"Together."
He shrugged. "Not so smart."
Her stance softened. Striding past him, she reached over to her cot and snagged the quilted sleeping bag. "I guess I'm not feeling all that smart today, either."
Again she'd surprised him. One side benefit to the complicated relationship deal.
Together, they silently spread the sleeping bag on the floor and stretched out together, Jack using Monica's pillow and Monica using Jack's chest for hers. Her damp hair soaked his T-shirt, not that he cared.
"I sang."
He pulled a wet strand off her cheek. "Sang?"
"For the talent competition. I sang a really, really bad rendition of that Lee Greenwood song, 'God Bless the U.S.A.'"
"Ah, those soldier bones of yours begging to be set free."
"That, and probably a subconscious slap at my mother for leaving."
He hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her flush against his side. Saying nothing seemed wiser than shoving his size thirteen boot in his mouth.
Her arm slid around to hug him back. "I haven't had much experience with making a relationship work."
Saying nothing definitely seemed wiser since the truth hammered in his head loud and clear that he didn't have any more experience than her with the long term. Tina had died so young. And his bachelor days were no testament to commitment, either.
The smart woman in his arms nailed it dead-on. Somehow by getting closer they kept ending up further apart.
Jack settled onto the hard floor to sleep with his wife for the first time since the night they'd said "I do" to an Elvis impersonator nearly four months ago.
Drew pushed through the flap on the sprawling tent, a two-pack stretch of canvas holding tables with computers and the comm radio. A far sight different from the music-filled hangar of the night before.
His men were out in the desert readying for live-fire exercises, a practice run of taking the compound's airfield including everything but the jump.
While he orchestrated from the cushy-assed tented command center. In the rear with the gear, listening to radio calls being manned by the RTO— Radio Telephone Operator.
Hell, he'd worked his ass off to get to this point in his career. Damned silly to want to be out there in the field instead of sitting in here with an oversize sand-tray model of the battlefield.
Of course he would be in the field when they took the compound. His command center then would be nothing more than the radio and a smaller mobile comm set up in the middle of the battle.
Still, part of him itched for the time when he humped through the field for days on end, when a hot meal meant an MRE warmed on the engine block of a Humvee. Just thinking about it gelled that sense of unity, family, in him again. He embraced the feeling of pride at being a part of a hardcore, elite unit. Conditions sucked, and anyone who couldn't handle it wasn't man enough.
Drew settled in a chair behind his intelligence computer. Their practice maneuvers involved a fairly straightforward battle tactic. Once the hostages were secured by the SEALs, the support platoon would fire into the objective to get the enemies' heads up. The heavier armed attack platoon would launch a sneak approach from the other side. A flare would alert the support platoon at the correct time for a lift and shift—lift fire up and shift away so as not to shoot into the attack platoon.
They should have been launching the real deal tomorrow night, if not for the weather forecast of sandstorms. Now they would have to wait an extra day. At least they had confirmation that the three hostages were alive. Sydney Hyatt was alive.
Yasmine's half sister.
Damn, but he still couldn't believe he'd kissed Yasmine. Really couldn't wrap his head around the fact he wanted to do it again and was starting not to care how things looked.
Well, hell. Didn't he want a return to his old days when it was all about the hoo-uh? The tough choices. Easy was for the weak.
Maybe he would check up on her after they returned to the States. See how things played out on neutral ground. Take it slow since she was more innocent than he ever recalled being.
Dating? He popped a LifeSaver into his mouth.
No way could he envision himself with flowers and candy in hand on her doorstep. But he could see himself taking her to his favorite restaurant, sitting on the deck, wind in her hair and smile on her face enticing him to shake some sand off his boots.
None of which would happen if he didn't get his mind on his job here. He shut down emotional crap and focused on the operation at hand.