Anything, Anywhere, Anytime (Wingmen Warriors 6) - Page 38

"Roger that, sir," Korba shot over his shoulder already rounding the corner of the table.

Drew wadded up his napkin, pitched it on top of his half-eaten stew. Thumbing up the edge of the grape Kool-Aid, he smacked it against his hand idly and hunted for the girl pushing the water cart. Damn, but a man could dehydrate before she made it over.

Scanning four tables down, he found her. Talking again. This time with the copilot Derek Washington—Rodeo. The copilot's wide smile flashed across his coffee-toned skin. Her hands fluttered through the air with the same gestures as if asking for directions like before with Santuci.

Exactly the same gestures.

Like a concocted excuse to talk.

His brain shifted to military mode, never too far of a shuffle. The Air Force's Office of Special Investigations—OSI—would have checked her out. But shit happened. Stuff got past. Losing some of his men to suicide bombers in Iraq had left indelible suspicion.

He assessed her more closely, this time as a possible terrorist threat. Black dress, Western clothes, but not stylish. Length almost to her ankles. Could be hiding a knife or gun strapped to her thigh. The dress nipped at her waist, snug enough for him to ascertain no explosives were strapped to her chest No, he could clearly discern the outline of her small, high breasts.

Breasts?

F—uh, hell. LifeSaver. Lemon.

Self-disgust roiled through him like another bite of that godawful stew. He was old enough to be her father. Some fine damned example he was setting for his troops.

Libido reined, he eased back in his chair, flicked the edge of the Kool-Aid packet. Tap. Tap. Tap. Waited. Watched. Seemed like she was settling in for the kill with the copilot Rodeo. The man could handle himself, but it still made for sticky politics to mix with locals.

Both backed away from each other. Tough day for the home team.

Almost amused, Drew watched her walk, stroll, assess, definitely on the make. No one else seemed to notice. She was actually fairly good at the game. Admiration spiked for someone who might have made a challenging adversary with a few years' seasoning. He'd just been around longer, seen more than anyone else in the room. Been taken in once himself by Glenna. His smile faded.

The woman paused, in front of Korba this time. For about half a second before giving him a wide berth. Smart girl. In spite of his grins and jokes, Korba was an edgy bastard she'd be wise not to tangle with.

She was out of her depth here. Amusing, but sad, too, how far she would go.

Not heart-tugging enough for him to sacrifice one of his men for her.

The sixteen SEALs rose as one into a human barricade blocking the woman from sight. The SEAL wall, packing M-4s along with their meal trays, moved to reveal empty air where the woman had been before. Damn.

Of course he would just check in with the ADVON team later, notify Captain Baker to keep an eye on her. Tucking the grape Kool-Aid pack in his pocket, Drew stood, kicked back his chair, more than ready to dump this meal and find his bed.

The hair bristled on the back of his neck in a battlefield instinct he knew better than to ignore. He'd been targeted. He scoped. Found nothing.

Tray in hand, he pivoted. "Damnation!"

He stopped short of slamming into the water cart. And the woman. How the hell had she crept up on him? That she could catch him unaware scared the shit out of him more than an M-16 jammed in his face.

Women moved softly here. A fact worth remembering.

"Sorry, ma'am." He barked the apology, already making his way past.

"There is no need for you to apologize."

Shoulder to shoulder, he paused, the melodic echo of her accented words catching him as unaware as her silent tread. Dark eyes stared back up at him. Eyes as black as the night sky seen from a bedroll on a moonless evening.

Moonless evening? Hell. Apparently some damned poet had taken up residence in his head while he'd gone soft reading all that baby psychology mumbo jumbo.

Returning his tray to the table, Drew waited for her to play out her bogus request for directions. And waited while she stared back, searching. Desolation muddied her eyes beneath the bright splash of color from her sun-scorched scarf. Fast. Then gone. But no mistaking it. This woman was desperate.

And determined.

No room for sympathy. Sympathy in the battlefield got a man gut shot.

Three soundless footsteps brought her around in front of him as she stared deeper into his eyes. Closer. Close enough for him to catch her scent— soap, incense and a sultry, smoky smell that did things to his insides he had no damn business feeling for a woman this young. He was not some horny teenager for God's sake.

Tags: Catherine Mann Wingmen Warriors Romance
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