The Valkyrie's Guardian (11 page)

The man smiled and tucked his hands into his pockets. “Yep. I get it. Just thought you didn't want to miss Chief and Pops in the mess hall. CO's in on it — goin' down in t-minus ten minutes.”

Memphis looked down and kicked a rock. Cassie observed his alarm at meeting her, but just as quickly, he thrust the feeling away. He was madly in love with his wife and thought of her now, waiting for him at home. The rest was private, so Cassie withdrew, feeling guiltily like a voyeur, and jealous. He'd barely even reacted to Cassie, except to clamp down on his instincts and label her as dangerous, off-limits
.
Not because of Jack, but because he adored Sarah, his wife.

Lost your touch, Cass.

Shut up, Jack.

“Thanks, man. We're coming. Oh, and — Cassie, meet my swim buddy Memphis Travolta, the best sharp-shooter on any team — ”

Memphis winked. “Only because Jack here is the best turkey.”

“Turkey?” Cassie turned a puzzled glance on Jack, who stared down his friend as though he'd grown horns.

“Yeah. Like a turkey shoot? Bait. Jack brings 'em and I ding 'em.”

Memphis seemed so proud of himself, and Cassie finally got it. Anger heated in a wave from her collar to the top of her head, and the flash of fear in Jack's eyes meant he knew he was in trouble.

“Bait?” she coughed, then half-shrieked, “
Bait?
You think it's funny? Jack — you promised — ” Jack tried to tuck her behind his shoulder and interrupt, but Cassie leaned around him and jabbed an accusing finger at Memphis. “No more
bait,
no more turkey shoots!
You tell him
no
, Memphis, or answer to
me
. Find another way, whatever. He comes home in a body bag, and I come after
you
.”

She glared, the silence stretched, and she wanted Jack's buddy to know she meant it, every word. Bad enough that they went willingly into danger, no reason they should play high-stakes games with their lives. No operation was worth that. Memphis raised his eyebrows and Jack seemed stunned. Cassie exhaled in a gust and muttered, “I think I just grew a few gray hairs.”

Memphis surprised her with his softened, sympathetic expression. “It takes a strong woman to love a soldier. You'll get used to it, honey.” He nodded his head. “We always come home. Don't worry.”

Jack sputtered then argued, “Oh, we're not — It's not — ”

“You're
gone
, bro. I give it two months, max, and we'll all be in our dress whites.”

Cassie looked between them, confused, then hacked into Memphis' thoughts to discern he meant their formal Navy uniforms, for the occasion of her and Jack's supposed wedding.
Wow
. Jack's mind was sealed shut, thankfully. She didn't think she could handle hearing his rejection.

But oh, what an idea — imagining it warmed her again from the inside out. Best of all, she could hear his voice lowered in reverent tones as he recited ancient vows in Gaelic, his eyes burning iridescent green, because he was overcome with that same infinite emotion she had for him, the way old married couples felt about each other …

Memphis winked at their twin shell-shocked expressions, then retreated a step.

Jack shook himself out of a trance. “Thanks for the heads-up, be right there. Beer's on me tonight, spread the word.” Memphis smiled and jogged away.

Cassie had no idea what to say, so she joked, “Beer, Jack?” The closest Jack got to hops was the oatmeal he ate for breakfast.

“You're coming to the club too. It's time you learned how to fit in. For us, that means pretending to drink. Or talking your way out of it. Drinking is about camaraderie; I'll show you how to have one without the other.”

“Sure. You just want to babysit me.” More accurately, she supposed he didn't want to be stuck home alone with her.

“I'd like that, sugar. What else ye got planned for me tonight?” He stroked the tip of his tongue along the edge of his teeth and purred.

She slugged him in the shoulder then jogged alongside him toward the mess hall. Business as usual, except for the warm glow of erotic interest vibrating between them — but lately that was typical too.

“I've been thinking, Cass — ”

“Astounding.”

He veered to bump her shoulder with his.
“As I was saying, the qualification numbers are low. I think my boys need a little motivation.”

“I'm not standing at the finish line in a bikini.”

The muscles low in her belly clenched at the sound of his sexy Peter-Pan-on-steroids laughter, a rough caress over her spine. “Your idea was better than mine.”

“Forget it.”

“Want to lead the PT run tonight?”

Cassie hummed in her throat. “You mean it?”

“How would you like to waste The Best of The Best on a four-mile beach run? I think they'll step up their game if they risk getting beat by a hot girl.”

“You think I'm hot?”

“Smokin'.” He wagged a brow and winked.

“Okay. What's the plan?” She fought to conceal her rush of pleasure at his compliment.

“Seven-minute miles, no faster. Not during Hell Week.” She grimaced and he shrugged, “Slow, I know. Sorry. I want them to run faster, not drop dead.”

“Okay, fine.”

“And wear that purple strappy thing with the little white shorts.”

She couldn't help smiling at his hungry expression — Jack and his exercise uniform fetish. He meant her cropped yoga tank and tennis shorts. She rolled her eyes. “Whatever tickles your fancy.”

“Oh yeah baby. I'd like to tickle your — ”

They both froze. Cassie spun around, searching for the source of the jarring scent. Her stomach roiled, her nerves sent a crawling sensation over her skin, and a dark wave of loathing — a violent impulse — rolled over her. Jack's nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply. He scanned across the northeast perimeter with narrowed eyes. She wanted to ask about that rancid-yogurt-formaldehyde-burnt-styrofoam smell, but then she noticed his defensive posture; slight crouch, arms held away from his sides, his balance on the balls of his feet.

Cassie swallowed a shriek as an inch-round red laser dot danced around his chest then settled over his heart — the tracer on a rifle scope. Subtly he angled himself in front of her. It took every ounce of her discipline to stand still and let Jack lead. In the split-second it took for him to decide what to do, she glanced longingly at the four-foot tall cinder block wall parallel to the sidewalk. Couldn't they just duck behind it? No, it would turn to powder at the impact of a bullet. But where could they go for cover? The nearest building was too far …

Jack sent the silent command for her to jump on his back and hold on.
Now!
She locked her arms around his ribs and her legs around his waist as he sprang — almost straight up. Then came the peculiar sensation of hanging upside down, then rotating head over heels. She opened her eyes and saw Jack braced between two thick branches. Bushy leaves blocked her view, shielding them all around. She didn't move her head to look down for fear of throwing off his balance, but in her periphery she saw a birds-eye view of metal roof paneling.

“You okay, Cass?”

“Fine.”
Except for her heart punching a hole through her chest and her conflicting desire to both charge screaming into battle and plainly, run away screaming. “What's going on?”

He jumped from the tree onto the roof and ducked behind a cluster of exhaust pipes and ventilation units before answering, “Sniper. He's toying with us, or else we'd already be dead. Just the same, I'd rather be a moving target.”
He let her slide off his back then turned and scaled down the fire escape.

She climbed down after him, noticing the ladder stretched over the top floor but not the bottom two. “Is it Boris?”

“No. What you just caught a whiff of was similar to Merodach's essence, but diluted. I really hope it's Merodach Junior, and that he's taken the bait.”

“So, bad guys
stink
?”

“Not many can detect it. And it's not exactly a smell, is it? Kyros calls it an ‘essence' but that sounds too nice
.
” Jack dropped from the end of the ladder onto the ground below, crouching to absorb the impact of his fall. Still, his feet left a pair of craters in the ground, so he kicked the gravel around to disguise the prints. He added silently so he wouldn't have to shout,
I've learned it's my Bullshit Alarm, it's saved my life more than once. I don't think they know they emit the scent.

Cassie dangled from the bottom rung, and Jack gave the cue for her to drop the seventeen feet from the second story into his arms. Maybe the ground would have been better. Even packed by the boots of countless patrols it had to be softer than Jack. She'd have to heal bruises across her shoulders and behind her knees.

She rubbed her elbow. “Three attacks in one day. I don't like how this is going.”

“I do.”
He grabbed her hand as they cut though a fenced-in mechanical room. At least they were out of range of the sniper.
“The advantage is ours.”

“Really? A moment ago when I thought your heart would be blown out of your chest I had the impression we were sitting ducks.”

“The enemy has revealed a lot about himself while we have given nothing away. He attacks when no one is there or it's just us, which means his resources are limited. Instead of taking decisive action, he resorts to taunting. Hardly a class-act infiltration.”

“I don't get the point.”

“Neither does he, I think. But he'll be the first to make a mistake.”

“He? What if we're dealing with a she?”

Jack led her through an industrial kitchen, ignoring curious glances from the staff.
I doubt Merodach would've entrusted his legacy to a woman, even an extra-sentient — if another female even exists. Besides, someone on base is passing through security checkpoints without drawing attention. Not many women here to begin with.

I noticed. I feel like a freak show.

It's definitely not that, baby. More like a princess on a ship with a bunch of horny pirates.

Lovely metaphor.

Speaking of freak show, Cassie took one look at the cafeteria and vowed she would never lose a bet to Jack. The soldiers who didn't slouch in their chairs, laughing their heads off, jeered or pounded on the tables, roaring indiscriminate epithets. Officers lined the walls and others filtered in, craning their heads for a look.

She hardly recognized Chief and Pops, whom she had met earlier, but it had to be them under the tufts of feathers attached atop their heads, shoulders, and back, but no place else. They ran stark naked through the aisles, flapping their arms shouting, “Bok! Bok!”
Chief stole bits of food from the trays as he passed, and Pops swilled a bottle of schnapps he carried in one hand. Cassie couldn't imagine the janitor would be pleased with the aftermath.

Next to her, Jack chortled then guffawed out loud, joining the chorus of men roaring in laughter, enlisted men and officers alike. He slumped against the wall and braced his knees, indulging in musical boyish gut-laughter that made her smile despite herself. To her horror, Chief and Pops looped around and reacted with a chicken-like hopping as they spied her and Jack. They stopped before her and bowed low, muttering obeisance in more “bok-bok” syllables. She tried not to look, but they were oh-so-naked, and she felt her face heat. The men in the hall raised the roof with cat-calls and whistles. The most bizarre, mortifying moment of her life.

Chief shuffled closer with his head cocked, and the men took up a chant. Pops followed suit, with them both closing in on her, heads craned, offering their cheeks. It was apparent she would not escape until she kissed them. The pulsing two-syllable chant rattled her skull. She had no choice.

Jack! Save me!

Sorry, lass. No one gets out of initiation.

Cassie grasped Chief by the jaw and surprised him by turning his cheek away to plant a kiss squarely on the lips. He tasted of mashed potatoes and Jell-o and was either well-behaved or feared Jack enough to respond with a brief closed-mouth kiss. He grabbed the feathers on his head and tossed them in the air, then mock-fainted — overblown like a cartoon character. The men went wild.

The roar deafened her as she reached for Pops, who turned to place himself in her arms and leaned back, like the classic image of a woman being dip-kissed. Cassie held the side of his neck and leaned down to kiss him, and he wasn't so polite with his enthusiastic open-mouthed peach schnapps kiss. He grasped her close with one hand and the other went roaming. She understood his thoughts — that was her cue to slap him, so she shoved him upright on his feet and slugged him hard in the jaw. He went down like a rock. Two hundred fifty soldiers shouted their approval, making an unholy mess with their food and upending chairs as they shot to their feet. Way too much testosterone in the room.

Cassie smiled out of sheer bewilderment and noticed not a few uniforms covered with gold bars and fruit salad gathered in the doorway. Also laughing like idiots. So even the commanding officers allowed the hazing?

Finally Jack decided to act territorial. He pulled her against his chest and wrapped his arms around her waist, his shoulders shielding her. Dozens of sharp eyes watched, assessed, noting that she allowed the intimacy. Jack ducked to mutter something in her ear, but she couldn't hear over the thunder of applause and bass-toned cheering.

Well done, lass.

Bunch of gorillas.

You passed the test, and now every one of these men will guard you with their lives.

Hooyah.
That's what everyone said here. It meant anything. Jack seemed satisfied with her show of accord. But then she noticed the men in the room all were operators, not cadets, judging by the wild variety of haircuts and facial hair. This was Team Three headquarters, and Jack had essentially established her as his woman and everyone else's kid sister. Who couldn't use 250 Navy SEALs for big brothers?