Radclyffe - Firestorm

Justice. Where was the justice in two men dying while she walked away? Where was the justice in Jac bearing the pain of another’s betrayal? Foolish to think justice was anyone’s due. Mallory sucked in a breath. She was getting morose, and she didn’t have time for self-indulgence. She quickly gathered the incident report, slid the sheets into a plain manila folder, and returned the FAT box to its spot on the equipment shelf. Time to bring Sully up to date on Ray’s status. Time to focus on her mission. Jac Russo could take care of herself.

“Hey, Ice,” Benny called from beneath the belly of the plane. “Some exciting morning, huh?”

Mallory slowed as he rolled out on a dolly. “I could’ve done without it.”

“I don’t know, that was a pretty slick and seamless pickup this morning.” He rose, wiping his hands on an oil-stained rag he pulled from the pocket of his coveralls. “Didn’t seem like a rookie down there with you. The kid’s pretty solid.”

The kid. Benny tended to see anyone under forty as a kid, her included until she was made ops manager. Now she seemed to have graduated into adulthood. Jac was anything but a kid—a combat veteran, a veteran of political wars from the time she was young, and bloodied on the field of personal battle as well. Too many battles. “She did okay.”

“The rest of the group looks pretty good too,” he said.

“So far.” She grinned. “Then again, it’s early days.”

He grinned back. “Looking forward to getting them up in the plane.”

“Soon enough.” She thought ahead to the first of the requisite jumps. They wouldn’t be going up in the plane right away—they’d start working on the mechanics by jumping from a stationary tower first. She was looking forward to the exercises, and if she was honest with herself, looking forward to seeing how Jac handled the course. She liked watching Jac work. And that was the last time she was going to think about that.

*

“So what’s the word on Ray?” Anderson said, sliding his brown plastic lunch tray onto the table across from Jac and settling onto the bench seat. Most of the guys had already eaten, and the mess hall was nearly empty.

“He’s doing better.” Jac brushed cornbread crumbs off her fingers and scraped the bottom of her bowl with her spoon. “Man, this is good chili.”

“It’s a good thing Ice is working us so hard,” Anderson said, dipping cornbread into his chili. “If I show up at home at the end of the season ten pounds heavier, my wife will never believe I spent the summer working.”

“Somehow I get the feeling we’ll be burning it off pretty quick.” Jac buttered another piece of cornbread. “Word is we’re gonna jump soon.”

Anderson brightened. “Yeah? Excellent.”

Hooker thumped his tray down on Anderson’s left and dropped onto the seat. His tight green T-shirt accentuated his muscled chest, and a day’s growth of stubble added to his roughneck image. “Not a great way to start boot camp. Can’t say I’m exactly surprised, though. I had my doubts when I heard who was running the show up here.”

Jac chewed carefully and swallowed. “What do you mean?”

“A bad injury on the first day? Doesn’t say much for the training manager.”

“Accidents happen.” Jac didn’t figure Mallory needed anyone defending her, but she wanted to all the same. Hooker was opinionated and abrasive, although on the surface he wasn’t all that different from a lot of guys. Most of the time, once all the posturing and jockeying for position was out of the way, everybody got along. Something about Hooker put her on edge, though. He wasn’t just griping about authority, he had a target. And the target was Mallory. “I don’t see how Ray falling could be put on anyone. Just bad luck.”

“The training manager’s responsible for laying out the trails. She ought to have known if one wasn’t safe. We should have been told.” Hooker slurped beans from his spoon and tore off a hunk of bread, waving it for emphasis. “She doesn’t have a great track record. I’m surprised they moved her up after she fucked up last year.”

Jac stiffened. Hooker had just crossed the line. “Look—”

“Nobody can predict a blowup,” Anderson said mildly, disproving his own words by metaphorically getting between Jac and Hooker. He held Jac’s gaze across the table, his steady gaze saying Take it easy. Not the time or place . She nodded slightly, acknowledging his support.

“Hey, I’m just saying,” Hooker said gruffly, “spotters are supposed to pick safety zones that are safe. Those guys who died never made it to the safe zone James picked out.”

“The fronts can shift out there in seconds,” Jac said, fighting down the urge to leap over the table and strangle the asshole. “Especially on the slopes.”

Hooker stared at her, and his mouth twisted into a smirk. “Got a hard-on for the ops manager, Russo?”

Jac slowly sucked in a breath. She’d been baited by the best, and personal insults rarely disturbed her. But this wasn’t about her. He was taking shots at Mallory. “Getting a little personal, aren’t you, Hooker?”

“Hey, I’m just saying. I don’t care if you’re looking for a little extra something after hours. She’s got a great ass. I wouldn’t mind having a piece of that myself, but out in the field—”

Jac’s vision narrowed, and her ears filled with the rushing sound of a freight train barreling down in the dark. She pushed the bench back and stood, gripping her tray so hard her knuckles ached. “I’m going to suggest you not go there again,” Jac said softly. “If you do, I’m going to shove the words back down your throat.”

Hooker laughed as she walked away. Asshole. She’d lived mostly with men the year she was overseas. Crude talk, endless discussions of female body parts, graphic tales of sex and more sex, none of that bothered her. When there was nothing around you but sand and death, not much penetrated the numbness except your connection to your buddies and sex. You looked after your buddies and you shared sex stories. The guys didn’t treat her any differently than they did each other. She didn’t pretend she didn’t like women, she just never gave details about anything. If the guys included her in their banter and their bravado, she never objected. But Hooker—that was different. He’d singled out Mallory, and he’d suggested he wouldn’t mind putting his hands on her. The idea of him anywhere near Mallory sent blades slashing through her insides. She wanted to kill him.

Jac kept walking even though every fiber in her wanted to turn around and confront him. She’d started out on the wrong foot with Mallory and then compounded it by deviating from safe procedure, climbing down that ravine without backup or safety gear. Homicide was probably not a good idea as a follow-up. She dumped her food into the receptacle and piled her tray on top of the stack nearby. Stepping outside into the brisk spring afternoon, she tried to clear her head. She had time to get in a workout, and she needed it. Between lingering sexual frustration and the simmering urge to crack Hooker’s skull, she felt like a short fuse burning too fast. She needed to get some calm going before she showed up for the afternoon session. Mallory would be watching her, and she wanted to be ready.

Chapter Nine

“Mallory! Hey!”

Mallory turned in the middle of the yard, a rush of pleasure loosening the fist of tension lodged in her chest. As her breath flowed a little easier, the tightness she’d been trying to ignore all day disappeared. “Sarah!”

Sarah grinned and hurried toward her, her blond curls escaping from under a navy blue knit cap. Even in her cargo pants and matching navy cable-knit sweater, Sarah looked thinner than usual. Mallory had just enough time to wonder about Sarah’s state before Sarah threw her arms around her and squeezed every thought from her head.