Tangled Pursuit by Lindsay McKenna

a Muslim country, I can’t look at, speak to, or touch an infant female, little girl, or woman. I’ve got a friend, another Eighteen Delta corpsman who works for another SEAL group, who helps out. Her name is Cindy Goldman, and I bet you’d like her. She’s bringing out a prosthesis for a little eight-year-old girl we met. The kid’s a fighter—she’s from a nearby village, where she stepped on an IED a year ago. We’re doing what little we can to give her a new start.” He cocked his head and studied Tal in the lulling silence.
    “I know Cindy could use another woman with a medical background. Matt told me you’re a paramedic, and you’d be perfect to help us. How about it?”
    Now Tal was beginning to loosen up, leaning against the building, one boot heel resting on it. The tension she always carried had lessened. “I like helping kids,” she admitted, frowning, waffling.
    Was it his story? Him? A combination? Wyatt didn’t know, but he felt he was getting closer to Tal and getting her to trust him just a little bit.
    “That sounds good,” she said thoughtfully. “I usually volunteer my time when I’m here in Bagram for village medical duty.” She remembered when she first met him at the pool, teaching young Afghan boys how to swim. And that mind-blowing kiss he’d given her out of the blue. Tal knew he had a good heart despite his always having a woman on his arm.
    “Good. Then meet me over at the helo terminal at 0800? I’ve got a CH-47 scheduled to take us, and a pallet of shoes and clothes for the kids. They’ll drop us off and then pick us up at 1700 and bring us back here. I’d pack a lunch in your rucksack, and bring along a couple of gallons of water, too.”
    “You’re a real mother hen deep down, aren’t you, Lockwood,” she said sarcastically, but the sharpness was gone.
    He took a step back, dramatically throwing his hands on his chest. “Dang, you found me out, woman.” Wyatt saw Tal completely relax, her arms falling to her sides. She moved her shoulders, as if to free them from some burden she carried.
    He never forgot how lethal a warrior she was. Snipers were a special bunch, with a personality all their own. They were infinitely patient, stubborn, and laser-focused on their objectives.
    Looking into her shadowed green eyes, he smiled and found warmth and interest. As for arousal, he knew that would come, too. But later. He should have cornered this filly a long time ago and told her his horse story. Maybe she was a wild mustang in disguise.
    What Tal didn’t know was that she was an exception to one of Wyatt’s rules. He didn’t chase women—he let them pursue him. She was the only one that he’d had to pursue, for years before this moment, when he’d finally trapped her and gotten her undivided attention.
    “Come on,” he urged, gesturing toward her B-hut, “let me walk you home.” He stepped away, giving her plenty of room. There was a thoughtful expression in her eyes, her soft mouth full and no longer pursed. “What?” he asked as she walked over to him.
    “You.”
    “What about me?”
    “There’s a whole other side to you, isn’t there?” she said curiously, searching his face.
    “Isn’t that true of everyone, darlin’?” He thought better of it once the word was out, but this time, she didn’t react to his casual endearment. Instead, she kept him in her sights and dug deep inside like the sniper she was. Wyatt didn’t mind. He let himself stay open and vulnerable to her inspection, knowing that was the key to getting Tal’s trust. And he wanted that more than anything else.
    “Yes, but you’re different from other people. I often wondered . . .” And she turned her head, staring out into the night for a moment, carefully choosing her words. Tal frowned and looked up at him. “You’re an onion, Lockwood.”
    Grinning, he said, “An onion? Good grief, woman, couldn’t you say something more romantic rather than calling me a lowly, smelly,