Helen had always intended to have the horrible butterfly removed from her buttock, but, in the end, she’d left it as a reminder of her one careless lapse in self-control. She looked up and glared at Rafe. The tattoo had been all his fault. They’d been seniors at Stonewall, and a group had gone to Tijuana at the end of finals week of their senior year. When a dozen of them, under the pressure of too little freedom and too many margaritas, had decided to get matching tattoos, Rafe had taunted and taunted her, in his usual fashion, until she’d agreed to join the crowd… to her everlasting humiliation.
She noticed the growing line of trainees and other personnel waiting to board the aircraft, behind Rafe, all of them listening with avid interest. What was wrong with her, allowing one of her men to carry on a personal conversation with her while on duty? It was strictly against the rules. And, if nothing else, Helen prided herself on attention to precise military protocol.
Bracing her shoulders, Helen belted out in her most authoritative voice, “Captain Santiago, get on this aircraft. NOW! There are a dozen paratroopers sitting up there in that sweltering tin can waiting for this parachute exercise to begin.” Then she added in an icy undertone, “I don’t know what you’re doing here, Captain Santiago, but you can be sure you will be out of my company by the end of this day,”
“National Guard, Special Forces,” he answered flatly, walking by her to climb the steps. She forced herself not to move back, afraid he might accidentally, or not so accidentally, brush against her. He didn’t, but his eyes twinkled knowingly as he explained, “I owed Uncle Sam a pigload of cash for seven years of college loans, and he decided the ‘Nasty Guard’ would be a good method of payback. Plus, I always need extra cash. This is my last tour of duty, but if you know a way to get me out now, I’d be eternally grateful.”
“Why am I not surprised?” she muttered under her breath, knowing he’d never felt the loyalty to the military establishment that she had.
“I never took you for a ‘Nasty Girl’ type, though,” he added, referring to the crude name given to women of the National Guard.
She arched a brow questioningly, which she regretted immediately when he responded, “Too much starch in your drawers.”
Helen clenched her fists at her sides and counted to ten. “That’s it, Captain. This goes on your permanent record.” She made another check mark next to his name and was about to reprimand him further, but the smirk on his face stopped her cold. Just like in the old days, he was goading her into losing her temper. This time she disappointed him by turning away.
Then she had no more time to think about the jerk as she supervised the loading of the aircraft, trying to ignore the many eyes that seemed to rivet questioningly on her behind.
Oh, Lord. Helen just knew this was going to be the longest day of her life.
An hour later, the plane was airborne. Helen had given her unit — ten men and two women — instructions for their upcoming drop near the California/Nevada border, then checked all their equipment and jump gear. The soldiers appeared relaxed as they chatted softly among themselves, seated on the platform benches that lined both sides of the huge aircraft, but Helen knew they were pumped up with excitement. Regardless of all the precautions, there was always an element of danger, the possibility of injury or death, in any skydiving event.
Despite their usual full-time civilian status, all were experienced paratroopers who made at least one drop each quarter in order to stay on jump status and earn their incentive pay. Half of the soldiers were here today serving their annual two-week National Guard duty — so-called “Weekend Warriors” — but the others were making “pay drops.”
Those in the special forces were hand-chosen for their particular expertise; they were doctors, lawyers, language or communications experts. Often they were used to help train troops in underdeveloped countries.
Even though he said he was in the National Guard, Helen figured Rafe was probably just a pay dropper the rest of the time — one of those occasional skydivers who made practice drops for the military to keep their skills up to date, for a fee. She instantly chastised herself for her lack of charity. Doing pay drops was not dishonorable — for the most part. Many of the men and women who did pay drops in the off-seasons were the same men and women called up to fight forest fires and other natural disasters. The backbone of the peacetime defense forces, they even went into emergency military action when necessary.