The Colonel's Man (5 page)

Shaking the heavy fall of her hair back, she quickly braided it as she went over the FUBAR the Cestan Four operation had become. They’d known who she was, or at least, they’d blown her first cover identity and thought she really was the Alliance intelligence officer Scott and Michaels had assumed her to be.

She smiled as headed for the door. It wasn’t all bad. She’d gone under cover for Intel, but if she was lucky, she might come out of this with a couple of new operatives for her team.

* * *

An hour after he’d left Arita in the medbay, Jason walked with Drew down the corridor towards the conference room. Well, Jason walked. Drew still had a slight hitch in his step. He was healing rather quickly, but it didn’t seem to be helping with his disposition this morning.

“You know I really shouldn’t be surprised about this,” Drew huffed. “I mean a beautiful hottie gets hit and who else but you would leave his wounded partner behind on the drop-shuttle and not even check up on him until the next day?”

Jason rolled his eyes. He’d been hearing this in different variations for the last hour. “She was in worse shape than you, and the mission revolved around her. So I kinda had to make sure she was okay before I checked up on your pansy ass.”

Drew snorted. “Mate, you didn’t just make sure she was okay. You damn well slept in there at the side of her bed like some kind of little puppy dog. Did you let her rub your tummy, or did you just roll over and play dead?”

Jason shot him a dirty look. “You know for a macho dude you really are starting to sound like a sulky girlfriend. Just to be clear, we’re not
life
partners, just work partners.”

They rounded a corner and finally caught sight of the doors to the conference room. Moments later their eyes were adjusting in the brightly lit room. It was empty.

“Are we early? Where’s Colonel Hague?” Jason grabbed the nearest chair and dropped into it with a sigh of relief. He needed a decent night’s rest on a proper bed. He groaned as he rubbed his neck. Medbay chairs were not made for sleeping on.

“You sure you got the time and place right?”

“Yeah he said this time sharp in conference room 3.” Jason shrugged as he glanced at the table. Damn. No fruit. Housekeeping really was going to the dogs recently. “Though he was growling at me again so I may have misheard.”

“You didn’t mishear. I believe Colonel Hague is running a little late,” a female voice drawled from behind them. A familiar female voice. Both men turned to find the woman they’d rescued the day before leaning against the doorjamb. Jason’s jaw dropped.

The yellow PJ’s were gone, replaced by an all black combat uniform similar to the ones they both wore but without unit patches. The quartermaster must have been all out of casual clothing.

“Hey gorgeous. Nice, black really suits you.” He smiled. “What are you doing here? Not that I’m complaining, but does this mean we’re up for that second date now?”

Shaking his head, Drew leaned against the table to take the weight of his healing leg. “Hey, glad to see you’re doing better now. Heard it was a little hairy last night.”

“Oh, I’m a tough old bird. Takes more than a ballsed up operation to put me down. Appreciate the pickup though.” She smiled at Drew, not looking at Jason as she pushed off the door frame and walked further into the room. She flicked a glance back at him though, as though she couldn’t help herself, and Jason felt the shiver all the way down to his toes. “I take it Colonel Hague didn’t tell you about Section Three?”

Both men froze. When you worked in the Special Operations Branch you eventually heard all about S3, and Jason and Drew were no exceptions. While their section, S17 was special in the fact that they were constantly the favored errand boys for the most ridiculous ops that Central Command could come up with, S3’s reputation eclipsed it. If black was the branch color for all the sections, then 3’s was blacker than pitch.

He frowned. Why would a spy be asking them if their boss had mentioned the ultra covert section?

“Haven’t seen him yet,” Jason said carefully. “Any idea what this is about?”

She reached the table, and trailed a hand along it as she walked. He was caught, watching the way her delicate fingers touched the wooden surface. Heat and lust took him broadside, his cock hard and heavy in an instant. Oh yeah, he had to get her into the sack, and soon.

“You are Gunnery Sergeant Scott and Staff Sergeant Michaels,” she looked over her shoulder, her ponytail bouncing on her back. “Michaels. Heavy-worlder with an impeccable record. Scott, yours has wise-ass stamped all over it. You are both battle-fit and marksman rated. Michaels, you were in surgery three months ago, gunshot wound. Scott, you’ve been named twice in paternity suits but cleared both times.”

Jason didn’t bother hiding the stupefied expression on his face while Drew looked on implacably. He wasn’t fooled; Drew’s calm manner hid fathoms of ‘what the fuck?’. Their service records or “jackets” in the vernacular were highly classified and no spook, no matter how skilled, would have access to them.

Unless of course the said spook was beyond above average. Jason knew she had to have at least SpecOps level training or experience to be able to operate like she did during the mission, but he didn’t like being made a fool of. He especially didn’t like spooks jerking his chain, no matter how hot they were.

“Who are you?” Jason asked calmly, the easy-going goofball gone and replaced by the hardnosed operator that lurked beneath the surface.

She stopped and turned, leaning her hip against the table to eye them both with a level gaze. “Your performance on the Cestan operation was impressive. How long have you been working together?”

Jason and Drew exchanged looks. He had been buddies with Drew since they met in the Marines, before they were both assigned to S17. They’d watched each other’s back for nearly a decade through all sorts of missions and knew each other so well they almost read each other’s minds. Drew nodded, and Jason knew he shared his sentiments regarding their guest.

“Thank you for the compliment, gorgeous.” Jason smiled as he hitched his hip on the edge of the conference table and crossed his arms. “But we really don’t like giving out information to strangers, even the smokin’ hot ones.”

“The correct response.” She grinned as Colonel Hague swept into the room, grunting a little as he saw it was already occupied. “Afternoon Francis, just getting to know your boys here.”

Jason knew Drew’s shocked expression was mirrored on his own face. Francis?
Francis?
He hadn’t even known Hague
had
a first name, much less what it was. He’d never have picked Francis in a million years.

“Glad to see you’re not bouncing them off the deck plating like you did Jefferson’s two.” Their sour-faced commanding officer scowled as he walked right past them and offered his hand to the woman in greeting. She shook it, and his face split into a smile that stopped Jason’s question right there on his lips.

Hague never smiled. Ever.

“What happened to those two by the way? I don’t want my boys here broken, you hear? They’re good lads.”

“Hey boss, what’s going on?” Jason asked as Drew looked on with obvious curiosity. “Not that I don’t like the nice scenery during an after-action review, but you’ve never let anyone sit in before.”

Hague turned, and looked ready to shit a brick as the woman next to him just chuckled.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been referred to as scenery before,” she said.

Hague sighed. “Get used to it. You’ll spend half your time wanting to slap the grin off his face and the other thanking god you can send him out on a mission that might just kill him.”

Ignoring Jason as he made kissy-faces, the grey-haired Colonel sat in the seat at the head of the table and faced them.

“Gentlemen, and I do use that term loosely, I would like to introduce Co—”

“I’m Arita Rhade,” she broke in, settling into the chair next to Hague and eyeing them with a speculation that was both cool and professional. Any hint of playfulness was gone, and Jason found he mourned the loss. “You have both come to the attention of Section Three, so I’m here to offer you a job.”

Jason’s jaw dropped for the second time in quick succession. Drew grunted in surprise but was quick to recover and shot Jason a look to shut his mouth.

The woman they rescued. The one who had been an artist with a machine gun…who had asked him to stay with her when she was wounded. The woman he wanted beneath him moaning and writhing in ecstasy… She was the head of the legendary Section Three.

“Fuck me…” He muttered under his breath. The big guy in the sky had a twisted, sadistic sense of humor. Was this some sort of sick audition? No, it couldn’t be. Her wounds and pain had been real. The fear and her emotions had been real. She had been in real danger and his protective instincts had recognized that right away.

Drew was more eloquent. “Does this mean that Section Seventeen is being retired?”

She shook her head and Jason again found himself caught by the delicate curve of her neck as it headed into her shoulder. Rhade’s shoulder.

Fuck.

Colonel Rhade was a legend they terrorized recruits with. He’d never expected the dried up, old harridan they all joked about to be fucking hot.

“No, Section Seventeen will continue. Hague is looking over some potentials in case you take up my offer.”

Jason’s mind reviewed everything that had happened since that night and this morning when she sauntered in the conference room. He reviewed every thought, every word and every action. Operationally he had been okay, same way as he always worked in the field. However things were a little different when it came to the black haired beauty sitting next to his scowling boss. Well, soon to be former boss if he and Drew took the offer.

Hell… Section Three was
the
most sought after assignment in all of the Special Ops sections and any covert operator in the branch would kill for a transfer there. And here they were being offered a job by Colonel Rhade herself.

Jason turned to Drew. “What do you think buddy?”

“Are we really talking about considering this? You know there’s only one answer right?”

He was right. There was no other answer. An offer like this only came along once in a lifetime and there were no second chances.

“Boss, I think I’m going to miss you yelling in my ear all the time.” Jason grinned. “Okay Colonel Rhade, I guess you can consider us
your
boys now. Where do we sign?”

She grinned, flashing straight white teeth as she slid a data-pad over the table. “Thumbs on there boys, and you’re all mine.”

She waited as they both pressed on the correct place.

“All yours? That sounds good, Colonel.”

He winked as he slid the datapad back over the table, and wondered just what it would take to make her his.

“Ugggh.”

Arita spun on one foot, flexed her body and delivered a powerful kick to the side of the bag. The meaty smack echoed through the gym, empty at this time of day. It was too close to the end of one shift and the beginning of another for anyone to be in here, which was the way she liked it, particularly when she wasn’t operating at full capacity.

The punchbag spun and danced on the short chain, the seam on the left releasing a small puff of sawdust and packing material. For all the technology on Alliance ships, the gym was reassuringly low-tech.

“Fuck it, too slow,” she muttered as it settled, aware that the hit to her side had taken down her response times. And she couldn’t have that; she needed to be at full operational status before she headed back tomorrow with her two new boys. Swinging into action again, she laid up for a punch-kick combination as thoughts of Jason Scott filled her head.

The epitome of tall, dark and charming, he was handsome in a scruffy, edgy sort of way. His quick fire comments made her smile, even as she answered to slap him down but there was something else about him…something calming in those blue eyes of his. And the protective way he’d held her in the medbay, displaying strength and speed to grab her before she fell…

“Rhade, you’re getting old. No time for romances, you know that,” she told herself as she delivered a fast volley of blows. Patched and worn, the bag gave up the fight, tearing with a loud rip and dumping its stuffing guts onto the floor.

“Fuck it.”

“Aww come on. What did you do? I was waiting to use that.”

Arita spun at the complaint and the sound of approaching footsteps. She knew who it was before she saw his face and those same blue eyes that had just filled her thoughts.

Contrary to his words, he was smiling that charmer’s smile as he approached. The black mesh sports shirt emphasized a sculpted chest and the short sleeves showcased his powerful arms, muscles rippling with every movement.

Stopping next to her, he scratched his head like a gorgeous doofus as he surveyed the damage to the punching bag. “I guess this means you’re all better now. I’d hate to think who you were thinking of while you were beating the crap out of that thing.”

“My ex-husband usually.”