Over the Line

Chapter Two

Womack Hospital, Fort Bragg; nine months later

Army Sergeant Beth Garcia ran with determination. She imagined flying by the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial, the reflecting pool, all places she'd never seen in real life… and she would have pulled off her fantasy if not for the constant chatter of the colonel running on the treadmill next to her. Bluetooth was the very devil.

Her reverie interrupted, she couldn't help feeling for her healed bullet wound. The puckered skin moved under her fingers as she ran, reminding her of that FUBAR night in Afghanistan.

Her leg was better. Had been for months, but the powers that be insisted on eight months of physical therapy before she could be cleared to go back on a deployable status. If she didn't complete another deployment, she wouldn't be competitive for her dream job: CIA Protection Officer. She didn't need another deployment, not really, but she knew it would be the one thing on paper that would negate her injury.

She didn't feel like herself when she was twisting in the wind, assigned to a desk and returning each night to her house and dog. She only felt like herself when adrenaline was coursing through her veins, and adrenaline had been hard to come by this past year.

She tried to focus on her leg and how it felt, sending repairing vibes to the wound that only gave her a small twinge every now and again.

Where the hell was her physical therapist? The sooner she could get signed off, the sooner she could flag her availability for deployment. There was only so far she could run. The odometer on the treadmill said she had already run six miles. She looked around for the person who had pushed the start button—she couldn't get off it without a therapist seeing that she could in fact run. For the love of God, where was she?

Sweat dripped down her face, throat, and back. She was going to need one hell of a shower before heading back to her unit. Just as she was losing the will to live, the therapist came back to her, hit "Stop" on the treadmill, and handed over her medical papers.

"You really mustn't overdo it, young lady," she said.

Are you freaking kidding me? I could have run for two miles if you hadn't effed off for a coffee break or torture training or wherever you went.

"Yes, ma'am," she said, all but snatching her medical certificate.

As soon as the torturer left to go on to another patient, Beth slumped over the handrail of the treadmill. Catching her breath, she gently stretched out her thigh, trying not to pull the wound in any way. She wondered if her leg would always feel as if it was a stretched-to-its-limit rubber band.

Her eyes closed, she visualized oxygen flowing through the skin and muscle of her leg, just as her therapist had taught her. As she took deep breaths, she couldn't believe the damned colonel from the next treadmill was still talking. Sweet Jesus. She snapped upright, ready to give him the stink-eye—she wouldn't dream of telling off a full-bird colonel—when she realized there was a uniformed man standing at attention in front of him.

"At ease, Walker. I'm in the freaking gym. I'm sweatin' like a pig."

"Yessir," he said.

Beth couldn't believe her eyes. She smiled, and watched James Walker do a double take when he saw her. Now what would he do? He was a sight for sore eyes. She swallowed. Still as handsome as ever—tall, broad-shouldered, with a self-assured attitude that she had secretly salivated over during their deployment together.

"Excuse me, sir," he said, not taking his incredible blue eyes off her.

The colonel followed his line of sight and raised his eyebrows at her, then frowned at Walker. She decided to do him a solid.

"Colonel. This man here risked his life to rescue me after I was shot in Afghanistan last year. I'm imagining that he's shocked to see me standing here." She wiped her sweaty hand on her shorts and stepped forward, offering it to James. "I heard you came to check on me at the hospital, and I know I wasn't really all that coherent, so in case I didn't thank you then, thank you. So much. I owe you big time."

He held her hand, even though it was still pretty sweaty, for a few seconds more than strictly necessary. Long enough for her to get a good look at him. Yup, he was definitely as good-looking as she remembered. Short dark hair, light blue eyes, and an expression of barely concealed admiration. She had figured the year before that he looked at everyone like that. But in this less formal situation she wondered about that, and liked the warmth flooding around her at the possibility that right now, that look was reserved just for her.

Probably a workout high.

"Absolutely my pleasure, Sergeant. I'm very happy to see you here. Not med-boarded out then?" he asked.

"No way." Beth laughed at the thought. This was her life. What the hell would she do in the real world, except for her dream job, of course?

The colonel cleared his throat. "Well, I'm happy to hear that you're on the mend, Sergeant, and I'm happy to hear my new Senior Master Sergeant here was in the right place at the right time. Walker? Sorry I dragged you in this close to the weekend. Go home, unpack, and report at oh-seven for PT on Monday."

"Yes, sir," he replied, before turning to Beth again. "Truly great seeing you looking so well." He stuck his hand out, and grabbed hers again.

"Thank you, again," she said, hoping he could tell how earnest she was. "I owe you."

He nodded, smiled, and turned away. She watched his broad shoulders as he left the physical therapy room. Well, maybe she watched his ass, too. Slinging her towel over her shoulder, and securing her papers in her pocket, she was going to say good-bye to the colonel, but he was already back on his phone.

Shower. Lots and lots of shower. And maybe thoughts of James.

* * *

It was fate. Kismet. It had to be. She looked just as gorgeous as she had last year, and his body had reacted to her in exactly the same way. He was glad that she had been working out, because as soon as he saw her, he was sure his hands had started sweating. Very smooth.

There was no way he was letting her out of his sight this time without asking her out. She did say that she owed him, although if he were being totally truthful, she'd kind of saved him from that shooter, too. Not that fulfilling a debt was a great basis for scoring a date. He paced up and down the corridor outside of the women's changing rooms, throwing his black TACP beret back and forth between his hands, and had a twinge of guilt at what he was considering.

He glanced at his watch. In less than twenty-four hours his older sister's wedding festivities were going to start without him. Beth would be a great distraction from the guilt that had been pin-pricking him all day. But there was no way he was attending that clusterfuck. Ex-girlfriends, parents, pomp and circumstance. He had left that part of the family years ago. And besides, every second he spent in his parents' presence was a risk to the career he loved. His father was powerful. And didn't like at all that James had elected to enlist in the air force instead of working on Capitol Hill.

Distance was best. And he knew his sister totally understood, applauded his independence, even. If his parents hadn't loved his ex's pedigree so much, if they weren't so obsessed with making him quit the air force and take up in the "family business," this would be a perfectly ordinary weekend. But add in a wedding, and the fact that he'd lied to them about his "no deployment" duties and told them he already had a girlfriend… it was a family IED waiting to explode. And his sister would never forgive him if it exploded all over her special day.

Beth Garcia had been his unattainable dream last year. One of the first females in a special forces role, and she'd fit in so well, been so squared away, she was mostly known for intimidating the male troops. A good thing, he guessed, when she was one of the only women doing the job. She was all work and duty and nothing else. It was so hot, it was insane. Drove him insane.

She emerged from the changing room with some papers in her teeth, trying to wrap her damp hair into some kind of regulation do. She stopped in her tracks when she saw him. Although her mouth was otherwise occupied, her eyes flashed with a smile as she finished pinning her hair.

When she snatched the papers from her mouth, she said, "Hello again, Senior. Congratulations on your promotion."

"Thanks, I just sewed on the new rank and moved. Got in yesterday."

"That's great." She nodded toward the exit, and he started to walk with her. "I've been here two years. I guess I have another year or so to go."

"Do you like it?" he asked, interested in her opinion, since he still had unpacking to do and had zero experience in North Carolina.

"It's okay. To be honest, this last year has been spent trying to get back on a deployment status. It's been hell, just sitting behind a desk. But"—she waved the papers with teeth marks on them—"I got them today. Maybe you're my good luck charm."

"So what are you doing to celebrate?" he asked, hoping the answer was "nothing."

"Not much. I guess I hadn't really thought about it." She put on her sunglasses when they rounded the corner to the parking lot. Inexplicably, his heart started beating faster, and he knew he had to get this right. He had a sneaking suspicion that a guy only ever had one chance with Garcia. If you fucked it up, you were over.

"Can I take you out for dinner tonight, or maybe tomorrow?"

She was silent for a few seconds, and he wished he could see her expression behind her glasses. Should he have been more casual? More subtle? Should he let her ask him out? Oh please, let me have got this right.

"Sure. The army has a long weekend. Friday's off, do you want to go tomorrow?"

He tried not to show his relief by shoving on his own aviators. "Sure. Sounds like a plan."

She stopped at a Mini Cooper convertible and pressed her key fob. It bleeped, and she opened the door. She grabbed something from the passenger seat and scribbled her address on it. "Pick me up at eight?"

As he reached to take her address, his phone bleeped. He held up a finger and read the message. It was a text from Sadie.

Shit. He assumed that she was joking about the gunpoint, but he knew she was serious about sending someone for him. She'd done it before. And she knew why he wasn't attending her wedding, and until this text, she had seemed okay about it. Change of plans.

"Are you free the whole weekend?" His mind kicked into overdrive. Remembering the conversations from the Humvee when they'd been on patrol. "Would you like to go climbing? I hear there are some great places around the Appalachian Trail."

"The whole weekend?" She hesitated a second, then grinned. "Sure."

He took the address from her hand, his fingers brushing hers as he did. A jolt of awareness flashed through him, something he hadn't felt in… he didn't want to think about how long it had been. "Then I'll pick you up at eight a.m. tomorrow?"

She gave a very non-regulation salute, got in her car and slammed the door shut. A second later, the roof pulled back, revealing a very tidy interior. No surprise there. "Wait a minute. Climbing. Is this just a way to look at my ass for a weekend? 'Cause you know you'll be a pitch behind me all day, right?" She winked, grinned, and pulled out of her spot, wheels spinning.

All that was left was a grin on his face. Boo-yah.

Chapter Three

Beth flexed her fingers around the steering wheel, trying to ignore the stickiness. She blew on her sweaty hands and shook them out to try to get the feeling back in them.

Had he just asked her out? Shit. She should have stayed and talked about some rules of engagement. Now she was left hanging, not knowing if he was expecting a date, or a relationship, or just a climb. God, it had been so good to see him again. So good.

She should have said thanks but no thanks, but seeing him again after he'd hauled her out of a battleground… all chiseled jaw and impossibly light blue eyes, the dark hair that was cut short, but not army-short. She'd just… stumbled. Hadn't given a second thought, or even a first, about her cardinal rule: no attachments. No attachments until she had a job that would have her not deploying for a year at a time. James Walker. If she hadn't been so intent on her work performance in Afghanistan, she'd have swooned over him. All taciturn and calm and built like a… she shook her hands out again. Just sexy.

Shit, what have I done? Not even I have the required amount of willpower not to jump him.

She considered returning to the parking lot, but really, how lame would that be? She thumped her fist on the dashboard in frustration. It sucked being a woman. There was no easy way to have the 'I don't want a relationship, but I also don't do one-night-stands' conversation without sounding presumptuous. And then if you left it too late to have the conversation, you were a tease.

In all probability, it probably wasn't a date. He'd saved her life, maybe he just wanted to check that she wasn't screwing it up. She was fine with that. And climbing? A thoroughly wholesome pastime that didn't really lend itself to sexy times anyway. Fingers crossed.

She never went out on dates. She'd put an end to that after the last three totally disastrous ones. And that allowed her a one hundred percent focus on work and her career path. It was a good thing. A very good thing. She didn't want anyone knowing that she had relationships. She couldn't afford to show any weakness in her unit. It was completely okay for men to be miserable about a breakup, but if a woman was, she was branded weak. It sucked, but she didn't want anyone thinking about her as less than she was. She didn't want anyone to even think of her in a relationship. She just wanted the guys in her unit to think of her as a soldier.

Not just that, but she was a firm believer that her line of work did not lend itself easily to relationships. She saw the cheating and heartbreak that went on when husbands and wives, boyfriends and girlfriends, were out of sight and mind for a year or more at a time.

In fact, on more than one deployment, she'd seen men get news of infidelity or divorce while trying to focus on their mission. Seen how they reacted, how they lost their edge, and even, in the dirt and ugliness of war, lost their will to live, too.

She was pretty sure that was why Marks, the one soldier to be killed on her last patrol, had gone home in the cargo hold instead of a seat. He had just heard that his wife had been messing around with a neighbor, and had been devastated. Whether he got distracted, careless, or had realized he didn't have anything to go home to… well, she'd seen it happen too often. Had even benched soldiers who had seemed too distracted to leave the compound. She should have seen it in Marks. Should have benched him, too.

She shook off the feeling. She'd been through enough therapy to know it wasn't her fault. But that didn't stop the bubbling feeling of guilt whenever she thought about him.

Dragging her thoughts back to Walker, she figured she had all evening to think about how to broach the subject with him tomorrow. Dating: off the table. If, indeed, it felt like the weekend was anything other than a platonic climbing one.

A strange feeling turned in her stomach. She liked him. He'd saved her life, true. He was to-die-for gorgeous, true. Basically, he was a heartbreaker on legs. So add that into the equation and this was a non-starter. She was not a risk taker in any aspect of her life. She wasn't going to risk anything on this hot airman. No sir.