Jason shot a quick glance at her then—just as he flipped on the truck’s turn signal.
They were back at Ft. Lukman, and he was about to enter the part of the road nearest the entry—just beyond where they’d first seen General Yarrow’s car on fire.
Jason slowed down again, as if seeking clues. Or avoiding those stones on the road. Or both.
Sara couldn’t help it. She looked around, too. The area was surrounded by trees similar to those they’d passed all along the drive. Could someone have shot something from the cover of the forest that set the Jeep’s canvas on fire?
But wouldn’t the guard in the kiosk have seen it?
Maybe it had been completely accidental. Maybe the people studying what was left of the vehicle would find an indication of what the general had been storing in the back that caught fire. Or maybe he was a closet smoker—though she’d been around him a lot over the past months and had seen, and smelled, no indication of that. And surely the vehicle would have been designed, for safety, for its canvas cover to withstand being hit by a lit butt, just in case.
Still, it seemed awfully coincidental for it to start burning in earnest, however it caught fire, just when the general entered Ft. Lukman.
Jason stopped at the kiosk. As he showed credentials to the guard who greeted them, Sara jumped as she heard a rapping on the passenger window beside her. She looked over.
It was Major Connell. She immediately pressed the button to roll the window down.
“Good,” said the major. “You’re back.”
Sara felt herself quiver in anticipation. Had something else bad happened? Before asking, she looked around.
The hulk of General Yarrow’s car was still there in the spot ahead of them. A couple of soldiers stood by it, rifles at their shoulders, obviously guarding the vehicle’s corpse.
With the truck she rode in, there was a means of moving it to an out-of-the-way spot for further study before official disposal.
For now, though, Jason would have to steer around it.
But not immediately.
Sara stared back out the window toward Drew. “Is the general—” she began.
“He’s doing okay. He wants to see you and me at the hospital ASAP.”
“Fine.” But Sara darted a glance toward Jason. “Only—”
“I’ll get some of the guys to help me move the damaged car onto the ramp back there,” he said, casually gesturing toward the back of the truck. He didn’t seem at all perturbed that she’d be deserting him this quickly.
Which shot a bolt of unanticipated sorrow through Sara.
She hadn’t planned on being with Jason for this amount of time.
She certainly hadn’t planned on enjoying it.
But this just might be the only opportunity she would ever have to spend time with this appealing, sexy—and unattainable—man.
Ever.
And now it was over.
Chapter 5
General Yarrow’s hospital room didn’t impress Sara as looking any more exciting than any other hospital room she’d ever visited, except for its privacy. It was compact, with a single bed—which the general occupied—and two windows along one wall where the blinds had been opened, spilling light inside. The illumination struck the small chest of drawers where patients or their families could stow belongings. A TV hung overhead on the far wall. There were chairs—four of them, occupied now, including the one where Sara sat nearest to the general’s right hand.
Appropriate, she realized.
It was all she could do to prevent herself from taking that hand in hers. To reassure him that everything would be okay.
Ridiculous. He was the one used to dictating the status of how whatever was happening each day played out. Plus, he was still her commanding officer. He would be shocked if she treated him like her friend or relative, no matter how fondly she thought of him.
Major Drew Connell and Sara had arrived only a couple of minutes ago. They’d entered the room and sat down in the seats as the general directed. The other two were occupied by Lieutenant Simon Parran and his wife, Lieutenant Grace Andreas-Parran, who’d obviously done a good job of accompanying the general here and ensuring that he was seen quickly in the emergency room.
Fortunately, his injuries were not life threatening. Grace had met them at the door and briefly informed them that General Yarrow had suffered a substantial amount of smoke inhalation. He’d been coughing and complained of a headache and shortness of breath. He was currently being treated with oxygen that he inhaled via tubes placed in his nose. Otherwise, he was fine.
He looked ashen, though, as his head rested on a pillow at the top of the raised back of the bed. His paleness was emphasized by the unmitigated blackness of his full head of hair—now more askew than Sara had ever seen it before.
But his light brown eyes were flashing, as always—ensuring that anyone on whom he directed his gaze knew exactly who was in charge.
“So where is the shell of my car now?” he demanded of Major Connell. The general, in his blue-plaid hospital gown, was the only one not dressed in camo attire. Sara wasn’t used to seeing him in anything but his casual uniform, jeans and T-shirt during off hours, or, occasionally, something more formal.
“By now it should be secured in an area within the base’s main parking garage, sir,” Drew said, leaning toward him. “Lieutenant McLinder went with Sergeant Connell to rent a special flatbed vehicle to move it, and they arrived back at the base just in time for the lieutenant to accompany me here.”
The general nodded his approval toward Sara. The gingerness of the movement might not have been obvious to the others in this room who didn’t work with him daily, but Sara could tell that he was in real discomfort—and trying to hide it. They all were doctors but she knew the general better than any of them.
She was his primary aide and hoped she would continue in that position for a long time to come.
But maybe not where he had intended, most recently, to station himself—Ft. Lukman.
An image of Sergeant Jason Connell flashed through Sara’s mind, and she willed it away. If they didn’t return to the base housing Alpha Force, then she would never see the gorgeous, devil-may-care noncom again. In either of his forms.
Either of his forms? Heck, the fire in the general’s car had taken precedence in her mind over all else—even pondering how strange, and outrageous, the reality of shapeshifting was.
Not seeing Jason again would definitely be for the best.
“What’s the next step, then?” the general asked. “I presume you’re having the remains examined by someone who’ll be able to tell me what happened to the damned thing.”
“I will, sir,” Drew said. “I’m just having a little difficulty deciding on the right kind of forensics team for this. I of course don’t want to use a civilian team, and because of the...well, delicate nature of the units stationed at Ft. Lukman and their relationship, I want to be sure I get the right kind of expertise in place, with complete discretion. And honesty.”
“In other words,” Simon said drily from his seat on the opposite side of the general’s bed, “you want to bring in someone who won’t either be ready to reveal any unusual things he may see—like shapeshifting—or afraid to point fingers at our new best friends, the Ultra Special Forces Team.”
Simon was a tall man, whose straight, dark eyebrows matched his wavy, thick hair. Sara had noticed how often he shot glances toward his wife. She knew they