At the end of their night of frenzied passion, Jazz Winters walked away from the only two men who’d ever made her feel like a woman. Logan Cavanaugh and Zach Evans let her go, but only if she swore all her future leaves to them. For fourteen, excruciatingly long months, they’ve waited for her, visiting when they could, but the demands of Mike’s Place only let them go one at a time. Jazz’s fear that a ménage can’t last a lifetime is founded in her very middle-class, middle-American upbringing. The stress of years of military service in hot zones, combined with life-threatening injuries, pushes her to the edge. When she comes home, she’s the wounded warrior, not the woman she thinks they want. But Zach and Logan are right there to help her, even when she resists. She’s not alone. And whether she chooses one man or both, they have no regrets and they won’t surrender.
“When’s her next leave?” They should really change the subject, but like a dog with a bone, the need to hold on to her intensified. They talked with her nearly every other day, every day when she managed it. Sometimes for five minutes and sometimes an hour, depending on how much time she had.
But with no phone call in forty-eight hours, his gut churned with worry. He tried to keep a lid on it, but it boiled into everything he did. The tension in his neck wouldn’t go away nor would the nagging sense of worry.
His phone buzzed in his back pocket, and he waved Logan over. The number in the caller ID flashed familiar, and he thumbed it on to answer.
“Yo, Brody!” Lieutenant Brody Essex, the last member of their unit and one of the Captain’s good friends, still served in the sandbox. A reassignment had sent his unit to Afghanistan two hundred clicks from Jazz. He’d checked in on her now and then to give Zach the news that yes, she was fine. “How goes the south side of hell?”
“Hot and crispy.” The man’s voice was tinny, echoing the distance between the calls. “Look, man, we just got word. The FET unit hit an IED in Bamyan. At least one serious injury. I don’t know if it’s her….”
The late afternoon sun turned icy cold. He froze, the sound of his heart like a ticking time bomb in his head.
“Zach?” Logan braced him with an arm.
“IED, Bamyan. A FET team was hit.” He forced the words past the chokehold on his throat. The Marine inside him stood solid. Details first. Reaction later.
“I don’t have any more details, but the news is going to hit stateside any minute. There were reporters there with one of the Army units. We’re on our way now. Hang in there, buddy.”
Brody’s team was on their way. Brody’s team specialized in recovery, alive or dead.
“Is it her?” Logan asked, the words a low growl.
“He didn’t know. But she’s in the field. She never says where she’s going. Security.” The words popped out, one at a time, like bullets being emptied from a clip. “She didn’t call last night.”
“Don’t lose it.” Logan’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “We don’t know anything yet.”
She didn’t call.
Zach stared at his phone, willing her to call.
It didn’t ring.