Her sister.
Yasmine was his sister-in-law.
What a strange damned thought right now. But after a life spent in a tight-knit family, the connection niggled at him. This woman wasn't just a pain in the ass, she was also at least temporarily his family, which made her his pain in the ass, too. His responsibility, even if things went to shit while she was here, the woman's connection to Monica was permanent.
"Thank you, Major Korba, but maybe if I stay a while longer they will have more information."
"Come on, Yasmine, you really do need to be inside before one of the security police makes a scene none of us needs tonight." He reached for her arm again.
She almost managed to suppress her fearful wince. Just as proud as someone else he knew. But she wasn't leaving without more of an answer.
"Physically there's not a mark on him. Colonel Cullen is as all right as any commander who just had one of his troops injured can be. But yeah, physically, he's fine."
She backed away from him, toward the door. "Thank you."
He thought about saying more, but what? Like her sister in more ways than one, it seemed Yasmine would only tolerate help and comfort in small, measured doses.
Jack glanced back at the plane. Monica needed his distance for now. Fine. But she had to come down off her hill sometime and she would need him then whether she wanted to admit it or not.
Even under all her calm, he hadn't seen her this rattled since the news about Sydney. God, if that was the case, then he probably shouldn't set foot anywhere near her.
Thing was, he'd learned long ago with Tina that he didn't always make the rational choice.
Gut-weary, Drew reached for the doorknob to his quarters. He needed sleep. He needed peace.
Above all, he had to get himself together if he expected his men to recover morale. Officially announcing PFC Santuci's death had been beyond hell. No matter how many times he performed that task, it always sliced away a piece of him he would never get back.
He swung his door open. And stopped short.
Yasmine sat at his desk, elegant, ramrod straight.
Her uncovered hair gleamed in the lamplight, her daisy scarf in her lap.
"How the hell did you get in here?" He slammed the door shut behind him before anyone saw her in his quarters.
"People were preoccupied with the tragedy outside, which made it easy enough to slip my guard." She shrugged. "I am very quiet."
"All right. Fine. I get the picture." He pinched the bridge of his nose, not that it did a damned bit of good easing the remorse biting the edges of his brain, hampering his thinking, impeding his already-compromised ability to be rational where Yasmine was concerned. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you. I was worried. I needed to see that you were not hurt on the training exercise."
"Are there no secrets in this place?"
She pleated the daisy scarf between her fingers, her only sign of nerves. "I am sure there are many."
Unhooking his M-16 from his shoulder, he wondered why the hell he didn't just throw her out.
"Who was injured?"
"One of my men." He shrugged out of his flak vest.
"I know that much."
He glanced over his shoulder, questioning. "Major Korba told me. Will your soldier be all right?"
"No."
"Oh." Her fingers stilled their quilting. "Is he—"