Page 30 of Keeping a Warrior

His body glistened with a light sheen of sweat, and Devon noticed he was carrying a small daypack.

“What’s in the pack? And thanks for not letting me win.”

Rhys grinned at her. “First aid kit. Water. A few snacks.” He shrugged. “I’m a medic. Emergency supplies are what I do.”

“Ha.” Propping her hands on her hips, she tilted her head back and stared up at the plane. “It’d be so cool to get inside that thing, wouldn’t it?”

“Would you ever want to fly something like this?”

“Nah.” Impressed he remembered what she’d told him about her early aspirations, Devon said, “I, uh, actually had my sights set on the 160th.”

“The Night Stalkers? Whoa.”

“Yeah. Since they opened it to women, that’s all I ever wanted to do.”

She’d grown up on her dad’s stories about the fabled 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment, the squadron of helicopter pilots who flew spec ops guys into battle. Their specialty was night flying, fast and low, in blacked-out helos.

“I finished Warrant Officer Candidate School and was about to apply to the flight program when I heard about the Cultural Support Team.” Devon wandered toward the front landing gear of the 747. “It seemed like the sort of challenge I wanted, and it would get me into special operations a lot faster than the pilot track.”

Letting out a deep sigh, she rested her back against the huge tire. After a moment, Rhys joined her. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re making a hell of a lot more difference doing what you’re doing. After all, I saw it in action.”

That mission. The scared children who’d calmed at the sight of a woman. The grieving widow who’d told Devon and Roshana something she never would’ve told the men.

She had been making a difference. Until that night, when she’d placed her trust in the hands of men she’d been willing to die for...

“Hey, check it out!” Rhys’s voice broke into her anguished thoughts. He was pointing up at the belly of the plane, at what looked like an open access panel. “I think we could climb up there.”

He dug in his pack for a moment before passing her a sturdy flashlight. Devon switched it on and aimed it up at the panel. “Try it.”

Rhys braced his foot on a bolt in the flattened tire and pulled himself halfway up into the opening. “Piece of cake.” He disappeared into the belly of the plane. Devon paced back and forth excitedly until he poked his head out. “Yep, this is the baggage hold. And I found a ladder leading up to the passenger compartment.”

He reached his hand down.

“I don’t need any help,” she started to snap, subsiding when Rhys waggled his fingers.

“I know,” he said, “but I’ll take the flashlight. Unless you wanna hold it between your teeth.”

A little sheepishly she tossed him the flashlight, then cocked her head, studying the way up. It turned out the landing gear mechanism had quite a few hand-and footholds, so it was a simple matter to climb it and pull herself inside.

The baggage compartment was dark, hot and smelling of dust.

“Don’t trip on the tracks.” Rhys aimed the flashlight at his freshly skinned knee.

“Ow.” Devon picked her way through the baggage roller tracks that crisscrossed the floor until she’d reached his side. She gazed up the ladder. “Did you check it out?”

“Thought you might want to do the honors.”

He stood back and aimed the flashlight up the ladder for her, lighting the way. Devon scampered up, suddenly flushing hot at the realization she was giving him a bird’s-eye view up the legs of her tiny, sweaty running shorts.

Shit. Is that why he wanted me to go first?

Once at the top of the ladder, she backed against the nearest wall and watched warily as he ascended.

“Hey, sweet cheeks, I’d love to break the axle of that Humvee there with you.”

“Why did you wear that tight T-shirt if you don’t want us to look?”

Devon touched the knife tucked into her sports bra and waited to see if he’d make a lewd remark about her body, or hit on her.