Just being alone with him out here in the dark like this was a turn-on. She’d never, ever been alone with a guy so hot, nor so deadly...which made him even hotter.
“You’re right about one thing,” he said low enough that she had to lean down in a similar, elbow-propped pose to hear him. “The military is never going to publicly stand for women in the Special Forces.”
She huffed in exasperation. “That horse is dead. You don’t have to kick it for fun.”
“But you’re right about something else, too. There is a place for women in special warfare. More to the point, Torsten agrees with you that we need women in the field.”
“No freaking way. He hates women.”
Beau snorted. “He hates everyone. But he loves the Special Forces. Wants us to be the best we can be. Male or female, he doesn’t care.”
“Why are you telling me this? He already booted me out.”
Beau didn’t answer her directly. Rather, he changed subject abruptly, asking, “Did you notice how publicly women are being tossed out of the various Special Forces courses?”
She snorted. “It’s hard to miss. Every time a woman fails it practically makes national news.”
“That publicity is intentional. We need the general public, hell, the world, to believe there are no American women operators and there will never be American women operators.”
“Well, yeah. That’s because there are none.”
“That wasn’t true once. There used to be an all-female Spec Ops team called the Medusas. Highly classified bunch. Operated for years and were wicked effective.”
“What happened to them?”
“The original team worked together for about ten years and gradually retired from active duty. The second generation team was lost.”
“As in they died?”
His voice no more than a sigh, he answered heavily, “Yeah.”
“How?” she asked quietly.
“Not my story to tell, and too classified to discuss here.”
Yikes. “And now? What’s next?”
“Next, we’ll try to build a new team.” He glanced at her and then back out at the bayou. “Starting with you.”
She stared at him. “Come again?”
“Torsten thinks you’ve got what it takes. He wants to train you to be a full-blown special operator. Not just a support type. A completely qualified combat specialist. That’s the purpose of Operation Phoenix. To raise the Medusa Project from the dead.”
She laughed in disbelief. “Right.” She added sarcastically, “And that’s why he threw me out of training and sent me across the country to a swamp.”
“I’m serious. Do you want to be a Medusa or not?”
Beau stared at the stunned woman beside him. Please say no. Please say no.
“Hell to the yes, I want to be one!” Tessa exclaimed.
Dammit. He knew she would say that. He was in no shape to be training anyone, let alone the next Medusa. What was Torsten thinking, throwing him into a scenario like this? The boss knew his knee was destroyed. That doctors said his career was over.
Of course, Torsten also knew Beau was determined to get back in the saddle and back onto the teams no matter how messed up his knee was.
Beau did have to give Tessa Wilkes credit for one thing. She was a good-looking woman. Sexy as wild hellfire. But that didn’t necessarily mean she was cut out for the Medusas. Torsten had been clear. Assume she was not fit to be a Medusa. Test her. Push her. Make her prove she was Special Forces material.
And, as soon as he was done working with her, he could get back to the business of being an operator himself. Which could not happen soon enough for him.
Operation Phoenix. The reference to the mythical firebird rising from its own ashes didn’t elude him. Torsten was resurrecting the Medusas after convincing the world the idea of an all-female Special Forces team was dead. He wondered, though, if Torsten had also chosen the name with him in mind. Was Gunnar trying to resurrect Beau’s career from the ashes, as well?
If so, this was a hell of a strange way to go about it. Assigning him to work with a woman who would do nothing but slow him down.
He’d vehemently protested the idea of a woman operator when Torsten broached the assignment with him. Not that the boss had listened to a word of what he’d said. Just because Torsten thought this woman had the drive and mental toughness to play with the boys didn’t mean she had the physical strength or stamina to hack it.
The compromise they’d reached was that Beau would try to train her. But he also retained the right to wash her out if she couldn’t cut the training.
No way would he let her onto a Spec Ops team if she was going to be the weak link. Any team was only as strong as its weakest member. He wasn’t about to let a woman get his brothers killed just so Torsten—and some wannabe chick—could prove a point.
He swore under his breath. If his boss thought that because his knee was busted up Beau would take it easy on Tessa, Gunnar Torsten was in for a surprise.
Everyone kept telling Beau he could contribute to the teams by training the next generation of special operators. But damned if he was going to accept that his field days were over and settle for playing nursemaid to anyone, male or female.
He was the first to admit it was a miracle he could walk. But the thing was, if he’d made it back this far, well beyond where the doctors had told him he could rehab his knee, why couldn’t he rehab his knee all the way back to operational? One thing he was sure of: no way was he cut out to be an instructor. Torsten—in his infinite bloody wisdom—seemed to think this insane, waste-of-time mission would be good for him. Bastard.
“Why Louisiana?” the waste of time beside him asked, all eagerness now that she knew why they were really here.
“The idea is to keep your existence completely off the radar. We don’t want anyone to know the Medusas are back.”
“Is that why Major Torsten had you march me across camp this afternoon where everyone could see me leaving?”
“Affirmative.”
“So Torsten’s making a big fuss about tossing out the women and then...what? Bringing them here secretly to train?” she asked curiously.
“He’s legitimately tossing out most of the women. But he saw something in you.” He added reluctantly, the words acid on his tongue to even say aloud, “He thinks you’ve got what it takes to be one of us.”
Silence fell between them as they stared at the sluggish black water below. It lapped around the stilts supporting the building, oily and thick. He could feel the mind of the woman beside him working overtime. One thing Torsten had gotten right: Tessa Wilkes was a sharp cookie. Observant as hell. She would need both to make it through the rest of this hypothetical training of hers. Assuming he didn’t end up just shooting himself, instead.
He caught himself rubbing his thigh, as had become his habit ever since surgery to remove the shrapnel that shredded his knee