Sitting on a litter in his boxers with his flight suit around his ankles, Jack struggled not to wince at the sting. More to his pride than his thigh, since the numbing shots were still in effect.
He stood. Shit. Not totally numb. His leg hurt like a son of a bitch. He hitched his flight suit back up, zipped.
Gusting winds from the sandstorm battered and rocked the C-17. Engines had been shut down, covers sealed over to keep the sand out. Which left them without major power for lights. Only small, battery-powered lights and chemsticks offered a hazy dim glow that hinted at a privacy negated by the other medical personnel and crew members milling around them.
But at least they knew Sydney was all right, secured safe with Gardner. Although hearing Yasmine had somehow landed in the camp, too, still boggled his mind. He'd been so focused on keeping one of Monica's sister's safe, he hadn't considered the possibility something could happen to the other one. A tactical error on his part.
Damn. What a night.
"You know, Jack—" Monica pitched away bloody gauzes "—it would have been helpful if you'd given me your correct medical status regarding your thigh instead of going for the laugh line about being shot in the ass."
Jack yanked his gaze off the bloody bits of shrapnel glistening in a silver pan. "Just trying to lighten the mood, bring everything down a notch."
"Not funny."
"What are you going to do to me? Feed me crappy goat stew and shoot me in the ass?"
"Hmm, did I remember to give you your tetanus shot?"
"Yes!"
"I'm not so sure. Maybe you need another."
She cleaned up with steady hands. He would have thought her calm except for her tight lips. Pale face.
Contrition tweaked. "Sorry. Guy thing, you know, joke instead of whimpering like a baby."
Worry pulled her chalky skin taut across her high cheekbones. "You need to lay down."
"I'm fine." Definitely a male thing. No way was he going to be a wuss in front of everyone.
"Of course you're fine. But I also know that very shortly you'll be working your not-shot ass off. You should take advantage of this time when there's nothing to do and give your body a break."
Irritation nicked harder than the shrapnel. His body was revved for battle, not napping.
"You'll be more efficient later if you do."
Score one for the doc. "You're good at maneuvering flyer egos."
"Practice." Crossing her arms over her chest, she smiled her victory.
A flight suit never looked so good as it did drawn taut over Monica's full breasts. God, she was hot, leggy with curves and a sensuous mouth. Oh, yeah.
His revved body found another target for all that adrenaline. "How about this? I'll head up to the crew rest compartment and stretch out...if you'll come talk to me." >"He's fine. Right across the path with my radio operator."
Drew swiped down his face cloth until it fell like a bandana around his neck. He picked up the radio from the floor. When had he dropped it? Perhaps when he'd reached to free her. Her eyes skittered to the hook. Shuddering, she wrapped her tingling arms around her waist and turned her back on the image.
Striding across the room, Drew barked orders into his radio. He opened the door. A blast of wind yanked it from his grip, slammed it to the wall. Sand exploded inside in sheets. So quickly these storms came, something she knew and even still it took her by surprise.
"Damn it!" Drew grabbed for the door, braced his shoulder on the back and forced it closed again.
Click. The door closed. Sand settled.
They were alone.
Drew continued to keep his eyes off her, his attention glued to his radio. "Pass the order down the chain. Take cover. Do your damnedest to enter only sites that have already been through SSE. Bottom line, get the men out of this shit, but maintain perimeter security."
His flashlight cast strobe effects as he walked and talked and surveyed the dark, cement room. Finally he placed the radio on a ledge, voices and different frequencies squawking through.