Drew's curse cut the air a second before he whipped out a knife. Large hands so gentle, he sawed through the binding, massaged feeling back into her fingers while she stared at the top of his helmet as he bent over his task. She bit back an instinctive cry of pain just to keep his hands on her again.
"How is my sister?" she finally dared ask. "How is Sydney?"
"She's fine, secured and under guard. Both of your sisters are safe."
Relief left her dizzy.
"Are you okay? They didn't—" his hands continued the tender touch in spite of his icy tones "—assault you, attack you in any way, lay one goddamned finger on you."
"No. No. They did not assault me."
The big man in front of her swayed. Then his eyes snapped open, snapped with anger, as well. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Tender time over.
"They set a trap for me, lured me out with a concocted story about a pregnant woman in labor. Please, please say the sergeant who accompanied me is all right." >"Oh, God, I love you so much, Blake." The words fell free with a new ease and lightness.
"You know I love you, too."
Four months ago she'd been wrong to doubt the power of love. When faced with the worst the world could offer, love was everything. The most important thing. "It is enough."
"It has to be, because I can't live without you."
Her hand on the back of his neck, she gave a gentle nudge forward. Her consent. Slowly he leaned closer, brushed his mouth against hers. Careful. Cognizant and considerate of all she'd been through.
The kiss wasn't passionate or deep, but the familiar connection with Blake and spearmint warmed her cold soul. A flicker of something more tingled wonderfully through her. Just a flicker, and not anything she was ready to explore yet.
But so damned reassuring.
She would be okay. Not today, and probably not tomorrow, either, but someday. Because this man who had the patience and strength to crawl through tunnels and cobwebs to face hell could crawl into the dark place where she'd been taken and hold her hand all the way back.
"Alpha, this is Budweiser two-one." Jack updated via the radio from the cockpit while his C-17 circled the seized terrorist compound. "The aero-medical evacuation team is two miles out."
Two minutes out.
Monica's plane approached, dimly visible through the night and approaching sandstorm.
"Runway secure," Colonel Cullen responded. "All clear for them to continue."
The Rangers had taken the airfield and the compound with no fatalities on their side and minimal injuries. Now Monica's plane descended below him, neared the dirt runway, ready to treat the wounded and to assess the freed hostages.
Meanwhile he flew the mobile command post over the airfield. His comm equipment in back on pallets provided radio relay for the short-range information transmitted from the ground. He'd just tool around up here in the sky until the AWACs arrived to take over communications.
All was hunky-dory, right? He'd flown through hotter zones than this. Still he couldn't shake the fear that some Gomer a few miles out with a launcher on his shoulder would pop Monica's plane with a missile. Something even the Rangers couldn't control.
Hell. At least now he acknowledged his fears were a screwed-up backlash from losing Tina. Acknowledging didn't do much for making those demons go away.
Probably for the best that he had at least another twenty-four hours to get his head level before talking to her again. Monica would land and he would leave. No chance for chitchat until the sandstorms passed and she headed back to base. Not that he was a hundred percent certain how he would make up for his obvious omission just before takeoff.
Three important words left unsaid, dumb ass. Damn, but he wanted to thump himself upside his head.
Whoomp.
The plane shuddered. The thump too close on the heels of his thought stunned him silly with confusion before he realized...
Something was seriously wrong.
"What the hell was that?" Rodeo's voice snapped through the headset.