Team Black Sheep Read online

  He smiled, “Kinda like that. We’ll see if it sticks. Thanks for saving my ass, Sarge.”

  “She did all the tricky shit,” he hooked a thumb at Teri.

  “Yes, but you got me to her still breathing.”

  Doc and Teri drifted through the ship together. He wasn’t sure exactly who was leading who, but he definitely didn’t know his way around such a big ship. The Peleliu was eight hundred feet of helicopter carrier. Down on the hangar deck, all the way aft, there was a sweeping view of equatorial Atlantic, but still comfortably shaded by the cool steel overhead.

  They sat and just stared out at the water together for a long time.

  “What you said to him, goes for you too, you know?” Teri’s voice was little louder than the low rumble of the ship’s engine and the high whine of an impact drill at the far end of the hangar bay. They were doing some kind of service on one of the helos.

  “What’s that?”

  “Well done. You got out alive. You defended your team when it mattered. Gave me a chance to save Jethro by taking care of Smith.”

  “No way is he ever gonna shed Jethro for ‘Last Mag’ but I liked giving him a moment of hope.”

  Her smile agreed. “Still, that was really kind. How about keeping your Doc tag?”

  “That’s not me. Guess I’m back to ‘Low Gear’ until I can get out.”

  “Out?”

  He couldn’t bring himself to look at her. “Gun battle like that. People dying all around you. Not able to do shit about it except a couple patches of gauze. Isn’t some place I want to be going back to anytime soon.”

  10

  Teri noticed the slump of Doc’s shoulders but didn’t know what to say. Not like she was some wizard counselor or maybe she’d have her own shit together.

  “Of course,” he muttered to himself, “No idea what the crap I’m good for if I do get out.”

  “Medic,” she said it without thought.

  He snorted. “Yeah right.”

  “I’m serious.”

  He finally turned to look at her. “I don’t see you becoming some amazing painter or photographer.”

  “Not my skill. It’s clear that medical is yours.”

  “My sister’s gonna be a brain surgeon. Mom is a top OR nurse. Dad’s the cutter for Boston’s biggest ER. How am I supposed to compete with any of that?”

  Teri used to ask herself the same question. She had none of the skills. But her desire to fit in the family had made her try—unsuccessfully—for years.

  Doc was back to scowling out at the rolling ocean.

  “So don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t compete.”

  Again he turned to her. Each time he did, it was as if she could see him more clearly. Not disjointed like one of her brother’s paintings or, even stranger, Dad’s semi-realistic Mexican Day-of-the-Dead imagery as if he weren’t Scottish.

  “Don’t compete. You have the makings of being a damn fine medic. How many would never have made it out of that hole at all without your help? Jethro would never have made it alive to my bird. Probably not Smith either. You’ve got the right instincts, the right level of care, and I didn’t see you doing any of the normal squeams about doing the hard stuff. Just like Viper told Smith they need gunners, our Combat Search-and-Rescue team needs trained medics. Good ones, who know how important it is that we fly right into a battle zone if it means saving people.”

  His smile went sideways, which meant something had struck him funny.

  “What?”

  “That’s an awful lot of words for Teri Carson of the Alaskan Carsons.”

  “Sue me.”

  He laughed, but this time the smile was all for her. “Medic, huh?”

  But he wasn’t doing the staring out at the ocean while he thought. He was looking right at her.

  All she could do was nod.

  “How long to train up?”

  “Depends on your instructor and how hard you’re willing to work. Three months to active duty. Nine months to lead. A couple years to do the kind of things I just did for Jethro.”

  This time his gaze shifted to thoughtful. “I actually like the sound of that. Saving Jethro and Smith felt good. I could like that a lot. Know any good instructors?”

  “I do.”

  The question was, did she want to take on someone like Doc as a student? Maybe as more than a student?

  “I know a damn good one.” It seemed that she did.

  When he caught her meaning, that smile went ever so bright. Like he was tasting sunshine.

  He raised his hand, facing her. “Go Team Black Sheep!”

  That she high-fived him for.

  He spread his fingers and she let her own interlace with his.

  Yes, it was just like sunshine.

  Daniel’s Christmas (excerpt)

  If you liked this, you’ll love the Night Stalkers White House novels!

  Daniel’s Christmas

  (excerpt)

  The phone hammered him awake. Daniel came to in his office chair with the phone already to his ear.

  Someone was speaking rapidly. He caught perhaps one word in three. “CIA. Immediate briefing. North Korea.”

  He must have made some intelligible reply as moments later he was listening to a dial tone.

  Daniel rubbed at his eyes, but the vista didn’t change. Large cherry wood desk. Mounds of work in neatly stacked folders that he’d sat down to tackle after the long flight. His briefcase still unopened on the floor beside him. Definitely the White House Chief of Staff’s office. His office. Nightmare or reality? Both. Definitely.

  Phone. He’d been on the phone.

  The words came back and, now fully awake, Daniel started swearing even as he grabbed the handset and began dialing.

  Maybe he could blame all this on Emily Beale. In the three short weeks she’d been at the White House, Daniel had risen from being the First Lady’s secretary to the White House Chief of Staff and it was partly Emily’s fault. As if his life had been battered by a tornado. Still felt that way a year later.

  Okay, call it mostly her fault.

  As he listened to the phone ringing in his ear, it felt better to have someone to blame. He rubbed at his eyes. A year later and he still didn’t know whether to curse Major Beale or thank her.

  Maybe he could make it all her fault.

  “Yagumph.”

  “Good morning, Mr. President.”

  “Is it morning?” The deep voice would have been incomprehensibly groggy without the familiarity of long practice.

  Daniel checked his watch, barely morning. “Yes, sir!” he offered his most chipper voice.

  “Crap! What? All of 12:03?”

  “12:10, sir.” They’d been on the ground just over an hour.

  “Double crap!” The President was slowly gaining in clarity, maybe one in ten linguists would be able to understand him now.

  “Seven more minutes of sleep than you guessed, sir.”

  “Daniel?”

  “Yes, Mr. President?”

  “Next time Major Beale comes to town, I’m sending you up on one of her training rides.”

  “Sounds like fun, sir.” If he had a death wish. “Crashing in the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool is definitely an experience I can’t wait to relive.” The Major was also the childhood friend of the President, so he had to walk with a little care, but not much. The two of them were that close.

  “Time to get up, sir, the CIA is coming calling. They’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll be there in ten.” A low groan sounded over the phone. “Make that fifteen.” The handset rattled loudly as he missed the cradle. Daniel got the phone clear of his ear before the President’s handset dropped on the floor.

  Daniel hung up and considered sleeping for the another fifteen minutes. There was a nice sofa along the far wall sitting in a close group with a couple of armchairs, but he’d have to stand up to reach it. All in strong, dusky red leathe
r, his secretary’s doing after discovering Daniel had no taste. Janet had also ordered in a beautiful oriental rug and several large framed photographs. Even on the first day she’d known him well enough to chose images of wide-open spaces. He missed his family farm, but the photos helped him when D.C. was squeezing in too hard.

  If he didn’t stand and resisted the urge to seek more sleep, all that remained was to consider his desk. Its elegant cherry wood surface lost beneath a sea of reports and files.

  Fifteen minutes. He could read the briefing paper on Chinese coal, review tomorrow’s agenda which, if he were lucky, might stay on schedule for at least the first quarter hour of a planned fourteen-hour day. Or he could just order up a giant burn bag and be done with the whole mess.

  He picked up whatever was on top of the nearest stack.

  An Advent calendar.

  Janet, had to be.

  Well, the woman had taste. It was beautiful; encased in a soft, tooled-leather portfolio and tied closed with a narrow red ribbon done up in a neat bow. He pulled a loose end and opened the calendar. Inside were three spreads of stunning hand-painted pictures on deep-set pages. He took a moment to admire the first one.

  It was a depiction of Santa and his reindeer. Except Santa might have been a particularly pudgy hamster and the reindeer might have been mice with improbable antlers. One might have had a red nose, or he might have had his eggnog spiked; the artist had left that open to interpretation. A couple of rabbits were helping to load the sleigh. Little numbered doors were set in the side of the sleigh, as well as in a nearby tree, and in the snow at the micedeer’s paws. The page was thick enough that a small treat could be hidden behind each little door.

  He shook the calendar lightly and heard things rattling. Probably little sweets and tidbits to hit his notorious sweet tooth.

  The day Janet retired he’d be in so much trouble. Not only did she manage to keep his life organized, she also managed to make him smile, even when things were coming apart at the seams. Midnight calls from the CIA for immediate meetings didn’t bode well, yet here he was dangerously close to enjoying the moment.

  He started to open the little door with a tiny golden number “1” on the green ribbon pull tab. The door depicted a candy-cane colored present perched high on the sleigh.

  “Don’t do that.”

  He looked up.

  A woman stood in the doorway, closely escorted by one of the service Marines. A short wave of russet hair curled partly over her face and trickled down just far enough to emphasize the line of her neck. Her bangs ruffled in a gentle wave covering one eye. The eye in the clear shone a striking hazel against pale skin. She wore a thick, woolen cardigan, a bit darker than her hair, open at the front over an electric blue turtleneck that appeared to say, “Joy to the World.” At least based on the letters he could see.

  “Don’t do what?”

  “Don’t open it early,” she nodded toward the calendar in his hands. “That’s cheating.”

  He double-checked his watch. “It’s twelve-eighteen on December first. That’s not cheating.”

  “Not until nighttime, after sunset. That’s what Mama always said.”

  “And your Mama is always right?”

  “Damn straight.” Though her expression momentarily belied her cheerful insistence.

  He glanced at the Marine. “Kenneth. Does she have a purpose here?”

  She sauntered into his office as if it were her own living room and an armed Marine was not following two paces behind her. More guts than most, or a complete unawareness of how close she was to being wrestled to the ground by a member of the U.S. Military.

  “Remember what they say about the book and the cover?”

  “Sure, don’t judge.” He inspected her wrinkled black corduroys and did his best not to appreciate the nice line they made of her legs.

  She dropped into one of the leather chairs in front of his desk and propped a pair of alarmingly green sneakers with red laces on the cherry wood. At least they were clean. All she’d need to complete the image would be to pop a bright pink gum bubble at him. And maybe some of those foam slip-on reindeer antlers. He offered her a smile as she slouched lower in the chair. In turn, she offered him a clear view most of the way to her tonsils with a massive yawn.

  She managed to cover it before it was completely done.

  “Sorry, I’ve been up for three days researching this. Director Smith said I should bring it right over.” She waved a slim portfolio at him that he hadn’t previously noticed.

  CIA Director Smith. Well, that explained who she was. Whatever lay in that portfolio was the reason he’d only had forty-five minutes of sleep so far tonight. And he’d spent that slumped in his chair. He did his best to surreptitiously straighten his jacket and tie.

  “You’ve been researching.” Maybe a prompt would get her to the point more quickly.

  “Yes, Mr. Darlington. I’m Dr. Alice Thompson, with dual masters in Afghani and Mathematics at Columbia. Which makes me a dueling master. PhD in digital imaging at NYU and an analyst for the CIA. Which means something, but I have no idea what. The reason you’re awake right now is to meet with me.”

  “No, the reason I’m awake right now is to meet with both you and the President.”

  “The President?” She jerked upright in her chair, her feet dropping to the floor. “No one said anything about that to me.”

  About the Author

  USA Today and Amazon #1 Bestseller M. L. “Matt” Buchman started writing on a flight south from Japan to ride his bicycle across the Australian Outback. Just part of a solo around-the-world trip that ultimately launched his writing career.

  From the very beginning, his powerful female heroines insisted on putting character first, then a great adventure. He’s since written over 60 action-adventure thrillers and military romantic suspense novels. And just for the fun of it: 100 short stories, and a fast-growing pile of read-by-author audiobooks.

  Booklist says: “3X Top 10 of the Year.” PW says: “Tom Clancy fans open to a strong female lead will clamor for more.” His fans say: “I want more now…of everything.” That his characters are even more insistent than his fans is a hoot.

  As a 30-year project manager with a geophysics degree who has designed and built houses, flown and jumped out of planes, and solo-sailed a 50’ ketch, he is awed by what is possible. More at: www.mlbuchman.com.

  Also by M. L. Buchman

  * also in audio

  Thrillers

  Dead Chef

  One Chef!

  Two Chef!

  Miranda Chase NTSB

  Drone*

  Thunderbolt*

  Condor*

  Ghostrider*

  Romantic Suspense

  Delta Force

  Target Engaged*

  Heart Strike*

  Wild Justice*

  Midnight Trust*

  Firehawks

  Main Flight

  Pure Heat

  Full Blaze

  Hot Point*

  Flash of Fire*

  Wild Fire

  Smokejumpers

  Wildfire at Dawn

  Wildfire at Larch Creek

  Wildfire on the Skagit

  The Night Stalkers

  Main Flight

  The Night Is Mine

  I Own the Dawn

  Wait Until Dark

  Take Over at Midnight

  Light Up the Night

  Bring On the Dusk

  By Break of Day

  and the Navy

  Christmas at Steel Beach

  Christmas at Peleliu Cove

  White House Holiday

  Daniel’s Christmas*

  Frank’s Independence Day*

  Peter’s Christmas*

  Zachary’s Christmas*

  Roy’s Independence Day*

  Damien’s Christmas*

  5E

  Target of the Heart

  Target Lock on Love

  Target of Mine

&n
bsp; Target of One’s Own

  Shadow Force: Psi (coming soon)

  At the Slightest Sound*

  At the Softest Word*

  White House Protection Force

  Off the Leash*

  On Your Mark*

  In the Weeds*

  Contemporary Romance

  Eagle Cove

  Return to Eagle Cove

  Recipe for Eagle Cove

  Longing for Eagle Cove

  Keepsake for Eagle Cove

  Henderson’s Ranch

  Nathan’s Big Sky*

  Big Sky, Loyal Heart*

  Love Abroad B&B

  Heart of the Cotswolds: England

  Path of Love: Cinque Terre, Italy

  Where Dreams

  Where Dreams are Born

  Where Dreams Reside

  Where Dreams Are of Christmas*

  Where Dreams Unfold

  Where Dreams Are Written

  Science Fiction / Fantasy

  Deities Anonymous

  Cookbook from Hell: Reheated

  Saviors 101

  SF/F Titles

  The Nara Reaction

  Monk’s Maze

  The Me and Elsie Chronicles

  Non-Fiction

  Strategies for Success

  Managing Your Inner Artist / Writer

  Estate Planning for Authors*

  Character Voice

  * * *

  Don’t miss a thing! Get a free starter library!

  www.mlbuchman.com

  Copyright 2020 Matthew Lieber Buchman

  Published by Buchman Bookworks, Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the author.