Hard Beat(48)

“Great report.” Beaux stands before me, camera held close to her face as she scans through the images on her Canon’s LCD monitor. “I got some good shots to go with your filed report.”

“Can’t wait to see them,” I say as I glance up toward her. All I can see is my own reflection in her aviator sunglasses, but the way her body is moving tells me she has as much nervous energy as I do right now after being bystander to that action-packed raid. It was most definitely the most intense embed mission I’d been on, but everything was so scheduled out, a testament to the military’s skill level, that at no point did I have that uneasy feeling. I found myself more in awe of the sheer bravery of the soldiers kicking down doors and clearing houses in rapid speed, having to make judgment calls on the fly, so that adrenaline was my ruling emotion. “For your first embed, that was a pretty incredible one to be a part of.”

“You’re telling me. I’m still shaking from the rush,” she says, holding her hands out so that I can see them.

While we talk, I watch a few soldiers speaking to a local across the street from us before I turn my attention back to her. “I call it the buzz. That rush is what keeps us coming back time and again.” She snaps a quick picture of me before I can turn away. I give her a look behind my shades that I know she can’t see but can feel.

“BJ?” Rosco interrupts. “I might be able to sneak you over to get the pictures you asked for. The area appears secure, but let’s get in and get out.”

At hearing his words, I’m feeling the same shock that flickers over Beaux’s features, but she hikes her camera bag over her shoulder. “You’re on!”

“Beaux.” Her name comes out in a warning tone so that she has to know I’m not thrilled with the idea, especially considering our discussion on the way to the base when I informed her I didn’t want her out of my sight once we were beyond the city’s limits. That rule fell right after the one telling her she must remain in arm’s reach by my side.

“C’mon, Pulitzer. Share the glory with someone else, will ya?”

I know she’s joking, but I also think a little part of her means it. All I know is that I want to tell her to wait up, to not go without me.

“If we’re going to do it, it’s got to be now before we move out,” Rosco reiterates over her shoulder.

She flashes me a huge grin, excitement lighting up her face before she shrugs in my direction in an insincere apology and hustles after him while I’m left to finish packing up my equipment.

Sarge never willingly offers a chance to get pictures of a scene, so I know his bosses want this successful mission documented for propaganda. And shit, whatever the purpose, Worldwide News is the only news outlet here, so that’s a huge positive.

It still doesn’t mean I like having her out of my sight.

A few minutes pass as I finish packing my stuff up before a flurry of gunfire rings out through the silence of the village. Shots volley back from our position as soldiers scramble for cover.

For a split second I freeze. Memories collide with the present, and I swear to God I’m taken back to the frenzy of trying to find Stella. Sounds and smells and sights that don’t exist fill my head, f*ck me up, until another spurt of gunfire followed by men shouting breaks through the hold the memories have over me.

Instinct takes over immediately. The need to survive, overcome, and live fuels my movements. I duck down and run for cover on the other side of the Stryker parked behind me, while thoughts of Beaux commingled with frantic panic fill my head.

The need to find her consumes me. An eerie silence falls over the village, dust particles dancing in the air, and my ears ring. My heart pounds in my ears and my blood feels like it’s mixed with jet fuel as it races through my body, causing my hands to shake, muscles to vibrate with fear-laced adrenaline.

Beaux.

I need to get to her.

She’s my only thought, my only motivation. It feels like minutes, but it’s probably only a few seconds of silence before I start to leave the cover of the vehicle to go and find her. As I step around the rear of the personnel carrier, I’m yanked backward by my vest and pushed through the open back doors of the Stryker at the same time the air around us erupts with more gunfire.

I scramble to get up and scurry back off, but Sarge is in my face, guys piling in around us. “Rosco’s got her,” he shouts, pushing me farther into the transport to make room.

And yeah, I believe him, but at the same time it’s pure chaos out there. How do I know that Rosco really has her? How do I know she’s not hurt and injured? My mind screams at me to shove the soldiers out of the way, get to her somehow, whatever it takes to make sure that she’s okay. Before the doors are even shut, though, the Stryker is on the move, and my chance is gone.

I strain to hear Sarge on the radio. The words unstable, insurgents, too open, are being shouted, and with each bump over the rough terrain, the doubt lodges further into my psyche about whether Beaux is really okay. But I’ve got no way to interrupt him, to ask him to call Rosco and make sure he has her. Sarge is in charge of getting his unit of men to safety, and right now he’s got no spare attention to pay to a reporter who signed on for the risk.

Each jar, each bump, and each mile stretches into what feels like an eternity as my mind races and my cell phone shows no signal, its eerie silence making me want to stomp it beneath my boots in frustration. My watch is not my friend either because each minute that ticks past, each mile that we put between us and the village, is more time and space from wherever the f*ck Beaux is with her curiosity to take more damn pictures.