“Okay. A frontal attack is out. I guess I’ll have to find a way in they won’t be able to shut down.”

“Good plan.” He grinned. “Where’s the other woman? The one who was with me all the time.”

“Amina. She’s here too. She’s all right.”

“Tell her I said thank you. She’s very brave.”

Rachel swallowed hard. “She is. You all are.”

Grif’s eyes closed. “Don’t leave Max all alone.”

“I won’t. I promise.” Rachel stood. “Go to sleep, Grif. I’ll tell Max you said to keep her head down.”

He opened his eyes. “Could you call my wife? I don’t want the only message she gets about this to come through channels.”

“Of course. I’d be honored. Tell me your number. Laurie, right?”

“Yeah.” He recited a number.

“Is there anything special you want me to tell her?”

“Tell her I’m fine and everything works.”

Rachel laughed. “I’m sure she’ll be very glad to hear that.”

She left him, knowing he’d protect Max when they came to question him. Outside, she climbed back into the Humvee and said, “I’d like to go to headquarters now.”

“Certainly,” Kennedy said. Apparently, Smith didn’t speak.

Rachel closed her eyes and let the cool air from the AC revitalize her. Penetrating the wall of silence was going to be impossible on her own. She didn’t know anyone at the military base who would talk to her. Her father might be able to help, but involving him might not be a good idea, not when she didn’t know the reasons for the investigation or who was behind it. Besides, she hated calling on him to solve her problems. Fatigue settled over her and she shook it off. She still had work to do.

“Ms. Winslow,” Kennedy said.

Rachel jerked upright. God, she’d fallen asleep. She looked outside. The Humvee idled in front of HQ. “I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“We’ll wait.”

Rachel climbed out and went inside. She found Pettit’s office after a few wrong turns, knocked on the door, and the same chief petty officer opened it.

“Ma’am? May I help you?”

“I’d like to see Captain Pettit, please.”

He studied her a second before holding the door open. “If you’d wait a moment, ma’am.” He walked to the inner door, knocked, and disappeared. A minute later he returned and escorted her into Pettit’s office.

The captain rose from behind his desk. “Ms. Winslow. How may I help you?”

“I’d like to see Commander de Milles.”

“The commander is in a meeting right now.”

“A meeting.” Rachel fought to keep her expression neutral. She thought about her father’s eternal calm even when she knew he was seething and injected some of that icy control into her voice. “A meeting that required two military police to escort her?”

The captain’s shoulders stiffened. “I’m afraid I can’t discuss this with you.”

“Captain, I would be dead. Lieutenant Griffin would be dead. Amina Roos would be dead, and probably others, if it weren’t for Commander de Milles. Whatever happened out there, accident or planned, was none of her doing.”

“As I said, I’m not at liberty to discuss—”

“I thought it customary that a commanding officer supported his troops. Not turned them over to outside agencies to be interrogated.”

A muscle bunched along his jaw. “Certain evidence has come to light. The commander’s being questioned, as are several other members of the mission, as part of routine follow-up. That’s all I can tell you.”

Certain evidence. Well, that told her something beyond routine was going on, and Pettit probably had no control over it. Politics trumped just about everything, even military authority. Rachel saw the finality in his eyes and possibly regret. He couldn’t help her. This route was closed to her, but she wasn’t going to abandon Max without firing a shot.

Chapter Twenty-three

Max could sleep anywhere—on a gurney in a dark corner waiting for the OR to be cleaned and the next patient to be wheeled in on a long night of back-to-back emergencies, on the ground behind a swell of sand while her comrades kept watch for the enemies who lurked in the night—almost anywhere except in her rack, where she was supposed to be safe. Maybe the only time she felt safe was when she was actually facing death, one-on-one. She wasn’t safe with Carmody, but since she’d been left alone in a bare room with nothing but two metal chairs and a steel table, she’d rather sleep than stare at the blank walls and know she was being watched and probably recorded. Besides, closing her eyes was as near as she could get to flipping off whoever was trying to rattle her.

The instant she closed her eyes, she thought of Rachel and pictured the man and woman who’d shown up outside her CLU looking for Rachel. They weren’t military. They were more likely of Carmody’s brand, maybe even working with him. They might be friend or foe. Rachel could handle herself, but she’d probably never run up against people like these before. People who thought nothing of using any tactic at their disposal to get what they wanted. People who thought their mission was somehow more vital than that of those who put their bodies on the line every day. People who seemed to have forgotten what the enemy looked like. Rachel didn’t belong anywhere near this snake pit of suspicion and accusation.

Max would have given almost anything to know Rachel was far away from all of this, but she hadn’t asked. Giving Carmody any indication Rachel mattered to her would be like handing him a loaded weapon and pointing it at her own head. He’d already asked the same questions as he had the night before all over again, as if expecting the answers to be different this time. Who were the insurgents who attacked the camp? How did they know the timing of the rescue operation? What was their target? Who was their target? Who had Max told about the operation? Who had someone else told? Who had she met in the jungle? Every time he asked, she answered him the same way she had the first time, and after he’d grown tired of questioning or perhaps thought if he left her alone she’d panic or bargain, he walked out. After a few hours he came back and started again. Keeping track of time was difficult after so many days without sleep in a barren space with nothing to orient her. No windows, no clock, no voices outside the room. They hadn’t taken her to HQ as she’d first expected, but to a nondescript building at the far edge of the base. She hadn’t seen any base personnel at all when she’d climbed out of the Humvee. Maybe no one even knew she was there. She considered who might miss her if she didn’t arrive back in the States anytime soon.

No one.

She hadn’t notified the hospital of her pending return, since her position was secure—ERs always had trouble keeping surgeons willing to take in-house call to cover emergencies—and she hadn’t been sure when she’d arrive stateside. Her fellow docs would be glad to see her—another body to take call and lighten everyone’s load. Maybe the OR nurse she’d spent a night with would give her an extra-special welcome-back smile. But if she never returned? No one would inquire. She hadn’t talked to anyone in her family in over a decade. They hadn’t shown any interest in her plans when she’d been young—in fact, her father had made it clear she was on her own when she hit eighteen. She’d researched how best to pay her way through college and medical school and settled on the Navy. The day after her eighteenth birthday she was on a bus south to Cornell on an ROTC scholarship. She’d never looked back and doubted she’d crossed their minds in years. No girlfriend. No friends. Not even a fucking cat.

Carmody held all the cards except one—she didn’t care what he did to her. And his brand of power depended on fear.

The second time he left her alone she’d slept. And the third. That felt like a couple of hours each time. He hadn’t brought her any food, but he’d left a plastic bottle of water on the table, which she drank. She could use another one. She could use two or three cups of coffee and a big meal.

What she really needed was to see Rachel. Just to know that she was somewhere safe and out of whatever was happening here. When the hunger kept her from sleeping and her mind started to wander a little bit from fatigue and stress and anger, and her tight, iron control started to slip, she thought back to the moments before the Masters at Arms had come for her. Rachel had appeared out of nowhere, standing there on the steps of her CLU, refusing to be turned away or ignored or put off by Max’s wall of silence. Max smiled to herself. Stubborn as she was beautiful. And then somehow, the barriers had crumbled and her resolve had vanished under the soft caress of Rachel’s mouth. She couldn’t push her away, she’d needed her too much. She needed the incredible sensation of being with Rachel—as if they were alone in the universe, standing in a pure mountain glade with the sun shining down and the breeze, so cool, blowing over her skin. As if they had stripped naked and stepped into a crystal lake and the only heat came from Rachel’s skin against her skin, driving the chill away, warming her deep inside. Body to body, she’d run her hands over silky skin and tangled her fingers in thick red-gold hair glowing in the sun. Rachel’s eyes were the color of the evergreens that formed a shield around them. There’d been no death, no dying, no pain. She couldn’t think back to a time when there hadn’t been pain—of rejection, of being on the outside, of never quite being enough to matter. She smiled to herself, thinking of Rachel astride her, wild and free. She’d been enough then. She’d given everything she had and for those few moments, she had been enough.

The door opened and Carmody walked in. “Something amusing, Commander de Milles?”

Max slowly opened her eyes and focused on him. He’d shaved and showered and wore a fresh uniform. She could smell the aftershave still wafting from his skin. Ate too, probably, the bastard.