Risk Taker. Lindsay McKenna

won’t stress you out. Okay?”

      Disheartened, Sarah glumly took the chit. Dammit! Angry at the Army sergeant who attacked her, she pursed her lips.

      “Hop back up on that gurney. I want you to stay here for another half hour, and then we’ll see how steady you are on your legs at that time. You’re still not stable.”

      “Okay,” Sarah muttered tiredly. Hell, she needed this like a hole in the head. They were already short two pilots, and medevacs were literally a lifeline to all the men out there hunting down the enemy.

      Dr. Johnson gently patted the shoulder of her dusty uniform. “That SEAL was at the right place, right time.” She smiled a little. “He really did some damage to the guy who attacked you.”

      “Yes,” she whispered. “He came out of nowhere.”

      “Hope you get to thank him.”

      Nodding, Sarah said, “I will.”

      * * *

      By the time Ethan got done with the process of the interview with the lieutenant, it was 1800, 6:00 p.m. He was starving, but he swung by the E.R. to see if Sarah was still there. She was gone, and no one would give him any information on her condition because he wasn’t married to her or a family member. Undeterred, Ethan decided to walk over to Ops to see if he could find her.

      The thunking noise of Apache helicopters warred with the shriek of the twin-rotor Chinooks as they all slowly trundled down the helo strip to take off, one after another. Ethan popped into the main Ops building and headed for the desk. There was an Air Force tech sergeant manning it.

      “Hey, I’m looking for Chief Warrant Officer Sarah Benson. Can you tell me where I can find her?”

      The man nodded. “The medevac squadron office is right over there, to your left. Major Donaldson is in charge. He can probably answer your question.”

      “Thanks,” Ethan said. The door to the medevac office was open, and he stepped in. An Army major in his mid-forties with gold wings on his chest looked up. His gaze narrowed speculatively as Ethan came to a halt in front of him.

      “I’m looking for Chief Warrant Officer Benson.”

      The man scowled, looking Ethan up and down. “Is it official business?” he demanded.

      “No, sir, it isn’t.” Ethan could just about read the officer’s mind, thinking he was chasing Sarah.

      “She’s not available,” he snapped.

      Okay, so plan B. “Thank you, sir.” Ethan turned on his heel and left. Heading out of Ops, he found an Army driver standing near a Humvee. Drivers on the base knew the area like the backs of their hands. Ethan went over and asked what tent section the Black Hawk pilots were located in. The guy gave him specific directions, and Ethan took off, on the hunt.

      The tents were all lined up on one dusty avenue, each one looking like the next. There were no names on any of them, and Ethan slowly walked down the road. A male pilot—a warrant officer—emerged from his tent. Ethan stopped him and asked about Sarah. Instantly, the pilot frowned. What was it about these Black Hawk drivers? They were all damned suspicious.

      “I haven’t seen her,” he said abruptly.

      “Look, she was in E.R. two hours ago. I’m just trying to find out how she’s doing.”

      He squinted. “You the SEAL that saved her?”

      Ethan nodded.

      The pilot pointed to a tent down on the left. “That’s her tent. But you know the regulations—no man is allowed inside a woman’s tent.”

      “I know the regs,” Ethan said.

      “She’s sleeping right now. I’d leave her alone.” Ethan watched the pilot push by him, in a hurry, heading toward Ops with his helmet bag and kneeboard in hand. He was probably going on duty.

      Ethan stared at Sarah’s tent. Okay, it was a dead end. His stomach growled. Rubbing his belly, he decided to call it a day and head to the chow hall. He glanced down at his Rolex watch, knowing he’d already screwed the pooch by missing the 1700 hours mission briefing for the op they would go on later tonight.

      Ethan decided to swing by SEAL HQ. Tolleson understood why he couldn’t make the briefing, so there should be no recourse. Master Chief Gil Hunter wouldn’t bust his ass, either.

      As he walked, he couldn’t stop thinking about Sarah. She’d felt good in his arms, and he’d thrilled at having her firm, soft body against his. Dragging in a deep breath, Ethan shook his head. He sure as hell had wanted to meet Blue Eyes, but not this way. Now she probably would lump all guys into one bin labeled “would-be rapists.” And then she wouldn’t allow him within ten feet of her.

      Grimacing, Ethan flexed his right hand as pain drifted up from his swollen knuckles. He couldn’t deny his satisfaction over decking the bastard. It was worth bruised knuckles for a week. More than anything, he wanted to connect once more with the mysterious, exotic Blue Eyes. But how to make it happen? SEALs were creative if nothing else. They were good at thinking outside the box. Work-arounds. Ethan grinned and took off for his tent in SEAL territory.

      Chapter 3

      When Sarah sat up on her cot the next morning, her head aching, she saw someone open the tent flap just enough for a crisp white envelope to slide beneath the fabric of the closed flaps. She recognized the back of Ethan Quinn’s head. What was he doing there? What was the envelope? Did he go get her mail for her? The feelings over his act flooded her with warmth and confusion.

      She needed coffee first. It would help tame her headache. She sat in a pair of long gray cotton gym pants and a red tank top. In case Bravo got hammered by Taliban, her flight boots, her .45 pistol in the holster, her Kevlar vest and her helmet bag were all stowed below her cot.

      She was stiff and bruised. In fact, her knuckles were black and blue where she’d struck her attacker in the nose. She moved her long fingers gingerly, and they felt stiff, too. Sighing, she went over to her hot plate and set a copper kettle on it to boil. Coffee consisted of a terrible instant variety, but it was better than nothing.

      The envelope sitting on the plywood deck called to her. It resembled a greeting card more than a business letter. Once the teakettle whistled, she took it off the hot plate and poured the steamy water into a bright red mug twice the size of a normal coffee cup.

      After stirring her coffee, Sarah pulled out a couple of old cinnamon rolls she’d taken from the chow hall yesterday morning. This would be breakfast. Outside, she could hear helos, both Apaches and Chinooks, spooling up, their engines sounding very different and distinct. She glanced at the watch on her wrist. Her lower arm, she noticed to her chagrin, was purple with bruising. It was 0600.

      Scowling, she set the two dried-out cinnamon rolls on the small TV tray that doubled as her table. There wasn’t much room in these tents and everything had to be squeezed in to fit. Leaning down, her back protesting, she scooped up the envelope. On it, in beautiful black ink calligraphy, was her name.

      Ethan Quinn had delivered it. Was it from him? There was no return address. Nothing. After ambling back over to her table, she sat down in a camp chair and picked up her black coffee, sipping it gratefully. She then slipped her finger beneath the envelope, and it opened. Inside was thick papyrus paper that almost matched the color of her eyes. Something good flowed through her.

      Sitting back, she opened up the folded paper. Inside was a poem written in beautiful calligraphy.

      Sarah,

      As Long as I Breathe, I Will Seek the Diamond of Your Heart

      It isn’t enough for a poet to entertain;

      I want also to connect—

      There are precious few who ever get to view

      Both the wildflowers and ornate lawns of your garden...