Private Maneuvers (Wingmen Warriors 4)

The rest could wait. She would ask about the SPs as soon as she wiped the worried frown off her father's face.

Darcy pushed herself the rest of the way upright and held out her arms. "Come here, old man. I could use a hug."

His arms opened wide as they'd done when he'd found her on top of the cliff twelve years ago. Just as he'd done then, he gathered her close and held on a little too hard as she inhaled the familiar scent of starch and Old Spice. The past hours waiting for her to wake must have been hell on his aging warrior heart.

"I'm okay, Daddy." Darcy reassured herself as much as him. Willed the echoes of the past to dim. A damned near impossible task right now with her emotions already raw.

The day resembled too closely the horror of captivity in a jungle bunker, alone except for the drip of water and the crack, crack, crack as the guard outside ate sunflower seeds, pitching hulls into her sweltering cubicle.

Every sunflower seed she crunched open as an adult affirmed her freedom. Her strength over the memories. "It's not twelve years ago. Everything's all right."

"I know, baby."

She fought the irreverent urge to laugh over the "baby" comment, even welcomed the distraction. At least her crew wasn't around to hear. Darcy pulled back, shoving the past aside. "How did you get here so fast?"

He sank into a chair beside her bed. "Caught a hop from Korea the minute I heard."

She jammed a hand through her tousled hair. "I can't believe my crew ratted me out." Irritation stung like the pull of stitches in her arm. "Damn it, I bet it was Bronco, that overprotective lug. I'm going to stuff his lunch full—"

"No one from your crew called me."

And from the stern gleam in his eyes she suspected Bronco and Crusty would pay later.

"Then who?"

"Max Keagan."

"Max?" Betrayal swamped her with a power that made his rejection on the beach pale. He knew how she felt about her father's influence encroaching into her world. Why would he have done that? "So you've met him."

Her father nodded, strands of silver glinting through the brown. Most of those whitening strands had sprouted because of her.

"We've... talked."

Uh-oh. "Could you, uh, ask him to step in please?"

She needed to see Max, reassure herself he was alive. Then she would face the fury and hurt crowding her brain.

"I already planned to." All fatherly concern slid away, the General back. "Given what happened out there today, there are a few things you need to know.">He nodded. Knife in hand. He already knew. The clear water must have alerted him as it had her.

A school of fish scattered.

Darcy stiffened. Readied. Blood in the water would draw sharks, but a more imminent threat waited around the reef.

A figure circled into sight, spear aimed straight for Darcy. Eyes behind the mask glinted with pure evil.

No question of his intent now.

Max detonated into action. Yanked the spear, levering the diver forward. Max locked a bulging arm around the attacker's neck. His knife arced down, cut the attacker's air hose with a swift skill and unsettling efficiency that startled her. Reassured her.

One down in only seconds. Hope buoyed Darcy.

A body slammed into her, jerked her arm. Adrenaline surged through her veins, pulsed in her ears. She curled her knees and kicked forward. Thrust. Hard. Slammed the looming diver into the toxic spines of the red coral. The diver twitched, fell away.

Darcy thrashed left, then right, searching for the other two in the distance. She steadied her breathing, strategizing her next move. Another figure slid into view.

Damn it, how many did they have? Already her legs quivered from the exertion combined with their earlier dive. No question, Max's skills in the water outstripped hers. If only she could hold up her own end. She needed to give him an edge.

A hand banded round her arm. Memories of the past blurred with the present, of another hand years ago clamping on her arm at a luau, dragging her away from the crowd.