Private Maneuvers (Wingmen Warriors 4)

"Your method for handling the snake worked much better than mine." Breathe in. Breathe out.

The past and present melded at a time when her defenses registered somewhere between nil and nonexistent. Max's voice echoed in her head with a faraway timbre.

"Local pest control will probably thank us either way, since the tree snakes have all but wiped out the bird population on Guam."

"It must have heard my call sign is Wren."

She blinked back the memory of a dirty hand draping a snake over her shoulders and reminding her that good girls listened. Good girls also didn't try to give hints about her captors during a phone call to her father.

Darcy swallowed. Hard. She had thirty seconds, tops, to get Max out of the room before she hurled. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but could you go now? I'm past ready to sleep."

Footsteps sounded just before Max eased into sight, kneeling in front of her. "I wanted to make sure you're okay before I turn in."

"As you can see, I'm all right." Four valuable seconds passed and still his fine butt stayed in her room. Twenty seconds left.

"Call me if you start feeling any ill effects from the bites."

She nodded tightly, her mouth firmly closed.

Fifteen.

She would not disgrace herself by tossing her supper on this guy's Teva sandals. With her luck today, the flyers would all pour back out into the hall, and she'd be stuck with a call sign like "Ralph" for the rest of her career.

"Okay, then. I'll let you get some sleep." Max stood. "But remember. Call if you need anything."

"Just listen for the warning shots in the air, Gunsmoke style."

Laughing softly, he pulled the door shut behind him. Leaving her alone with the rumpled bed and memories of fangs sinking into her flesh.

Darcy pressed a hand to her churning stomach and sprinted for the bathroom. Later she would ask Max why a marine biologist had been carrying a Glock 29 when he'd kicked his way into her room.

* * *

Standing on the deserted walkway outside Darcy's VOQ room, Max adjusted his Glock in the waist harness under his windbreaker and wondered what he was missing. She seemed her normal tough-as-nails self, taking the snakebite in stride. A slightly limping stride, sure, but better than ninety-nine percent of the world would have handled an attack from a ten-foot reptile.

Still, something didn't sit right about the way she'd shuffled him out. The shadows under her eyes hinted at more than exhaustion. He would know. He lived in those shadows himself.

He should leave before someone came out to find him hanging around her door. And he would go, as soon as he heard the new dead bolt click.

Two interminable minutes later, it still hadn't slid into place. Didn't the woman have any safety sense?

Max rapped his knuckles on the frame twice. "Darcy, I think my, uh—" he scrambled "—zinc oxide fell out of my pocket."

Smooth line, slick. No wonder she didn't answer. He tapped again. The door creaked open. "Darcy?"

He scanned the empty room.

"Over here."

Max followed her voice across the room...and down to the bathroom floor. Damn it, he should have trusted his instincts earlier and never left.

She slumped back against the wall, her knees drawn to her chest. Pale but upright, she reached to flush. "Shut the door, please. I really don't want anyone else seeing me like this."

"You got it." Max closed the door before crossing to Darcy. Stepping over her, he snagged a washrag from the rack and soaked it with cold water. Darcy thrust her hand up. Max passed the rag down as he dropped beside her on the cool tile. "Do you need anything?"

Darcy mopped the cloth over her brow. "A new day would be nice."

"How about I get someone to stay with you?"