Max’s brows came down even harder. “Damn it. S’nothing. I ought to know—”

“Don’t be such a hard-ass.” Rachel said sharply. “Let someone take care of you.”

Max squinted at Rachel. “You want a shot?”

Delgado’s shoulders shook, but she didn’t say a word.

“You’re an idiot.” Rachel shook her head. Under less terrifying circumstances this playful side of Max would be intriguing. As it was, all she cared about was Max, awake and talking. She was as dizzy as if she’d just downed a bottle of champagne. “And did I mention hardheaded?”

Max’s smile flashed. “Bet you like it just the same.”

“Ask me some other time and I’ll tell you what I like.” Rachel stroked the top of Max’s hand with her thumb. “Crazy hero is not top of my list.”

Max started to say something, but her eyes clouded and lost focus.

“Max?” Rachel turned to Delgado. “Is she all right?”

“Drugs kicking in. You need to go back and sit down.” Delgado wrapped Max’s arm with a bandage and injected medication into the IV line taped above the hand Rachel held. “We’ll be home in just a couple minutes.”

Home. Maybe for them. For her, another stop in a strange land. She stayed until Max’s lids slipped closed before returning to her spot next to Amina.

“What happened? Is she all right?” Amina asked.

“I think so. God, she was shot and didn’t tell anyone. Why is she so damn stubborn?”

Amina laughed. “You ought to be able to answer that. The two of you are very much alike.”

“We most certainly are not.” Rachel glowered. “Max is…well, she takes altogether too much upon herself.”

“I think you have some experience with that.”

“Not like Max,” Rachel said softly, watching Delgado and one of the SEALs move Max’s lax body onto a litter. “She’s many things that I’ll never be.”

*

The helicopter touched down with a jolt, and the roar of the engines died away to a soft whine. The SEALs surrounded Rachel and Amina and hustled them out onto the landing field. Rows of long, low one-story rectangular buildings bordered an expanse of bare land where dozens of helicopters, armored vehicles, and other machines were lined up waiting to march into battle. After weeks in the jungle, the tarmac beneath her feet was as foreign as the bright halogen lights that captured them in a cone of illumination so glaring her eyes watered. Shielding her eyes, her first instinct was to escape into the shadows where she’d be less visible. Where she could see who was coming before they saw her.

She turned back to the helicopter, searching for Max. A half dozen military personnel converged on the open bay of the helicopter and lifted out the two litters bearing Grif and Max and carried them off in another direction. She started after them. Two steps later a hand on her arm stopped her.

Rachel whirled back. A woman about her age, a few inches shorter in blue BDUs and her hair tucked up in a tidy blond bun at the back of her neck, smiled at her. Marine insignia flashed on her collar.

“Ms. Winslow, I’m Major Barbara Newton,” the blonde said. “If you’ll come with me, please.”

“Where are they taking Max—Commander de Milles?”

“The wounded will be transported to the base hospital. Don’t worry, they’ll be fine.”

“How do you know that? You don’t even know what’s wrong with them.”

“If you’ll come with me, please.” Her calm smile never changed. She had to be press corps or public relations. “I’m sure both of you would like a shower and something hot to eat.”

“I’d like to go to the hospital,” Rachel said. She’d had plenty of dealings with the PR people who managed her father’s career—his life, really, public and private. She knew not to yield. “I want to see the officers who rescued us.”

“Let’s get you settled first.”

Amina took Rachel’s arm, pulled her aside, and murmured, “You probably won’t be able to see Max for a while anyhow. If you do what she wants now, you might get away sooner.” She raised her voice. “You’ll feel better if you have something to eat.”

Rachel wondered if the Marine major really thought a hot shower and meal were all that was necessary to erase everything that had happened. Amina was right, though, and clearly a better natural politician than her. She wasn’t going to escape until she at least seemed to be cooperating for a while, and in the meantime, she’d get the information she needed to find Max. She smiled at Newton. “Of course, yes, thank you. I’m sorry, things have just been…hectic.”

“I know, but it’s over now.”

It’s over. Rachel couldn’t help but think how glibly the phrase was applied and how little it pertained. Another lie she wondered if anyone really believed.

“Thanks,” she whispered to Amina and, still holding Amina’s arm, followed Newton’s brisk strides toward a waiting Humvee. Once she and Amina settled in the backseat and Newton got in front, the vehicle left the airfield and drove into a large complex lit by more halogen lights on poles spaced at intervals along streets laid out in rigid grids and lined by dozens upon dozens of the tan metal containers. What she wouldn’t have given for a few of those back at the camp. She stared out the thick, pitted window to avoid thinking about the failed mission and the lost lives.

Military personnel and civilian workers moved about on foot or by transport even though it was the middle of the night. Vehicles passed them, helicopters arrived and departed. After fifteen minutes and several turns, the Humvee stopped in front of another building similar to the ones they’d passed, only much larger. Major Newton turned to face them. “This is the base HQ. We’ll get you settled in your temporary quarters, and once you’re squared away, I’ll take you to meet the base commander.”

Rachel stared at her. She’d been around politicians all her life, and Major Newton was another one who just happened to be wearing a uniform. What she’d really meant was they’d debrief. Of course someone would want a recounting of their experiences in the jungle. Probably quite a few people, and it wouldn’t be quick.

“I want to see Commander de Milles first.”

“We will certainly arrange a visit as soon as possible. Come on, let me take you inside and show you your quarters.”

Newton headed toward the building, leaving Rachel and Amina no choice but to go along. Inside, a hall ran down the center with doors spaced at regular intervals on each side. Newton turned down another corridor and eventually stopped before a closed door with no markings. She opened it, held it ajar, and said to Amina, “Ms. Roos, you’ll be in here. I think you’ll find whatever you need in the way of clothes and other necessities on the bed and in the bathroom.”

Amina glanced at Rachel.

“I won’t go anywhere,” Rachel said.

Amina nodded. “I’ll see you in a little while, then.”

Major Newton led Rachel down the hall past several more closed doors and opened one. “Here you are. I’ll be by in half an hour and we’ll get you both fed.”

“I need a phone to make an international call. Can you—”

“Yes, we’ll take care of that.” Newton smiled. “I’ll see you in a few moments.”

Rachel stepped into the room and Newton closed the door behind her. A dull overhead light revealed the plain furnishings: a single bed, a metal dresser and desk, an open-faced closet slightly deeper than a bookcase with hangers and shelves. She almost laughed. Too bad she hadn’t brought a suitcase. On the bed were a pair of fatigue pants and a shirt without insignia, obviously military issue. A pair of dark leather combat boots stood at attention next to the bed. She lifted the tan shirt and examined it. Cut for a woman and close to her size. The pants, plain desert brown, looked to be her size as well. She wondered just how much they knew about her. The idea was disconcerting, although she shouldn’t be surprised. Of course there was a record of the Red Cross delegation and details of everyone in it. And the military just loved keeping files.

She disliked being caught up in the huge military machine, but the sooner she went along with this part of the plan, the sooner she’d get to see Max. And she would dearly love a shower. A meal might not be bad either. She stepped through a narrow door into an adjoining bathroom, a small tight space ingeniously designed to provide everything that was needed in a compact area. She stripped off her clothes and, not knowing what else to do with them, stuffed them into a trash can by the small sink. She turned on the water and steam filled the tiny bathroom. Naked, she stepped under the spray and started to shake. Her legs buckled, suddenly too weak to support her, and she slid down until she was sitting on the cool metal floor, her knees drawn up and her head back against the stall. Water pulsed over her face and body and ran into the drain beneath her.

Out of nowhere sobs shook her chest. Her mind went mercifully blank. She let the water wash away her tears until strength returned to her limbs, and she pushed herself upright. Mechanically she washed her hair, soaped her body, rinsed, and shut off the water. She wrapped a towel around her chest and found a toothbrush and toothpaste neatly stowed on a shelf above the commode. She brushed her teeth, dried her hair, and dressed in the fatigues that had been left for her. Clean socks and the new pair of boots completed the outfit. Slowly she sat on the side of the bed, flashes of the last day playing through her mind in fast-forward like a movie reel spinning too fast. Rotor wash kicking up clouds of sand. Gunshots and screams, terror and triumph. Through it all, Max was there. Max was hurt, and Rachel didn’t even know how badly. She didn’t know where Max was. She only knew she wasn’t there and everything inside her insisted that she should be.