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Too late, he saw the smoke trail across the sky. A second later a fireball rolled his way. Shrapnel and dust pelted him, knocking him to the—
Something shook him awake. His pulse thundered. He groped for his weapon.
“Thank God you’re awake.” A woman’s voice. Full of relief.
The vague outlines of sawhorses rose in the stark light of a flashlight. The walls of the fishing camp rose around him, not mud bricks. He raked both hands through his hair, aware now of Cath leaning close, her hands twisted in his tee. “What happened?” He glanced toward the door, then back at her worried face. “Why are you awake?”
“You were screaming.”
Shit. He’d had an attack. He touched her face and fumbled for his voice. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I was having a nightmare.”
“Must have been bad.”
Mitch scrubbed a shaky hand over his face, swiping sweat off, his own stink making him flinch. “I don’t know why.”
But he did. Tonight’s ambush. Getting shot. Only by the skin of his teeth had he not failed.
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
No way. She’d see him as a man who had to be treated with kid gloves instead of one strong enough to protect her. “Why? You want to be scared?”
She frowned. “It’s only a dream. Right?”
“Don’t be so sure.”
“Anything you could tell me wouldn’t be half as scary as what happened tonight. Or last night. I still can’t believe we got away from that drug dealer.”
The familiar chill that always followed the dream descended on him. “Go back to sleep. It’s not important, Cathy.”
She sat up, pulling the covers away along with her body heat. “You expect me to believe you were screaming over some insignificant detail?”
If only. He crossed his arms. “You’ll just be sympathetic.”
Or argue. But he liked when she stood up for what she believed.
“Maybe not. Try me.” She clasped her charm. “If you want.”
Tell her. Let her make up her own mind.
By keeping this from her when she should know, he was acting exactly like the other men in her life. Manipulating her feelings. She deserved better, and he wanted to do better for her. He unfolded his arms, took a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll tell you.”
She pulled the covers over them. “Is this all right, or should I move to the side because of your arm?”
“There are no sides on this fricking mattress, and if I don’t do sit-ups, the stitches should hold up fine.”
“Put your arms back around me.” She pressed her face against his chest. “I want you to hold me.”
For now, anyway, but how much longer? The truth might change her mind. She might not even want him for sex, but the need to tell her bubbled like boiling water in a percolator. He let her silken tresses slip through his fingers. “I have nightmares.”
“I did notice that.” Her laugh rippled his T-shirt and sent his blood surging.
“I was a sniper. Army snipers work with guys who spot the surroundings so they can concentrate on getting the cross hairs aligned. We were on a mission to this godforsaken village. Where the Taliban leader responsible for deadly attacks on civilians and U.S. forces supposedly holed up. The intel turned out to be bad, and my team were ambushed. Emerson, my spotter and best buddy, got shot up.”
Phantom pain ricocheted through his old wounds. Mitch pressed a hand to his side and swallowed the lump in his throat. “One of the exfil helos was hit and exploded. When I finally got Emerson to another chopper, it was too late. He died.”
Cath made a little sound and hugged him hard. “I’m so sorry.”
Mitch closed his eyes, and the shield around his heart softened. His chest rose higher with every next breath as if a weight had fallen away. He steeled himself to say the rest. She had to understand the repercussions. “How do you feel?”
