He swung around to confront his host in time to witness the Arapaho warrior dive into the tree line, apparently heading back to camp at warp speed.
Rawls started after him, heading for the west edge of camp and the back of Wolf’s cabin. With luck, he could avoid the rest of his camp mates. But just as he dived into the forest at the camp’s perimeter, the distinct whop-whop-whop of chopper blades beat the air. The devil take it—there was no doubt in his mind that Wolf was on that bird. Rawls changed directions, heading for the north edge of camp and the helipad. He broke through the trees just in time to see the bird bank and climb into the sky, Wolf clearly visible in the passenger seat.
“Sure as hell they have eyes on your boys. You realize that, right? A rendezvous will spring a trap,” Commander Mackenzie growled, bracing his fists against the table.
Faith Ansell glanced at the drama taking place across the kitchen counter. The three SEALs might outweigh the petite redhead by a collective five hundred pounds, but Amy Chastain certainly held her ground. Did the woman’s self-confidence come from her years as a special agent with the FBI prior to her marriage and subsequent widowing? After all, climbing the ranks of the bureau’s good old boys’ club was certain to instill a belief in one’s own abilities.
Mackenzie’s voice rose at Amy’s lack of response. “You go in half-cocked and you’ll get yourself and those boys killed. I guarantee it.”
Faith flinched as Mackenzie’s voice scaled the walls of the combined kitchen, dining room, and strategy center. The commander, she’d discovered, employed two volumes—normal and nuclear. Too bad he didn’t come with a kill switch, like Big Ben, the particle accelerator in her lab. If Benny threw off his calibration and started thundering, she just flipped the switch and shut his bellowing down.
“I’m not asking you”—Amy’s cool hazel gaze touched Mackenzie’s face, and then Zane’s, and finally Cosky’s—“any of you, to come with me.”
In contrast to the commander’s voice, Amy’s was calm, the very definition of moderation. Yet it hit the edgy air like an electrostatic generator, shedding high-voltage sparks.
“The hell you aren’t. You know damn well we can’t let you go alone,” Mackenzie thundered, even louder than before.
Faith winced and rubbed her temples. Lord, the man gave her a headache.
“This isn’t open to debate. I’m going.” Amy set her jaw, pulled back her shoulders, and squared her feet, settling into a boxer’s stance, but with weapons composed of words rather than fists. “They aren’t safe with my parents. And Mom and Dad aren’t safe with the boys there. I’m taking them. Period.”
Faith sighed with admiration before turning back to the oven. If she had a pictogram of Amy’s confidence and self-possession maybe she wouldn’t be entrenched in her current dilemma.
She opened the range door, backing off slightly to let the heat escape. Once the worst of it had dissipated, she leaned down, sticking a butter knife into a loaf of golden-brown zucchini bread. The utensil emerged with a smear of grainy, yellow-brown liquid.
As she straightened, the cuts on her shoulders and collarbone stung. It had been six days since Rawls had pulled her out from under the particle accelerator. While the cuts she’d inflicted on herself while shimmying beneath Big Ben hadn’t turned septic, as Rawls had so obviously feared, they weren’t healing quite as fast as normal. It had been the height of foolishness to refuse his ministrations during the van ride to Wolf’s Sierra Nevada home. She couldn’t afford to let the injuries become infected.
Her health was already compromised thanks to her twice-daily palmful of pills. It was the immunosuppressants’ job to prevent her body from rejecting her heart, which left her wide-open to infections. She knew better than to ignore a possible threat to her well-being. She should never have ignored Rawls’s offer to dress her wounds.
So what if the man’s mere presence brought on butterflies and goose bumps? So what if he plunged her limbic system into hyperdrive. She was a normal woman in the prime reproductive stage, with a fully functioning amygdala. Of course her hands would get all sweaty and her stomach tingly. The guy was gorgeous, after all. There was absolutely no reason to feel embarrassed about her reaction to him, or fear his awareness to said reaction.
“And you think they’ll be safer here?” Mackenzie snapped. “For Christ’s sake, use your head. We’re in a Goddamn war zone. At any moment—”
“I’m not bringing them here,” Amy interrupted with the same cool collection as before.
Faith shot a quick glance at her camp mates. The main lodge, which housed the kitchen and dining room as well as the command center, was an open-air design. One huge rectangular area separated into individual rooms by waist-high counters and the arrangement of furniture.