Page 9 of Secrets in a Sandstorm

My jaw clenches as I check the fuel gauge and run the numbers.

“Where are we, Teddy?” I glance at the man next to him, this time noting his name tag. E Connell. Edward Connell. Teddy. The man in the oversized gold and lapis lazuli bangle. I learned something about Ancient Egypt in the museum. They loved that shit.

Does that mean I’m C Brown? I want to check my name tag, but I can’t.

Teddy pulls a map out of his pocket. “Thirty clicks. Unless the storm changes direction, it’s going to cut us off.”

“Bollocks,” I snarl.

“We’re close to the ridge,” Teddy adds, like that means something.

I nod, like I know exactly what he’s talking about. We’ll be able to shelter from the storm, but we need to shake the enemy first because we can’t fight them in the caves.

Then I realize which caves they’re talking about.

Nooo! Don’t go into the cave—you’ll die there.But I’m screaming to myself.

I try again to convince myself this isn’t real. It can’t be.

My mind is filling in blanks, that’s all. I need to wake up.

But I don’t remember getting bitten. The last thing I remember is pulling the golden cat out of the bag.

I can’t see a cat or a bag.

There’s a bang, and the vehicle bucks. My guy attempts to regain control, but the ride is lumpy. The enemy has hit us.

“How far?” I ask.

Teddy points to a rise to our right. “One click.”

We’re approaching the ridge and cave from a different angle than the one me and Harrison took. These guys must have been coming from Libya, which explains why we’re being shot at. Had they crossed enemy lines? What were they doing?

My guy scans the sand. I’m not sure what he’s looking for, and I don’t know how he’s keeping the vehicle under control, but the tension in his arms and body as he does is incredible. He’s driving to save the lives of everyone on board. If he rolls the vehicle, they’re dead or captured.

If he stops, it’s much the same.

It’s like he knows they’re fucked, but since there’s no other choice, he isn’t going to make it easy for the enemy.

“Tell them I’m going to pull in at the rocks and we’re going to make a stand, then retreat into the caves until the storm passes. Call it in so HQ knows where we are.” My guy bites out the words, like he’s ordering dinner in a restaurant and expects Teddy to say something like, “Excellent choice, sir.”

The whole ‘calm in the face of disaster’ thing he has going on is impressive, even though his stress levels are rising. I feel a connection to him, like I understand how he works.

It’s kind of like me when attending an accident scene. It’s a mess of emergency vehicles and people, some of whom are injured, but I need to stay calm and make decisions to get everyone stable and to hospital. It sucks when someone doesn’t make it.

Teddy folds up the map and does as he’s told. I’m guessing he’s about my age, but the desert sun and war have gotten to him. My guy looks at him for a second too long, and there’s a definite warmth in hischest.

Whoa.

Am I making up some kind of gay fantasy between these two because I’ve been trying not to pant over Harrison for the last week? I’ve known him for fourteen years. Looked up to him like an older brother. Yet now, I’ve suddenly decided that when he’s hot and sweaty, he’s the best thing I’ve ever seen, and I want to rub against him like a cat in heat?

I can’t even blame the motorbike because he’s been riding one since he got his license. Hell, I’ve ridden on the back of his bike, the nice one he bought after his first deployment. All black and chrome, it was as sexy as fuck, and because I was admiring it, he took me for a spin. My arms were around his waist, and the hard-on I got was because of the bike vibrations.

He’d gotten off the bike and adjusted his own obvious hard-on, calling it a traveling fat. Completely normal. I was nineteen, and I had a girlfriend. I believed him…or at least I wanted to believe him.

I’m sure I can remember the smell of his leather jacket and the way it felt against my cheek, though. The way he felt in my arms.

Damn.

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