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That much was true, I guessed. Still, ignorance was always bliss. Especially when it came to life-altering information that could potentially change the way the guys looked at me… or maybe even loved me as well.
Bullshit. They’re going to love you no matter what.
I cried on the way back. Not because of the test or my possible infertility, but of just plain missing my four beautiful men. It felt like years since I’d seen them, even though it had only been a few weeks and months. And the holidays were just days away. Christmas. New Years…
Instead of choking back the tears I just let them go. They streamed down both sides of my face, soaking my sweater, destroying my makeup. I didn’t care. It got so bad I actually pulled over and cried for a good ten minutes, getting it all out, letting everything I’d been holding inside me just rush out of my body in a flood of unchecked emotion. Then I cleaned myself up, put drops in my eyes, and drove back to the office…
… where Sarge rushed over, leapt into my arms, and made everything all better again.
Twenty-Two
RYAN
The explosion bloomed like a flower, so yellow it was almost pretty. It struck the M1
224 dead center of its undercarriage, belching the MaxxPro MRAP into the air a couple of feet before setting it back down on its smoking tires.
“OUT! OUT!”
The big armored doors swung open on either side, and smoke began pouring out. The driver bailed, and rest of the crew of the embattled vehicle began leaping out.
Two... Three… Four…
My hands squeezed the grips of my Browning so hard it felt like I’d wrench it out of its gun mount. I still hadn’t taken a breath yet.
Five… Six…
The smoke turned black. I could see flames now too, licking up from the bottom. Our entire column had stopped.
Shit.
“Murphy! MURPHY!”
I was too late. Kyle had already leapt from his Humvee and was sprinting over to the burning hulk. There was still movement inside. Another soldier — Dawson, probably — fell from the cab, coughing and covering his mouth.
Seven…
Kyle took one look through the doorway, then climbed in. Every hair on the back of my neck stood on end as he disappeared into the black smoke… then returned seconds later, with the last crew-member slung over one big shoulder.
Eight. Whew.
Relief flooded through me as a half-dozen other members of Di Spatia rushed in to help. I returned my attention immediately to the horizon, sweeping the big .50 cal back and forth, searching for any sign of an ambush or attack.
There wasn’t any, at least not this time. The explosion had been isolated to a single triggered IUD.
“Ford! Take over.”
I climbed down and approached the scene, which for all intents and purposes wasn’t bad at all. The M1224 was toast. The fires were out, but the undercarriage was a smoking amalgam of twisted metal. It might run again with a few months’ work, but it needed an all new suspension and a shit-ton of fresh paint.
“Everyone okay?”
Dawson was still coughing. His face was all black from the smoke — everywhere but around his nose and lips, where he’d held something over his mouth as he found his way out. He gave me a firm nod, and I patted him on the shoulder.
“You pulled out your dust-mask? Good man.”
The eighth crew member, Cogan, wasn’t so lucky. He’d taken shrapnel in both legs, and was promptly bleeding all over the unblemished sand. It was nothing life-threatening, but he wouldn’t be walking comfortably anytime soon. Our resident medic was already working on him. I saw the far-away look of morphine in his eyes, but he was cognizant enough to give me a thumb’s up.
“Shit. That’s two of the column down.”
