Breaking Point

“Okay, just checking,” Hampton said. “You should know our LT talked to your commanding officer, Captain Morton, over in Iraq. The captain had good things to say about you. It looks like you’re a solid player. You have our back and that’s good to know.”

Bay tried to hide her shock. Given the nature of her being an experiment, it made sense that the SEAL LT would check her out. “I’m glad the LT knows that. I’m not here to get anyone killed on my behalf.”

“It’s SOP to get the dope on the new guy coming into our platoon. Reputation is everything in the SEAL community,” Hampton told her. “And he was calling mainly to find out your reputation among the spec op guys.”

“And is the LT satisfied?” Bay wondered what Morton had said. Everyone saw her differently. Some saw her as a gun in the fight, one who could perform coolly under fire. Others saw her as a compassionate medic and trusted her with their lives.

Hampton smiled. “Yes. And so am I.”

Relief trickled through Bay. “That’s good to know, Chief. Thank you.”

“Many guys who enter combat corpsman duty are pacifists by nature,” Hampton said, assessing her.

“I don’t enjoy killing anyone, Chief. But I will shoot in self-defense for myself and my team. The way I look at it, it’s just another way to save a life. It’s one more bad guy who isn’t going to kill one of us.”

Nodding, Hampton appeared satisfied with her answer. “If you haven’t already got it in your notes for your medical ruck you’re bringing along, put some vaccinations in there.”

“Ahead of you, Chief.” She saw Hampton’s eyes gleam with approval.

“Can you give us a few minutes alone, Doc? I need to talk with Gabe.”

Easing off the bench, Bay nodded, picked up her M-4, placed it in a harness over her chest and left.

Hampton sat down on the bench next to Gabe. “What I didn’t say to her is that Captain Morton raved about her under-fire abilities. He said we don’t have anything to worry about, that she’s calm and thinking through the firefight. She takes orders and when she’s placed in a position, she stays. She doesn’t run.”

Gabe placed his elbows on his thighs. “Good to know. How’s it going with Hammer and his men?”

Hampton grimaced. “My threat is still working. We’ll see if it lasts.”

“Doc is really uncomfortable wearing that SIG.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“And the look on Hammer’s face when we came in was one of fury.”

“I saw that, too.”

Gabe shrugged. “SEAL exclusivity can work against us at times.” He gave Doug a twisted smile.

“What Hammer and those guys don’t understand is that she’s in combat, too, and needs that pistol to protect herself. Or them...”

“She tried to talk me into carrying a .45 instead of the SIG,” Gabe told him. “I told her no. Reasoned with her that she’s got to look like a SEAL whether she’s one or not. A camouflage point.”

“That persuaded her?”

“Enough for her to wear it, but she’s unhappy about it.”

Scratching his head, Hampton muttered, “Well, I hate to say it, but we’re going to be in firefights sooner or later, and at that time, she’s going to realize how important that SIG can be.”

Gabe sat up and clipped the M-4 over his chest, muzzle down. “Bay is savvy,” he reassured the chief. And then he realized he’d called her by her first name. Damn. He was working hard to keep distance between them. Grimacing, Gabe looked up to see Hampton grinning crookedly at him. “What?” he demanded testily.

“She’s a very attractive woman.”

“Not going to argue that point,” Gabe growled. “But we’re in combat and grab-ass isn’t what you want in a platoon going into firefights, either.”

“No,” Hampton agreed equitably. “But there is a special connection between you and her. I can feel it.”

Snorting, Gabe stood up. This was not what he wanted to hear. “She’s a decent, caring person, Doug. Her word is her bond. There’s no bullshit with her.” The kind of woman he wished he’d met before marrying Lily. Gabe had discovered his idealism about women was just that: not based on rock-solid reality. And Baylee-Ann Thorn was as sincere and real as a woman could get. And dammit, that sincerity called to him. And he was struggling not to be get entangled in it. Relationships had no place out here. None.

“She’s solid, no question,” Hampton said, standing. “Half the guys have bought in to her being with us. We have one half to go.”

“Over time,” Gabe said, heading for the door, “the other half will be convinced once they see her in action.”

Hampton agreed. “Help her get her kit together for the mission. I know she’s used to that length of mission, but this is Afghanistan, not Iraq.”

“Roger that.”

* * *

BAY STOOD WITH the SIG in her hands, firing off at a target fifty yards in front of her. The sun was low on the horizon, the heat stifling, the wind erratic. Gabe had been giving her good dope on how to use and fire the .30-caliber pistol. It packed a hell of a punch, jerking her hand hard every time she squeezed the trigger. Finally, she ran out of bullets in the mag, dropped it out of the SIG and quickly slapped another into its place and began firing again.

Gabe wanted her to be able to drop an empty mag on the run, grab another out of her H-gear harness, slap it into the pistol and keep on firing. When they got back off the op, he was going to make her run and shoot. That was rattle battle, he told her. She had to be totally at ease switching out mags and keep on firing accurately in the process while in constant motion.

Gabe seemed pleased with her progress. She hit the target every time. When she finished firing the last mag, he called, “That’s enough. You’re good to go.”

Bay turned and smiled at him. Gabe’s green eyes gleamed and he nodded in her direction. Turning, she picked up the dropped mags and placed each of them in a canvas pocket in the front of her H-gear she wore around her torso. “This is a nice pistol. Now I see why you guys like it so much,” she said.

The breeze blew a number of strands of her hair across her face and she pulled them back with her fingers. For a moment, she saw something else in Gabe’s face. What? As a medic, she had to be observant. Sometimes a person was in so much pain, or semiconscious, and she had to interpret his facial expressions. Did she really see what she thought she saw—longing? A man-wanting-his-woman kind of look?

Licking her lower lip, she cleared the chamber on the SIG and holstered it. There was such a powerful connection between them and it was growing stronger by the day. Bay knew it could never be spoken about. Much less acted upon.

“I’ll let the chief know you’re dialed in on the SIG,” Gabe told her as they walked off the range. A group of Afghan boys raced forward, having waited patiently in the background. They quickly snatched up the spent cartridge shells. They would sell them and make a little money for their destitute families who lived nearby. The cartridge casings would be melted down and the metal sold to a dealer for a decent sum of money. A family could eat well for six months or more on it.

“Great,” Bay said, feeling a lot more confident about carrying the special pistol. She enjoyed walking at Gabe’s side. He had such an easy stride and she never heard his boots hit the ground. “Hungry?” Gabe asked. He liked the happiness he saw mirrored in Bay’s face. The corners of her mouth pulled upward. A soft mouth. A damned kissable mouth. When she’d smiled at him earlier, he’d had no defense against it. Heat had flashed through his lower body, scalding and reminding him of what he’d been missing. There was such undisguised warmth in her smile, her lips lush and curved. He wondered what it would be like to kiss her, to touch those lips and feel her response. Gabe berated himself for these wayward thoughts.