LITMIR.BIZ

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a poker face. As he approached the opened rear of the CH-47’s ramp, she was coming out of the right-hand seat, helmet dangling in her hand. When their eyes met, she instantly scowled.

      Ouch. Gavin threw his pack behind the seat and pushed the rest of his gear beneath the nylon webbing. Looking up, he noticed her pursed lips and her narrowed golden eyes—on him.

      “Don’t worry,” he told her teasingly, “I’m not infectious.”

      Nike couldn’t help but grin. Despite Jackson’s ragged Afghan clothing and that beard, he was undeniably handsome. A part of her wanted him. The merriment dancing in his dark blue eyes made her heart race just a little. “Don’t worry, I’m vaccinated against guys like you.” He merely smiled at her obvious warning. Damn, why did he have to be so good-looking?

      Nike threaded between the other nine men who were settling in on either side of the cargo hold. She strolled down the ramp toward her load master, Andy Peters. The sergeant stood at the bottom waiting for everyone to get settled before he started loading the many boxes. Her boots thunked hollowly against the corrugated aluminum surface. On one side rested a fifty-caliber machine gun that Peters would put into a hole at the center of the ramp. Once airborne, Andy would drop the ramp, the ugly muzzle of the machine gun pointed down at the earth below them. Peters’s job was to take out any Taliban who fired up at them or tried to launch a rocket or grenade at the bird. She nodded to short, stocky Andy, who was all of twenty years old.

      Nike could feel Jackson’s gaze burning two holes between her shoulder blades. He was watching her. Intently. Like a wolf on the prowl. Hunting her. Well, it would get him nowhere.

      The brisk, early April morning was chilly. New snow had fallen overnight, leaving about six inches on the tarmac. There was barely light on the eastern horizon, the silhouette of the sharp mountain peaks highlighted. She had a dark green muffler wrapped around her neck and dangling down the front of her bulky dark green winter flight suit. As her fingers slowly froze, a mist came out of her mouth when she spoke to Andy.

      “All here and accounted for?”

      “Yes, ma’am. Ten-man A team.” He consulted his papers on a clipboard, and then he looked over at an approaching truck. “We’ll be loading all the supplies and medicine in just a moment. We’re on schedule.”

      After consulting her watch, Nike nodded. There was a timetable to keep and she was a punctual person by nature. “Very good, Sergeant. I’ll do my walk around the helo while you’re getting all those boxes on board.”

      “Of course, ma’am.”

      Scanning the area, Nike appreciated the towering mountains to the east of the small base. The village of Nar was two miles away. As the dawn grew brighter, she could see the mountains were still cloaked in heavy snow. Closer to the bottom, they appeared a dark blue color. Rubbing warmth into her arms, Nike wished she’d put on her flight jacket to keep her upper body protected against the gusting breeze coming off the mountains. She’d left the jacket on the seat in the cockpit of the helo. The sky was a deep cobalt blue above the backlit peaks. It would be a good hour before the sun, still hidden behind the peaks, would crest them. Nike noticed the last of the stars above her, twinkling and appearing close enough to reach out and touch. Most of these nap-of-the-earth flights were flown just above one hundred feet above the land. All flights departed early in the day when the dark-green-colored helicopter could be hidden in the mountain shadows from an ever-present enemy lurking below.

      The canopied olive-green military truck backed up toward the chopper with Peters’s hand signals to guide it. Two men hopped out of the cab once the truck halted. Nike went to the starboard side of her helo to begin her check of all flight surfaces.

      “Want some company, Captain Alexander?”

      Startled, Nike turned on the heel of her boot. Gavin Jackson stood less than a foot away, a shy smile on his face. She hadn’t heard him approach. Stealth. That was what hunter-killer A teams were all about: you must not be seen or heard in order to kill your target. Gulping convulsively, Nike pressed a hand to her neck. “You scared the hell out of me, Captain!”

      “Oh, sorry,” he said, shrugging. And then he brightened. “Call me Gavin when we’re alone like this.”

      Scowling, Nike continued her slow walk along the two-engine helo. “I’ll think about it,” she said. Nike scanned the rivets in the plates for signs of wear or loosening. Craning her neck, she checked for hydraulic leaks from either of the two massive engines on each end of the bird.

      Undeterred, Gavin fell into step with her. “Don’t you think it’s kismet that we’ve met twice in less than twenty-four hours?”

      Giving him a long, dark look, Nike growled, “More like damnable karma if you asked me.”

      “Ouch.”

      “Oh, get over yourself, Captain Jackson.” Nike faced him, her hands on her hips. He was about six foot two inches tall and it killed her to have to look up at him. His blue eyes were warm and inviting. Without thinking, her gaze fell to his smiling mouth. He had a very, very male mouth. And for a moment, Nike realized he would be a damned good kisser. But a lover? Just because he was a man didn’t mean he automatically had the kind of maturity that Nike demanded. And why on earth was she even thinking along those lines with this rude dude?

      Snorting, she jerked her gaze up. “Listen, hotshot, cool your jets. You’re obviously starved for a warm female body, but remove me from your gun sights. I’m not interested.”

      Dark brows rising, Gavin backed off and held up his hands. “Whoa, Nike—”

      “It’s Captain Alexander to you.” Nike flinched inwardly when she saw his cheeks beneath his beard go ruddy with embarrassment. He had enough humility to blush. Jackson wasn’t really the ego-busting officer Nike had first thought. Hands still resting on her hips, she added with less acidity, “We have a job to do, Captain. I’ll do mine and you do yours. All I have to do is fly your team into a village, drop you off and then I’m out of your life.”

      “That’s not very optimistic,” Gavin observed. Her face was a mask of wariness. And yet, he sensed a crack in that facade. Oh, it wasn’t anything he could point to or see, but Gavin knew his little-boy expression had gotten to her. There wasn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t melt under that look. Of course, it wasn’t really a ploy. Gavin was a little boy at heart when he could get away with it.

      “War is never optimistic, Captain.”

      Shaking his head, Gavin said, “Now where did you pick up that attitude?”

      “In Peru. Chasing druggies for three years. Give no quarter, take no quarter. That’s my maxim, Captain.”

      “I like it,” Gavin said, properly impressed. The corners of his mouth moved upward. “You’re a brazen woman, Captain Alexander, and you make my heart beat faster.”

      Nike ignored the comment, though it secretly pleased her. She finished her inspection of her helo. Maybe he’d get the message and leave her alone. She felt Jackson approach and walk silently at her side. When she halted to touch the metal skin to inspect something more closely, he would wait without a word.

      What kind of game was this? Nike thought for sure if she gave him “the look” that he’d disappear inside the helo. Nope. Not Gavin Jackson. He still had that thoughtful and curious expression on his face. His blue eyes gleamed with humor. In his business, there wasn’t much to be merry about, yet he looked amiable, approachable and drop-dead handsome.

      “You know,” Gavin said conversationally as she halted at the Plexiglas nose, “there isn’t a man on this godforsaken base out in the middle of nowhere that isn’t happy about BJS flying into town.” He rubbed his hands. “An all-women squadron. That’s really something.”

      “We’re black ops,” she warned him. Jackson seemed absolutely joyous over the prospect of ten Apaches with twenty pilots and a mostly all-women crew coming to this base. No wonder. “Not sex on legs.”

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