Page 90 of Keeping a Warrior

“He’s dead. Clear.”

Muzzles dropped toward the floor, but safeties were still off, fingers resting on trigger guards. Devon didn’t move as Matt took a knee and searched the man with brisk efficiency. He tossed aside several items, including a cell phone.

Rhys strode toward Devon.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded, waiting while she safed and holstered her pistol before reaching out to run his hands over her shoulders and along her arms, searching for wounds.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. She felt no pain, but that didn’t mean anything. Shock and adrenaline would mask it, and she could be bleeding out and not know it.

Grimly, Rhys conducted a cursory examination, feeling along her sides, her back. When he was satisfied, he stepped back. “No injuries.” He blew out a breath, his voice tight with anger as he said, “Jesus Christ. We sent you right into the shit. Alone.”

The SEALs had ushered the women safely out and were already conducting SSE, sensitive site exploitation, collecting intel. Shane withdrew a small digital camera from his pocket and began to take pictures of the dead man from every angle.

“Is it him?” Devon whispered. “The bomb maker?”

Without a word, Shane pulled a laminated card from a different pocket and handed it to her. She took it, gazing into a hard face, a pair of dark eyes brimming with hatred, then down at the man on the floor, that same face now slack in death.

Kill or capture. I killed him.

The first tremors went through her. Matt sent her a sharp-eyed glance. “It was him or you. Remember that.”

His voice sounded like it was underwater.

Oh, my fucking God, I killed someone. I killed a human being.

Had there been any other choice? Could she have shot him in the leg, the arm?

She forced herself to look again at the image of his hate-filled face. If he could have, that human being would’ve killed her, her teammates, the women and children if they’d gotten in the way. He’d blown up Marines by building IEDs. He’d sent out suicide bombers.

Now he won’t kill anyone else. Ever. Because of me.

A strange mix of exhilaration and remorse churned in Devon’s gut. She clapped her hand to her mouth to suppress whatever was welling in her throat, but it escaped anyway, a high-pitched sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

What the hell is wrong with me?

“Take her out,” someone snapped, but Rhys already had his arm around her shoulders and was leading her to the door.

Once outside Devon put her back to the wall of the house and slid to sitting. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her whole body trembling. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Rhys crouched next to her. “Are you kidding? You’ve just been through hell. No reason to be sorry.” He looked like he wanted to take her in his arms, but he didn’t. “You going to be okay?”

“Yeah.”

The last thing she wanted to do was make one of these guys have to babysit her. She shoved down the nausea.

“Where are the women?” she asked, proud that her voice was calm and steady.

Rhys pointed toward one side of the courtyard, and then he stood and hauled her to her feet.

As Devon approached the women, she kept her expression calm, open and friendly, not sure how they’d receive her after the burst of violence they’d been subjected to.

To her surprise they clung to her, gathering around her fearfully as the SEALs and Rangers worked the scene.

Devon kept up a steady chatter, and handed out candy. At one point a Ranger walked by, shouting something to his buddy across the way. The little girl sitting next to Devon squeaked and buried her face in her mother’s lap.

“It’s okay,” Devon said softly. “They won’t hurt you.”

The little girl wouldn’t look up, and suddenly Devon saw her teammates as these people did—men who didn’t even look human. The night-vision goggles they wore made them appear otherworldly, alien. They were bristling with weapons, and spoke loudly in a language the women and children couldn’t understand.