Читать книгу Caught In The Crosshairs - Elisabeth Rees - Страница 13
ОглавлениеThe men stood together on the veranda, looking each other in the eye.
Dean gave a small nod of the head to Gomez, who nodded silently in reply. He mouthed the words on three and counted Gomez in with his fingers.
Dean leaped from the deck onto the wet, soggy ground.
“STOP! Hands in the air.”
He aimed his gun at the dark shape hiding in the shadows of the car. It darted away, moving quicker than Dean thought possible. He looked over to Gomez, who was shaking his head in disbelief.
Both men gave chase, hurtling through the bracken behind the cabin, heading for the fields beyond. The black shadow scrambled over the fence and disappeared into the long grass. Dean followed the movement of the reeds and concentrated on the sound of rustling to follow its path.
“There,” he shouted, springing over the fence and snaking through the foliage. Blades of wet grass whipped at his body, soaking him through.
They both moved like thieves in the night, wordlessly weaving through the field, tracking the sound and movement of their target. This guy was not going to get away.
Suddenly, to Dean’s amazement, a huge, dark silhouette loomed from the grass sending a low, guttural growl in their direction. Gomez staggered backward and fell on his behind as the bear reared up.
“Stay where you are, Gomez,” Dean said in a voice that was as quiet as he could manage. “Whatever you do, don’t move.”
The bear dropped to all four legs and stood before them, its eyes glinting in the darkness. Low rumbling noises emanated from huge jaws. Dean raised his weapon.
“Go on now,” he said in a whisper. “We don’t want any trouble with you.”
The bear reared up again, sending another growl slicing through the air. Dean lifted his gun to the sky and fired a shot. It echoed through the night, reverberating for miles around. The bear dropped to his feet and fled. Dean saw its rough black fur shaking in the moonlight as it ran. In just a few seconds, it was gone. He turned to Gomez, offering him his hand. Gomez gripped it and Dean hauled him to his feet, laughing.
“Gee, that was a close call,” Gomez said, clicking the safety on his gun.
Both men began to walk back to the cabin. Dean’s face took on a serious look. “Let’s hope no one reports it. We don’t want anyone sniffing around, especially the police.”
“I guess we gotta make sure we’re more secure from now on,” said Gomez, pointing to the wide-open gate in the distance. “That bear just walked right in.”
They walked to the fence, and Dean closed the gate, making sure it firmly clicked into its latch.
“Do bears know how to open gates?” Gomez asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I don’t think so,” said Dean, squatting down and inspecting the flat patch of grassland in front of the cabin. “One thing’s for sure, though. Bears don’t wear shoes.”
He examined the muddy ground, where boot prints were clearly visible, dotted all along the edge of the fence, like someone had been hiding under cover of the trees.
“Someone has been here,” he said, feeling his heart begin to thud in his chest. He thought of Cara Hanson inside the cabin, weakened from anaphylaxis, totally dependent on his ability to provide a secure environment where she could recover. “Gomez, stand guard while I go fetch a lock and chain. Shoot on sight if you face hostile action from anyone or anything.”
“Yes, sir.”
* * *
Cara sipped her coffee at the breakfast table. She was still seething from the indignation of being locked in her room like a naughty child while Dean and Gomez dealt with the threat outside. How could she protect them from harm inside a locked room? She couldn’t even bring herself to look Dean in the eye, lest she reignite the smoldering embers of their argument the previous day.
She felt physically stronger and more like her old self, although she desperately needed a change of clothes. She had worn the same stretch pants and T-shirt for the last two days. Dean had a full closet to cater for himself and Gomez but, of course, nothing fit her and she didn’t want to highlight the differences between them by drawing attention to her need for another set of clothes. She would probably just have to make do.
Dean entered the kitchen. He had shaved. His face was smooth and she saw that his chin had a cleft right in the center. She’d never noticed it before. Despite her resentment toward him, she couldn’t help but admit that his face was undeniably handsome with the kind of square jawline that made women look twice. She wondered if he had someone special waiting for him at home. A man this abrasive and uncompromising surely needed the presence of a woman to soothe his tortured mind.
“Good morning, Hanson,” he said, sitting at the end of the table.
She said nothing.
“Ah, I’m getting the silent treatment, am I?” He poured himself a coffee. “I guessed I might, especially after our disagreement yesterday.”
“I could have helped out there,” she said, keeping her eyes fixed on the table. “I’ve encountered more bears than you could imagine. I would’ve known exactly what to do.”
“I’m sure you would, Hanson,” he said. “But I couldn’t let you face any danger. I saw how much your hands shook yesterday. You were in no shape to handle a gun. It’s not just your safety on the line out there, it’s mine, as well, and I need you to be strong before you pick up your rifle again. I won’t apologize for making the right call.”
She let her head drop. He was right! Her hands had been shaking badly these last couple of days. She brought her hand up and held it in the air. It was reasonably steady, with just a hint of a tremble.
He leaned over to her. “Part of being a good soldier is knowing when to admit you’re weak. You can’t be strong all the time, so don’t try to be.”
She looked up into his face, momentarily dumbfounded by the way he’d just summed her up in a few words. She’d strived, for seven years, to be strong all the time, for her shot to be the truest, straightest and cleanest. It was the only control she had.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “I admit that I may not have been ready to pick up my rifle again, but I’m better now.”
He looked at her without speaking. She gripped her coffee cup tightly to control any tremor.
“I think we may have got off to a bit of a rocky start,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve taken on board what you said to me last night, and I understand why you feel so passionately about proving yourself on this mission.”
Her head jerked up. “You do?”
“Of course,” he said knowingly. “Women in the military must have a tough time being accepted among their male counterparts. You probably feel like you have a lot to prove.”
She nodded. “Yes, sir.” He knew just the half of it.
He brought his chair a little closer. “But I am in command of this mission and I make the decisions. I know it may be hard for you to accept but I only have your best interests at heart.”
She stared at him without blinking, realizing exactly what he meant. “You mean you want to protect me?”
She saw his chest rise and fall quickly. “Yes, Hanson, I do want to protect you.”
“And I want to protect you,” she said, allowing the words to hang in the air for a while before adding, “I need to make sure that you don’t walk into danger. I can keep you safe.”
He looked taken aback as he nodded slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re a superb sniper, Sergeant, there’s no doubt about that. But you need to know when to take a step back. You won’t always be strong enough to protect those around you.”
She swallowed hard. His words cut open old wounds that she hoped were healing. She was strong. She had to be.
“I haven’t failed so far,” she said defiantly. “I’ve never missed a target since joining the military. Ever.”
“But you will,” he said quietly, as if trying to lessen the impact of this harsh reality. “Eventually, we all miss something.”
He looked into her face, holding eye contact for what seemed like an eternity. She stared back, feeling the unwelcome connection between them take a tighter hold. He seemed to know the inner secrets of her heart—the fears that she’d voiced to no one.
“Not me,” she said, breaking her gaze away. “I won’t miss again.”
He opened his eyes wide. “Again?”
She shook her head vigorously. “I mean I won’t miss a shot,” she garbled, flustered. She gritted her teeth, angry with herself for revealing too much.
“Is there something you want to get off your chest, Hanson?” Dean said, leaning toward her.
“No,” she said quickly, recovering her composure. She felt crowded. She pushed her chair back, away from his probing eyes.
She breathed deeply, reminding herself that she wasn’t eighteen years old anymore, watching a huntsman lining up a shot on a deer. She wasn’t on the hilltop, fumbling with her rifle, panicking as she took in the horror unfolding before her eyes. She wasn’t still watching her father die from a single shot to the heart. She was here, as an elite sharpshooter, saving lives. She’d moved on.
She realized that Dean’s hand had inched closer to hers on the table. His fingers were perilously close to touching hers, and she slid her hand from the table back into her lap.
“I can protect you, sir,” she said. “I need to know that you’ll give me a chance.”
“I’ll try, Hanson,” he said, clenching his fingers into a ball. “But if we face any serious danger, I’ll be the one standing on the front line. That’s where I belong.”
“It’s where I belong, too,” she said. “That’s why you chose me for this mission, isn’t it?”
“I chose you for this mission because it was a one-off job requiring your expert skills. I never anticipated it would get this complicated.”
She felt her heart drop into her stomach. “Do you regret giving me the assignment?”
He said nothing. She looked away, clenching her teeth and pushing her hair behind her ears. It was obvious Dean didn’t accept her as a front-line protector and she knew she couldn’t change his mind. Not yet, anyway.
“You completed your mission flawlessly,” he said finally. “Your skill saved me from an enemy sniper, and I want you to know how thankful I am. But I worry about what will happen from here on. We don’t know what danger is waiting for us out there, and you’re vulnerable to all kinds of attack.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she said with conviction. “I can take care of myself.”
His eyes flicked quickly over her slender frame and she watched him assessing her, no doubt wondering how she would defend herself against an assailant. She knew she was small and, physically, not powerful, but these things didn’t matter to her. Sheer brute force was not a strength she coveted. A gun and a cool head were enough for her.
“You’ll need a handgun in order to take care of yourself,” he said. “Your rifle won’t be suitable for close combat.”
She nodded. She’d only ever experienced warfare from a distance—hidden away, safe and secure in the knowledge that she was invisible. The thought of facing the enemy at close quarters sent a cold shiver through her but she was determined not to show it. She knew she could handle it just as well as Dean.
“I keep a small store of handguns locked up in the basement,” he said. “We should go find one that’s suitable for you.” He looked at her earnestly, betraying his fears for her. “I hope to God that you never need to use it but it’s important we’re prepared for every eventuality.”
He rose from his seat, and she followed him to a locked door in the hallway that he opened with a key from his pocket. He flipped the light switch, and the bulb popped in the darkness. He clicked his tongue and extended his palm. “Take my hand,” he said. “I’ll lead you down the stairs until I can switch on the lamp at the bottom.”
She took his hand and he gripped it tight, sending a jolt coursing through her. His fingers were warm and firm, and she couldn’t help but feel reassured by his strong presence guiding her through the dark. Even when she was angry with him, she felt close to him, sensing that he was willing to bear the brunt of her fury with quiet acceptance.
He kept a firm grip until they reached the last step, and he was able to switch on a small, yellow light, casting a dingy glow in the windowless basement. He unlocked a steel-gray cabinet in the corner and took out two handguns.
“Let’s try these for size,” he said, handing a Glock 17 to her.
She took the gun from him and aimed at a spot on the wall, assessing the weapon’s size and weight. She became aware of Dean’s body behind her, his arms reaching around her torso, cupping his hands over hers and bringing his face to rest just to the side of her head. She caught her breath as goose bumps appeared on her skin.
“It’s important that your grip feels natural,” he whispered in her ear. “Not too heavy, not too large for your fingers. It should sit in your hands like it’s meant to be there.”
She watched his hands completely envelop hers until they were almost invisible beneath his thick fingers. She felt smothered by him and pushed against his bulk. He stepped back, and she turned to face him.
“I have fired a gun before,” she said incredulously. “This one feels perfect.”
He put his hands in the air. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to tread on your toes.”
She found herself smiling. “By the time we’re done on this mission, I suspect my toes will be bruised beyond recognition.”
He laughed and leaned toward her face. “If that’s the case, Sergeant Hanson, I’ll be forced to carry you everywhere.”
“Never,” she said strongly, turning to help herself to ammunition from the cabinet. “I’d rather hobble.”
Their laughter bounced off the walls in the dimly lit basement. She saw a sudden playfulness in his character, and she quickly felt the need to stop their closeness creeping further. She concentrated on her weapon, fixing a holster around her waist.
“Sir,” she said. “There’s something else I need.”
“You got it.”
She cast her eyes over her pants and T-shirt. “I can’t wear these clothes every day.”
“Of course,” he said, shaking his head. “I hadn’t realized. I’ll take a trip to the nearest town and buy what you need.”
“Can’t I come with you?” she asked.
He rubbed his face. “I’d rather you stayed with Sergeant Gomez. It’s safer.”
She put her hand on her holster. “I can look after myself.”
He looked at her and she stared back.
He bit his lip. “All right, we leave in five minutes.”
* * *
Dean started up the rusty, old truck and drove out onto the narrow, winding lane, checking each direction thoroughly, before deciding it was safe. Cara was sitting in the seat beside him, wearing an old overcoat of his that swamped her petite frame. Her slim wrists poked out of the sleeves, rolled up several times. The truck rattled and bounced along the lane, heading for the busy highway in the distance.
He glanced over at her. Even in that old overcoat she possessed a beauty that floored him. He often had to stop himself from staring at her, studying the way her face rose and fell with emotions that she struggled to conceal. He’d caught Gomez gazing at her a couple of times but he’d brushed it off as “research” into his suspicions about her.
“Is there anyone you need to call?” he asked. “Anyone who’d be worried about you?”
“No,” she answered quickly. “There’s just my mom, but she’s on vacation in Florida.” She looked down in her lap before adding, “There’s no one else.”
“No one important in your life?” he asked, choosing his words carefully.
She turned her body to face his. “If you’re talking about a boyfriend then the answer is no. My job isn’t really compatible with dating.” She looked into the distance. “I scare most men off.”
He gave a small smile and nodded. “Strong women can sometimes scare a man.”
She straightened her back. “Do I scare you?”
His lips curled into a playful smile. “Sometimes, yeah.” It was a truthful answer. She did scare him but not in the way she imagined.
“Good,” she said. “Then I must be doing something right.”
He shook his head, laughing. “Gantry was right. You really are one tough cookie.”
“Colonel Gantry was the person who recruited me into sniper school at Fort Bliss,” she said, relaxing back in her seat. “If anyone knows me, it’s Carter Gantry.”
Dean decided not to mention that it was Colonel Gantry who persuaded him to take Cara into his team. He just couldn’t shake his concerns about her suitability and had decided to recruit another sniper in her place. Colonel Gantry had insisted that Dean give her a chance. He’d followed the colonel’s advice, despite it going against every instinct in his body.
“Gantry obviously sees something special in you,” Dean said, remembering her amazing display in the Colorado Mountains. “He knows how hard you’ve worked to get where you are.”
“When you put your mind to something, you can achieve anything,” she said.
He glanced over at her. Her face shone with an expression he hadn’t seen before. It intrigued him.
“I never met a woman like you before,” he said, turning onto the highway, pressing the gas pedal hard to keep up with the fast-moving traffic. “You seem so...” He struggled to find the right words.
“...challenging?” she suggested.
He smiled. “I was going to say fearless.”
“I guess you haven’t met many different types of women, then,” she said. “There are plenty of us fearless types in the military.”
He mentally ran through the list of females in his life. It was a pitifully small number, mostly the wives of fellow soldiers, women he admired and respected, women he was fighting for. He thought of his mom and sister. They were good, strong women—survivors. But they’d needed his strength to save them. They couldn’t have faced the terror of his father alone. They would certainly never have thought that they were capable of protecting him.
“I guess you’re right, Hanson,” he admitted. “I haven’t met many different types of women.” He stopped himself from adding that he hadn’t actually met many women at all.
“What about you?” she asked suddenly, seeming to want to turn the spotlight on him. “Is there anyone in your life?”
He cracked his knuckles as he gripped the steering wheel tight. “My life is in Special Forces. Needless to say, I don’t get out much.”
“Maybe Gomez isn’t the only lone wolf.”
He forced a laugh. “I think we’re all lone wolves in Special Forces. We’ve all got something driving us forward, pushing us to win every battle.”
“What drives you?”
He glanced over at her. She looked expectantly at him, interested in his response. He began to feel uncomfortable and wished he’d chosen a different topic of conversation. He didn’t want her probing into his personal life, trying to figure out what makes him tick.
“De oppresso liber,” he said finally.
She looked quizzically at him.
“It’s the Special Forces motto,” he explained. “To liberate the oppressed. Freeing people from tyranny and despair is what drives me forward. It makes it all worthwhile.”
He’d already experienced enough tyranny in his own life to know how suffocating it was, how it took hold of your life and sucked it dry. He was determined not to let it happen in any walk of life, just as he’d been determined to stop it happening in his own family. A bully was a bully, whatever language he spoke, and he would never stand by and watch the needy and vulnerable be beaten and broken.
“It’s your own personal mission, huh?” she said, cutting a little too close to the bone for his liking.
He winced. “You could say that.”
He felt her watching him closely as she spoke. “You ever thought you might want to settle down someday?”
He widened his eyes in surprise at the boldness of the question. This was definitely stepping outside his comfort zone.
“Like I said,” he answered, keeping his eyes fixed on the road, “my life is in Special Forces.”
She could read into that what she liked. She’d probed deep enough.
“While we’re on the subject,” he said, shifting in his seat, “is there a white picket fence in your future?”
“I doubt it,” she said with a shrug. “I’m not the settling-down type. There aren’t many men who’d accept me as a wife.”
He raised his eyebrows. Was she kidding? He could think of a whole bunch of men who’d be glad to have her by their side. Not him, though. She and he were totally incompatible. That much was obvious.
“I’m sure there’s some guy for you out there, Hanson,” he said. “He’ll find you.”
“Yeah,” she said, looking out the window. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard her mutter under her breath, “If he looks hard enough.”
They drove in silence until he pulled into a small mall and parked in front of a store that read Darleen’s Fashions.
Dean stepped out of the truck and went to open her door for her. He stopped himself, deciding to wait for her to join him, instead. The more distance he kept from her, the less chance there was of him treading on her toes.
* * *
Dean punched in a number at a pay phone. He knew he had to be careful, as this would be a nonsecure line, and he didn’t want to advertise their presence to any unfriendly ears. Cara’s shopping trip had already made him jumpy. He didn’t like her being so visible in a public place, but, thankfully, she had known exactly what items she wanted and purchased them quickly. It came as no surprise to see that all her choices were functional and practical—exactly like her.
The receiver on the other end was snatched up on the first ring.
“Gantry here.”
“Carter, it’s Dean.”
“Dean! Where are you?”
“I’d rather not say right now.”
“We found your jeep. There was blood on a seat. Are you all safe?”
Dean was silent for a moment. “The blood is Hanson’s but she’s okay. Just scratches.”
“What about Gomez and Hicks?”
Dean swallowed hard. “Hicks is gone. He took the full force of the explosion.”
Colonel Gantry exhaled loudly. “We haven’t totally cleared the bomb site yet. The media are all over us, wanting the full story. I’m sorry, Dean. I never knew this would happen.”
Dean leaned against the pay-phone wall. “Make sure his family is looked after. Give them anything they need.”
“I promise we’ll do that, Dean. We really need to piece together what happened out there. You have to come back to base so you can debrief us. I can’t say much on the phone, you know that. We need to talk in person.”
“Carter, someone set us up. I don’t know who, or what, is safe anymore.”
“We know it was a setup. They were prepared, ready for you.” Gantry took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to have to break this news to you, Dean, but intelligence suggests that you are the UFA’s next target. You need round-the-clock protection.”
Dean felt himself reeling in shock. “You know this for sure?”
“Yes, we know for sure.”
He rested his forehead on the wall, letting the news sink in. He was the next target. He and Chris, once the best of friends had now turned bitter enemies, locked in a battle to the death.
He straightened up. “Can you guarantee that Fort Carson can provide total security?” He knew the answer to this question even as the words left his mouth. His base in Colorado Springs was well defended from outside attack, but the real danger was likely to be on the inside.
“You’ll be a lot safer at Fort Carson than taking your chances alone,” Gantry replied. “Wherever you are, you’re vulnerable to another sniper attack.”
Dean’s senses sprang to attention. “How do you know about the sniper? No one from Red Team has debriefed you yet.”
Silence.
“Goodbye, Carter.” Dean placed the receiver firmly back in its cradle. Turning back toward the truck, he saw Cara’s eyes trained on him as he stood on the sidewalk. He knew that her hand was resting on the Glock pistol, already loaded, on the seat beside her. This situation just got a whole lot messier than he ever anticipated. And Cara Hanson was caught in the crosshairs.
