His eyes grew even colder if that was possible. “What time did the attacks start?”

Rachel folded her hands in her lap to hide the involuntary trembling. She didn’t want him to know that thinking about what happened stirred a cascade of adrenaline-fueled fear. Of course, if he was who she thought he was, he would already know that. “I can’t tell you precisely, but near dawn.”

“After dawn or before?”

Dawn. The thunder of explosions catapulting her from sleep into awareness. Her heart racing, her limbs frozen in the first seconds of instinctual panic. Opening her eyes in the dark, breathless with the instant rush of night terror, cornered and helpless in the face of whatever monster was coming for her. She clenched her hands and her nails bit into her palms. She wished she couldn’t remember but knew she’d never be able to forget. “If it matters, I think just before.”

“And no one in the camp appeared to have any concerns that something was about to happen?”

“Not that I was made aware.”

“No increased security? No precautionary measures?”

“As I said, I am unaware of what anyone in the camp might or might not have known.”

“And what about you, Ms. Winslow?” Carmody asked. “Were you aware that an attack was imminent?”

She didn’t know whose side this man was on and she wasn’t about to provide him with ammunition. She didn’t want to lie, either. She’d heard of too many people strangled in their own webs of deception. If she only had some idea what he wanted. Who he wanted—Dacar, Max, her father? Her? Had her father breached security by contacting her the night before? But that made no sense—everyone involved here at Camp Lemonnier knew of it—the security level couldn’t have been that high. And why not inform her? She would have known when the Black Hawks arrived less than ten hours after her father’s call. “I had no idea the attack was coming. If I had, I assure you I would not have gone blithely to sleep and waited for it.”

“How long have you and your team been out there?”

Another matter of record. Nevertheless, telling him what he already knew cost her nothing. “A little over two months.”

“And you’ve had no trouble from rebels?”

“No, none.”

“And what about your supply lines. How often do you see Americans?”

Rachel frowned. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. We don’t see who delivers the supplies—as least, I don’t. The closest road, if you can call it that, ends in the nearest occupied village about twenty miles away. Some of our people make the trip by UTV and pick up our supplies at that point. The bulk of our camp—tents, foodstuffs, medicine, and equipment—was airlifted and set up before I arrived.”

“You’ve never accompanied anyone from your camp to this village?”

“No. It’s usually an all-day trip and I have other duties.”

“And you’ve never seen any Americans accompanying anyone at the camp?”

“No.”

“What about Somali locals? Anyone strike you as unusual or a frequent visitor?”

“Unusual? I don’t think one ever gets used to starving men, women, and children, but no—nothing stands out that I recall.”

“How about men with rifles?”

Rachel smiled. “That has become a little more usual.”

“How much contact did you have with the rebels between the attack and the time of your rescue?”

Rachel stiffened. “None, thankfully.”

“You never saw anyone near the camp?”

She was staring through the tent flap again into the blinding sun, holding an unfamiliar weapon while a man who tried to save her life writhed in pain behind her. The jungle closed in around her, filled with ominous shadows. She saw monsters everywhere. “No, no one.”

“How about Commander de Milles? How often did she go out to meet someone?”

Ice cascaded along Rachel’s nerve endings. The jungle receded, the heavy air lifted, and she could breathe again. Think again. The enemy was no longer faceless. She was looking at him. “Never.”

A carefully arched brow, one she swore had been waxed to a perfect line, twitched upward. “Never? She never left the camp?”

“That’s not what you asked me. Yes, she checked to see that we were not in immediate danger from rebels close to the camp.”

“And how do you know she didn’t meet anyone?”

“I never heard gunfire, and if she had run into rebels, there would have been.”

“Well, that assumes she ran into an enemy.”

“And,” Rachel said, wishing she had that rifle back again, “I know because I followed her.”

Captain Pettit coughed softly.

Carmody stared at her, a flat appraising gaze that looked a lot like the way a snake regarded a mouse right before it struck. “You followed her into the jungle. Where you could have run into landmines or rebel forces?”

“I’m afraid I wasn’t thinking about that at the time. But yes, I followed her.”

“That was very brave of you.”

“What exactly do you think happened out there, Agent Carmody?” Rachel said, tired of his games.

“I think you’re very lucky to be alive,” he said softly.

“I wouldn’t be if it weren’t for Commander de Milles and the others.” She shifted her attention from Carmody and faced Pettit. “I’d like to use the phone now, and I’d like to see Commander de Milles and Lieutenant Griffin. I owe them my life and I’d like to thank them personally.”

“I’ll see that you’re given privacy for your call,” Captain Pettit said.

Rachel rose, pleased that her legs were not shaking. “Thank you.”

Pettit reached for a phone on his desk. “Chief, could you please take Ms. Winslow to the com room.” Pettit hung up and addressed Rachel. “When you’re finished, someone will escort you to the hospital.”

“Thank you once again, Captain, for all you and your troops have done for me and my team.” Rachel let her gaze pass over Carmody, who stared back, before walking to the door.

The chief petty officer led her through another series of hallways into a large room where half a dozen people sat in front of computer terminals, large maps, and monitors showing aerial views of what looked like miles of uninhabited jungle and desert. The detail of objects on the ground was startling—she could practically count the branches on some of the trees. She’d been out there somewhere just hours before. She wondered if the people in this room had been able to see her.

“This way, ma’am.” The chief took her to a small room separated from the larger one by a plain wooden door in a windowless wall. The room held a desk, shelves with stacks of papers and field manuals, and a landline.

“You can call direct on that, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Chief. And how might I get to the hospital?”

“I’ll arrange for a driver to wait out front, ma’am.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He left, shutting the door behind him, and Rachel slumped onto the metal chair behind the desk. She stared at the phone and wondered how secure it might be. Strange, she felt less safe here surrounded by those she was supposed to trust to keep her safe than she had in the jungle with only Max between her and all the demons that surrounded them. Max. Now Max might be in danger, maybe Grif too. A wave of hot fury washed through her. She reached for the phone and dialed her father’s direct number. He always had his calls forwarded to his cell no matter where he might be. She needed information, and he was never out of the loop. She couldn’t fight an enemy she couldn’t recognize, and it was her turn to stand between Max and whatever lurked in the shadows.

Chapter Nineteen

“How’s Grif?” Max asked as Tim McCullough, the corpsman on duty who’d walked in while she was hunting for her clothes, taped a square of gauze over her IV site.

“They just finished working on him a couple minutes ago.” The red-haired, blue-eyed, fresh-faced twenty-year-old looked like he belonged on the porch of a fraternity house somewhere, drinking beer and bothering girls, not out here putting together the maimed and the mutilated. His eyes when they met hers were the age of someone who’d already seen too much and knew there was worse to come. “You ought to stay here for a couple more doses of IV antibiotics.”

“Just give me the pills.” She could tell when she moved her arm the wound was just soft tissue. Painful but not a long-term problem. She wanted out of the hospital so she could find Rachel, or at least find someone who would know if she was safe somewhere, and she wanted out from under prying eyes and questions. Her nameless friend from the morning would be back, and before she answered any more questions, she wanted to talk to the other team members and find out what the hell was going on. She couldn’t do any of that lying on her back with an IV line running into her arm. “And tell the AOD I’ll take full responsibility.”

McCullough barked out a laugh. “Fuck that. If I say you’re good to go, he won’t argue. If I was you, I’d want out of here too. Just take the fucking pills.”

“Thanks. I will.” Her stomach tightened. She didn’t remember the last half of the flight back, but she remembered taking fire. “Did they bring any of the civilians in here?”

“No. You and Grif were the only casualties from that run. He’s still in recovery from the leg wash out. Probably won’t be awake for a while.”

Max exhaled slowly. “How are the guys from earlier?”

“Everything was pretty minor—Burns will be heading home for shoulder reconstruction. The others will recoup here for a few days and be back on active in a week or so.”

“Good.” She was just as glad Grif wouldn’t be talking for a while. Maybe by the time he came around, whoever had sent her visitor would have gotten what they wanted and called off their dogs. “What was the name of the guy who was in here earlier?”