the top of her bra and grabbed the T-shirt lying beside them. He stretched the neck opening and eased it over her curls, pausing as she carefully reinserted her arms before he pulled the shirt the rest of the way down to tuck the hem into the arms of the flight suit knotted about her waist. The sigh that followed seemed to fill the darkening jungle.
He wasn’t sure if it was hers or his.
Not that it mattered. He suspected her relief was as great as his. Especially when she stood abruptly. He reached out, but she stepped away, evading his hands as she turned.
“I’ll break out the food.”
He studied her movements closely as she headed across the clearing toward their gear still dumped at the base of the tree on the opposite side. Rebinding her ribs had been a good call. She was walking easier now, her stride almost matching the energy she’d displayed that morning at the landing zone.
Almost.
Well, he’d done the best he could, given the circumstances. If only he hadn’t lost his sergeant’s rucksack with its medical kit and painkillers.
Hell, if only he hadn’t lost his sergeant.
Regret slammed into him for the thousandth time that day.
He slammed it back. There’d be time enough for that later. Eve was right; they needed food. Twenty winks wouldn’t hurt either.
Her or him.
Rick shifted his rifle and leaned back against the trunk of the tree, swallowing a groan as he raised his hands to probe the line of stitches Eve had added to his latest soon-to-be scar. This was definitely no hangover. Those ebbed as the day wore on. This headache had only worsened. Since they’d stopped, the throbbing had taken on the cadence of an M-60 machine gun chewing through a belt of bullets, damned near drowning out the subtle sounds of the jungle beyond.
Even when he concentrated, it was becoming increasingly difficult to hear the birds and the insects above the pounding in his skull—and that was dangerous. Any change in their behavior could well signal the stealthy approach of an enemy.
But if he was too tired to hear it…
Rick stood, flexing his aching neck and shoulders before he snagged his M-16 and headed across the clearing after Eve. By the time he reached her, she’d already rummaged through the rucksack and located the MREs, or meals, ready to eat, using her pocketknife to slit open the brown plastic wrappers.
He gestured to the makeshift meal, indicating she should take her choice, not that there was much of one. As far as he was concerned, one version of MREs tasted as much like wet sawdust as another, especially cold. He leaned his rifle against the ruck and reached for one of the instant coffee packets instead as he settled back against a tree trunk.
“Feel free to take the other coffee, too.”
He did. “Thanks.”
He poured out a canteen cup of water, dumped both packets in and swished them around for several seconds. She grimaced as he downed the lukewarm contents, but didn’t say anything. Cold coffee wasn’t on his list of favorite foods either, but they both knew they couldn’t risk a fire.
He reached for the Army’s attempt at beef stew, discreetly watching Eve as he settled back against the tree. She seemed more interested in studying the moss clinging to the knotted root beside her than she did in consuming the contents of her own MRE pouch. The longer she stared at the moss, the more fascinated he became—with her. He was beginning to suspect that no matter how cool and controlled Eve seemed when she thought he was watching her, she was anything but when she did not. A myriad of emotions continued to sweep through her gaze, each one more intense than the last, until the distinct shadow of grief finally shrouded those deep-green eyes and settled in, turning them even darker.
His gut clenched as her gaze began to glisten.
Tears.
He’d lay odds she was thinking about Carrie and the crash. As much as he felt the pull of compassion, it had to stop. He had to distract her. Frankly, he couldn’t afford to watch those tears well up again. Look what had happened the last time.
Dammit, she was a soldier.
So, think of her as one.
God help him, he was trying. But in spite of his best efforts to relegate her back to the ranks of fellow officer, he couldn’t quite manage it. The truth was, the longer he stared at this particular soldier, the more he became intrigued by the glimpse of pure woman he caught beneath.
Just who was Eve Paris?
Whoever she was, she was seriously hurting.
If she and Carrie were really sisters, it made sense.
He sought out her gaze, steeling himself against those tears and their effect on his sanity. He’d have to deal with them—because she obviously needed to get it out. To be honest, he wanted to know. He gave up all pretense of eating and leaned forward to return the food pouch to the communal space between them, then cleared his throat softly.
“Eve?”
Her wide gaze shot to his. “What is it? Did you—”
He held up his hands. “Relax. I didn’t hear anything. I haven’t all day. I was just thinking about something you said about Carrie—” He broke off as she stiffened.
Odd.
He swore Eve was more tense now than when she thought he’d sensed someone else’s presence in the rapidly encroaching night. If anything, her reaction only made him more determined to get to the bottom of what had happened. But to do that, he’d have to proceed carefully. As much as he disliked the idea, he’d have to treat her as a tactical combat objective to be studied and then overcome.
He gentled his voice as much as possible and took the first step. “Eve, how can Carrie Evans be your sister?”
He knew it was a good call when she relaxed.
But she didn’t answer.
A good thirty seconds of jungle silence dragged into thirty more. Just as he was about to question his approach and revise it, she sighed.
“We went to college together. UT.”
“University of Tennessee?”
She shook her head as she reached for the packet of instant cocoa. “Texas—Austin.” He poured out a cup of water from the canteen and passed it over. “Thanks.”
“I take it you two were in the same ROTC program.”
She nodded as she stirred the powder into the cup and took a sip. “A couple of us started an all-women’s military sorority our freshman year. We called it Sisters-in-Arms.”
That would explain the sisters, then.
Blood wasn’t always thicker than shared experiences. Twelve years in the Army had taught him that. Evidently Eve and Carrie had learned the lesson as well. It also explained why she seemed especially devastated. But if they were sisters because of some sorority— “What about the others?”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You said a couple of you started the sorority. How many calls do you have ahead of you when we get back?”
For the second time in as many minutes, she stared at him silently, this time over the cup of cold cocoa.
Her voice finally broke, “Three.”
From the depth of the sigh that followed, they wouldn’t be easy either. And those didn’t even include the calls and personal visits she’d have to make to her crew chief’s family.
“Tell me about them.”
Her mouth dropped open. Obviously he’d surprised her.
Hell, he’d surprised himself. He actually wanted to know.
When was the last time he’d