Claire Wilson straightened from her hunch over the suitcase and did a quick scan of its contents. There wasn't much color besides khaki, but the clothes were neatly folded and organized. After years of practice, she had the art of packing down to a science.

Footsteps sounded down the hall and stopped at her door. "Claire . . ."

Recognizing the tone in her mother's voice, Claire sighed, knowing she was in for a long one—a long lecture that is.

Her mother approached, her brow wrinkled. "You know how I hate you going over there. I worry so much when you're gone."

Claire looked down at the tiny woman in front of her. She had passed her mother in height by the time she'd turned twelve, thanks to the genes inherited from her six-feet-two-inch father. Age had rounded Marie Wilson out and it hadn't taken many extra pounds, given the short stature, to make the curves of a once voluptuous figure become more of a straight line. Yet time had done nothing to quell the youthful exuberance her mother went through life with.

"I'll be fine, Mom."

"You can't guarantee that."

"Most of my time is spent in the lab. It's not like I'm out there fighting."

"Sometimes the bases are targets. I read the newspapers."

Claire took her mother's hands into hers, feeling the slight shake in them. This was the same conversation they had every time she packed a suitcase. "It's my job."

"Do you have to go? Was it orders or . . ." Suspicion played across her mother's cherub-like features. "Did you volunteer again?"

"Orders." Claire turned back to her packing, averting her eyes, telling herself it wasn't really a lie. Other opportunities had been offered, but she wasn't about to discuss those with her mother. Another doctor had been scheduled to go overseas, but with his wife about to have a baby, Claire had stepped in. Besides, she outranked him, and with the way this one was panning out, perhaps experience was a good thing.

Her mother sat down on the bed next to the suitcase, her feet dangling above the floor. "With all this travelling, when will you ever have a chance to settle down?"

Here we go, Claire said to herself. Marie's view of a perfect life was what she herself had experienced: marriage, kids, mortgage, cooking, and undying love. Oh, and add grandchildren to the list, a recent amendment. That one was going to be a bit of a problem, though, considering the fact that Claire was an only child and still lived with her parents at the age of thirty. "I would have thought you'd be happy with my going over there. I'll be surrounded by men after all."

Marie made a small grunt while she played with the hem of her apron. "That doctor/patient wall you put up is too large for any man to climb."

Claire smiled. "If they're not willing to do a little work, are they really worth it?"

"Someday, Claire, a man's going to sweep you off your feet."

"Already happened, remember? And it was a total disaster."

Her mother stiffened. "Not all men are like him. Look at your father."

"I know." Claire knelt in front of her mother, taking her hand again. "Daddy is a wonderful man. Maybe he's the problem." With her mother's confused look, she added, "Nobody measures up."

Realizing she was never going to get out of the house on time the way this conversation was going, Claire tried to change the subject. Standing, she closed the suitcase and pulled at the zippers. "I'm travelling with an assistant this time."

"Oh?" Marie lifted an eyebrow.

"Yeah, it's weird, all a big secret. They won't tell me much about him."

"Him?" Marie shifted farther back on the bed, her voice suddenly breathless. "Maybe he's a spy or something."

"You read too many novels, Mom." Claire shook her head. "He's some computer geek. You know the type—eats nothing but junk food, totally wrapped up in his work, no social skills."

"Sounds familiar," her mother muttered.

Claire brought a hand to her hip, trying to hold back the smile. "I do not eat junk food."

Marie stood, the worried creases returning to her otherwise wrinkle-free brow. "I just want you to be happy."

"I am happy."

"Living here in Somerset Hills? The youngest single man in this community is Fred Potter who runs the corner deli, and he's fifty-four."

"Living here I get to be with Daddy as much as possible."

Marie's eyes softened. "I know, sweetie." She brushed the long hair from Claire's shoulders. "Come, let's say goodbye to your father."

Claire nodded and pulled the suitcase off the bed.

Her father looked up from his recliner when she entered her parents' modest living room. With the push of a button, the chair's motor hummed while it went through its gyrations. His feet touched down to the floor but the frame continued its shift, like a slow-motion catapult. Even with the easier angle it came to rest at, he still scooted himself forward on the leather seat a couple of times before attempting to stand. Claire resisted the urge to rush over and help, knowing her father wouldn't want her to. It was important for him to maintain his independence, while he was still able to. With each month that passed since his diagnosis, his mobility deteriorated a little more. A six-month deployment was going to seem like a lifetime in terms of her father's health.

"Claire," he said once up on his feet, opening his arms to her.

She stepped into his embrace with ease, breathing in the scent of English Leather, the aftershave she would forever associate with John Wilson.

"We're going to miss you, baby girl."

A quiet gasp had Claire turning her head to see her mother watching them with a hand clasped tightly over her mouth.

"Now, now, Marie," John said while rubbing Claire's back. "She's needed over there. We're proud of you, baby girl."

Claire closed her eyes, trying to freeze the moment in her memory, feeling her loyalties play tug-of-war with her emotions. I'm needed here too.

)l(

Paul was standing with Bruce, Steve, and Spinelli on the helipad atop the Nest, waiting for the Navy helicopter that was taking Bruce to Pendleton. From there he was scheduled to fly to Camp Lewiston, Morris's base in Helmand Province. A new physician was being deployed on rotation for a term of six months, and General Evans had managed to have Bruce placed as the physician's assistant.

In an attempt to hide his famous features, Spinelli wore sunglasses and a ball cap pulled low over his brow. And Bruce . . . Paul couldn't get over the transformation Bruce had undergone. He looked like a different man dressed in desert camouflage and sporting a much shorter haircut.

The helicopter appeared in the distant blue sky as a small speck. "There's my ride," Bruce muttered. They watched it grow bigger in silence, each caught up in their own thoughts.

As it drew near, Steve turned to his brother saying, "I'm going to miss you, broskie. Take it easy over there and be cool."

Bruce grabbed Steve's shoulders and locked onto his gaze. When Steve rolled his eyes, Bruce smacked his brother's forehead with the heel of his palm. "Behave while I'm gone," he said sternly.

Judging by the kid-like grin on Steve's face, he had gotten off easy.

Spinelli joined them, gripping Bruce's hand. "Get in, get the evidence we need, and get out," he said before pulling him in for a man hug. "Don't take any stupid chances over there. Got it?"

"Sure thing, boss," Bruce said. His tone was flippant, yet there was noticeable respect set into his features.

Bruce caught Paul's scrutiny and stepped over to him. Dropping his duffel on the ground, he reached out to shake Paul's hand, having to lean in to be heard over the continuous thump-thump-thump growing louder with every second. "Pay attention to him," Bruce said, jerking his head in Spinelli's direction. "You'll be a better man for it."

Paul looked over at Spinelli with a frown. "I'll try to keep an open mind." His eyes shifted back to Bruce and he squeezed down on the hand in his. "Stay safe."

Bruce clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about me, kid. I'll be fine."

The Sea Hawk gradually lowered, the rotor downwash testing their clothes' durability as the material twisted and snapped in the relentless wind. The hinged tail touched down first before most of the bird's weight eased onto the front landing gear.

The cabin door was thrust open and a soldier, dressed in the same MARPAT camo as Bruce, jumped to the ground and headed their way. As the soldier approached, Paul could make out that it was a woman. Blonde hair was pulled back in a bun, its hold slipping as it got beat-up by the wind, stray strands acting like tiny whips as they flicked at her face. Big brown eyes would have given her a fragile, doe-like appearance were it not for the fact that they took in the scene around her with a self-assurance that undoubtedly came from working in a profession where emergencies were an everyday occurrence.

A U.S. Navy patch filled the spot on her utility uniform where Bruce's U.S. Marines one sat. She walked straight to Bruce—the only one dressed for deployment—having to yell to be heard over the noise of the rotating blades. "Major Bruce Morgan?"

Bruce smiled, taking her outstretched hand into his. "That would be me."

"I'm Commander Claire Wilson, the doctor you've been assigned to."

"Nice to meet you. This is Colonel Spinelli, my brother Captain Morgan, and Captain Sullivan." Bruce pointed to each of the men in turn.

She shook their hands in order, her grip firm, nodding to each as she acknowledged, "Colonel, Captain, Captain." Her eyes swung back to Bruce. "If you're ready, we need to get going, Major." She reached down and picked the duffel off the ground.

He grabbed it from her hands. "I can carry my own bag, Doc."

"I'm just trying to get your ass moving, Major. And please, don't call me Doc. It's Commander Wilson. Let's go." She turned and headed back to the awaiting aircraft with long strides. Even in camouflage, designed to break up the wearer's shape, she made a fine impression.

Bruce threw his bag over his shoulder as he turned to the three men standing beside him. "What is wrong with women these days? Have the rules changed that much?" He shook his head and set out after her retreating figure.

Paul was quite certain that he had the same bewildered look on his face that both Steve and Spinelli currently had.

Just as the doctor climbed back up into the cabin, Bruce spun around to take one last look. He strode backward with a big grin and two thumbs up in the air before turning back to the helicopter and climbing in beside her. The blades sped up.

Paul stepped closer to the other two men as the Sea Hawk rose from the concrete pad. "Do you believe in fate, Colonel?"

Spinelli smiled as he kept his eyes on the climbing aircraft. "I'm starting to."

END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

How about you? Do you believe in fate? What did you think of Claire? Could she be the woman that makes him forget about another?

Too bad Bruce had to cut off all that glorious hair :(

Dedicated to @taiyeishola184 , author of Kitten in a Bag, for all her support in both books and for always making me laugh. In fact, I can see she is reading this before I even have a chance to finish the dedication :)

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