room spun around her. Her vision was blurred, and her head swam with memories of running wildly through branches, feeling fiery heat on her back. She could see a small window with white drapes, drawn tight against the low-lying sun. She looked down at herself. She was wearing the Lycra pants and tee that she always wore underneath her ghillie suit. But who undressed her? She was lying on a large wooden bed with blankets, next to a pine dresser on which her rifle rested, neatly in pieces as if someone had been cleaning it.

She sat bolt upright. Captain McGovern! Had she failed him? She scrambled out of bed and promptly fell, with a thud, to the floor. The door flung open and someone rushed in, picking her up and sitting her back on the bed.

“Careful, Sergeant, you’re not strong enough to be on your feet yet.”

She focused her eyes on the face before her. Yes, it was Captain McGovern and he was safe.

“What happened?” she croaked.

“You went into anaphylactic shock,” he said, pulling her legs up onto the bed and laying her back on the pillows. “You came into contact with poison ivy while in the woods. You suffered a severe reaction to it, I’m afraid. We almost lost you.”

“Where...?” Her breathing was short and shallow. “Where are we?”

“We’re in a cabin in Wyoming,” he said. “It’s my secret hideaway. No one knows about this place but me.” He smiled at her. “And now you, of course.”

She realized that this was the first time she’d seen him smile. His teeth were perfectly aligned, gleaming white against the olive hue of his skin. She saw a new gentleness in his face, and the memory of his firm, strong arms cradling her sweat-drenched body flashed into her mind. She hated being weak and out of control. But at least she didn’t mess up. Not this time. She was grateful for that.

She lay back on the pillows. “How long have I been out?”

“About twelve hours. Luckily, I keep a well-stocked medicine box here in the cabin. We managed to get you here in time and administer adrenaline and antihistamines.”

She raised her hand to her head and touched it gingerly. Everything felt puffy and swollen. Dean’s face appeared over her, concern etched into the lines and furrows. He put his hand underneath her neck and raised her head up, bringing a cool drink of water to her lips. She sipped it gratefully, allowing the coldness of the liquid to soothe her tight throat.

He gently placed her head back on the pillow. “You should have disclosed your allergy to poison ivy when you enlisted,” he said, unscrewing the top from a bottle of calamine lotion. “You must tell your superiors everything that might affect your ability to carry out a mission.”

She closed her eyes. How could she tell him that she didn’t want to divulge any frailty to the army? That she thought even a simple allergy was something she must hide from her commanding officers, along with any other imperfections in her past. She wanted him to have complete faith in her.

“I always 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 to tread—she normally worked alone, depending on no one but herself. She couldn’t allow that to change, no matter how much her attraction to him grew.

“Gomez and I have been piecing together all the information from last night’s mission,” he said, looking at her shaking hands. “Looks like someone on the inside tipped off Major Moore and he was able to plan an attack, hoping to take out our entire unit.”

Her eyes flickered over to Gomez before asking, “Who?”

Dean shrugged his shoulders. “Operation Triton is top secret. Very few people know about it.”

Gomez eyed Cara suspiciously. “What can you tell us about the sniper in the hills?” he said.

“Not much,” said Cara. “He was a long way away.”

Dean rested his arms on the table and leaned in her direction. “What was he wearing?”

“Looked like regular clothes—jeans, sweater.” She cast her mind back. “And a red bandanna around his head. But no ghillie suit, no camouflage, no real attempt to hide properly.”

“Not a trained sniper, then?” Dean offered.

Cara shook her head. “No trained sniper would be so sloppy.”

Dean put his arms behind his head, his muscles flexing. “But his shot was good. He hit the ground right next to me. Another couple of feet and I’d be dead. It was certainly someone who can handle a rifle.” He lowered his voice before adding, “Someone like Chris Moore.”

He rose from the table and stood by the window. “Major Moore would like to see us all dead, I’m afraid. He’s fighting a war against America and all military personnel are targets.”

“With all due respect, sir,” said Gomez. “We haven’t been told anything about the terrorist organization that Moore is working for. Isn’t that a bit odd?”

“It’s highly classified,” Dean said, turning to face them. “The military wants to keep it all under wraps.”

Cara watched his face intently as it darkened. “We’re in deep now,” she said. “We need to know what we’re dealing with.”

Gomez shot her a sideways glance. “She’s right,” he said. “Whatever happens from here, we should know what we’re fighting for.”

Dean leaned back on the counter and looked between them for a few moments before speaking. “Do you remember the explosion that happened last year at Fort Bragg?”

Yeah,” Cara said, “it was a faulty munitions batch. I read the memo about it.”

Dean shook his head. “It wasn’t faulty munitions that caused the explosion. It was a bomb, planted by someone who knew the base well. It totally blindsided us. A group called the United Free Army claimed responsibility shortly afterward. That’s when we decided to put Moore undercover, infiltrate the UFA and shut it down from the inside.”

“And they managed to turn him?” said Gomez, shaking his head. “If they can turn a man like Moore they gotta be strong. He’s not a man who’d break easily.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Dean, lowering his voice. “But they got to him somehow. Maybe he saw something in their ideology. Maybe he’d had enough of fighting in wars thousands of miles from home, wars that never seem to end....” His voice trailed off.

Cara looked up into his face, sensing the rawness of his pain. Just what had stolen his friend from him and left this wide, empty void? She voiced her thoughts.

“What exactly is their ideology, sir?”

Dean cleared his throat. “Their aim is to get the military to pull out of all overseas wars. They think the government is neglecting its own people to look after foreigners abroad. Until we withdraw troops from all overseas conflicts, the UFA says that every military installation and every serving soldier is a legitimate target. The bomb at Fort Bragg is just the first.”

“How on earth did they infiltrate Fort Bragg?” Cara said. She’d only been there once, but it was the most heavily fortified base she’d seen in her life.

“Good question, Hanson,” Dean said, raising his eyebrows. “They had a man on the inside but we don’t know who. Truth is, we have no idea how many personnel they’ve turned. They actively target disgruntled and angry soldiers, usually ones fresh back from tours of Afghanistan, where they’d seen American soldiers caught up in roadside or suicide bombs.” He closed his eyes. “Or worse.”

Cara also closed her eyes, images flashing of things she had seen fitting this description. It was a subject that she knew bonded her and Dean together without question. Their experiences may not be shared, but they had a shared understanding, and no further words were needed.

“We don’t know who the inside man at Fort Bragg was,” Dean continued, “but we know he was angry enough to target his own colleagues. Four men died that day. We’re fighting a war being waged by our own men and, what’s worse, we don’t even know who they are.”

The three soldiers sat around the table in momentary silence as the enormity of Dean’s words sank in. Cara knew all about fighting in far-off places, in hot, dusty lands miles away from her beloved home soil. She never imagined she would have to defend herself against her own countrymen. The news hit her like a brick, and she renewed her conviction to do all she could to prevent any more lives being lost.

Dean sat at the head of the table, his face solemn and still. “We must remain vigilant at all times because all of us are targets. Anything suspicious needs to be reported to me immediately, any time of the day or night. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.

“I reckon we’d all like a hot shower,” he said, breaking into an unconvincing smile. “I’ll check the cabin is secure while you two take advantage of the hot water.”

Cara drained her coffee cup, noticing Gomez watching her from the corner of his eye. She stared at him defiantly, pulling her chin up high. He looked away and headed out the door, leaving her alone with Dean.

“How do you feel?” he asked, sitting in a chair next to her. He put his hand on top of hers. “Your swelling has subsided, but you’re shaking a little.”

“I’m fine,” she said, moving her hand and placing it in her lap. “Thank you for everything you did for me, sir. I appreciate it.”

“We have to trust each other, Hanson. And help each other.”

“Gomez doesn’t trust me.”

Dean laughed. “Don’t take it personally. Gomez trusts no one. He’s a lone wolf.”

She looked at her hands, clasped together on her knees. “I’m sorry that you feel it necessary to look after me. It’s disappointing to find out I’m not accepted as one of the team.”

A confused look fell over his face. He had grown more stubble since the start of the mission, and his face looked broader and darker.

She brought her face up to meet his. “I don’t want to be a problem.”

He narrowed his eyes as realization dawned.

“You were listening to my conversation with Gomez?”

“Yes.”

He sighed. “Special Forces don’t usually fight alongside regular infantry soldiers on these top-secret assignments. This mission has taken a very dangerous turn and, as your commanding officer, it’s my job to keep you safe.”

She lifted her head high. “Are you sure you want to keep me safe because I’m infantry and not because I’m a woman?”

He ran his hands through his hair. She knew it was a sign of frustration.

“Your mission brief was to terminate a target. Period. We didn’t expect it to turn into guerrilla warfare. This is not your war, Hanson. This kind of dirty war is best left to the experts.”

She decided she would read between the lines. “Best left to the men, you mean?”

His eyes locked on hers and he stared at her with such strength that she felt her toes curling.

“Don’t start making assumptions about what I mean,” he said defensively. “Your job is to take orders, not challenge them.”

Her anger started to slowly simmer beneath her skin. She felt as if he were dismissing her, preventing her from playing her part in protecting those around her. She rose from the table and started to walk toward the door.

“I should know my place, huh?” she muttered under her breath.

Suddenly, he was there, in front of her, standing so close that his huge frame dwarfed her own. He was breathing hard. She saw his nostrils flare as his chest rose and fell.

“I am your commanding officer and insolence like that will not be tolerated,” he said in a low, deep growl. “It is my job to guard your safety. Am I making myself understood?”

She said nothing.

“Sergeant,” he said. “You will address me and answer my question.”

She brought her heels together, snapped her hand into a salute and fixed her eyes on the wall.

“Yes, sir.”

He didn’t move while she maintained her salute. He was waiting for her gaze to shift to his, but it was resolutely trained on a spot on the wall—on a picture of a woodland scene. She imagined herself in the picture, taking aim on a tree far in the distance. She saw her father in her mind, encouraging her to trust in her skill and take the shot. For her seventh birthday, he’d bought her a small air rifle. She adored that rifle and, from that moment on, she spent hours practicing hitting tin cans off the wall in the meadow. Her dad nicknamed her “crack-shot Cara” and began to enter her into shooting competitions when she turned ten. She had a cabinet full of trophies at the family hunting cabin on the banks of Bear Lake in Utah. Her chest hurt as she thought of how she’d let him down. She should have prevented it. She replayed the accident over and over in her mind, but the outcome was always the same. A bullet always took him from her. That would not happen to Dean.

Finally, he spoke. “At ease, Sergeant.”

She stood at ease for a few seconds before turning on her heel and marching out the door. She left the kitchen and marched down the hallway, never missing a step until she reached her bedroom door and went inside. She then heard Dean leave the cabin, slamming the back door behind him. She sank to the floor and put her head in her hands. Keeping this man safe from harm was the biggest challenge she had faced yet.

* * *

Dean shone the flashlight into the outhouse, sending insects scuttling from its bright glare. He pulled his hooded sweatshirt up over his head, shielding himself against the rain that had begun to fall. He kicked at the grass as he walked, angry with himself for allowing his temper to flare. Cara didn’t deserve to be treated like that. It wasn’t her fault. The truth was, he just couldn’t answer her question so it was easier to evade it, instead.

He couldn’t stop the emotions that were stirring within him. His overwhelming desire was to protect this petite, beautiful soldier and deliver her back to base unharmed. He knew it was irrational. She was a fully trained, combat-ready member of the Fifth Infantry Regiment—the fierce “Bobcats.” She didn’t need his protection any more than Gomez did. She was strong and feisty, standing straight and confident before him, never flinching under his stare. She challenged everything he thought he knew about women.

He walked to the front of the cabin, to the yellow glow of light that was streaming from her bedroom. He imagined her inside, cleaning her rifle, carefully slotting each piece into place, before raising it to her cheek and lining up a target. She was the most determined and committed soldier he’d ever encountered, clearly driven by a need to prove herself. He should be commending her, not stifling her. Maybe she had a point; maybe he did treat her differently because she was a woman. He resolved to suppress this instinct to safeguard her. At least until she was back to fighting strength.

He turned his back to her window and stopped dead. The gate to the yard was wide-open. He knew he had checked it earlier that afternoon and it was firmly shut. He pulled his M9 pistol from his holster, flattening his back against the rough wood of the exterior wall and inching his way to the front door. It was a dark and rainy night, moonlight was scant and the movement of the trees in the wind could provide ample cover for any would-be assailant. He moved slowly and steadily around the cabin, his senses alert. The gate banged on its post, sending a thud echoing through the dark silence.

As he reached the front door, a noise caught his attention. He squinted into the darkness and saw a dark shape crouching in front of the rusty old truck parked to the side of the cabin. He’d acquired the vehicle in a hurry the previous day, knowing that the army jeep would be too easy a target to follow. One thing was certain: no sane person would try to steal this old jalopy.

The shape was moving. He suspected that, whoever he was, he was tampering with the engine, maybe even planting a bomb. As he assessed the outline of the figure, he realized that this was one huge guy, and he would never match his strength. He’d need Gomez’s help for this.

He slipped quietly into the cabin. He found Gomez standing in the hallway with a look of concern on his face.

“I heard a noise,” said Gomez. “I think there’s someone outside.”

“Get your gun,” Dean ordered, “and follow me.”

The door of Cara’s bedroom opened, and she stepped out into the hallway.

“Is there a threat?” she asked. He noticed that she had assembled her rifle and was holding it to her side.

“Go back inside, Hanson,” Dean replied. “You’re not strong enough yet. Let me and Gomez deal with this.”

“But, sir...” she protested.

“No buts, Hanson,” he barked. “Go back inside, lock your door and wait for us to come back.”

She opened her mouth to speak and promptly closed it again. Turning her back, she went into her room and closed the door. He heard the lock click in place.

Gomez returned, holding his gun.

Dean’s hand reached for the door handle. “Stay close, follow my lead and shoot only if absolutely necessary.”

Gomez gave a quick nod of the head and raised his weapon. The door creaked open, and a gust of cold air blew through the cabin, creating a ghostly, high-pitched whine. Dean’s heart was pumping fast as he put one foot out onto the wooden decking outside.

Whatever the danger, he would not let it infiltrate his safe haven.

THREE

The men stood together on the veranda, looking each other in the eye.

Dean gave a small nod of the head to Gomez, who nodded silently in reply. He mouthed the words on three and counted Gomez in with his fingers.

Dean leaped from the deck onto the wet, soggy ground.

“STOP! Hands in the air.”

He aimed his gun at the dark shape hiding in the shadows of the car. It darted away, moving quicker than Dean thought possible. He looked over to Gomez, who was shaking his head in disbelief.

Both men gave chase, hurtling through the bracken behind the cabin, heading for the fields beyond. The black shadow scrambled over the fence and disappeared into the long grass. Dean followed the movement of the reeds and concentrated on the sound of rustling to follow its path.

“There,” he shouted, springing over the fence and snaking through the foliage. Blades of wet grass whipped at his body, soaking him through.

They both moved like thieves in the night, wordlessly weaving through the field, tracking the sound and movement of their target. This guy was not going to get away.

Suddenly, to Dean’s amazement, a huge, dark silhouette loomed from the grass sending a low, guttural growl in their direction. Gomez staggered backward and fell on his behind as the bear reared up.

“Stay where you are, Gomez,” Dean said in a voice that was as quiet as he could manage. “Whatever you do, don’t move.”

The bear dropped to all four legs and stood before them, its eyes glinting in the darkness. Low rumbling noises emanated from huge jaws. Dean raised his weapon.

“Go on now,” he said in a whisper. “We don’t want any trouble with you.”

The bear reared up again, sending another growl slicing through the air. Dean lifted his gun to the sky and fired a shot. It echoed through the night, reverberating for miles around. The bear dropped to his feet and fled. Dean saw its rough black fur shaking in the moonlight as it ran. In just a few seconds, it was gone. He turned to Gomez, offering him his hand. Gomez gripped it and Dean hauled him to his feet, laughing.

“Gee, that was a close call,” Gomez said, clicking the safety on his gun.

Both men began to walk back to the cabin. Dean’s face took on a serious look. “Let’s hope no one reports it. We don’t want anyone sniffing around, especially the police.”

“I guess we gotta make sure we’re more secure from now on,” said Gomez, pointing to the wide-open gate in the distance. “That bear just walked right in.”

They walked to the fence, and Dean closed the gate, making sure it firmly clicked into its latch.

“Do bears know how to open gates?” Gomez asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t think so,” said Dean, squatting down and inspecting the flat patch of grassland in front of the cabin. “One thing’s for sure, though. Bears don’t wear shoes.”

He examined the muddy ground, where boot prints were clearly visible, dotted all along the edge of the fence, like someone had been hiding under cover of the trees.

“Someone has been here,” he said, feeling his heart begin to thud in his chest. He thought of Cara Hanson inside the cabin, weakened from anaphylaxis, totally dependent on his ability to provide a secure environment where she could recover. “Gomez, stand guard while I go fetch a lock and chain. Shoot on sight if you face hostile action from anyone or anything.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

Cara sipped her coffee at the breakfast table. She was still seething from the indignation of being locked in her room like a naughty child while Dean and Gomez dealt with the threat outside. How could she protect them from harm inside a locked room? She couldn’t even bring herself to look Dean in the eye, lest she reignite the smoldering embers of their argument the previous day.

She felt physically stronger and more like her old self, although she desperately needed a change of clothes. She had worn the same stretch pants and T-shirt for the last two days. Dean had a full closet to cater for himself and Gomez but, of course, nothing fit her and she didn’t want to highlight the differences between them by drawing attention to her need for another set of clothes. She would probably just have to make do.

Dean entered the kitchen. He had shaved. His face was smooth and she saw that his chin had a cleft right in the center. She’d never noticed it before. Despite her resentment toward him, she couldn’t help but admit that his face was undeniably handsome with the kind of square jawline that made women look twice. She wondered if he had someone special waiting for him at home. A man this abrasive and uncompromising surely needed the presence of a woman to soothe his tortured mind.

“Good morning, Hanson,” he said, sitting at the end of the table.

She said nothing.

“Ah, I’m getting the silent treatment, am I?” He poured himself a coffee. “I guessed I might, especially after our disagreement yesterday.”

“I could have helped out there,” she said, keeping her eyes fixed on the table. “I’ve encountered more bears than you could imagine. I would’ve known exactly what to do.”

“I’m sure you would, Hanson,” he said. “But I couldn’t let you face any danger. I saw how much your hands shook yesterday. You were in no shape to handle a gun. It’s not just your safety on the line out there, it’s mine, as well, and I need you to be strong before you pick up your rifle again. I won’t apologize for making the right call.”

She let her head drop. He was right! Her hands had been shaking badly these last couple of days. She brought her hand up and held it in the air. It was reasonably steady, with just a hint of a tremble.

He leaned over to her. “Part of being a good soldier is knowing when to admit you’re weak. You can’t be strong all the time, so don’t try to be.”

She looked up into his face, momentarily dumbfounded by the way he’d just summed her up in a few words. She’d strived, for seven years, to be strong all the time, for her shot to be the truest, straightest and cleanest. It was the only control she had.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “I admit that I may not have been ready to pick up my rifle again, but I’m better now.”

He looked at her without speaking. She gripped her coffee cup tightly to control any tremor.

“I think we may have got off to a bit of a rocky start,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve taken on board what you said to me last night, and I understand why you feel so passionately about proving yourself on this mission.”

Her head jerked up. “You do?”

“Of course,” he said knowingly. “Women in the military must have a tough time being accepted among their male counterparts. You probably feel like you have a lot to prove.”

She nodded. “Yes, sir.” He knew just the half of it.

He brought his chair a little closer. “But I am in command of this mission and I make the decisions. I know it may be hard for you to accept but I only have your best interests at heart.”

She stared at him without blinking, realizing exactly what he meant. “You mean you want to protect me?”

She saw his chest rise and fall quickly. “Yes, Hanson, I do want to protect you.”

“And I want to protect you,” she said, allowing the words to hang in the air for a while before adding, “I need to make sure that you don’t walk into danger. I can keep you safe.”

He looked taken aback as he nodded slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re a superb sniper, Sergeant, there’s no doubt about that. But you need to know when to take a step back. You won’t always be strong enough to protect those around you.”

She swallowed hard. His words cut open old wounds that she hoped were healing. She was strong. She had to be.

“I haven’t failed so far,” she said defiantly. “I’ve never missed a target since joining the military. Ever.”

“But you will,” he said quietly, as if trying to lessen the impact of this harsh reality. “Eventually, we all miss something.”

He looked into her face, holding eye contact for what seemed like an eternity. She stared back, feeling the unwelcome connection between them take a tighter hold. He seemed to know the inner secrets of her heart—the fears that she’d voiced to no one.

“Not me,” she said, breaking her gaze away. “I won’t miss again.”

He opened his eyes wide. “Again?”

She shook her head vigorously. “I mean I won’t miss a shot,” she garbled, flustered. She gritted her teeth, angry with herself for revealing too much.

“Is there something you want to get off your chest, Hanson?” Dean said, leaning toward her.

“No,” she said quickly, recovering her composure. She felt crowded. She pushed her chair back, away from his probing eyes.

She breathed deeply, reminding herself that she wasn’t eighteen years old anymore, watching a huntsman lining up a shot on a deer. She wasn’t on the hilltop, fumbling with her rifle, panicking as she took in the horror unfolding before her eyes. She wasn’t still watching her father die from a single shot to the heart. She was here, as an elite sharpshooter, saving lives. She’d moved on.

She realized that Dean’s hand had inched closer to hers on the table. His fingers were perilously close to touching hers, and she slid her hand from the table back into her lap.

“I can protect you, sir,” she said. “I need to know that you’ll give me a chance.”

“I’ll try, Hanson,” he said, clenching his fingers into a ball. “But if we face any serious danger, I’ll be the one standing on the front line. That’s where I belong.”

“It’s where I belong, too,” she said. “That’s why you chose me for this mission, isn’t it?”

“I chose you for this mission because it was a one-off job requiring your expert skills. I never anticipated it would get this complicated.”

She felt her heart drop into her stomach. “Do you regret giving me the assignment?”

He said nothing. She looked away, clenching her teeth and pushing her hair behind her ears. It was obvious Dean didn’t accept her as a front-line protector and she knew she couldn’t change his mind. Not yet, anyway.

“You completed your mission flawlessly,” he said finally. “Your skill saved me from an enemy sniper, and I want you to know how thankful I am. But I worry about what will happen from here on. We don’t know what danger is waiting for us out there, and you’re vulnerable to all kinds of attack.”

“Don’t worry about me,” she said with conviction. “I can take care of myself.”

His eyes flicked quickly over her slender frame and she watched him assessing her, no doubt wondering how she would defend herself against an assailant. She knew she was small and, physically, not powerful, but these things didn’t matter to her. Sheer brute force was not a strength she coveted. A gun and a cool head were enough for her.

“You’ll need a handgun in order to take care of yourself,” he said. “Your rifle won’t be suitable for close combat.”

She nodded. She’d only ever experienced warfare from a distance—hidden away, safe and secure in the knowledge that she was invisible. The thought of facing the enemy at close quarters sent a cold shiver through her but she was determined not to show it. She knew she could handle it just as well as Dean.

“I keep a small store of handguns locked up in the basement,” he said. “We should go find one that’s suitable for you.” He looked at her earnestly, betraying his fears for her. “I hope to God that you never need to use it but it’s important we’re prepared for every eventuality.”

He rose from his seat, and she followed him to a locked door in the hallway that he opened with a key from his pocket. He flipped the light switch, and the bulb popped in the darkness. He clicked his tongue and extended his palm. “Take my hand,” he said. “I’ll lead you down the stairs until I can switch on the lamp at the bottom.”

She took his hand and he gripped it tight, sending a jolt coursing through her. His fingers were warm and firm, and she couldn’t help but feel reassured by his strong presence guiding her through the dark. Even when she was angry with him, she felt close to him, sensing that he was willing to bear the brunt of her fury with quiet acceptance.

He kept a firm grip until they reached the last step, and he was able to switch on a small, yellow light, casting a dingy glow in the windowless basement. He unlocked a steel-gray cabinet in the corner and took out two handguns.

“Let’s try these for size,” he said, handing a Glock 17 to her.

She took the gun from him and aimed at a spot on the wall, assessing the weapon’s size and weight. She became aware of Dean’s body behind her, his arms reaching around her torso, cupping his hands over hers and bringing his face to rest just to the side of her head. She caught her breath as goose bumps appeared on her skin.

“It’s important that your grip feels natural,” he whispered in her ear. “Not too heavy, not too large for your fingers. It should sit in your hands like it’s meant to be there.”

She watched his hands completely envelop hers until they were almost invisible beneath his thick fingers. She felt smothered by him and pushed against his bulk. He stepped back, and she turned to face him.

“I have fired a gun before,” she said incredulously. “This one feels perfect.”

He put his hands in the air. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to tread on your toes.”

She found herself smiling. “By the time we’re done on this mission, I suspect my toes will be bruised beyond recognition.”

He laughed and leaned toward her face. “If that’s the case, Sergeant Hanson, I’ll be forced to carry you everywhere.”

“Never,” she said strongly, turning to help herself to ammunition from the cabinet. “I’d rather hobble.”

Their laughter bounced off the walls in the dimly lit basement. She saw a sudden playfulness in his character, and she quickly felt the need to stop their closeness creeping further. She concentrated on her weapon, fixing a holster around her waist.

“Sir,” she said. “There’s something else I need.”

“You got it.”

She cast her eyes over her pants and T-shirt. “I can’t wear these clothes every day.”

“Of course,” he said, shaking his head. “I hadn’t realized. I’ll take a trip to the nearest town and buy what you need.”

“Can’t I come with you?” she asked.

He rubbed his face. “I’d rather you stayed with Sergeant Gomez. It’s safer.”

She put her hand on her holster. “I can look after myself.”

He looked at her and she stared back.

He bit his lip. “All right, we leave in five minutes.”

* * *

Dean started up the rusty, old truck and drove out onto the narrow, winding lane, checking each direction thoroughly, before deciding it was safe. Cara was sitting in the seat beside him, wearing an old overcoat of his that swamped her petite frame. Her slim wrists poked out of the sleeves, rolled up several times. The truck rattled and bounced along the lane, heading for the busy highway in the distance.

He glanced over at her. Even in that old overcoat she possessed a beauty that floored him. He often had to stop himself from staring at her, studying the way her face rose and fell with emotions that she struggled to conceal. He’d caught Gomez gazing at her a couple of times but he’d brushed it off as “research” into his suspicions about her.

“Is there anyone you need to call?” he asked. “Anyone who’d be worried about you?”

“No,” she answered quickly. “There’s just my mom, but she’s on vacation in Florida.” She looked down in her lap before adding, “There’s no one else.”

“No one important in your life?” he asked, choosing his words carefully.

She turned her body to face his. “If you’re talking about a boyfriend then the answer is no. My job isn’t really compatible with dating.” She looked into the distance. “I scare most men off.”

He gave a small smile and nodded. “Strong women can sometimes scare a man.”

She straightened her back. “Do I scare you?”

His lips curled into a playful smile. “Sometimes, yeah.” It was a truthful answer. She did scare him but not in the way she imagined.

“Good,” she said. “Then I must be doing something right.”

He shook his head, laughing. “Gantry was right. You really are one tough cookie.”

“Colonel Gantry was the person who recruited me into sniper school at Fort Bliss,” she said, relaxing back in her seat. “If anyone knows me, it’s Carter Gantry.”

Dean decided not to mention that it was Colonel Gantry who persuaded him to take Cara into his team. He just couldn’t shake his concerns about her suitability and had decided to recruit another sniper in her place. Colonel Gantry had insisted that Dean give her a chance. He’d followed the colonel’s advice, despite it going against every instinct in his body.

“Gantry obviously sees something special in you,” Dean said, remembering her amazing display in the Colorado Mountains. “He knows how hard you’ve worked to get where you are.”

“When you put your mind to something, you can achieve anything,” she said.

He glanced over at her. Her face shone with an expression he hadn’t seen before. It intrigued him.

“I never met a woman like you before,” he said, turning onto the highway, pressing the gas pedal hard to keep up with the fast-moving traffic. “You seem so...” He struggled to find the right words.

“...challenging?” she suggested.

He smiled. “I was going to say fearless.”

“I guess you haven’t met many different types of women, then,” she said. “There are plenty of us fearless types in the military.”

He mentally ran through the list of females in his life. It was a pitifully small number, mostly the wives of fellow soldiers, women he admired and respected, women he was fighting for. He thought of his mom and sister. They were good, strong women—survivors. But they’d needed his strength to save them. They couldn’t have faced the terror of his father alone. They would certainly never have thought that they were capable of protecting him.

“I guess you’re right, Hanson,” he admitted. “I haven’t met many different types of women.” He stopped himself from adding that he hadn’t actually met many women at all.

“What about you?” she asked suddenly, seeming to want to turn the spotlight on him. “Is there anyone in your life?”

He cracked his knuckles as he gripped the steering wheel tight. “My life is in Special Forces. Needless to say, I don’t get out much.”

“Maybe Gomez isn’t the only lone wolf.”

He forced a laugh. “I think we’re all lone wolves in Special Forces. We’ve all got something driving us forward, pushing us to win every battle.”

“What drives you?”

He glanced over at her. She looked expectantly at him, interested in his response. He began to feel uncomfortable and wished he’d chosen a different topic of conversation. He didn’t want her probing into his personal life, trying to figure out what makes him tick.

“De oppresso liber,” he said finally.

She looked quizzically at him.

“It’s the Special Forces motto,” he explained. “To liberate the oppressed. Freeing people from tyranny and despair is what drives me forward. It makes it all worthwhile.”

He’d already experienced enough tyranny in his own life to know how suffocating it was, how it took hold of your life and sucked it dry. He was determined not to let it happen in any walk of life, just as he’d been determined to stop it happening in his own family. A bully was a bully, whatever language he spoke, and he would never stand by and watch the needy and vulnerable be beaten and broken.

“It’s your own personal mission, huh?” she said, cutting a little too close to the bone for his liking.

He winced. “You could say that.”

He felt her watching him closely as she spoke. “You ever thought you might want to settle down someday?”

He widened his eyes in surprise at the boldness of the question. This was definitely stepping outside his comfort zone.

“Like I said,” he answered, keeping his eyes fixed on the road, “my life is in Special Forces.”

She could read into that what she liked. She’d probed deep enough.

“While we’re on the subject,” he said, shifting in his seat, “is there a white picket fence in your future?”

“I doubt it,” she said with a shrug. “I’m not the settling-down type. There aren’t many men who’d accept me as a wife.”

He raised his eyebrows. Was she kidding? He could think of a whole bunch of men who’d be glad to have her by their side. Not him, though. She and he were totally incompatible. That much was obvious.

“I’m sure there’s some guy for you out there, Hanson,” he said. “He’ll find you.”

“Yeah,” she said, looking out the window. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard her mutter under her breath, “If he looks hard enough.”

They drove in silence until he pulled into a small mall and parked in front of a store that read Darleen’s Fashions.

Dean stepped out of the truck and went to open her door for her. He stopped himself, deciding to wait for her to join him, instead. The more distance he kept from her, the less chance there was of him treading on her toes.

* * *

Dean punched in a number at a pay phone. He knew he had to be careful, as this would be a nonsecure line, and he didn’t want to advertise their presence to any unfriendly ears. Cara’s shopping trip had already made him jumpy. He didn’t like her being so visible in a public place, but, thankfully, she had known exactly what items she wanted and purchased them quickly. It came as no surprise to see that all her choices were functional and practical—exactly like her.

The receiver on the other end was snatched up on the first ring.

“Gantry here.”

“Carter, it’s Dean.”

“Dean! Where are you?”

“I’d rather not say right now.”

“We found your jeep. There was blood on a seat. Are you all safe?”

Dean was silent for a moment. “The blood is Hanson’s but she’s okay. Just scratches.”

“What about Gomez and Hicks?”

Dean swallowed hard. “Hicks is gone. He took the full force of the explosion.”

Colonel Gantry exhaled loudly. “We haven’t totally cleared the bomb site yet. The media are all over us, wanting the full story. I’m sorry, Dean. I never knew this would happen.”

Dean leaned against the pay-phone wall. “Make sure his family is looked after. Give them anything they need.”

“I promise we’ll do that, Dean. We really need to piece together what happened out there. You have to come back to base so you can debrief us. I can’t say much on the phone, you know that. We need to talk in person.”

“Carter, someone set us up. I don’t know who, or what, is safe anymore.”

“We know it was a setup. They were prepared, ready for you.” Gantry took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to have to break this news to you, Dean, but intelligence suggests that you are the UFA’s next target. You need round-the-clock protection.”

Dean felt himself reeling in shock. “You know this for sure?”

“Yes, we know for sure.”

He rested his forehead on the wall, letting the news sink in. He was the next target. He and Chris, once the best of friends had now turned bitter enemies, locked in a battle to the death.

He straightened up. “Can you guarantee that Fort Carson can provide total security?” He knew the answer to this question even as the words left his mouth. His base in Colorado Springs was well defended from outside attack, but the real danger was likely to be on the inside.

“You’ll be a lot safer at Fort Carson than taking your chances alone,” Gantry replied. “Wherever you are, you’re vulnerable to another sniper attack.”

Dean’s senses sprang to attention. “How do you know about the sniper? No one from Red Team has debriefed you yet.”

Silence.

“Goodbye, Carter.” Dean placed the receiver firmly back in its cradle. Turning back toward the truck, he saw Cara’s eyes trained on him as he stood on the sidewalk. He knew that her hand was resting on the Glock pistol, already loaded, on the seat beside her. This situation just got a whole lot messier than he ever anticipated. And Cara Hanson was caught in the crosshairs.

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