Page 8 of Shadow Target

Willow tried to steady her heartbeat as she and Dev waited on the tarmac of Dejazmach Belay Zeleke Airport in Bahir Dar, standing in the long shadow of the control tower. The sun had barely risen, the September dawn a coolish fifty-two degrees Fahrenheit. It had rained the night before and Lake Tana in the distance looked a beautiful blue, as if clear of the pollution from the city proper to the northwest. The humidity was high.

Willow’s blood had thinned long ago, and the coolness had made her wear her favorite old denim jacket over her green flight suit. She’d braided her hair, so it hung in one long rope down her back, her olive-green baseball cap in place with the Delos insignia on the front, one arm of her aviator sunglasses hooked into the v of the zipper of her half-opened jacket. Dev shifted restlessly, from one flight boot to the other. She wasn’t one to stay still for long. They watched as the C-130 Hercules transport plane landed, the red and yellow horizontal stripes down the length of its fuselage, denoting it a Delos aircraft. Up on the tail section was the institute’s rising sun logo, representing hope; a bare glimpse of light dawning on the horizon after the long, dark night of need the poverty-stricken here had sheltered through.

In Willow’s hand was a clipboard holding the flight manifest with all the names of the people on board. On the flight, there were fourteen Shield Security team personnel, disguised as Delos security staff, and twenty undercover US Navy Seabee construction crew members, Shep Porter among them. What did he look like now, as opposed to what she remembered from three years ago? They had sent emails back and forth, but not any photos specifically of one another attached. The emails had always been brief and fairly impersonal. She watched the plane touch down on its tricycle gear and heard Dev’s low sigh under the sharp, brief screech from the rear tires. Smiling, Willow turned to her.

“Like old times, huh? Almost feels like we’re back in country again.”

Dev grinned and took off her green baseball cap, moving her fingers nervously through her ponytailed hair. “Yeah, no kidding. I thought we were done with bullets flying, here in Ethiopia, but now, what with David stirring up trouble and all, it feels like we’re in Afghanistan again.”

Nodding, Willow watched the C-130 anchor at the end of the runway, and then slowly turn, the shrieking, whistling sound of the four prop engines filling the air as it headed toward the parking area near the tower and rows of hangars. There was a passenger ramp on wheels, standing by for the transport plane to come to a halt. In actuality, the entire rear of the plane would open up and be one big disembarking ramp, but the local guys didn’t know that. Two airport staffers stood ready, watching the C-130 lumber toward them. Once it was parked, engines off, chocks would be thrown beneath the wheels to keep it from moving. She was sure everyone on board had already been told to exit via the rear ramp once the plane halted in the revetment area.

“Damn, it’s cold,” Dev griped.

“Weather desk said low of fifty-two and high of seventy-three today.” Willow looked up at the turbulent, quickly changing sky. “We got garbage can cumulus right now, which means the end of the front has come through. Maybe by noon you’ll warm up as these clouds leave and the sun shines down on us once again.”

“One can hope.”

Dev was always the pessimist. Always dark. But she had been born into a dark, severely dysfunctional family, so Willow understood how she saw the world through that murky, dirty lens. She was sure the day would warm up nicely, a good welcome to Ethiopia for all those people on board the Delos C-130 trundling like a pregnant cow toward them.

“You nervous?” Dev asked.

“Yeah, a little,” Willow admitted grudgingly.

“The great unknown always digs up our fear,” Dev said, nodding. “At least Wyatt Lockwood thinks your ex has matured and will be a professional.”

“I’m hoping that’s true,” Willow agreed. Her hands tightened a little as the whistling of the four engines on the C-130 drew closer. The two airport crewmen waved their bright-orange light sticks, indicating where the pilot was to bring the transport to a halt. The air was filled with that shrieking ear-splitting and hurting whistle. In no time, the aircraft halted, all engines cut and props slowing down, the painful sound dissolving. Willow’s throat grew dry as she watched the rear ramp slowly open up and start to disgorge the many passengers.

To her surprise, she suddenly wanted to cry. Her! She rarely cried. She’d cried for days after leaving Shep. Some of those tears were of rage and frustration that he couldn’t bend, couldn’t compromise, couldn’t try to be flexible with her. How lost she’d been that first year after they’d divorced. She’d cried some more when the divorce papers were served. And when they came back to her, signed, it only compounded her grief.

Wiping her mouth out of sheer nervousness, Willow felt shaky all over inside. Even her knees felt momentarily weak and unsure. Part of her wanted to run away and not meet Shep after three years of his absence. Another part wanted to run TOWARD him! That realization shocked Willow. As she stood there, watching the people trundling down the ramp, she felt like she was careening every which way emotionally, could almost feel herself lofting and diving, as if on a plane of her own that she had lost control of. There were fusions of paired emotions of heady joy connected with rage, and grief entwined with hope, and a final spare, all-on-its-lonesome one of longing for Shep. Why hadn’t they been able to make the compromises? What was wrong with them? Look at the result.

Standing rock-solid, but not feeling so, the sky overhead a patchwork of clouds, showing through them the blue of the Ethiopian dawn and the rising sun, Willow took another deep, serrating breath. In times of fear and trepidation she would mentally and emotionally shore herself up by simply willing it away. Her knees tightened and she felt more stable inside, her gaze riveted on that ramp. Willow was sure Shep would be among the first people out because he was the boss of the entire operation.

Sure enough, she saw him emerge, wearing a bright-red nylon coat over a dark-green t-shirt, jeans and roughout boots. He still wore his hair down over his ears, very un-Marine like, slightly curled, and that five-to-ten-day growth of beard. He got away with such choices because he was here undercover, but his surfer dude look hadn’t changed a bit, and she felt a warmth in her chest. Such typical faire for a civilian engineer, her mind clocked. The cover was working. He was tall: six foot three inches, roughly around two hundred pounds of lean, hard muscle. Even at this distance in the dawn light, she could see that Shep was deeply tanned from all the time he spent in the sun. If he was anywhere even near an ocean, she was sure he was surfboarding on off hours; he never lost his love of the sport. He wore a Delos brown baseball cap with their rising sun logo on the front. The bill was up enough that Willow could see his face fully as he turned his attention her way.

And then, their gazes locked.

A spasm of grief roared through Willow. What had they done to one another? How much hurt had they created by walking away? But what were the options? There had been none. Shep’s azure gaze scanned hers as he hesitated fractionally at the bottom where the ramp met the concrete revetment area, holding her image for that split second. Willow felt so much, as if back in that freaky mental telepathy mode they seemed to always have with one another. As if it had just been reactivated. He moved with such natural male grace. Shep had grown up in La Jolla, California, where his father owned and ran a construction company. He’d lived in a house less than half a mile from the Pacific Ocean and had started surfing when he was nine years old. And that was what had first drawn her to him: his youth, his wildness, his love of the ocean, and watching him tame it with his ever-present surfboard. Yes, he was a gorgeous-looking man, no question. But it had become so much more than that, and Willow could feel herself absorbing his deep, searching look, as if he were trying to touch her mind and heart all in that split-second gaze.

And then, he broke eye contact with her, turning and waiting for the rest of his people to disgorge. He was a damn fine boss, and manager of people in general. She had loved that part of him. He watched as each person come down the ramp. Yes, no question, Shep was a focused, responsible leader. For once, as an Air Force officer, it had been nice for Willow to set that role aside in Afghanistan and be in Shep’s arms and his care. When they’d lain in bed, talking, touching, kissing and exploring one another on every possible level, she’d fallen so quickly for the man. And he’d fallen just as quickly for her. They were a mutual admiration society, keeping their private lives private at the busy Army air base.

The group assembled. It was time to go meet them. Willow felt as if she were in some dream-time movie, and this wasn’t real. As she forced her feet forward, Dev at her side, the clipboard gripped in her left hand, she floated out-of-body. Heart aching without relief, Willow felt as if someone had stolen the air out of her lungs. She struggled to breathe, struggled to remained grounded and focused.

Three years.

Three years without Shep’s tender touches.

Three years without his rich, deep laughter as they shared a joke together.

Three years without his tall male body curved around hers as she slept.

As a lover, she’d never had anyone better than Shep. To say she swooned as he played her body with his touches and kisses, was an understatement. Even now, her lower body warmed with memory. And need.

How to be professional? They’d fought like hell, but the making up had been out of this world. She still woke up some nights from torrid dreams of Shep joined with her, loving her, taking her with him to some unknown galaxy where they both languished in carnal pleasure together. Now, she had to put on her game face, as the military referred to it. Be all business.

***

How the hell was he going to keep a straight face? Shep could feel himself unraveling deep within and it was because Willow was walking across the tarmac toward him. In the three years since he’d seen her in person? She had grown even more beautiful. He was an engineer. His whole life was about noticing subtle details and missing nothing. She had flawless gold-green eyes the color of newly birthed willow leaves in early spring. Her mother had named her such for that very reason. Just from the gentle sway of her hips, the set of her chin, a burning confidence radiated around her like blinding sunlight. That flight suit hid her best assets and the palms of his hands literally itched for a second, in memory of them on her smooth, firm flesh. He had it BAD. A lot worse than he’d first believed. Three years, he realized with stunning and sudden clarity, seemed now like only days since he’d last seen Willow.

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