Focus and forge ahead like in the pageant bathing suit competition. Eyes straight, head tall regardless of how exposed she felt with those Band-Aids sealed on her nipples. Surely she'd faced the worst with Jack.
Too bad she couldn't escape one simple fact. While slapping those Band-Aids on had been mortifying and uncomfortable...
The pain had been nothing compared to peeling them off.
Five minutes and he could peel off his flight suit.
Jack stared down the long corridor of the Warrior Inn to his room, debrief for their night flight completed by sunrise. Plans and test runs were finished, even the Army Rangers had begun to straggle back into billeting for sleep. Nothing he could do now but pray like hell they pulled off their three-part plan.
Anything. Anywhere. Anytime. Like the squadron motto stitched on the patch stuck to his sleeve, he would unleash it all to bring an end to this.
Loping ahead, Jack nodded without speaking as he angled past other crew dogs milling—Joker and Tag with Rodeo. He just wanted to crawl under the sheets alone in his nice quiet room and rack until time to leave for Rubistan.
An ADVON team—advanced echelon—led by Captain Daniel "Crusty" Baker had already deployed to set up their temporary base in an old airport donated by the Rubistanian government. The Rubistans were working like hell to diffuse tense U.S. relations with political distance from the terrorist faction. If not for Rubistan's slack security once the captured terrorist leader had been deported from the States, Ammar al-Khayr would still be in custody rather than back in power.
Jack chewed on a curse. Practice runs might be done, but he would rehearse it in his head at least a hundred more times because failing was not an option.
He would lead a formation of cargo planes into Rubistan under the guise of transporting humanitarian relief to NGO workers. Once there, he would drop SEALs deep in-country to recon intel for a couple of days. Then the SEALs would slip in to secure the hostages just before five hundred Rangers rained from the sky to seize the terrorist camp.
Piece of cake, right?
Hell.
Rounding the corner, Jack slowed, nodded to the senior officer lumbering toward him in the narrow corridor. No salute necessary indoors, a fact his aching arm appreciated. "Morning, sir."
"Korba." Colonel Drew Cullen nodded in return. While Jack had planned the mission, everyone would report to Cullen, the Ranger Regimental Commander from Ft. Benning, Georgia.
Jack started to pass, but Cullen pulled up short. "Hold on a minute, Korba."
"Yes, sir?"
Sun, sand and duty had carved lines in the Colonel's face, marking every one of his years in the field. Even with below-the-zone promotions, the guy had to be in his early forties. Cullen reached into the front pocket of his camouflage BDU—Battle Dress Uniform—and pulled out a roll of LifeSavers candies. "Have one."
Turning him down seemed in bad form. "Uh, sure. Thank you, sir."
Weathered lines softened with a smile. "I'm celebrating my first grandkid."
Grandkid? Jack thumbed a lime LifeSaver free. God, this guy wasn't even ten years older and already had a grandchild before Jack got started on children. Of course he would have been knee-deep in a family if Tina hadn't died from a fluke heart attack during childbirth. Fifteen years had eased the pain over losing his wife and stillborn son until he managed to walk through days at a time without thinking of them.
Then moments like this brought it up front again. "Girl or boy?''
"Baby girl."
"Congratulations, sir." Jack popped the Life-Saver into his mouth to blunt the sour aftertaste of memories with lime. Monica always ordered lime— not lemon—in her water.
Hell. Both Monica and Tina crowded his brain when he preferred to think of neither. Oblivion worked better.
His pillow called to him louder than ever. "See you tomorrow morning, Colonel."
"Sleep well, Major."
Jack pivoted on his boot heel, stopping just shy of ramming the cleaning cart. The uniformed maid smiled, steadying a tottering pyramid of toilet paper rolls. "Sir, I went ahead and let your wife into your room. I hope that was all right."
Wife?
He didn't need three guesses as to who'd tracked him down. Steady ground shifted under him. Too much Monica in his present and Tina in his past cycled through his head when he was too dog-tired to fight it.
"Your wife?" Rodeo slid up like a bogey from his six o'clock and slugged him on the arm. The sore arm. "Knew you were holding out on me, Cobra."