First to Burn Read Free Page A

into thirds lengthwise and draped it over her forearm.
    Her roommate looked at the white fabric, then at her face. “So why are you stalling?”
    “I know Chris, but the others...” Faded Cyrillic graffiti climbed the walls above the cheap mirrors that multiplied the dozen men lifting in the corner. Her first week at Caddie, a nurse had told her the Russian translated to “Trust your mother, shoot the rest,” which fit the men surrounding Chris. Despite superficial differences in skin color and hair, they shared identically serious expressions. These men didn’t trash-talk while they cranked out push-ups and pull-ups, and they were the only men who didn’t stare when the Wonder Twins—two postal clerks from a Florida reserve unit rumored to be professional football cheerleaders in civilian life—did lunges. Their focus insulated them from the gym cacophony.
    “Forget it.” Jennifer broke into her thoughts. “Their super secret special ops voodoo isn’t going to crack for you. What’s a little missing paperwork?”
    “They can’t flout the rules any more than anyone else.” Regardless of her stepfamily’s choices, she’d always believed rules, like laws, should be obeyed. Entering the army had reinforced and rewarded that belief. She squared her shoulders and tossed her towel at Jen.
    Her workout partner caught and twirled it. “Sure you won’t need a white flag?”
    “Not a chance.” White flags were for bandages, not her. She wasn’t a quitter, and she hadn’t given up on anything since the day she’d joined Army ROTC and paid for Princeton without one cent of her stepfather’s dirty money. After two years of her returning the envelopes of cash Carl and her mother left in her dorm, her family had accepted that she was going to make it on her own, completely legit. She could do this, easy as taking blood pressure.
    Jennifer touched two fingers to her eyebrow in a mock salute. “I’ll be here when you scurry home.”
    Interrupting their training might be a faux pas, like pushing aside a curtain before a patient fully disrobed, but it wasn’t wrong. As she drew closer, she recognized a soldier she’d examined for concussion and temporary hearing loss after an explosion. He hadn’t sneaked away with his paperwork. One man stood out, although she couldn’t pinpoint the reason. Leaner than the others but well-muscled, he wasn’t the shortest or the tallest. His dark blond hair almost curled on his neck, but the SF guys always pushed the army’s grooming standards, often growing beards to blend with the Afghans.
    When he returned her scrutiny across fifteen feet of empty mat, she understood why she’d noticed him. His eyes. Their blue depths carried burdens she could see from here. He appeared to be younger than her, but his stare spoke of losses no one should bear. She thought of the faces she’d seen during her residency ICU rotation, the expressions in the eyes of parents holding a dying child or the man kissing his wife as her ventilator was removed.
    She bit her lip against the need to offer him a comforting touch. She had another purpose.
    “Hey, Doc.” Chris recovered from his sit-ups and jumped to his feet, wiping his palms on a towel. “What’s up?” The captain’s smile shined with Midwestern sun.
    “I want to locate some forms for a soldier on your team.” She took a deep breath and focused on Chris, ignoring the man with the devastated eyes and the others who crowded the mats. “A sergeant who was injured.”
    “Sergeant Jackson? He’s great. Your people treated him well.”
    “Not Sergeant Jackson.” She shook her head without looking away.
    Although his smile barely shifted, Chris’s welcome face closed with a nearly audible slam. None of his men moved. The packed mass didn’t even seem to breathe.
    “Nobody else was hurt this week.” He lifted his towel to wipe his forehead as if nothing mattered, but veins popped in his neck. He wasn’t as relaxed as he