Page 21 of Tate
The chopper lifted, the desert dropping under them.
More shots, and Levi returned fire as Ford strapped himself onto a bench.
“What happened back there?” Nez shouted over the engine, his dark eyes blazing. More shots arced into the night, like fireflies. “You don’t usually go Lone Ranger on us. That’s going to get you killed. Stick to the mission specs—you had orders to exfil!”
“Marsh got ambushed,” Cruz said.
That wasn’t—except, it might have looked that way, especially since only he had direct communication with Scarlett.
“I’m sorry, Chief. Squirters came out the back, in hard pursuit,” he said, still catching his breath. His entire chest felt aflame, and suddenly he was having a hard time breathing.
His master chief must have seen him grab for the collar of his body wrap because he leaned over and examined the hole in his armor. “You’ve been shot.”
“No lie.” He closed his eyes. “But I’d be dead if Scarlett—Petty Officer Hathaway hadn’t warned me.”
Nez gave him a hard, dark look. “No more rogue ops. Good thing Cruz saw you, or we’d be circling back.” He glanced over at Martha. “With a possible negative outcome.”
The young woman hugged herself, her arms tight, her face bruised. She looked out onto the Yemen hillsides, the villages tucked into the crannies of bald, dusty mountains, lit here and there with courtyard fires and in some places, lights.
She appeared utterly stripped. As if she hadn’t a clue where she was or what had happened.
Yeah, he got that.
He pressed his hand to his chest, aware that he’d started to feel woozy, every breath a blinding shot of agony.
He might have broken a rib.
Weirdly, Martha turned and looked straight at him, her jaw tight, her eyes hard. Almost angry. The sudden change drew in his breath past his aching chest.
But he got that too.
He could almost see the personal, emotional armor forming. After a trauma like this, it would take her years to break it down, to feel safe enough to let someone inside, to not feel as if she had to control every moment, wrestle her fears into a hard, forbidding ball.
It would also take years before someone might come along who could earn her trust, help her open her heart to hope and maybe even love.
Years before she’d be able to silence the voices of fear. Maybe even guilt and shame.
But when she did, maybe she’d find another voice. The kind of voice that told her she wasn’t broken. Not wounded, but strong.
Even brave.
And someday that voice would tell her it was okay to take a chance and live again.
That voice just might save her life.
He looked out the window. They’d crossed the jagged mountains, were heading toward the coastline, and beyond was their transport ship.
The moonlight dragged a golden trail across the ocean to the deep blue horizon.
Ford put his hand on his chest, felt the hole, the ache. But underneath his palm, his heart was still beating.
Thank you, Scarlett.
3
“Never in a thousand years would I guess you’d join your mother’s campaign.”
Glo made a face at Cher as her red-headed former roommate set a wide-mouthed mug in front of Glo, a heart-shaped leaf drawn into the foam of her vanilla latte. She slid onto the wooden bench across the table from Glo, armed with an Americano and a gleam in her eye. “So, how did the Senator rope you in?”
