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She smiled a little, shrugging out of her ruck. Laying it down on the damp floor of the jungle, she knelt and secured her XP sniper rifle to the back on it, barrel down, with the Velcro bindings on its straps. “My mother is Eastern Cherokee and she wanted to name her children after natural things. She’d gone to the Sierra Mountains as a young woman and fell in love with them.” Sierra hitched the seventy-pound pack back onto her shoulders, belting it up and snugging the shoulder straps.
Nate grinned. “Wow, great story.” He took off his black baseball cap and wiped the sweat off his brow.
“Saddle up,” Kilmer growled.
“Where we heading?” Merrill asked.
“To our six-day vacation retreat,” he said dryly.
Sierra frowned and then looked to Nate, who seemed the most open and friendly toward her, for an explanation. A vacation retreat?Out here?She doubted that, wondering if Kilmer was ragging on her already.More than likely.Damn the man was so charismatic. Her body was still responding to his nearness. She felt like exploring him with her hands, wondering what he looked like naked. Sierra was shocked at where her thoughts were going. WHAT the hell was going on with her? Worse, she recognized male interest when she saw it. Kilmer had made no bones about physically appreciating her. Her flesh skittered with eagerness. Damn. That’s all she needed!
“Where do you want me?” Sierra demanded of him. She was used to being on trails, in a single line with her team. And then, she realized her poor choice of words, and the slight, very sensual crook of Kilmer’s mouth as he regarded her question. Rolling her eyes, Sierra wanted to let him know, in no uncertain terms, that she wasn’t going to stand for sexual harassment in either looks or innuendos. Those days were long over.
“Take my question at face value, Sergeant,” she snapped. “Don’t embellish it with your own private thoughts.” Instantly, she saw Merrill and Cunningham’s eyebrows fly up at her warning growl to Kilmer. The soldiers looked at one another, confused.Great.She saw Kilmer give her a slight nod, a tiny bit of apology briefly in his eyes.
“Cale, I’ll take the lead. Chastain, you’re behind me. And don’t you lag behind because, if you do, I’ll have your ass out of here by tomorrow morning. Are we clear?” Kilmer growled as he leered down at her, grim.
“Crystal clear,” Sierra said, grinning, slipping her thumbs beneath the shoulder straps of her ruck. She saw Kilmer’s eyes go to slits for a moment. What? Did this over-testosterone-ladened male think she couldn’t keep up on a column? Keep pace? If that’s what he thought, then he had another think coming. And, even though her right calf was only seven days into recovery, so long as she didn’t slip and fall, tear it open again, she’d be okay and easily be able to keep up. And Sierra knew Kilmer was going to set a blistering pace just to try and run her into the ground. Newbies were always challenged to see if they could take the heat in the kitchen.
“Nate, bring up the rear,” Kilmer snapped, turning on his heel and moving instantly into a ground-eating trot down a thin trail through the jungle.
“Got it,” Nate said, nodding.
Sierra moved out quickly. She was five ten and had long, long legs. And she’d just come off an op, so she was in top physical condition. The sergeant moved out at a steady, trot. He had long legs, too. She had no idea how long they would be humping through the jungle paths but forced herself to relax and let her body move into the rhythm it needed to be in to work for her and not against it. Her hearing was acute. She heard howler monkeys echoing cries throughout the jungle as they moved silently, like ghosts, through the darkening jungle. There wasn’t much brush on the ground, but Sierra was well aware of the roots sticking up here and there. Many were covered by leaf and limb debris. She had to keep her feet high enough, so she didn’t accidentally trip on one of the hidden roots. That could spell disaster for her healing calf.
A good infantry trot with a sixty-pound pack was fifteen minutes. She was carrying eighty-five with her XP sniper rifle. Sierra knew just how important it was to have a correctly-fitting ruck. Shield Security had had one made exactly for her body specifications. Unlike in the military, where one size fits all, and blisters, strains and aches were the norm. She trotted along, balanced, but still feeling the tenderness of the recent knife wound to her calf. Before she’d left, Alex had used surgical tape to give the scar support so it wouldn’t tear open. Neither he nor her had wanted anything of the sort to happen, and Sierra wasn’t about to tell Kilmer she had been wounded recently. He’d probably make a call to his CIA handler by sat phone on the spot, telling him he wanted her out of here right now.
She had no problem following Kilmer. It was darker in the jungle, the triple canopy above them blocking out the sun as it creeped overhead. Her vision was sharp, alerting her of many a hidden root. The trail started down a steeper descent, and it was muddy. Kilmer slowed his pace as well he should. Sierra was glad to see that, even if she pissed him off because she was a woman, he still wasn’t going to risk any member of his team injury by running too fast down a muddy decline. Maybe there was hope after all.
Her olive-green cotton t-shirt was sticking to her body. She wore a green cotton bra, and it was soaked, too. Sierra wanted to rest to take off her cammie jacket, but she wasn’t about to ask Kilmer to stop for a minute so she could shrug out of it and pack it into her ruck. She wasn’t about to give the grizzled sergeant any reason to call her weak. She’d sweat through her clothing like she always had in Somalia. But the humidity was a helluva lot higher here, and sweat was trickling freely down her temples. The inside band on her black baseball cap had been specifically designed to absorb sweat from the brow and keep the wearer’s eyes clear and able to focus on what they needed to see. Another little invention by Jack Driscoll. The man was a genius at making small and large design changes to what they wore a carried, making everything easier on them, making it all take less energy out of them, so that they could throw all that back into a firefight, instead.
Drinking out of her Camelbak, Sierra knew the rules on hydration. She was losing a lot of fluids via sweat. And they had to be equally replaced. She sipped constantly as Kilmer trotted slowly down the descent. Always looking around, her hearing keyed, she saw him doing the same thing. They weren’t in a safe place at all. She could feel the danger around them. No one’s ruck or rifle made a single noise. Operators knew how to make the gear they carried as quiet as possible. To have some metal clinking could draw the enemy to them in a heartbeat.
The trail evened out into a long, straight run between the trees. Despite Kilmer’s size, and he was a damned giant compared to the rest of his team, he ran bonelessly, a honed Olympic athlete of another kind. Kilmer would never win a medal, but Sierra appreciated his silent running despite the weight he carried and his height. She didn’t have a radio on, so when Kilmer came to a halt, she saw Nate and Cale come up to them. They were all breathing hard, but out of wide-open mouths to quieten their breath. All the men had sweat gleaming on their skin. Sierra took off her cap and wiped her brow. She looked up to see Kilmer critically studying her. Did he think her a shrinking violet? She had been a Marine. No one was tougher than them. She stared belligerently back at him, just daring him to make some snarky comment.
But he didn’t. Instead, he said in a low voice, “We have about a mile to go. This is hostile territory, so keep your eyes and ears open. If you hear anything, give a click on the radio.”
Sierra looked pointedly at him. “If you’d given me one? I’d have turned it on.”
“We’ll get you set up with one once we make camp,” he told her gruffly. “I doubt you’ll spot anything, but it if you do, hit me on the arm or shoulder once to let me know.”
“With pleasure,” and she gave him a challenging look.
Kilmer’s strong, chiseled mouth barely hooked faintly upward in one corner, but said nothing. He lifted his hand, a signal for them to fall into a single line once again.
They reached the camp without incident. Sierra watched Kilmer slow and saw what looked like an opening in the jungle ahead. She was breathing hard, but her legs felt good and strong. She figured he was probably wondering why she hadn’t cried out for help from a big, strong man yet to save her. Laughing to herself, she paid attention to the meadow opening up before them. There were four thatched huts, small ones, about ten feet from one another. They were built up along the tree line, facing inward on the meadow. She saw a fresh-water collection station between two of the huts, large five-gallon drums lined up to hold any rain.
Kilmer turned to her as they approached the huts. “Chastain, you take that one,” and he pointed to the second hut along the row. “I’ll be over here, then Merrill and Cunningham are the tail of this donkey.”
Nate snorted. “We could always look at it in reverse, Mace. I’m the head and you’re the ass.”
“That fits,” Sierra murmured, grinning broadly as she turned and walked away from Kilmer’s overpowering masculine presence. She heard him snort.
“In your dreams, Merrill. How about some breakfast grub?”
“Coming up,” Cale said with a chuckle, heading for his hut.
Sierra found the hut an amazing place to call home. It was made from palm leaves, branches and grass. It smelled slightly damp within, but the earth was dry. That was a good sign. Someone had done some excellent work on the roof to stop the rain from entering the hut.
