Taking Fire. Lindsay McKenna

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       CHAPTER THREE

      WHILE KHAT MADE tea for them, something she loved doing every night before she slept, she felt the SEAL’s eyes on her. She had a small copper kettle on a grate and used an old-fashioned magnesium tab to create the intense heat to make the water boil. There was the chemical equivalent in her MREs, but she preferred this way.

      After setting it up, she moved out of her crouch, turned and went to find a rubber band. Her hair was thick and long. And it often got in the way, which was why she tamed it into a ponytail or a single, long braid down her back.

      Out of the corner of her eye, as she did so, Khat saw a vulnerable expression fleetingly cross Mike’s face. A wistful sort of look, and then it was gone, replaced by his game face once more. It made her feel things she’d never felt before. Bewildered by all these new emotions, Khat brought two chipped mugs from another hole and placed them on a nearby tray.

      “Do you like sugar with your tea?” she asked, barely turning in his direction.

      “SEALs can use all the sugar energy they can get,” he answered wryly, half smiling. Mike liked the way shorter, softer strands had stolen out of her ponytail, caressing the sides of her face, emphasizing those breath-stealing green eyes.

      “Ah,” she said, nodding.

      “How do you take your tea?” He watched her work on the drinks, her fine, long fingers mesmerizing him. Mike wondered if she’d ever taken dance lessons because that is what she reminded him of—a ballerina.

      “Plain.”

      And then Khat joked, “Like me.”

      Scowling, he said nothing. “Why did you warn my team there was a Taliban ambush set for us?”

      Pushing a tendril of hair away from her face, Khat looked up. His eyes were hooded, his face contemplative. He was trying to figure her out. “Because it’s my job.”

      “Do you always shadow SEAL patrols?”

      Shrugging, Khat said, “Luck of the draw.” She loved teatime, having grown up with it. Taking some of her favorite cookies, shortbread, that her mother had sent to her, she pulled some out of a tin box from another hole in the wall.

      Mike shouldn’t enjoy watching her so much, but he did. “How tall are you?”

      “Too tall for a woman,” she answered. Bringing over a tray, she set it next to him.

      “Six foot?”

      “Close.”

      “How the hell were you able to get me out of wherever you found me?”

      Khat gave him a serious look. “Very carefully. I rode my mare into the wadi and retrieved you.” She watched the steam starting to rise out of the spout. Placing a tea bag in each cup, she removed the teakettle and poured the boiling-hot water into the awaiting cups. As she did, she told him how she got him from the wadi to the cave.

      Mike shook his head in disbelief, turning and giving the black mare, who had eaten and was now resting, an appreciative look. Her head was drooped and one rear leg cocked, resting on the other three, eyes closed. “Unbelievable.” And he gazed at Khat as she walked toward him with the two cups in her hands.

      Kneeling, she set them on the rusty tray, gave him three cookies and three for herself. She nudged the open jar of sugar with a spoon in it toward his good hand. Settling down, crossing her legs, she faced Mike. He did everything with focus. Adding a teaspoon of white sugar to his cup, he stirred it and set the spoon on the tin tray.

      Khat held the cup with both hands, inhaling the scent of the tea. It always made her smile. It reminded her of happier times when she was young and at home with her family, until she joined the Marine Corps. Her father strongly disapproved of her choice. Her mother remained loyal to her, however, and sent her these tasty shortbread cookies every few months. She worried constantly about her.

      “Is this something you do every night?” Mike asked, picking up the cup. He saw her eyes half close, a look of satisfaction on her face as she sniffed her steaming tea.

      “When I can.”

      “Does that mean you usually operate at night?”

      “Like the SEALs?”

      “The night’s our friend.”

      “Sometimes, during the day, sometimes at night.” Khat sipped the tea, the taste giving her pleasure. She regarded him through her lashes, watching him think and plot and try to get something out of her that he could use. But to what end? Khat didn’t feel threatened by Mike, surprisingly. Was it his driving curiosity? Most likely.

      “If I were a man in black ops, you wouldn’t be asking me so many questions, would you?”

      He raised his brows and grinned. “Probably not. No women I know of in black ops out here in Dodge City.” He saw her lips curve just a little, her eyes gleam with amusement and secrets known only to herself.

      “There are many ways to fit in and not be seen.”

      “Do you like doing this?” Mike gestured to the horse.

      Shrugging, Khat murmured, “It is my destiny.”

      Mike felt that damned sadness around СКАЧАТЬ