Читать книгу Six Minutes To Midnight - Elle James - Страница 9

“Four days and a wakeup,” Trace McGuire, T-Mac to his friends, said as he sat across the table in the chow hall on Camp Lemonnier. They’d returned from their last mission in Niger with news they were scheduled to redeploy back to the States.

He glanced around the table at his friends. When they were deployed, they spent practically every waking hour together. In the past, being stateside was about the same. They’d go to work, train, get briefed, work out and then go back to their apartments. Most of the time, they’d end up at one of the team members’ places to watch football, cook out or just lounge around and shoot the crap with each other. They were like family and never seemed to get tired of each other’s company.

T-Mac suspected all that was about to change. All of his closest SEAL buddies had women in their lives now. All except him. Suddenly, going back to Virginia wasn’t quite as appealing as it had been in the past. T-Mac sighed and drank his lukewarm coffee.

“I can’t wait to see Reese.” Diesel tapped a finger against the rim of his coffee cup. “I promised to take her on a real date when I get back to civilization.”

“What? You’re not going to take her swinging through the jungle, communing with the gorillas?” Buck teased.

Petty Officer Dalton Samuel Landon, otherwise known as Diesel, shook his head. “Nope. Been there, done that. I think I’ll take her to a restaurant where we don’t have to forage for food. Then maybe we’ll go out to a nightclub.” He tipped his head to the side. “I wonder if she likes to dance.”

“You mean you don’t know?” Big Jake Schuler, the tallest man on the team, rolled his eyes. “I would have thought that in the time you two spent traipsing along the Congo River, you would know everything there was to know about each other.”

Diesel frowned. “I know what’s important. She’s not fragile, she can climb a tree when she needs to, she doesn’t fall apart when someone’s shooting at her and she can kiss like nobody’s business.” Diesel shrugged. “In fact, I’m looking forward to learning more. She’s amazing. How many female bodyguards do you know?”

Big Jake held up his hands in surrender. “You got me there. None.”

“I can’t wait to see Angela.” Corpsman Graham “Buck” Buckner, the team medic, smiled. “She’s interviewing for positions around Little Creek.”

“With her doctor credentials, and the work she did with Doctors Without Borders, she’s sure to get on pretty quickly,” Big Jake said. “If not one of the military hospitals, there are lots of civilian hospitals and clinics in the area.”

Buck nodded. “I can’t believe after all these years, she’d want to be close to me.” He smiled. “I’m one lucky guy.”

“Yeah, and maybe she’ll talk you into going back to school to finish your medical degree.” Built solid like a tank, Percy Taylor had the tenacity of a pit bull, thus his nickname, Pitbull. He gave Buck a chin lift. “You’d make a good doc.”

“What?” Buck spread his arms wide. “And give up all this?”

T-Mac chuckled. “I know. It’s hard to believe anyone would want to stop being on call at all hours of the day and night, deploying to some of the worst hellholes on the planet and not getting back to see your family for months on end. Who would want to give up all that?”

“Hey, are we getting cynical in our old age?” Harmon Payne clapped a hand on T-Mac’s back. “We’re the ones who are going to suffer. We all have women to come home to now.”

“All except T-Mac,” Buck pointed out. “Maybe we should fix him up with someone? You think one of our women knows someone who could put up with his being a computer nerd and all?”

T-Mac shook his head. “I don’t need help getting a date, thank you very much.”

“I’ll bet Reese has met some pretty hot chicks in the DC area through her work as a bodyguard,” Diesel said. “Or maybe she still has some connections in the mixed-martial-arts community. One of those women are bound to be able to stand toe-to-toe with our guy.”

“Seriously.” T-Mac pushed to his feet. “I don’t need a woman in my life. You all know how hard our lives are without relationships. I’m surprised all you self-confirmed bachelors broke the cardinal rule.”

Pitbull stabbed the mystery meat on his tray with his fork and held it in the air, inspecting it with a frown. “What cardinal rule?”

T-Mac pounded his fist on the table. “Don’t get into a permanent relationship as long as you’re a full-time SEAL.”

“Nope.” Harm’s eyes narrowed and his lips twisted. “I don’t remember that line in the BUD/S training manual.”

“Before we came to Africa,” T-Mac reminded them, “we were drinking beer and talking about how we didn’t have wives and kids—”

“Ha!” Pitbull held up a finger. “We were drinking beer. That’s where we got off track.”

Swallowing his irritation, T-Mac continued. “We all agreed that relationships were doomed to failure as long as we were doing the jobs we do. No woman will be satisfied being on a part-time status, what with us shipping out as often as we do to fight some battle nobody else wants.”

“Then I found Marly,” Pitbull said. “She can stand on her own two feet. And we get along pretty well.” He smiled, his rugged face softening. “She’s even getting me to like flying in crop dusters. And she’s found a charter company in Virginia that wants her to pilot for them. She won’t be waiting around for me to come home. Hell, we’ll be lucky to be home at the same time.”

“Exactly,” T-Mac said. “And how’s that going to work for you? You won’t see each other.”

Pitbull frowned. “We’ll find time.” His frown turned upside down. “And when we do...yup.” He nodded. “We’ll find time. I’m not ready to give up on her, and I don’t think she’ll give up on me.”

“The point you’re missing, T-Mac, is that we found women who can stand on their own,” Harm said. “They don’t need us any more than we need them. We want to be together. And that makes all the difference.”

“Uh-huh.” T-Mac knew they wouldn’t listen. His five friends were so besotted by their women, they couldn’t see past the rose-colored glasses to reality. He might as well save his breath.

“Guys.” Buck stared around the table at everyone but T-Mac and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “We’ve got to get T-Mac laid. He’s strung way too tight. He’s likely to blow a gasket soon.”

“What’s the use?” T-Mac pushed to his feet. “We’re headed home in four days. Let’s not screw anything up between now and then.”

“What could possibly go wrong?” Buck asked with a grin and then ducked as everyone else threw their napkins and food at him.

Pitbull snorted. “Thanks for jinxing us, dirtbag.”

“You guys can hang around talking about your women you’ll rarely see. I’m going for a run.” T-Mac walked out of the chow hall to the laughter of his friends.

“Gotta get him a girl,” Buck said.

As T-Mac rounded the corner of one of the stacks of shipping containers that had been outfitted to become sleeping quarters, a hard object landed at his feet.

He jumped back, his heart racing, his first thought Grenade! Then a hair missile barreled toward him, all four legs moving like a blur.

T-Mac braced himself for impact.

The black-faced, sable German shepherd skidded to a stop, pushing up a cloud of dust in the process. He grabbed the object in his teeth and raced back the way he’d come.

“Agar, heel!” a female voice commanded.

The animal stopped immediately at the female soldier’s side, dropped the hard rubber object on the ground and stared up at the woman as if eagerly awaiting the next command.

“Good dog.” She patted him on the head and then glanced up. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were there until after I’d thrown his KONG.” Her hand continued to stroke the dog’s head.

T-Mac stared at the woman, who was wearing camouflage pants, boots and a desert-tan T-shirt. Her hair was pulled back in a bun that had long since lost its shape. Coppery red strands danced in the breeze. She returned his stare with a direct green-eyed gaze. “If you’re afraid of Agar, I’ll hold him while you pass.” She cocked an auburn eyebrow.

“What?” T-Mac shook his head. “I’m not afraid of the dog. Just startled.”

“Then don’t let us keep you.” She snapped the lead on the dog’s collar and straightened.

Curiosity made T-Mac ask, “You’re new at Camp Lemonnier?”

She shrugged. “I’ve been here a week, if you consider that new.”

He laughed. “I do. And I just got back to camp, or I’m sure I’d have seen you.” There weren’t too many good-looking redheaded females in the world, much less in Djibouti. “Hi, I’m Petty Officer Trace McGuire. My friends call me T-Mac.” He took a step forward, slowly so as not to alert the dog, and held out his hand.

She clasped it in a firm grip. “Specialist Kinsley Anderson.” She glanced down at the dog. “And this is Sergeant Agar.”

T-Mac dropped to one knee in front of the German shepherd and held out his hand.

Agar placed a paw in his palm.

With a chuckle, T-Mac shook the dog’s paw and then stood. “He’s very well trained. What’s his mission?”

“Bomb sniffing.”

“Bomb sniffing?” T-Mac glanced again at the woman. He hadn’t really thought about females on the front line. But with the army graduating females from Ranger School, it was a natural progression.

“Well, I hope you don’t have to put that skill to use anytime soon.”

Her eyes narrowed and she lifted her chin. “We came here to do a job. I’m not afraid.”

Having seen his share of action and lost members of his team to gunfire and explosions, T-Mac didn’t wish any of it on anyone. But a person had to live through the horrors of war to truly understand how terrible it was. He couldn’t begin to explain it to the shiny new specialist who’d probably never been shot at or stood next to a man who’d been blown away by an IED.

And he had no business chatting up a female soldier when fraternization was strictly forbidden on deployment. Especially since it could lead to nothing and he and his team would be shipping out in four sleeps and a wakeup. “Well, it was nice to meet you.”

“Same,” she said, then grabbed the KONG and took off with Agar in the opposite direction.

As T-Mac continued on toward his quarters, he couldn’t help sighing. He’d never considered dating a redhead, but something about Specialist Anderson made him reconsider. Perhaps it was the way her coppery hair seemed out of control, or the light dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Or maybe it was the way she absently, or automatically, stroked the dog’s head, showing it affection without having to think about it. Either way, she was off-limits and he was leaving. Once again he reminded himself, Don’t get involved.

KINSLEY HURRIED PAST the navy guy. She’d spent the past two hours working with Agar, keeping his skills fresh and helping him burn off energy. Now it was her turn.

Though she’d been in the country for a week, she and Agar had been tasked only with inspecting vehicles entering Camp Lemonnier. Thankfully, they hadn’t found any carrying explosives. Training sessions were a must, or Agar might forget what he was looking for and Kinsley might not pick up on the behavior Agar displayed when he sensed he’d found something.

Meanwhile, her male counterpart had gone out on missions with the Special Operations Forces into more hostile environments, working ahead of the teams to clear their routes of IEDs.

Kinsley had signed on as a dog handler because she loved dogs and because she wanted to make a difference for her country and her brothers in arms.

Her heart contracted as she thought about one in particular. Cody, her best friend from high school, had been killed in Iraq when he’d stepped on a mine.

Kinsley wanted to keep other young military men and women from the same fate.

On her first deployment, she’d hoped to land in Afghanistan or Iraq. Instead she’d landed in Djibouti, a fairly stable environment but also a jumping-off point to other more volatile areas. She hoped that her being female wouldn’t keep them from mobilizing her to support missions outside the safety of the camp’s borders.

Kinsley reached her quarters, filled a bowl full of water for Agar and stripped out of her uniform pants and boots. While Agar greedily slurped the entire contents of the bowl, Kinsley slipped on her army-issue PT shorts and running shoes and switched her desert-tan T-shirt for her army PT shirt. After strapping her flourescent belt around her waist and pulling her hair back into a ponytail, she planted a black army ball cap on her head and stepped out the door, leash in hand.

She moved smartly, walking past the rows of shipping-container quarters and other buildings, working her way through the complex toward the open field designated for PT.

She passed the motor pool and offices set aside for contractors who were providing additional support and building projects for the camp.

A silver-haired man stood at the corner of one of the buildings, smoking a cigarette. He wore khaki slacks and a polo shirt, incongruous with the multitude of uniforms from all branches of the military.

As she approached, he smiled. “Good afternoon,” he said.

Not wanting to be rude, Kinsley slowed, though she’d rather speed by without engaging. “Hello.”

He stepped in front of her. “You’re new to the camp?”

“Yes, sir.” She frowned, her gaze running over his civilian clothing. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.” She held out her hand. “Specialist Anderson.”

“William Toland.” He reached out and shook her hand. “No, we haven’t met. I’d remember a woman and her dog.”

Kinsley’s hand automatically dropped to Agar’s head. “Sergeant Agar is a Military Working Dog.”

“I assumed he was.” The man reached out as if to pet the dog.

Agar’s lips pulled back in a snarl and he growled low in his chest.

Toland snatched back his hand. “Not very friendly?”

Kinsley stepped between Agar and Toland. “He wasn’t trained to be friendly. He’s trained to sniff out explosives, not to be petted by strangers.”

“Handy skill to have in a war.” Toland stepped back. “And message received.”

Kinsley nodded toward the construction crane at the far end of the camp. “Are you working with the contractors to build the new water towers?”

“I am,” Toland responded. “But please, don’t let me keep you from your exercise. I’m sure Sergeant Agar needs a good run to keep him in shape, too.” He waved his hand as if granting her passage.

All in all, Kinsley was irritated by the man’s arrogance in stepping in front of her in the first place. And even more convinced Agar was right to growl at the man. She’d learned to trust her dog’s judgment of character.

Toland hadn’t said or done anything too far out of the ordinary. Even so, Kinsley couldn’t put her finger on it, but she wasn’t sure she trusted the man. After all, why did a man stop a lone female soldier just to talk? Didn’t the contractors get the same briefing as the military personnel?

Don’t fraternize. Period.

As soon as she cleared the buildings, she shook off the prickly feeling at the back of her neck and quickened her pace into a slow, steady jog, with Agar easily keeping up at her side.

Running had never been a joy, but she did it to stay in shape for the semiannual fitness test and to be able to keep up with the physical demands of the job. She had to be in shape to walk long miles carrying a heavy rucksack. She might also be required to run into and out of bad situations. She expected Agar to be fit; she required nothing less of herself.

She ran along the track circling the containerized living units, staring at the stark desert beyond. She could glimpse a bit of the blue waters of the Gulf of Aden. No matter how hot, she preferred running outdoors than in the air-conditioned fitness center on the treadmills set up for residents of the camp. If Agar had to run in the heat, then she would do no less. The peace of the desert, with the wind off the water and the salty tang in the air, lulled her into a trance, nearly clearing her thoughts of the man Agar had come close to slamming into earlier.

Kinsley had to admit McGuire had appeal, unlike William Toland, who was perhaps old enough to be her father. Knowing McGuire was a SEAL made her all the more curious about the man. Anyone who had gone through BUD/S training had to be not only physically fit, but also mentally equipped to handle the most extreme environments and situations.

Based on the man’s broad shoulders pulling tautly at his uniform, he was fit. But she wasn’t sure about his mental fitness. For a long moment, he’d stared at her before actually opening his mouth. Perhaps he’d been hit once too often in the head and had suffered a brain injury.

At least that’s what Kinsley told herself. She preferred to come up with reasons she should stay away from the man rather than reasons to fall under his spell. She hadn’t joined the army to get married. And fraternization at Camp Lemonnier was strictly forbidden.

Footsteps sounded behind her, disturbing her not-so-peaceful escape.

She tightened her hold on Agar’s lead and moved to the outside of the dirt path, making room for the other runner.

Instead of passing her, the runner slowed to match her pace.

She frowned over at him, ready to tell him to move on, when she noticed it was him...Petty Officer McGuire, the navy SEAL who had been occupying entirely too many of her thoughts since she’d run into him minutes before.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked with a grin.

She shrugged and kept moving. “Can’t stop you.”

“All you have to say is shove off, and I’ll leave you alone,” he said. “Sometimes it’s nice to have a running buddy to fill the time.”

“I actually have one,” she said, and tipped her head toward Agar.

As if he could understand, Agar glanced up at her, his tongue lolling to the side.

“I see.” With a twist of his lips, McGuire gave a curt nod. “Then I’ll leave you two to your workout.” And he picked up his pace, leaving Kinsley behind.

For a moment, Agar strained at the leash, wanting to keep up with the jogger ahead.

Kinsley gave him a sharp command. “Heel.”

The German shepherd immediately fell in step with her, looking up at Kinsley and back to McGuire as if to tell her he could easily catch the man.

“I suppose I was rude,” Kinsley admitted to Agar.

Agar looked up at her words, his mouth open, tongue hanging out the side. He appeared to be smiling, when in fact he was only trying to keep cool in the incredible heat.

“It’s just as well. He has red hair. I make it a point not to get involved with men while I’m deployed. But even if we weren’t deployed, I couldn’t date the man. He has red hair. Our babies would all be doomed to red hair.” She shuddered. “I wouldn’t wish all of my children to that lot in life. Not if I have a choice.”

Her gaze followed the SEAL as he ran to one corner of the huge field, turned and kept running, his powerful thighs pushing him forward with ease.

Kinsley’s heart beat faster and her breathing became more labored as she watched the man’s tight buttocks and well-defined legs. If she were into gingers, he’d be the one to catch. Thank goodness she wasn’t.

Nevertheless, she slowed to a fast walk, letting McGuire widen the gap between them. She didn’t want to risk running into him again at the end of her run. The man had complication written all over him.

When she arrived back at her quarters, she found a note stuck to the door.

Meeting at command center ASAP.

Kinsley had never received a message like that. Her pulse kicked up a notch, but she focused on staying calm. For all she knew, someone might have lodged a complaint about her exercising Agar too close to the living quarters. Or they were switching her to night shift.

She refused to get excited and dare to think she might be sent on an actual mission.