Anything, Anywhere, Anytime (Wingmen Warriors 6)

Blake's arm slid over her shoulders to tuck her against him, a tight wedge for them both under the desk, but the safest place in the room until the battle passed. Carlos guarded outside the door as the first line of defense, Blake keeping her secured inside while the fight for the compound unfolded.

She tried not to tense in his arms. This was Blake touching her. Breathe. In. Out. Relax.

Plaster and dust from the dank interrogation room clogged her throat. Great. Ugh. She coughed. At least she didn't have to look at the dead man. Ammar's henchman.

She shuddered.

Blake's embrace tightened. "Hang in there. This will be over fast. I swear."

She wanted to believe him but couldn't imagine how a compound that held at least a couple hundred trained terrorists could fall so soon.

Although the U.S. military had certainly started the operation quickly and silently enough. With Ammar and his men already preparing to move the camp, she'd been terrified Blake would be too late.

And then there he'd stood. Taking down her interrogator—Ammar's right-hand man who'd continued the questioning after Ammar had been called away to prepare the camp for moving. If Blake had been just an hour earlier...

But there would have been two men with her then, both Ammar and his second in command. Somehow she knew that wouldn't have stopped Blake. "How long do you think it will take?"

"Twenty minutes at the most, and they'll have the compound under our control. There may be some stragglers to gather up, some outbuildings or escape routes to secure, but we'll be on the watch for them. It'll be over."

God, she wanted to believe this horror would soon be past, but knew an end to the nightmare would probably take a little longer for her. "I still can't believe you're here."

"I should have come sooner," he said, words punctuated with gunfire, another explosion.

"You shouldn't have had to come at all. I'm sorry." For so many things.

"You don't have anything to apologize for." His chin rested on the top of her head to fit under the desk, his hands firm on her back but unmoving. "Your sister's here, too. Well, not right here, but close by. She'll be landing in a medivac C-17 once the initial hostilities have passed."

Tears prickled, joy a welcome emotion after months without it. "Monica? Oh, my God, is it totally selfish of me to be glad she's in the middle of all this?"

"Once she found out the mission was in the works, nothing could stop her."

Memories of neatly sealed lunches came back to slug her hard. "Sounds like my take-charge big sister."

"She thought it was important to be here for you, that maybe all of this would be easier if she was the one to check you over rather than a doctor you've never met."

"She's right. I can't imagine telling someone else..." She swallowed down acid. Monica would be devastated when the medical exam revealed the full impact of what had happened in this place.

Rat, tat, tat. Gunfire. Shouts. Running feet and a scream. Mayhem reverberated outside while inside she heard the anger in Blake's heartbeat, his labored breaths. Would he blame her after all? Be disgusted by her? She waited, wondered what he would say.

"Do you want to talk about it, being taken and...after? he asked with a calm contradicted by his tensed muscles.

"Not yet, if that's okay."

His arms relaxed a notch, if not totally. "Probably better we hold off on that until we're both leveled out."

"I think so, too." Details would trigger his tightly leashed rage. She knew this as well as she knew him.

She knew him.

Understanding flooded at least a trickle of peace. His rage was directed at those responsible. Not her. This man's innate sense of justice, his unfailing defense of anyone attacked, would help him wade through it all. But later. Not now.

He shifted against her, his hand falling away from her back.

"Blake?" Even as she'd winced at being touched, oh, God, she couldn't bear to be left. She gripped his arms, jolted, bumped her head on the underside of the desk. "Where are you going?"

And then she smelled—spearmint. She smiled. Blake's chewing gum, a habit he once told her he'd picked up after he stopped dipping at eighteen when he joined the Navy.

"Want some?"