Free Sandra Hill by Hot, Heavy Page B

her back. “This is Yasmine, fellows. Yasmine, these are my fellow Navy SEALs.”
    She rolled her eyes and muttered something like, “The seal business again!”
    One by one, he pointed to and introduced Pretty Boy, Cage, Sly and Omar. They all nodded at her.
    Omar said something to her in Arabic, and she replied in the same language. She turned her back to them all and walked a short distance into the back tunnel of the cave and plopped down to a sitting position.
    “What did she say?” Ian asked Omar.
    “I asked how she was doing, and she pretty much told me to ‘Drop dead!’”
    “What’s with the Phyllis Diller hair?” Cage asked.
    “She sure is a mess. Poor thing!” Slick observed.
    “Are you nuts?” Ian rubbed his chest as if it hurt. “She tried to kill me.”
    “With your own knife, I noticed.” It was Pretty Boy who pointed that out to him.
The jerk!
    “Did you get a whiff of her B.O.?” Sly asked. “Phew. Even the street people in Harlem smell better than that. Bet she hasn’t taken a shower in a month.”
    “Hey, we smell a little ripe about now, too,” Ian pointed out. Even though they’d all probably showered this morning, the stress of a mission in all this heavy gear in the hot sun brought on a lot of perspiration.
But, hell, why am I coming to the shrew’s defense?
    “Her hair does look like a haystack,” Omar said. “Sort of like my ex-wife on a bad-hair day.”
    They all laughed at that.
    “She reminds me of my old girlfriend, Lisette,” Cage said and sighed. Cage had more old girlfriends than God had angels.
    Five sets of eyes turned as one to look at Cage. Ian wasn’t sure if he meant there was a resemblance because of her wild appearance or the breasts from outer space.
    “Man, did you see those knockers?” Cage whispered.
    Yep, that was what he meant.
    “That’s enough, guys. We have plenty of serious business to discuss.” They pulled the bush back to the entrance, built a small fire for light, then sat in a circle discussing today’s events and what they should do next. A call from General Adams or Commander Harding back at Special Operations Command in Coronada would seal their final plan.
    They decided to have one man stand guard outside the cave, and alternate every hour till the call came. Slick took the first shift. With Pretty Boy, Sly, Omar and Cage settling in for short naps, Ian walked back to their “prisoner.”
    “Are you all right?” he asked Yasmine. “Do you need to … uh, relieve yourself … or anything?”
    She looked up at him and said, clear as a bell, “Drop dead, troll!”
    “Okaaay,” he said, then turned and went back to the fire. He lay down on one side, head on his backpack. He’d slept in far worse situations.
    Pretty Boy, across the fire from him, said, “Shot down, eh, lover boy?”
    “She couldn’t have done better with an AK-47,” he responded with a laugh. “Can you see my tears?”
    Despite his lighthearted words, Ian did feel something for the wretched woman. And he wasn’t sure what it was. There was a very strange connection between them.
    More important, Ian realized suddenly,
I’ve seen her face before. But where?
    Then he slept, one of the short catnaps SEALs were taught to take on a moment’s notice, often in the oddest places, like in a tree, or in between PT evolutions. And he dreamed, too. Of Yasmine, of all things.
    You snooze, you lose …
    Madrene sat for a long time in the back corridor of the cave. She was thoroughly disgusted with herself.
    She had awakened several hours ago and, after much work, had managed to reach the knife and to cut her bonds. If only she hadn’t wavered in her decision to flee, she could have been long gone by now. But nay, she kept thinking about the troll and his promise to take her to Baghdad.
Should I leave? Shouldn’t I leave?
Over and over she’d argued with herself. Now it was too late.
    “Why are you scowling?” Ian said, slipping down to the ground to sit beside