Cindy Dees - Special Forces - The Recruit

Marie came over to their table carrying an armload of plates and bowls.

“It’s been a while, Beau. Been, what? Fi’teen years since a Lambert come ’round these parts?”

“Something like that,” he answered noncommittally.

Fifteen years? Wow. That was a long time to hold a grudge against Jimbo and company.

“Well, ain’t y’all gone and got purty? Picture o’ yo’ daddy, you is. Good to have ya home, boy.”

“Good to be he’uh.” With every word he spoke, Tessa swore his Louisiana drawl got stronger. Why on earth would Torsten have sent the two of them to one of his men’s hometown in the middle of Cajun country? The longer she was here, the more the questions were stacking up.

Marie plunked down a platter of toasted garlic bread, a mess of green beans and ham hocks, and a big bowl of red beans and rice with sausage so spicy it made Tessa’s eyes water. When it came, a huge steak covered her entire plate and was tender enough to cut with a fork. She dug in with gusto.

It took a while for her to lay her napkin down and push her plate back. Another perk of her recent training: she could eat as much of anything she wanted and not gain an ounce. If anything, she’d lost a little weight even with putting on more muscle mass.

Someone fed the decrepit jukebox in the corner a handful of quarters, and twangy zydeco music abruptly filled the place. The talk got louder, the beer flowed more freely and women drifted into the bar and then out with men.

Under the din, Beau leaned forward. “Did Torsten tell you anything at all?”

“About what?”

Beau frowned.

She shrugged. “All he said to me was—and I quote—‘You’re out. You’ve got orders. Lambo, you have your orders. Get her off my base.’ End quote.”

He swore under his breath. “I’m gonna need a drink for this, then, and so are you.” He called for some moonshine and two glasses.

“I don’t like alcohol,” she announced as Marie thunked a mayonnaise jar of the local rotgut on the table along with two shot glasses.

“Tough. Drink up.” He poured two shots of the stuff.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” she demanded.

He shrugged. “Hey, if you can’t roll like one of the boys, we don’t have to have this conversation at all.”

Scowling, she picked up the glass and tossed back the liquor, which burned like fire on the way down, shuddering at the powerful aftertaste. The alcohol went straight to her head, but at least it dulled the pain in her muscles while it was also dulling her brain function.

“Walk with me,” Beau murmured.

He sounded tense as heck. What on earth was going on with him? He’d actually been reasonably pleasant during the meal. Admittedly, neither of them had talked much as they devoured their steaks.

Perplexed, she followed him out to the porch. He strolled around back to face a narrow canal that stretched away into the blackness. They were alone out here. Citronella tiki torches provided the only light, their flames flickering weakly against the dark. A cacophony of sound wrapped around the pungent odor of the swamp rising from below. Beau propped his elbows on the waist-high rail and stared into the bayou beyond.

Just being alone with him out here in the dark like this was a turn-on. She’d never, ever been alone with a guy so hot, nor so deadly...which made him even hotter.

“You’re right about one thing,” he said low enough that she had to lean down in a similar, elbow-propped pose to hear him. “The military is never going to publicly stand for women in the Special Forces.”

She huffed in exasperation. “That horse is dead. You don’t have to kick it for fun.”

“But you’re right about something else, too. There is a place for women in special warfare. More to the point, Torsten agrees with you that we need women in the field.”

“No freaking way. He hates women.”

Beau snorted. “He hates everyone. But he loves the Special Forces. Wants us to be the best we can be. Male or female, he doesn’t care.”

“Why are you telling me this? He already booted me out.”

Beau didn’t answer her directly. Rather, he changed subject abruptly, asking, “Did you notice how publicly women are being tossed out of the various Special Forces courses?”

She snorted. “It’s hard to miss. Every time a woman fails it practically makes national news.”

“That publicity is intentional. We need the general public, hell, the world, to believe there are no American women operators and there will never be American women operators.”

“Well, yeah. That’s because there are none.”

“That wasn’t true once. There used to be an all-female Spec Ops team called the Medusas. Highly classified bunch. Operated for years and were wicked effective.”

“What happened to them?”

“The original team worked together for about ten years and gradually retired from active duty. The second generation team was lost.”

“As in they died?”

His voice no more than a sigh, he answered heavily, “Yeah.”

“How?” she asked quietly.

“Not my story to tell, and too classified to discuss here.”

Yikes . “And now? What’s next?”

“Next, we’ll try to build a new team.” He glanced at her and then back out at the bayou. “Starting with you.”

She stared at him. “Come again?”

“Torsten thinks you’ve got what it takes. He wants to train you to be a full-blown special operator. Not just a support type. A completely qualified combat specialist. That’s the purpose of Operation Phoenix. To raise the Medusa Project from the dead.”

She laughed in disbelief. “Right.” She added sarcastically, “And that’s why he threw me out of training and sent me across the country to a swamp .”

“I’m serious. Do you want to be a Medusa or not?”

Beau stared at the stunned woman beside him. Please say no. Please say no.

“Hell to the yes, I want to be one!” Tessa exclaimed.

Dammit. He knew she would say that. He was in no shape to be training anyone, let alone the next Medusa. What was Torsten thinking, throwing him into a scenario like this? The boss knew his knee was destroyed. That doctors said his career was over.

Of course, Torsten also knew Beau was determined to get back in the saddle and back onto the teams no matter how messed up his knee was.

Beau did have to give Tessa Wilkes credit for one thing. She was a good-looking woman. Sexy as wild hellfire. But that didn’t necessarily mean she was cut out for the Medusas. Torsten had been clear. Assume she was not fit to be a Medusa. Test her. Push her. Make her prove she was Special Forces material.

And, as soon as he was done working with her, he could get back to the business of being an operator himself. Which could not happen soon enough for him.

Operation Phoenix . The reference to the mythical firebird rising from its own ashes didn’t elude him. Torsten was resurrecting the Medusas after convincing the world the idea of an all-female Special Forces team was dead. He wondered, though, if Torsten had also chosen the name with him in mind. Was Gunnar trying to resurrect Beau’s career from the ashes, as well?

If so, this was a hell of a strange way to go about it. Assigning him to work with a woman who would do nothing but slow him down.

He’d vehemently protested the idea of a woman operator when Torsten broached the assignment with him. Not that the boss had listened to a word of what he’d said. Just because Torsten thought this woman had the drive and mental toughness to play with the boys didn’t mean she had the physical strength or stamina to hack it.