Jimmy slammed Derek to the ground just as the Dragunov opened up, the body blow knocking the breath from his lungs, driving his cheek into a rock.
Rat-at-at-at!
Derek’s breath froze in his lungs, his body rigid.
One of the other members of their squad had taken the sniper out in a hail of bullets, but it had been too late for Jimmy. That volley had hit him in the helmet.
Blood. Brains. Bits of bone.
Son of a bitch.
Derek squeezed his eyes shut, drew a breath, locked that memory away.
He didn’t do weakness.
Jimmy had spoken with his little sister via the Internet or on the phone as often as he could, and it had been clear to Derek that the two were close despite an age difference of almost ten years. He’d noticed it because it was so different from his own experience. He’d grown up with no true siblings, no real mother or father, no sense of family.
The back door of the hospital opened, and Jenna stepped out into the cold wearing only her headscarf, scrubs and white lab coat. She saw him but didn’t approach the vehicle. She didn’t call for Farzad either. Maybe she just wanted some fresh air.
Derek had only ever seen photos of her—a skinny kid with a big smile, green eyes, and auburn hair. It was clear that she and Jimmy shared DNA. Yeah, she was a hell of a lot prettier than her brother, her features delicate and unmistakably feminine, but the resemblance was there.
Was her hair long or short? Derek had no idea. The layers she wore hid the details of her body but didn’t entirely conceal her curves. All those layers did more to provoke his imagination than prevent sexual thoughts, which was their purpose.
Where the hell are you going with this, dumbass?
He hadn’t flown all this way to check Jenna out. He was here to protect her.
What was Jimmy’s nickname for her?
Punk.
That’s right. He’d called her Punk.
And that gave Derek an idea.
He punched in Corbray’s number again. “Hey, man, there’s something I need you to ship to Mazar-e-Sharif right away.”
He told Corbray where to find what he needed, glancing over at Jenna in time to see her wipe tears from her face with the loose end of her headscarf.
Derek saw his chance. “Got to go.”
* * *
Jenna drewanother breath of cold air and was about to go back inside when Derek climbed out of his Land Cruiser and walked toward her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
He must have seen she was crying.
Damn.
“It’s nothing.”
He touched a hand to her sleeve. “It’s not nothing if you’re in tears.”
Instinctively, she drew away. She hadn’t been touched by a male—not even to shake hands—since she’d arrived here. Religious law dictated that she couldn’t speak with or be alone with a man who wasn’t immediate family. The only exception was Farzad, and that was out of necessity. She had learned to be careful.
Then again, Derek was supposed to be her brother, right?