Page 33 of Vaquero
“I have to, huh?”
She nodded. Man, she wished she knew Charlie’s real name. So she asked. Mostly to distract him from following through with his threat of leaving. “What is your name, your full name? I’ve always used your handle, but seriously. I’d like to know the real man behind the mask.”
His forehead wrinkled. His brows clenched. But he said, “Gregor Jorgensen.” Only he pronounced the J with a Y, making it Yorgensen. Which explained the obvious Viking in the man. His height. His striking blue eyes. His everything.
She stuck a hand out. “Well, hello, Gregor Jorgensen. I’m Meg Duncan, and I’m so thankful you’re here. You always show up in the darnedest places.”
His brows lifted at that, even as he took her hand into his gloved fingers. “Me? I’m not the one standing in the middle of a psychotic guerilla’s ammo dump. Come with me, woman. Let’s blow this place. Now.”
His touch was warm and gentle. She half expected him to lift her hand to his mouth and kiss her knuckles, as carefully as he held onto her.
She wished she knew him better. Yes, he was FMQ,fully mission qualified, but was he crew chief yet? She doubted it. There’d always been a somber streak behind those gorgeous blues, one she recognized. Loneliness. Which made sense. Career soldiers tended to be divorced males, getting divorced males, or never married males. Whether because of the steady deployments they sought out or just because of how they were made, she didn’t know.
But she did know they went home to empty barracks or off-base quarters when they finally touched down. Yeah, sure, they might party with their buddies, get stinking drunk, and bed a few skanky wannabe-Army-wives. But at the end of the day, no one was waiting for them. There were no home-cooked meals to look forward to. No tender kisses or crushing hugs at their front doors. No‘I-love-you’. No‘please, don’t go’. Which tugged at her heart where Charlie, aka Gregor, was concerned. He deserved a kind, generous, and devoted someone in his hairy, scary world. That person just wasn’t her.
Steeling herself for the task at hand, and the very real possibility she would die before the night ended, Meg told him, “I respectfully decline your offer, Sergeant Jorgensen. I came here on a mission. Like you, I will not fail, and I cannot quit. Not until I know for sure Pepe isn’t here and Orlando Zapata is dead. Now go.” She fluttered her fingers at him. “Leave me behind. It’s okay. I understand. Neither of our missions are authorized, but yours can be forgiven. Mine—”Will probably get me killed.
“Shut. The fuck. Up,” he growled. Man, this guy was all things rough, ready, and gorgeously masculine. She couldn’t quell the thrill zipping up her spine at the wicked gleam in his eyes. But her feminine response to his apex predator vibe was short-lived. Charlie’d never settle down. How many times had he told her that over drinks? Enough to know this was probably the last time she’d ever see him.
She hedged. “You wouldn’t happen to have a spare flashlight I could borrow before you head out, would you?”
She could tell that question stunned him. His already icy stare turned downright glacial. Hard as stone. Not a hint of humor in sight. Then, suddenly, a gust of aggravation burst out of him. “What the fuck do you want me to do? This better be good.”
“You’re staying?” she asked to be sure she was reading him right.
“Yesssss,” he hissed. “Why leave now? I’m already AWOL. Going to get my ass reamed for hanging around too long, but since I’m here… Fuck, Meg! Why can’t you be like every other woman in the world? Why die here? Huh? Can you answer me that?”
Charlie always did like his f-bombs. She squeezed his hand extra hard before she let him go. “Because I love these kids and so do you. Stop worrying about me, and let’s get this done.”
“Woman, you drive me fuckin’ crazy. You always have to have the last word. You know that, don’t you?” Charlie had a funny look in his eye, like maybe he didn’t see her the same way she saw him. Like maybe this was the start of something it wasn’t.
Any reply would only encourage his line of questioning, so she ducked answering. “Well, then listen up, Charlie Brown. This is the plan…”
