Or did she not know about the kidnapping? Information didn't flow freely here.
Keagan snapped the file closed. "All a moot point now, anyway. We can't release her back into the community in case her request is valid."
And couldn't risk her sharing anything she may have seen or heard.
Yasmine's haughty jaw dropped open. "Everything is all right? I will be leaving for the United States?"
Keagan turned to the commanding officer. "Colonel?"
Placing his LMR on the corner of the desk, stone-faced Colonel Cullen blinked slowly, assessing. "There are State Department channels we need to process through. Beyond that, we don't have a disposable number of pilots on hand to ferry people back and forth. She'll have to wait until we've completed our mission here, and she'll be under house arrest until we go."
Yasmine's brown eyes flashed with fear, fast then gone. "Which means what exactly?''
"You're free to walk around the compound, but you may not leave."
"And I will be watched?"
Silence spoke louder than any affirmation.
"Thank you." Her chin dipped in a regal-princess nod at odds with her dowdy dress and faded red scarf. "Where will I sleep?''
Colonel Cullen's eyes snapped up, then away. "You can bunk with your sister."
"No!" Monica and Yasmine answered simultaneously.
Monica flushed. Silence returned, broken only by the voices building outside the foggy window beside the Colonel.
Jack palmed Monica's back. "Personally, I prefer my flight surgeon not be dead on her feet when she treats me, which is why Doc Hyatt got private quarters in the first place, unlike the rest of the crew dogs bunking double. A roommate would be disruptive enough even without the guard. Don't we have another room, even a closet available?"
Thank you, Jack.
Keagan dropped the file on the desk. "We can't put her in the luggage return hangar with all the Colonel's soldiers."
Crusty leafed through papers on a clipboard. "There's a storage closet we were using for extra bedrolls. We could stack those in the hall instead and set up a cot for her."
Relief sighed from Yasmine so loudly Monica wanted to laugh. Needed to laugh. Except life just wasn't that damned funny lately.
Yasmine rose, slowly, with an imperialistic poise that would have no doubt propelled her beyond a first-runner-up slot at the Miss Texas competition. "I should return to the kitchen."
A truck backfired outside. Once again?
Oh, God, a shot. Not a truck.
"Down! Shooter," someone shouted, inside or outside.
Pop. The window shattered, sending glass and military personnel flying. Another bullet whistled past.
No time to think. Training assumed control. Monica launched toward her sister. Saw the Colonel tackle her first.
Monica hit the ground. Hard. Jack? Where was Jack?
His arm hooked around her waist. "Quit worrying about your sister. She's fine."
He jerked Monica as he rolled. Toward the wall. Under the table and out of the line of fire.
Her heart thudded against his. Another shot took out the jagged edge of pane. Glass spewed inside. Shards tinkled along with shouts and gunfire.
Then nothing. Just barked orders but no more shots.