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Ma’am. I need to see her. I’m Colonel—”
    The guard dog in the starched white nurse’s uniform reared up and said with a barely suppressed sneer, “Family is the only rank that cuts it here, soldier.”
    Turning on her heels, the stocky tyrant marched into the treatment room, closing the door firmly behind her.
    Brady stepped back, stunned that the low animal growl he heard came from him.
    To keep from storming into the treatment room, he forced himself to look for the cafeteria. It was a mistake. He waited in line for what seemed an interminable amount of time while the non-coms in front of him debated between chocolate or lemon pie. For God’s sake he wanted to shout, ‘Don’t you idiots know that both pies come from Jello boxes? Decide, dammit!”
    Growling impatiently, he threw up his hands, deciding the last thing he needed was caffeine. Marching out of the busy cafeteria, he heard the damnable Christmas music, only in this song some fucker was mounting a helpless reindeer or something to that effect. Glad that his Sig was safely ensconced in his ankle sheathe, he double-timed it upstairs. Foregoing the elevator, he took the steps three at a time.
    To his horror, he saw Marty and his aide, standing in the hallway outside of the treatment room.
    He tried to swallow, but the spit had long since fled his mouth. Instead he croaked, “Is something wrong, Marty? Dammit, is Tiffany okay?”
    A giant claw gripped his chest when his friend frowned and shook his head.
    “Sorry, Brady. But she insisted on being discharged. Said she’d leave against doctor’s orders if she had to. But—”
    “What?!” Brady virtually screamed. “What the hell, Marty? You let her go? Let her what? Just mosey her little butt out of a hospital bed and trot out of here?”
    Brady didn’t know when he had been more upset.
    Col. Marion grimaced. “Obviously you don’t know Tiffany, Brady. No one tells her what she can and can’t do.”
    Brady’s voice was harsher than he intended but the anger roiling his gut made it impossible to speak in a civil tone.
    “And, Marty, I don’t know you as well as I thought I did if you’d let an injured soldier just sashay out of the hospital…”
    Marty put up his hand. “Brady I didn’t have a choice. She gave me none. When the attending physician okayed it, I had no recourse. He gave her some damn pain pills and told her to get lots of rest. Hell, she wouldn’t even let me drive her home. Insisted that she take a cab.”
    Brady was shaking with fury. His voice dropped to a dangerous level.
    “What’s her address?”
    Marty sighed. “I can’t tell you that, Brady.”
    Brady’s voice was coated in silk. “You don’t know where your lead undercover agent lives, Colonel?”
    Marty waved an impatient hand. “Of course I do. But Tiffany gave me specific instructions. She doesn’t want anyone to know where she lives. She insisted. She wants to be alone.”
    The older man hesitated, and brushed a weary hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry, Brady, damned sorry. But, man, that order includes you.”
    ~~~
    Tiffany grimaced at her reflection in the full length mirror. Amazing that even when you felt like crap, you could still look good. Must be her genes. The last thing she wanted to do was go to the annual Christmas party, but Col. Marion was adamant. He’d damn well ordered her to make an appearance. He’d said that three days off work was more than enough. He taunted her. Said that, since she insisted her injuries were minor, there was no reason she couldn’t come to work. And he reminded her that the annual Christmas party at the officer’s club was a command performance. The only good thing about it was that in Korea you didn’t have to wear dress blues.
    Though she rarely admitted it, Tiffany was a bit of a clothes horse. Even as a little girl, she’d loved to dress up. She was still annoyed that her gorgeous silver dress was ruined. The Korean drycleaners had tskd, and said there