“Believe me, I’m aware,” Max said. “But I plan on keeping you alive, so you’ll just have to learn to take orders.”

Rachel bit back another retort. She didn’t even know why she was fighting what obviously made sense. She sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Her apology caught Max by surprise. Stubborn and proud, but not so proud she couldn’t admit being on the wrong side of an argument. “Forget it.”

“I still don’t see how you expect us to deal with another attack.” Rachel scanned the jungle. She hadn’t been more than a few feet beyond the camp perimeter since she’d arrived. “Shouldn’t we hide or something?”

“I’m not planning a counteroffensive. If there’s something here the rebels want, they’ll be back after dark when they don’t make easy targets. By then, we’ll be in a bunker, better protected, and even a poor shot can hit something with an automatic weapon.”

“A bunker.” Rachel took in the tattered tents, the smoldering fires, and the pallets of food and other relief supplies they’d stockpiled for the Somali natives. This wasn’t a military base. Was the woman crazy? “A bunker. I don’t see a bunker.”

“That’s because we haven’t dug it yet.”

“Dug it.” Rachel’s head spun. Obviously Max felt no fear. Maybe she had stopped feeling anything at all. Rachel fought her instinct to object, to point out the insanity of the plan. Giving over control to a stranger would have been impossible even a day earlier, but now she had no choice. After all, as had been made perfectly clear, Max was the professional. “I’ll do what you say…but I’m not a robot. I need to understand.”

Max’s gaze narrowed. “It’s not enough to trust that I know what I’m doing?”

“Should it be?”

“We don’t have time for a long engagement.”

“Well, I’m not ready to elope,” Rachel said flatly. “Tell me what you want me to do and why, and we’ll get along.” She paused. Had it always been this hard to let someone else help her? When had independence become a wall? No time to worry about that now. “I’m grateful that you’re here—for all you’ve done. I know Amina and I probably wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for you and the others.”

“I don’t want your gratitude,” Max said gruffly. Her mouth thinned. The smile was long gone. “That’s not what I want.”

Rachel wondered what she did want. If she even knew. “Well, I want you to know that you have it anyway.”

“Let’s give off worrying about who did or didn’t do what. We’ve got other things to worry about.”

“Is the past so easy to set aside for you?” Rachel mused aloud, wondering more about herself than Max. Maybe if she could let go and just be in the moment. She almost laughed—just not these moments.

“No.” Max turned away. “Amina, will you take care of Grif? Check his vital signs every thirty minutes, let me know if you see anything that changes?”

“Yes.” Amina had already pulled over another chair and was sitting by Grif’s side.

“When the IV runs low, I’ll show you how to change it.”

“I can do that. I’ve assisted in the hospital here many times.”

“Good, thank you.”

“And me?” Rachel asked.

“We need someone to stand guard.”

“Shouldn’t that be you? You’re the soldier—”

“Sailor.”

Rachel frowned. “That doesn’t seem right, out here in the middle of the jungle.”

“Most Navy personnel spend very little time on a ship. Navy pilots, Navy medics, Navy SEALs—we’re all over out here.”

“All right. You’re the sailor—shouldn’t you be the one with the gun on guard duty?”

“I will be, later.” Max blanked her expression. “But first I need to take care of the bodies. They’re going to decompose rapidly in this heat, and we don’t need them drawing predators into camp on top of everything else.”

“Oh God,” Rachel said softly, “how could I forget already? How are you going to bury them by yourself?”

“I’m not. I’m going to take them out and cover them enough to keep the predators away. We’ll come back for the bodies later.”

Rachel’s chin came up. “I’ll help you.”

Tough woman. Max couldn’t help but be a little impressed. “I appreciate the offer, but I’d rather not get shot while I’m working. I need you to watch my back.”

Rachel studied her for a long moment. “All right. I can do that.”

“Good,” Max said abruptly, uncomfortable under Rachel’s scrutiny, as if something she meant to keep hidden, something she no longer recognized, was suddenly exposed. She didn’t like the feeling. Or worse, maybe she did. “Let’s get started.”

Chapter Eight

Max covered her nose and mouth with a strip of cloth she’d torn from one of the tattered tents. Breathing through the stiff fabric was like straining air through sand, but it cut down on the cloying odor of blood and death. She dragged the third body a dozen yards or so into the bush, checking every few feet to be sure she hadn’t drawn the attention of the rebels, or a cat. She’d stationed Rachel at the edge of the jungle. If they were attacked, she could hold off the attackers long enough for Rachel to get back to the main tent, but once she was dead, there would be nothing to stand between the insurgents and the camp. If the rebels got past her, they might not fire on the tent, and Rachel and Amina would have a chance to survive. The rebels would execute Grif. Best-case scenario, the rebels would loot the camp and leave the women alive. Hoping they would also leave them unharmed was wishful thinking.

Max gritted her teeth and swiped sweat from her eyes. She wasn’t going to waste time and energy she didn’t have envisioning Amina and Rachel at the hands of men who thought nothing of taking what they wanted from any woman. She wouldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t let Grif be shot while he lay helpless, or Amina and Rachel be taken as if they were spoils of war. Not while she breathed. She laid the bodies of the three men side by side in a patch of thick underbrush. She couldn’t find any rocks, but the rounds the Black Hawks had poured into the jungle had cut down tree trunks like matchsticks. She dragged and rolled half a dozen logs over the bodies. It wasn’t a proper burial, but it might protect their remains from being carried off and strewn about by predators. She’d make sure someone from Mog or the base came back for them as soon as they could.

Dripping sweat, light-headed from hunger and fatigue, she slashed at a tangle of vines with her knife to cover the burial mound. Behind her, branches rustled. She swung around in a crouch, making herself a smaller target, and swung her rifle onto her shoulder. Rachel stumbled to a halt, her lips parted on a gasp.

“Fuck!” Max’s pulse hammered in her ears. “I told you to stay put!”

“I couldn’t see you,” Rachel whispered, “and you’ve been in here a long time. I thought—”

“I don’t want you to think.” Max lowered her rifle and retrieved her knife. Jamming the KA-BAR into the sheath on her thigh, she straightened, stepping between Rachel and the mound of log-covered bodies. “I need you to do what I say.” She gripped Rachel’s arm and propelled her toward camp. “What part of that don’t you get?”

“The part where my brain suddenly stops functioning.” Rachel jerked her arm loose. “And in case it hasn’t occurred to you, if you go and get yourself killed, the rest of us don’t have much chance of getting out of here.”

Max swore under her breath. Images of bullets tearing into Rachel’s unprotected body, of laughing men with their hands on her, of her victimized and broken made her head pound. Her vision wavered as she tried to rein in her fury. “This is the way it has to work—I make the rules. I give the orders. You don’t argue, you don’t question, you just do. And then maybe, just maybe, we’ll all get out of here in one piece.”

Rachel’s fear and anger drained away as quickly as it had come, leaving her more tired than she’d ever been in her life. She couldn’t imagine how Max was still functioning—still doing what had to be done. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Again.”

“Forget it. Again.” Max held out her hand. “Do we have a deal?”

Rachel grasped Max’s hand almost automatically, as if she weren’t really aware of doing it. “I’ll do my best. If you promise to stop pointing your gun at me.”

Max smiled, caught off guard by the teasing note in Rachel’s voice. They were nearly eye-to-eye. She was a shade over five-eleven and used to looking down at most women, but Rachel’s eyes were on a level with hers, and this close she could pick out the tiny gold flecks dancing through the heather green. The hand that gripped hers was as strong as she would’ve expected from a woman like Rachel, but surprisingly softer than she anticipated. She hadn’t touched any part of a woman in a long time and had forgotten what a contrast in strength and tenderness a woman’s body could be. She glanced down at her own fingers curled around Rachel’s. Her hands were covered in dirt and blood and, feeling oddly unworthy, she loosened her grip. Rachel’s hand fell away at the same time as hers.

As she looked into Rachel’s eyes, the silence in the clearing was as loud as gunfire. “Come on, I want to take a look at that cut.”

Rachel swallowed, her gaze searching, as if she was trying to find some secret Max had hidden deep inside. “What cut?”

“The one on your cheek.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Rachel said.

Approaching midday, the clearing was an oven. Sweat tricked down the back of Max’s neck. A film of moisture coated Rachel’s upper lip, and Max had a sudden crazy urge to brush it away with her thumb. She clenched her fist. “It’s not nothing. We’re out in the middle of the jungle. If we don’t get it cleaned up and it gets infected, you could be in trouble. Besides, this way the scarring will be less.”

Rachel laughed, a choking sound devoid of humor. “A scar? From a tiny cut? And you really think I care?”