Lindsay McKenna - Down Range

“You look tired,” Jake observed, trying to find some safe ground. Though he did notice, too, how beautiful Morgan was. She had on a pale lilac pantsuit and cream-colored tee with a dark purple scarf around her shoulders. Jake had forgotten just how she could take his breath away. Her hair lay like a gleaming red cloak about her proud shoulders. Morgan never wore makeup, but she never had to. Her green eyes were large and well spaced with thick red lashes to frame them. But he saw shadows beneath those eyes, and whether he wanted to or not, he became concerned for her.

“I just got hauled off an op in the Hindu Kush to make this meeting,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’m up for our mission.”

His nerves nettled as he forced himself to look down at the menu. Jake still wanted her, dammit. His heart did, too, because a ribbon of happiness soared through him. He scowled, focused on the menu. “I was making conversation,” he told her, lifting his chin and meeting her flat stare.

Morgan had the most arresting eyes he’d ever encountered. Jake could feel himself being lured into their depths, the forest-green mixed with glimmers of willow-green color. He remembered hotly that as they made love, there would be gold highlights dappled throughout them. Shifting uncomfortably, Jake felt himself responding to her, much as he wanted to remain aloof.

“You just came off an op? Where?”

“Same area where we met December, two years ago.” It had changed Morgan’s life in ways Jake would never find out about. In one way, it broke her heart and she felt guilty. In another, there was an unbridgeable chasm between them.

Ouch. Damn. Jake scowled, decided on something simple and straightforward to eat. The waiter came over and took his order for a hamburger and fries. He folded his hands, sensing how tense she was. Morgan’s gaze was wary. And that delicious mouth he’d tasted and kissed was pursed. “Did you hitch a C-5 out of Bagram?”

“Yes.” Morgan tried not to be swayed by Jake, but dammit, the toughest thing to do was ignore his blatant maleness. He was a man’s man, a SEAL, and they had male charisma to burn. The expression in his gray eyes was neutral. She saw him struggling to try to find some purchase with her that wasn’t argumentative or threatening. Truth be known, she was too tired to pick a fight with him. “I’m whipped,” she admitted, sliding her long fingers around the china cup.

“Flights halfway around the world will do that to you,” Jake agreed, keeping the edge out of his tone. “In fact, you don’t look quite awake.”

Snorting, Morgan sipped her coffee. “Understatement. I feel beat-up. As soon as I left my meeting with General Houston, I came over here and crashed and burned.” She looked at the watch on her wrist. “I’ve slept since 1000 and it’s 2200.”

“You need another twenty-four hours of downtime to get your body and mind back on the same page,” Jake agreed. In fact, because Morgan was exhausted, her normal defenses weren’t in place. And for that, he breathed a sigh of relief. Anything he’d ever heard about red-haired women applied to Morgan ten times over. She was a risk taker, hotheaded and no-nonsense. Her feistiness had always drawn him. Even now.

The waiter brought over Morgan’s meal, a hamburger and a large plate of French fries. She thanked him, and he left. She saw him eyeing her food. Good God, why did the man have to have such a sensual mouth? Morgan remembered kissing that mouth. He was such a damn good lover, a thoughtful one, despite how they fought outside the bedroom. That was the past. She had to let it go. Seeing Jake stare at the stack of hot French fries, she pushed the plate toward the middle of the table.

“Go on. I know how much you like them.”

“Guilty,” Jake admitted, grinning sheepishly and thanking her. She handed him the bottle of ketchup, knowing that was how he liked his fries. “Been six months since I tasted real French fries.”

She fixed her hamburger, watching Jake through her lashes. “You just get back from Afghanistan and you’re on PRODEV, professional development, with your platoon now?”

“Yes, I was supposed to be on my sixty days of leave.” Jake’s face melted with pleasure as he ate the first few fries. The man was so easy to read when he dropped his SEAL game face. He sat back in the chair, his eyes shuttering closed as he relished and appreciated the food. Some of Morgan’s testiness dissolved.

Morgan understood that the SEALs pined for real American junk food when they were in their six-month rotation into a combat zone. As she bit into the juicy hamburger, she knew six months in combat wore on everyone. SEALs didn’t go into any area that wasn’t life threatening. Since 9/11, sixty SEALs had died in combat. Far too many, but it attested to the sheer dangerousness in their work. They were frontline warriors, black-ops commandos who hunted down the enemy to make this world a safer place for all Americans.

“Gawd,” Ramsey whispered, opening his eyes, “who knew French fries could taste so damned good?” He reached for more.

“The hamburger is to die for, too.”

Jake nodded. “Mine’s coming.” He met and held her green gaze. For once, there was no animosity in Morgan’s stare. He absorbed the peaceful moment between them. God knew, there were never many. He wondered how they were ever going to get along on a sniper op. Would she be able to put her sword away? Could he? But tonight, Jake didn’t want to address those concerns with Morgan. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to bring it up tomorrow morning at the briefing with the two Generals, either.

“Here,” Morgan muttered, cutting her hamburger in half. “Get some good food into your stomach.” She handed half of it to him.

Surprised and pleased, Jake took the proffered hamburger. “Thanks…” Their fingers briefly met. The shock, the pleasure running up his fingers, amazed him. Trying not to be swayed by it, he bit eagerly into the hamburger. Maybe, just maybe, Morgan wasn’t going to be hard to work with after all. It didn’t necessarily mean the war between them was over.

Chapter Three

Morgan girded herself for an intense hour of briefing on Operation Peregrine. Jake Ramsey sat opposite of her at a rectangular maple table in a large room deep in the bowels of the Pentagon. The two Generals arrived precisely at 0900. Both officers snapped to attention when they walked into the room.

“At ease,” Maya Stevenson told them with a wave of her hand. She sat at one end of the table, Mike Houston at the other. Houston placed his leather briefcase on the table and opened it up.

“Here’s the mission,” he told them, distributing a thick red plastic folder to each of them.

Morgan saw an Army Sergeant, a woman with blond hair, enter with a tray that held a large pot of coffee, four white mugs, sugar, cream and a plate of Oreo cookies. She smiled to herself, knowing that General Stevenson was addicted to Oreos. Even at 0900.

After the door closed, leaving the four of them in the soundproof, lead-lined room, Morgan tried to relax. She cast a quick look over at Jake. He was handsome, unreadable, his gray eyes somewhat narrowed. Tension radiated from him, but she didn’t see it in his face.

Morgan wondered if he’d argued against her being on the mission. He considered women weak and incapable. If Jake had, there was no outward sign. Glancing at Maya, whom she knew very well because of Operation Shadow Warriors, Morgan saw the General was focused on thumbing through the briefing. At fifty-four, she was one of the youngest women ever to achieve the rank of General.

“All right,” Maya said, “let’s go to page five.”

Morgan opened the red briefing folder, noting it was top secret.