Читать книгу Countdown - Lindsay McKenna - Страница 8

Chapter Four

Annie could barely contain the thrill that raced through her as she discovered the horse whose hoof fit the plaster mold. It was a big, rangy bay gelding, and she grinned triumphantly as Joe came around to examine the match.

“I’ll be damned,” he muttered as he straightened, his respect for her surging in spite of himself. She looked so completely at home here in the paddock, he thought, with the smell of sweet hay drifting from a nearby barn and the hot sun bearing down on them.

Annie patted the horse’s neck. “Now we have to find out who this horse belongs to.”

“Probably the stables, with our luck,” Joe said unhappily. “Let’s go talk to Garwood.”

The stables manager had just returned from a ride and was once again standing on the porch as they approached. Annie didn’t like the smug look on Garwood’s heavily lined face. She decided to hang back a few feet and assess his response to what Joe would tell him.

“Our cast matches one of your horses in Paddock A,” Joe said as he came up next to Garwood.

“Really?” Garwood raised his eyebrows in surprise.

Annie felt tension around the manager—and saw it in a slight narrowing of his eyes upon Joe.

“A big bay gelding with four white socks,” Joe went on, holding the cast toward Garwood. “Who does he belong to?”

Garwood grinned a little. “The United States Marine Corps, Sergeant.”

Joe grimaced. “I was afraid of that.”

Annie spoke up. “May we look at the roster of people who rode the day Ms. Tyler was shot at?”

Garwood snapped a look in her direction, his eyebrows lowering. “What?”

“The horses are signed out when they’re ridden, aren’t they?”

“Yes, I suppose they are,” Garwood agreed irritably.

“We’d like to look at the logbook, then,” Joe said, giving Annie a glance that said, “Well done.” He hadn’t thought of that possibility. But then, he was unfamiliar with this business of horses and stables.

“You probably won’t find anything,” Garwood warned. “We don’t have people on trail rides sign the roster or be assigned to a specific horse. Only A- and B-grade riders have to sign out and choose which horse to ride.”

Annie followed Garwood into the office. “Is the bay an A or B horse?”

“No, just a trail horse.”

Disheartened by Garwood’s answer and puzzled by his vaguely amused attitude, Annie went over to the logbooks on Garwood’s secretary’s desk.

“You won’t find anything,” Garwood said again. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”

Annie opened the logbook to the day of the shooting incident. She felt Joe moving nearer, and her heartbeat sped up. He had an incredible aura of power around him, she thought, like nothing she’d ever felt before. It wasn’t a violent presence, though; rather, it was a beckoning strength that tugged at all her senses, making her vibrantly aware that she was a woman. Confused by the signals she was receiving—her heart and body responding even as her wary mind warned her that Joe didn’t like her—Annie fought to ignore her rampant feelings.

Joe looked across her shoulder, more than just aware of Annie’s nearness. He couldn’t help but gaze at her parted lips as she leaned down to study the logbook. Softness. There was such inherent softness about her. And she was gentle. Like a lamb. Now, where had that notion come from? Joe chastised himself for letting his mind wander into forbidden territory.

“Find anything?” he asked roughly.

“No,” she admitted, disappointed. When Joe stepped back, Annie felt as if a cloud had suddenly blocked the sun. How could that be? As she turned and looked up into his blue eyes, she almost gasped aloud. For the first time, Joe’s eyes looked warm and inviting—and his intense gaze was pinned directly upon her. His pupils were large and black, encircled by only a thin crescent of blue. Annie’s pulse bounded, and she felt breathless beneath his heated inspection.

Joe fought himself. The wild, unbidden urge to reach out and run his fingers through Annie’s mussed black hair was nearly his undoing. Her eyes had turned golden, and the seconds strung between them melted like hot honey. Her face was upturned, its oval shape confirming her softness. She was all gentle curves—from the shape of her face to her high cheekbones, full lips and large, intelligent eyes. Annie’s was a primal beauty, born of a heritage of living close to the land. Joe felt a gnawing need to explore her—on all levels. She had refused to protect herself with the hard exterior that many women in the military adopted in order to survive the harsh male environment.

With a slight shake of his head, Joe took a step back—knowing that if he didn’t, he would reach out and touch that shining ebony hair. Shocked by the strength of his desire to know her, Joe stalked out of the office, the plaster cast in hand. As he walked toward where the HumVee was parked, he wondered if a medicine woman was the same thing as a witch. Had Annie cast a spell of some kind on him? Joe snorted to himself. Not that he believed in such things.

When they’d both clambered into the HumVee, Joe handed Annie their plaster clue. “Let’s go tell the captain what we found,” he said gruffly, refusing to look at her.

Annie murmured her assent, her heart still beating hard in her chest. For that one golden moment out of time, she had seen the intense hunger Joe held for her. It was as surprising as it was thrilling—and confusing. Grateful that Joe didn’t want to talk, she held the cast on her lap and said nothing on the way back to brig headquarters.

* * *

“Well done,” Captain Ramsey praised as Joe and Annie stood in an at-ease stance in front of his desk.

“It didn’t get us anywhere,” Joe noted.

“Perhaps not,” Ramsey murmured, setting the plaster cast aside, “but put this in as possible evidence. Have you taken the bullet casings to the lab?”

“Yes, sir, they’re over there right now,” Joe said. “My guess is they came from an M-16, but that’s all we’ll get.”

“Still, the evidence is mounting,” Ramsey noted. He smiled briefly. “Good job, both of you. Dismissed.”

Annie followed Joe into the passageway and shut the door behind her. It was well past noon and she hadn’t eaten, she realized as her stomach growled ominously.

“I’m going to grab a bite to eat at the chow hall,” she told Joe.

“I’ll take you over there. I’m hungry, too.”

Surprised, Annie said nothing. If anything, Joe seemed less tense toward her. Was it because she’d been able to match the plaster cast to a horse’s hoof? Unsure, she followed him back to the parking lot.

“We’ll take my Chevy Blazer,” he said, pointing to a polished black vehicle.

The car fitted Joe’s personality, Annie decided as she climbed into its spacious interior. Despite its off-road and recreational abilities, the vehicle was scrupulously clean, with no dust visible on the dashboard, no marks on the carpets. As she adjusted the safety belt, Joe turned the key, and the Blazer emitted a throaty roar. Indeed, the vehicle did emulate Joe, Annie thought with a secret smile. Because Joe seemed to be in a better mood and more relaxed than usual, she decided she might broach those defensive walls of his.

“You said you lived in National City. How close is it to San Diego?”

Joe guided the large vehicle out of the parking lot and onto the main road that would lead them to the chow hall. “It’s about ten miles south of San Diego,” he responded noncommittally.

“You were born there?”

“Yes.”

“A city slicker?” she teased, hoping he wouldn’t take her comment the wrong way.

“Compared to you, yes.”

“Did you like living in the city?” she asked, peering at him.

With a twisted grimace, Joe said, “As a kid growing up, I didn’t mind it. After I joined the corps and began to realize that everything wasn’t made of glass, concrete and steel, I felt differently.”

“Oh?”

“I kind of like the outdoors.”

Annie ran her hand along the door. “This Blazer suggests someone who might camp, hike or fish a lot.”

“Fish,” Joe admitted, again struck by Annie’s unsettling ability to see beneath his surface. Just how much did she know about him?

“What kind of fishing?” Annie persisted.

“Fly-fishing for trout.”

She smiled. “Ohh…”

He briefly glanced at her, taken by the warmth dancing in her cinnamon eyes.

Absorbing his interest, she smiled and murmured, “I might have known you would go for the toughest fishing in the world. Fly-fishing takes a lot of delicacy and timing.”

“And I don’t look like I have either one?”

Feeling heat flooding up her neck into her face, Annie avoided his amused look. “I didn’t say that.”

“A city slicker who can fly-fish. Pretty unique, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Do you fish?”

“Not many fish on the desert where I grew up,” she returned wryly, meeting and matching his first smile. When Joe’s compressed mouth lifted at the corners, his entire demeanor changed—if but for a brief, heart-pounding moment. All the tension he usually carried in his face seemed to melt away, leaving a miraculously vulnerable man before her. The discovery dissolved Annie’s fears. Joe Donnally wasn’t an unfeeling man after all.

Joe realized Annie was blushing. The shyness in her was evident as she quickly looked away to stare out the window. Suddenly, he ached to know more about her.

“You said you grew up in New Mexico?”

“Yes. My parents live the old-fashioned way, in a hogan made of logs and mud, with no electricity.”

“Sounds like my worst camping nightmare.”

Laughing, Annie thrilled to the change in Joe. Perhaps he was adjusting to her, finding out that she wasn’t like the tough legend that generally preceded her from base to base—and she was, after all, just a human being like everyone else. “I’m glad I had that kind of upbringing. It helps me feel comfortable when I’m out tracking where there are no modern amenities. My partners are often unhappy, but I can pretty easily adjust to the demands of the terrain.”

Joe felt some of his happiness evaporate. “Captain Ramsey says you’re like a bloodhound. Once you’re on a trail, you won’t ever let up.”

“So far,” Annie said, relaxing against the seat. “It’s kind of precarious to try to maintain a perfect record of recapturing prisoners.”

“Why?”

She shrugged and said, “I’m not perfect. Not by a long shot.”

“Could have fooled me,” Joe said dryly. He saw the hurt come into her eyes and instantly was sorry. “It’s the captain,” he added. “He thinks you walk on water. He was really excited about getting you to Reed.”

“Captain Ramsey worries me,” Annie said quietly. “I don’t want to disappoint him, and I’m afraid I’m bound to someday.”

“He’s not going to mark you down on your personnel record the one time you can’t find a prisoner,” Joe soothed. “He’s not that kind of officer.” He pulled into the parking lot of the chow hall. Because it was 1300, no lines of marines trailed from the huge, two-story building. A green lawn, manicured shrubs and even a few palm trees graced the area, giving it the out-of-place look of an oasis in the yellow desert that surrounded it. He parked and shut off the engine.

“Reed has got some of the best navy chow you’ll ever eat. Come on, I’ll show you the ropes.”

This time, Annie noticed as they walked side by side toward the chow hall, Joe shortened his stride for her sake. Had he done it consciously? Uncertain, she took in the bright yellow marigolds interspersed with red geraniums that lined the sidewalk, displaying the Marine Corps colors of crimson and gold. It was gung-ho landscaping and Annie smiled. Of course, just seeing flowers in bloom on the desert was a gift.

By the time they got through the line and sat down at a table opposite each other, Annie was starving. She marveled at how much Joe was eating, but then, marines in general led a highly active physical life.

Joe tried to concentrate on his food, but he couldn’t help looking up once in a while. Annie ate delicately and without the hurry he did. Trying not to stare at her lips, or the graceful way she used the flatware, he forced himself to mind his own business. He noticed that she ate much less than he did. She had selected a huge salad with dressing, one pork chop and a baked potato, while he had loaded up with three pork chops and a huge mountain of mashed potatoes and gravy—and no salad.

For dessert Annie settled for a cup of steaming black coffee. The military tended to make its coffee strong, and she liked it that way. As Joe dug into a slice of cherry pie, she decided to try again to penetrate his defenses.

“Do you live on or off the base?” she inquired, taking a sip of coffee.

“Off,” he answered between bites of pie, then surprised her by asking, “How about you? Are you staying at the barracks or are you going to rent off base?”

“Off, like you. I’ve rented a small apartment south of Oceanside. It’s near the marsh and I can see a lot of ducks and great blue herons.”

With a shrug, Joe said, “My apartment’s almost in the middle of town.”

“Once a city slicker always a city slicker,” she teased.

Joe smiled a little and watched as she wrapped her long, expressive fingers around the heavy white mug of coffee. “In some ways, I guess I always will be,” he admitted.