Oh, God. Monica sucked in sand-laden breaths that scratched all the way down her throat. She couldn't be on the verge of seeing her sister die.
Gritty gasps scoured her chest as she stood with Jack and the Colonel, all mentally scrambling for a way to save Yasmine.
Her sister. Another piece of the puzzle slid into a clean fit. Why had she waited so long to reach out? And now if they didn't stop Ammar from releasing the safety levers on those grenades, Yasmine would have five seconds left to live.
Pride radiated from her proud sister, along with a sure certainty that she would die. That no one would save her. And why shouldn't Yasmine feel that way? Had anyone helped her during the past year? Had she or even Sydney ever thought to check on Yasmine after their mother's death?
Resolve burned through Monica. This was her sister. Not a Hyatt, but her blood all the same.
And nobody messed with her sisters.
Options lined up in her mind, one by one discarded until she settled on the only plan with a chance of succeeding. The Colonel would tackle Yasmine, shield her, while Monica and Jack flew wingman at his sides to pitch the grenades.
In five seconds.
She looked left toward Jack, could sense his determination and understanding, as well. Like he'd told her earlier about Sydney, her family was his now. And along with that understanding, she saw his acceptance. He knew that she would do whatever it took to be there for this sister just as she'd fought to be here for Sydney.
Yes, she saw the acceptance. And, oh, my, she saw his love for her along with his fears. All there. Full-blown and just as real as any intense avowal. Steady, laid-back Jack who took life in stride with cocky declarations of how much he loved Elvis tunes, a good cheeseburger and his grandma actually carried around the same pain and baggage as the rest of the world.
And if she died, how much more would she add to his load?
Not an option, just as she refused to accept anything could happen to him, either. Not now when they finally had a chance. She had a few more pieces of the puzzle and looked forward to finding the rest. With Jack.
She held still, awaiting the silent order from their commander to—
The Colonel charged. Toward Yasmine. Monica sprung forward. She didn't need to look to know Jack was keeping step on the other side. The Colonel body-slammed into Yasmine.
Five. Four.
Monica landed on Ammar's left arm, Jack on the right. Scrambling for the rolling grenades.
Three.
Monica lobbed back her hand. Launched the grenade airborne.
Two. One...
Explosions rocked the ground beneath her. Sand, rocks, shards blanketed the air. Rained down. Tink. Tink. Tink.
Her ears rang in the aftermath. A good sign, right? At least she was still alive. She opened her eyes.
"Jack!" she shouted, demanded. She rolled off Ammar's arm, to her knees.
"Uh-uh." Jack grunted, flipping to his side. Blood seeped from his thigh through his flight suit. But he was conscious. Whole. Relief, love and residual fear for her all scrolled across his eyes, his hands already reaching out to her.
Only then did she let herself check the others. Yasmine stirred, the Colonel already levering off her.
Ammar's eyes stared up unblinking between them. His head cocked at an angle. Neck broken. In the fall or by the Colonel?
One look in Colonel Cullen's cool eyes gave her the answer.
The Colonel began untying Yasmine from the dead man's waist with steady hands, but a tight jaw and possessive stance that broadcast well no one was getting near Yasmine anytime soon.
Apparently this sister didn't really need her, either. But that was okay. Because she knew someone who did need her... every bit as much as she needed him. Monica crawled across the jagged desert ground. She threw her arms around Jack's neck and damned well wasn't going to let go.
Almost time to go. Yasmine stood outside the overlarge cargo plane soon to be leaving for Germany before continuing on to the United States. Her new home.
No less than six military soldiers stood guard around her, so ordered by Drew. She would have preferred the company of one soldier in particular, but he stood in the circle of his officers issuing commands.