“Everything quiet?”

“Yes, but I keep thinking I see things. And then I don’t.”

“That’s pretty common the first few times on watch. Don’t worry about it. If there’s someone out there who doesn’t want you to see them, you won’t. And when you do see them, you’ll know for sure. They’ll be pointing a rifle at you and probably firing.”

Rachel sucked in a breath. “Why are you so calm? Doesn’t that frighten you—the idea of being a target, or do you get used to it?”

“There’s no point thinking about it, and there’s no way to change it. You just deal with what is.” Max had spent so much time with troops the last few years—with those who lived under the same cloud of violence and death as her—she’d forgotten how foreign her reality must seem to those who were strangers to war. She wondered, seeing the questions and confusion in Rachel’s eyes, why she had looked forward to going home, where she’d be an outsider surrounded by people who had no concept of where she’d been or what she’d seen.

“The ultimate living in the now?” Rachel asked.

“You train for every eventuality, prepare for any contingency, until you know, down to your last cell, you’re ready. Then you put it aside.” Max shrugged. Fear could get you killed as quickly as arrogance. If she’d ever been philosophical, and she couldn’t remember a time when she was, she’d long since lost any interest in trying to understand the why of the random happenings she saw around her every day—why one person took a round in the forehead, while another, standing inches away, went unscathed, as if there was some cosmic meaning to events. Maybe there was some great plan, maybe everyone’s fate was preordained, but she couldn’t see how that mattered. All that mattered was what she did in response. Was that living in the now or merely surviving?

Out here there wasn’t much difference. She summed it up and hoped that would be the end of the conversation. Rachel Winslow couldn’t possibly understand, and why should she? Even the suffering of the displaced civilians Rachel had come to help couldn’t compare to the depraved cruelty of war, and Max had no desire to enlighten her. “The less you worry about what might happen, the better.”

Rachel’s brows furrowed. She clearly wasn’t a woman who accepted anything at face value. “Is that scientific fact or personal opinion?”

“Experience.”

“How long you been out here?”

“This time? A little over a year. The first time about the same.”

“That sounds…hard.”

“I joined the Navy. I knew what that meant.”

“Did you,” Rachel said softly. She cut her gaze to the camp and the jungle beyond. “How could you possibly? How could anyone?”

Max said nothing. She had no answer, and Rachel wasn’t really talking to her. She was trying to make sense of a senseless situation. She’d learn not to soon enough.

Rachel turned back. “The helicopters—you’re sure they’re coming back?”

“Yes.”

“Can you call them or something?” Her eyes brightened. “We have a satellite connection—maybe we can call headquarters in Mogadishu? If they know what happened—”

“They know,” Max said. “The people who need to know already know, and they’re not in Mog. They’re at Lemonnier.”

“Is that where you came from?”

“Yes.” Max scanned the jungle, dense and green and impenetrable. An ancient force onto itself, neither friend nor enemy. “The rebels were a lot closer than we expected. I’d rather not try radio contact now until we’re sure they’re not still out there. No point putting a big sign over our heads.”

“How far are we from your base?”

“A few hours’ flying time. They’ll contact us if they can when they’re back in range.” Or they’d just materialize out of the dark, troops and birds dropping from the sky like something out of myth, or nightmare.

“When will they be back?”

Max debated how much to say. She needed to keep the civilians from panicking. Rachel and Amina had handled themselves better than most in the midst of the crisis, but the danger was far from over.

“Don’t sugarcoat it,” Rachel said briskly. “We have a right to know what we’re facing.”

“My guess is not before sundown, at the earliest. The birds are made for night maneuvers, and it’ll take a while for command to sort out what happened here and why. This was supposed to be straightforward in and out.” She didn’t want to say it might not be sundown tonight. If a large rebel contingent with surface-to-air rockets or a stockpile of RPGs had located in the area, the birds might not be able to land. If an extraction team had to infiltrate on foot, it would take a day or two. At best.

Rachel grimaced. “Someone’s intelligence was faulty.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. The rebels could’ve hit here purely at random, and it was just a coincidence that we arrived at the same time.”

“I don’t know about you, but I find that coincidence a stretch.” Rachel sighed, her exasperation clear. “I don’t understand any of this. We’ve been here almost two months. They must have known we were no threat.”

“They took a trouncing this morning,” Max said. “Random attack or not, there’s not a lot of reason for them to return. You said yourself you don’t have much they might want except the medical supplies.”

“Maybe that’s reason enough,” Rachel said, but she didn’t look or sound convinced.

Max had an uneasy feeling Rachel might know something more about what had prompted the attack than she let on. Considering the mission objectives, she was almost certain Rachel knew they were coming that morning. The French medics had been ready to evacuate the patients before the birds had even gotten into range. “What else do you know about this morning?”

“What? Nothing—why should I?”

“You tell me. Someone in your life must be pretty important, because we were sent here specifically for you. You, most importantly.”

“I don’t know why,” Rachel said, the heat rising in her cheeks. She didn’t want to betray her father by revealing his call. She really didn’t know why he’d insisted she leave, and she had no clue if the attack was related to her. All the same, her stomach roiled. Had her friends been killed because of her? Had the soldiers and sailors been shot because of her? She repeated softly, “I don’t know.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Rachel Winslow.” Rachel stared into the flinty blue eyes that examined her with stony calculation. Max de Milles didn’t trust her. The realization hurt, though she couldn’t say why. The woman was a stranger, hardened and cynical and cold. “You know that. You asked for me by name.”

“That’s because we were sent here to retrieve you. But I still don’t know who you are that made that necessary.”

“Does it matter? Am I any more important than the other eleven people who were here?” Rachel could hear how defensive she sounded, but she wasn’t more important than her friends, her coworkers. She hadn’t asked for special privileges. She certainly hadn’t asked for people to put their lives in danger because of her. She wouldn’t have this woman holding her responsible for something that had not been her choice.

“Someone thinks you’re more important.”

The way she said it made it sound as if Rachel felt the same way. Rachel’s back stiffened. “Shouldn’t we be concerned about what happens next and not spend time on fruitless questions? That sounds like something to suit your logical view of things.”

The corner of Max’s mouth twitched, and damn it if she didn’t smile. Her remoteness faded for the briefest instant and she suddenly looked approachable. Human. And despite the dirt and sweat that caked her face, incredibly attractive. Rachel’s heart skipped, a sensation she would not have believed if it hadn’t happened again when a soft chuckle reverberated in Max’s throat.

“Well, you’re quick,” Max said. “No, none of that matters all that much right now.”

The tension in Rachel’s shoulders lessened and a swift wave of relief passed through her, as if she’d been forgiven, which was ridiculous since she hadn’t done anything wrong. Why she even cared what Max de Milles thought of her given the situation was equally absurd. Feeling foolish and uncharacteristically unsure, she bristled. “Well, now that we’ve established where we both stand, what’s next?”

“We need to secure the camp in case our rebel friends come back.”

“We can’t possibly fight them. In case you hadn’t noticed, we aren’t exactly soldiers. Shouldn’t we try to…I don’t know, walk out of here on our own?”

“I’m assuming you know where you are,” Max said, impressed with Rachel’s spirit if not her stubbornness. Her reluctance to give up control could be a problem.

“Of course I know,” Rachel said, her lustrous green eyes flashing. “I wasn’t suggesting we walk the entire way, but we can hardly sit here in this tent waiting for someone to come back and shoot at us again.”

“It’s a couple hundred miles to Mog, and the jungle is peppered with mines. We’d never make it. Besides, when the birds come back for us, we need to be here.” Max glanced back at Grif. He wasn’t ambulatory and moving him at all might be dangerous. He wasn’t going anywhere, and if he wasn’t going anywhere, neither was she.

“There are villages not that far from here—that’s where our supplies come through. They would help us.”

Max shook her head. “You don’t know that—and you can be sure the rebels know about the villages too. We don’t want to stumble into a patrol out there, even if we could manage to find our way around the mines.” With an injured man and two women who have no combat skills. Max shook her head. “We’re staying.”

Her dismissive tone sounded a lot like the one Rachel’s father used with everyone, and her response was knee-jerk. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re not soldiers. We don’t just mindlessly follow orders.”