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Cobble couldn’t come to grips with the fact that not only had his squad been blindsided during what should have been a routine mission, they were all dead. All except him.

Why had he been the one to live?

Guilt ate at him, gnawing his guts.

Winch …

The man’s wife and kids didn’t deserve to get the call he knew they’d probably already received.

Dammit . Winch had been a good friend and mentor. A stellar soldier. And if Winch hadn’t seen what was coming…

What the hell had happened, exactly?

Cobble wracked his pain-shrouded brain for answers.

He remembered heading in to the UN offices in the morning…

Was it only yesterday, or had he lost more time than that?

He recalled joking around with the guys about how the personnel at the UN offices whom they were about to escort to the city, might actually have some decent coffee, unlike what they’d been drinking in the platoon’s dorm-like rooms where they were bivouacked. Nobody knew where the sludge they normally drank came from, but other than a jolt in the morning, it was good for absolutely nothing except hours of acid reflux.

Winch, followed by Cobble and four additional squad members, had walked into the office they’d visited only one time previously. But true to form, Winch had immediately greeted everyone there by name. That had just been Winch’s way, he’d been so gregarious.

So…what had they missed?

Nothing that Cobble recalled had looked wrong.

The five UN peacekeepers were bustling around, trying to decide what materials should go with them to their new headquarters, and what could be left behind for transport by a crew who didn’t have their level of security clearance. Then…

That’s where things got fuzzy.

Had the door opened? Had more people arrived?

Cobble concentrated hard.

Yes.

His head started to ache, but he wasn’t going to step away from the memory. Not yet, anyway. It was all, almost at the tip of his fingers…

The door had swung open and a group of locals had walked through, almost as if they owned the place.

Crap . They’d all been armed.

That , Cobble now recalled for certain. He and several of his teammates had reached for their guns, but Winch had made a stand-down signal, clearly hoping that things wouldn’t escalate. The team had all complied, but not happily from what Cobble retained in his gray matter.

The man at the head of the encroaching group; the leader—or so Cobble had assumed—had shouted a lot. Cobble tried recalling the man’s face, but couldn’t quite visualize it. It had seemed, however, as if the man had been yelling at someone in specific. He’d actually strode toward—

Shit. Cobble couldn’t remember who had been in the insurgent’s direct line of sight, nor could he recall the events following. He tried to concentrate; hone in on the individuals who had been in the office before the intrusion, but he came up blank.

And his head was really pounding now.

Before he could decide whether or not to risk the pain and try to dig deeper into the fog, the door opened and Andy walked back in.

Andy. LT Missy Andriopolos.

Now there was one hell of a woman. One he’d spent a lot of time thinking about. Gorgeous. Lethal. Confident. The whole package. Her tight little body, her silken dark hair, those enormous green eyes behind the sexiest glasses he’d ever seen…

Cobble had never asked her age or availability status, because his fantasies couldn’t go anywhere, what with her being his superior officer. Even though she looked like a baby, he figured she had to be a few years older than him. She was a second lieutenant, after all.

To become a second lieutenant, she would have had to finish college, then go on to officer training; things she must have accomplished rapidly. Still, despite her impressive credentials, the petite whirling-dervish couldn’t be more than twenty-four.

He'd been part of the LT’s platoon for two months. Two long months where he’d practically drooled over her from afar. So by now, he knew Andy pretty well. She was a hands-on leader, jumping in and doing everything she asked of her team. She socialized to a point, but…

Damn. He wished there could be more between them. He’d had this irrational attraction to Andy from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her.

She was an anomaly, for sure.

His conundrum of an LT had an odd way of keeping her speech formal—as if she were trying to hide an accent—and she often deferred to her higher-ups, even though Cobble knew she’d already formulated plans or answers to whatever problems they were facing. So, her forbearance wasn’t because she wasn’t capable. It was almost like her youthful appearance went hand-in hand with the price of acquiescing to those more “experienced”; something she must have learned as a survival or fitting-in technique while coming up through the system. Andy was small, but clearly brilliant.

She was a grade A leader all the way, regardless of what made her tick.

That’s how Cobble knew she was definitely taking the loss of Squad C, hard; probably blaming herself. Just like he was heaping the fault on his own shoulders.

Even though he couldn’t recall the particulars of the attack, however, he knew, down deep, that neither of them could have prevented what had happened. He’d have to make sure Andy understood that he didn’t think less of her for being the one to give them their orders to support the UN peacekeepers that morning.

His LT, right now, headed back in to his room, accompanied by a white-coat who was most likely the surgeon who had put Cobble back together. He almost couldn’t focus on the doctor, his gaze lasered on Andy, but he forced himself to confront his present situation.

From what Cobble could tell every time he moved his body, the surgeon must have had to do some deep digging to get out the bullet that Andy said he’d taken. His chest hurt like the devil when he took a breath, and not only did he have a canula under his nose, he’d gingerly discovered a tube running out from a large section of bandages around his lower chest, and he had a dreaded catheter in his dick.

Not his favorite piece of medical equipment.

“How is our patient feeling today?” the man asked as he came over to check on Cobble. Cobble noted the tag on his lapel said Dr. Veshal Balakrish.

“Sore. Tired,” he admitted as the doc pulled Cobble’s gown down and used his stethoscope to listen to Cobble’s chest. “What, exactly, did the bullet hit?” he questioned. He needed to know if this was something serious, or if he’d be back to business as usual in a few short weeks.

“You had a collapsed lung,” the doctor told him, peeling away the bandages, making Cobble wince. “Hence, the tube and suction.” He tapped the line which led from Cobble’s chest to a pump of sorts, then into a closed container. “This is to keep the fluids from building up so you don’t suffer a second collapse.” The doctor checked the apparatus, then gave a smile.

Huh. It must be working the way he wanted it to.

“Your vitals are strong, and your chest sounds are good,” the doctor explained while he did more examining. “I would say that if you continue making consistent progress, we could have you out of here and recuperating in a rehab location in a day or two. Of course, you’ll have to wait two to three weeks before you can be shipped back to the States. High altitude air pressure will not be your friend for a while. So, we’ll have to clear you before you get on a plane.”

“Back to the…?” Cobble looked confusedly at Andy, who sighed.

“Yeah. Sorry Cobble,” she explained. “The doctor has already been in touch with the MTF,” she told him, “And they’ve made their decision.” She gave the physician a less than pleased stare.

Not good. The Military Treatment Facility nearest to here was in Juba, and because the doctor had thought to call them…

If he was sent to Juba, would he ever see Andy again?

Dr. Balakrish continued as if what he’d just revealed was of no consequence. “With the level of damage to your lungs, I’ve recommended a full, medical discharge,” he informed Cobble, and with that handful of words, everything Cobble had worked toward his entire life went to crap.

Like hell.

“Can it be disputed?” Cobble growled.

Balakrish simply shrugged. “I can send all your latest records over to the MTF, and of course when you get to Juba, you can request a second opinion, but I don’t think the news you receive from them will be any different than what they’ve informed me.”

Andy stepped in. She must have seen Cobble doing a slow burn that clearly wouldn’t help his recovery.

“Slow down, Cobble,” she attempted to soothe. “How about we take this one step at a time. Let’s get you up and out of here, first. Then we can determine what your next move should be.”

Cobble wanted to fight it, but after that last burst of adrenaline, his energy level was seriously flagging. Perhaps once he regained some strength he could fight this; convince the MTF that the doctor here was wrong.

“Okay,” Cobble finally agreed. Reluctantly. Anything to get the doctor—with whom Cobble was now seriously annoyed—out of the room.

After a little more poking and prodding, the doctor finally departed, leaving Cobble alone with Andy, once again.

“Listen—” they both said at the same time, then gave wry laughs.

“You first,” Andy deferred to him.

Cobble began, trying not to wear his heart on his sleeve. “LT, this whole thing is shitty. But I don’t want you blaming yourself for what happened. I know that’s how you roll, but from what I can recall, we were in that office for a routine transfer, and got completely blindsided.”

Andy’s face grew hard and she didn’t acknowledge his attempt at releasing her from guilt.

Of course she didn’t.

“What do you remember?” Andy asked instead.

“Not much. Yet,” he allowed. “My memory is foggy and my head isn’t quite clear, but I’m getting bits and pieces of what happened. I should have the whole scenario for you, soon.” Even if it caused him pain, he’d fight for details.

Of course there was always…

“What did HQ find out?” he asked hopefully. “They must have done an investigation.” He sat up straighter in bed, winced, then crossed his fingers that Andy would shed some light on the circumstances he couldn’t yet recall.

Her gentle hands eased him back down as she shook her head.

Her touch set off a whole plethora of feelings, but her expression… A bad sign .

“They determined it was a lone, rebel faction simply acting out and making trouble.” Her face soured as she spit out the words.

“But you don’t believe that.” Even in his weakened state, he could see that she wasn’t buying it.

“No. I don’t. I took pictures, and… It doesn’t add up. Once you’re back on your feet, we can go over my findings and you can tell me, with what you recall, if I’m way off base.”

“But you think…?” he led. He trusted her judgement.

She glowered. “It looks to me like this was a precise and targeted attack.”

Cobble’s mind instantly flew back to that office.

Now he recalled the gunfire. He saw the first person fall. It was a male UN worker who’d been arguing…

Damn . That’s as far as that memory pathway went. But it was more than he had before. Maybe seeing the LT’s pictures would help jog his recollections, or perhaps he’d just regain particulars as he healed. Not reclaiming a full and detailed account wasn’t an option as far as he was concerned.

But then he remembered Andy had indicated that she had something else on her mind when they’d started this conversation. Maybe a change of subject would be good, and help him regroup.

“So, what were you going to say earlier when I interrupted?”

Now a small but genuine smile came to Andy’s face. “You may or may not like this, but I was tasked with making a call to your next of kin. Just in case…” she trailed off.

“In case I kicked it?” Cobble completed, then snorted. “That means you had a conversation with Chuck.”

“Uh, Charles Smalley? Yeah. He’s…?”

“My cousin. I was an only child, and so was he. We grew up next door to each other in Vermont, and even though he’s six years older than me, we acted more like brothers with all the shit we got into.” Cobble laughed. “We gave our parents a lot of gray hairs.” He raised a brow. “What did Chuck have to say?”

“He’s actually on his way here.” She looked at her watch. “He should be arriving at twenty-hundred hours. That’s seven hours from now.”

“Seriously?” Cobble was shocked, but thrilled. Smalley was normally far too busy with his job to get away for even a short visit. It had been almost a year since they’d seen each other and caught up. Damn. Chuck must really have been worried about him to clear his schedule on such short notice. “Did you tell him I was on death’s door?”

“Nope,” Andy denied. “I just gave him the pertinent facts, citing what I’d been told and confirming where the hospital is located, then he abruptly said he was coming and hung up without asking for additional details.”

Cobble snickered again. “Classic Chuck.”

“Yeah. He basically told me he’d be grabbing a helo to get himself here from the airport in Juba. Which leads to the question, what, exactly, does your cousin do?”

Cobble had no problem telling Andy. Her military clearance was high, and she’d keep the information to herself.

“He actually works for the FBI as a legal attaché, which means he coordinates with not only local police and authorities in the US, but is also a liaison to his counterparts overseas in the CIA.”

Andy nodded. “Hence, why he wasn’t worried about how he’d get around once his plane touched down. He probably tapped some of his embassy contacts here to get a fast ride in.”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Cobble told her, but by this time, he was having trouble focusing. His energy was really flagging. His eyes drooped to nearly closed.

“Listen,” Andy said astutely. “I can see you’re tired. Rest now. We’ll talk more, later.”

Cobble couldn’t have fought her on that if he’d wanted to.

He slipped easily back into sleep, hoping he’d remember more when he woke again.