Soldier's Christmas (Wingmen Warriors 8)

Part of him wanted to blast the two men lurking outside now, but his military training overrode baser instincts. As much as he wanted to protect Alicia at all costs, he still needed to establish the men had hostile intent. They could be lost and wandering, something he doubted but couldn't risk.

Damn, how much longer were those two bozos going to weasel around outside? They had to know from the smoke that someone was inside. His grip tightened on the flare gun. Alicia's body heat radiated beside him. Primal protectiveness still churned from their earlier discussion about the bastard in her past.

And now it all roared stronger. Louder.

He wouldn't end this day with even one hair on her head injured.

More muffled voices echoed along with a sound he recognized well—the click and rattle of a machine gun being raised. Ah, hell.

He grabbed the back of Alicia's neck and pushed.

"Stay down," he hissed. He flattened onto his belly beside her.

Bullets riddled the shelter. Pinging. Popping through the walls. Ricocheting off the stove. Shit. He flung his arm over her head.

Snow gear dangling from the line swayed, shredded, fiberfill puffing and exploding.

Had the Plexiglas given a distorted impression of people inside? Slowly, the long pants slithered to the floor.

Silence followed.

Alicia!

He jerked to look at her, skimming his hand up to her neck to find a reassuring pulse.

"I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

But he did. How could he not? He wanted to crawl on top of her and shield her body with his until this hell passed. She stared back at him, resignation on her face.

She knew him. She knew he would want to lead the charge as if he could fix her past for her. He thought of his own nightmarish experience he'd long wanted to put to rest...and accepted she had her own. Hers in some ways was worse, because the betrayal had come from someone she trusted.

Slowly, understanding—if not peace—rolled over him about the university siege. His faith in mankind may have been shaken, but he'd never had to question himself. He'd done his best that day.

Alicia needed to learn to trust herself again before she could fully trust him. She needed to fix her own past and win this battle on the ground.

He didn't intend to let her fight the battle alone, but damn it, she'd earned her place on the front lines. Big picture, they needed to bring these bastards down and stood a better chance working together. "We're outgunned. Our only edge is surprise since they think we're wounded or dead. They're over armed—but overconfident. That can work for us."

"For us?" she asked, as if she couldn't believe he would include her.

"For us. Like in Cantou, we watch each other's back." I trust you. You trust me. And God, he hoped he'd been right to trust his instincts. For a man who'd spent a lifetime following logic, this was scary shit. "When the door opens, shoot. The gyro jets are great for tearing through a jungle canopy overhead, but their aim's not all that accurate. Hopefully we'll nail at least one of the bastards. Then we'll rush the door before the other can hide and swing around to riddle us with bullets from the back."

Footsteps crunched the snow.

"Are you ready?" he stared into her eyes and hoped that even in the faint light she could still see him, see her.

"Thank you," she said simply, didn't need to say anymore.

He understood. Thanks to Alicia, he understood so much more now.

Josh nodded, too much emotion clogging his throat and his head. He needed a clear brain.

Footsteps crunched closer. Two shadows bobbed and blended, bobbing again. Josh angled around one side of the wood stack, Alicia around the other. Staying flat on his stomach, he extended his arms in front of him, flare gun in both hands, aimed. Ready.

The door blasted open. A lone figure blocked the view.

One chance.

"Fire," Josh ordered. He shot, the hiss of Alicia's gun in synchronicity with his.