Power (Special Tactical Units Division 1)

“In the States?”

“Yes.”

He reached into the pack and took out something that resembled a folded square of olive-drab canvas. He rose, shook it open, spread it on the ground and then bent to the pack again.

She felt useless, just standing and watching.

“Can I help?”

He shook his head.

“Just stay out of the way. That’s all I require from you.”

He spoke briskly. Impersonally. Two whole sentences this time, but she didn’t like that word, require. It made her feel like a ten-year-old being given an assignment by a teacher. That was pretty much his attitude towards her in general.

But he’d saved her life.

Who was she to protest?

She sank down on the ground cloth and watched as he began taking other things out of the backpack.

Impressive.

The man got an A for neatness.

Everything was carefully arranged. She recognized the MREs. The coalition used them in the field. There were little plastic containers and baggies, some folded stuff she figured was a change of clothes, a cook pot, nylon rope and other odds and ends that made for typical camping gear—but there was nothing typical about this camper.

This was the first chance she’d had to get a real look at him. The long, lean body. Those muscled arms and that chest. The broad shoulders. The stony face. The short, almost black hair. The sculpted face, strong and handsome despite the dark stripes,

Actually, the stripes added something.

They made him look...dangerous.

Dangerous, and, be honest, Alessandra, sexy as hell.

Not that it mattered.

Superman was all attitude. She didn’t like him, and she still didn’t even know his name.

“Maybe that’s all you require,” she said. “But I require a name.”

He looked at her. “What?”

“Your name. I don’t know it.” Her smile was toxic. “And Superman seems a little much.”

“Superman?”

“You know. Man of Steel. Big. Macho. Tough on bad guys. Awkward with regular people.”

To her delight, color rose in his cheeks. She could see it, even under those camouflage stripes.

“Akecheta.”

“Is that your first name or your last name?”

“Last.”

It was like pulling teeth.