Private Maneuvers (Wingmen Warriors 4)

Crusty dunked a pretzel in his milky drink and popped it in his mouth. "Back when Bronco and I took Wren to the infirmary, Cutter had her hooked up to those antivenom IVs. Cutter and Bronco started passing pictures over her like she wasn't even there." Crusty tossed another soggy pretzel in his mouth. "Bronco, yeah, I expect it from him. But even the prior die-hard bachelor Cutter babbled on about his little girl and new baby boy. Then they passed their stacks to me with big goofy-ass grins on their faces. Know what I mean?''

Max grunted. Perry waggled packs of pictures of his three sons around all the damned time, too. Max always smiled and tried not to think about his own kid who'd never had a chance to pose for photos.

Crusty drained his cup, then tossed it aside. "As if I could tell one wrinkled-faced infant from another. Next thing I knew, I had 'em all mixed up. The two dads looked at me like I'm a moron. Thank God, Wren sorted the stacks and called time-out."

"Sounds like Darcy." Max stared across the small patch of sand at the leggy dynamo flicking coconut milk into Rokowsky's face.

Crusty swiped his arm across his milk mustache. "You gonna call her when all this crap is over with?''

The shells dug deeper right along with thoughts of images never developed. "Damn it, I'm not after your precious copilot who loves babies and puppies."

"Yeah, right. Whatever."

"Doesn't she already have a brother?"

"Yeah, and a whole squadron more of them besides ready to kick your ass if you mess with her."

"This is getting old, Baker." He'd about tapped out his chitchat quota for the day, but knew Baker wouldn't leave him alone without reassurance. Max scrounged up a few more words. "So I've been watching out for her and along the way she became a friend. What's not to like about her?"

"Wren has a way of making friends easily."

Yeah, yeah, Max heard him loud and clear. No need to think he was special, and he had the distinct impression Baker had jabbed on purpose. "Exactly."

Crusty stared ahead, pitching pretzels to scavenger birds. "Those friendships have a way of sneaking up on a guy and becoming a lot more when you least expect it."

Max cut his eyes toward Crusty. Was the guy hung up on Darcy after all? But Crusty wasn't ogling Darcy. He stared out over the ocean with glazed eyes that seemed to be taking him to another place. Another time.

Hell. Max pitched aside his empty water bottle. Less than a month with Darcy Renshaw trying to socialize him and he was turning into some freaking Sigmund Freud.

Baker swiped a hand over his face, his eyes clear again. "Guys like us don't lead the kind of life that lends itself well to relationships. Too many 'can't tell you where I'm going babe or when I'll be back' moments. Too many secrets."

Memories crashed over him in a tidal wave. He'd lived that nightmare with Eva. She'd wanted them both to get out of the CIA, start a more sedate family life. Had even walked more than once. Not that he blamed her. Even when he was around, he was only half there. Distant on a good day. Distant and hungry for the next mission on a bad day.

He and Eva had weathered more than a few bad days. After his near miss in South America, she'd insisted for a month he back off and take lower risk assignments. Every time she'd traced that scar on his shoulder, she'd cried. If only he'd listened to her and changed the course of their lives, her cover might have never been blown. She might still be alive.

Screw social skills. He didn't want to talk to anyone tonight, anyway. "Get to the point, Baker."

Crusty crumpled the empty pretzel bag. "She's leaving soon. As much as you may think she's clear on the friendship issue, I know her better. As a real friend. And I can tell you, pal, she doesn't look at me the same way she's looking at you."

Max started to disagree, but just his damned luck Darcy chose that second to glance over at him. Her smile faltered. Her fingers crept up to twine around the chain on her dog tags. Did she know how those dog tags of hers turned him on? He wanted to tug her forward with them and...

"Cut her loose." Crusty interrupted Max's thoughts with harsh reality. "Unless you're genuinely interested in her. Then we'll throw you a keg party and give you an honorary call sign. Something like 'Spike' for your hair or 'Fin' for your job. Hell, we can even get you a batch of your own coconut bra pictures." Seriousness stained Crusty's eyes, all the more powerful for its rarity. "Just be careful with her, man. She's got history. She may be friends with the lot of us, but she doesn't let life get deep too often."

Even across the stretch of beach, Max could see those shadows lurking in her eyes. Had they been there from the start and he'd missed them because he didn't know her well enough then? Darcy's file chronicled her kidnapping—with conspicuous holes, thanks to her father's influence, no doubt. She seemed to have moved past it. But of course, what the hell did he know about reading people's emotions?

He could tell what two clicks from Lucy or a head bob from Ethel meant. Darcy, however, constantly defied logic, and he was the poorest candidate on the planet for dealing with things outside his factual realm.

He was right not to call her and to keep his distance from this woman who'd already been hurt enough. "Thanks for the heads-up, Baker, but you're off base. If you're done, I'm going to call it a night."

Max shoved to his feet and stomped the sand from his skin. Too bad the cutting nicks of shell shards and memories weren't as easily shaken free. And when Darcy left, he would be adding the slice of new regrets to the old.

Darcy shifted restlessly in the base dive shop as she waited for the attendant to bring her diving gear. She hitched a hip against the wooden counter in the sprawling hut and let her gaze wander to the window. The bay beyond the dirty panes tempted her as much as the man who called those waters his second home.

Two days and she would be leaving. Max had invited her to say goodbye to Lucy and Ethel. She understood well enough the goodbye was for him as well.

Her dog tags burned a reminder against her skin of his touch with every gentle sway when she walked. He could have his goodbye, but there wouldn't be any more chitchat with tempting glimpses into the real Max and playful afternoons with Lucy and Ethel.

He'd gone out of his way not to abuse her friendship the past weeks. Which made her want him all the more, damn his honorable soul and cute tush. She wanted a distraction but had found more than she'd bargained for or could handle. In a week she would be sitting in the Squadron Commander's office discussing her chances of shipping out to Cantou.