Countdown

Countdown Lindsay McKenna Hard-as-nails Sergeant Joe Donnally was tough by habit and training–and fought to stay that way. A tragic loss had closed his heart, yet captivating new partner Annie Yellow Horse stirred dormant emotions Joe had long ago denied. Annie's promise of love meant an end to his loneliness and pain…but when peril threw them into the line of fire, could Joe take the ultimate chance and offer his love to her? Hard-as-nails Sergeant Joe Donnally was tough by habit and training—and fought to stay that way. A tragic loss had closed his heart, yet captivating new partner Annie Yellow Horse stirred dormant emotions Joe had long ago denied. Annie’s promise of love meant an end to his loneliness and pain …but when peril threw them into the line of fire, could Joe take the ultimate chance and offer his love to her? Countdown Lindsay McKenna www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) Table of Contents Chapter One (#u71769d87-27e0-5ecd-96ed-8455465fd8b5) Chapter Two (#ua4c9ea76-15f9-512c-887d-162404e6c761) Chapter Three (#u4beba811-b7dc-5d10-8095-e9a5d66806ac) Chapter Four (#u840e1ae5-833a-5841-9a86-5930d61c6cd4) Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter One Annie Yellow Horse was nervous. As she entered the headquarters building at Camp Reed, one of the two largest Marine Corps bases in the United States, the hot California-desert wind almost grabbed the door from her hand, recalling the persistent wind where she’d grown up, on a sprawling Navajo reservation in New Mexico. Wryly, she reminded herself that she wasn’t home, no matter how much she wanted to be. Annie didn’t know a lot about Camp Reed, except that they’d had problems in the brig area over the years—and that Captain Ramsey asking her to transfer here meant trouble with a capital T. After speaking briefly to a lieutenant in the busy personnel office, she took a seat on a bench in the hall outside and waited. The lieutenant had told her that Captain Ramsey wouldn’t be meeting her after all. Instead, Sergeant Donnally, who was to be her new boss, was coming to meet her. Perhaps because she was Navajo, or a woman—or both—Annie had learned to rely strongly on her deep intuition. And if her tightened gut was any indication, she thought, this Donnally meant trouble, too. Rubbing her damp palms on the skirt of her light green summer uniform, Annie worked to maintain her outer calm, but her stomach felt full of butterflies. Maybe it was simply because of being uprooted from Camp Lejeune in North Carolina, where she’d been stationed for the last two years, she tried to reassure herself. She had friends there and a comfortable life-style that suited her. Now she needed to find an apartment somewhere outside the gates of Camp Reed and completely reestablish herself—including making new friends. Annie groaned. Friends. She had women friends, but none here at Reed, and it was difficult to start from scratch. Probably the only problem she had with military life was repeatedly losing the camaraderie of friends from a previous base. Hearing the door open at the end of the passageway, Annie sensed a powerful, potentially threatening presence. Narrowing her eyes, she saw a tall marine moving briskly toward her. Gulping back her initial response to panic, Annie used all her senses to decipher this dark-haired sergeant, his garrison cap gripped tightly in his left hand, his shoulders thrown back so proudly that he looked more like a furious eagle than a man. Her Native American ancestry and reservation training had helped Annie develop an almost psychic ability to “read” people, but the approaching sergeant was projecting an unusual combination of menace and physical appeal that had her senses spinning. His square face appeared merciless, darkly tanned by the California sun and not at all softened by frosty blue eyes. His generous mouth was compressed into a single line of obvious unhappiness. Annie tensed inwardly as he strode confidently toward her. He didn’t seem to see her, his focus squarely on the Personnel sign above the open doorway next to her. Black hair sprinkled his arms and peeked out from the neck of the white T-shirt he wore beneath a tan shirt. Although he was more than six feet tall and had to be close to two hundred pounds, Annie couldn’t spot an ounce of fat on his frame. If anything, he reminded her of a well-fed summer cougar, its beautifully sleek appearance masking its inherent danger. Annie switched to her inner sensing equipment. This man was very angry. But at whom? Could this be Sergeant Donnally? Although he was still too far away for her to read the nametag above his left uniform pocket, her intuition said yes. While her head cautioned, “wait and see,” Annie experienced a surprising lurch and pounding of her heart. Stunned by her unexpected response, she sat very still, attempting to integrate the unreasonable feeling. Only one man in her life had ever made her heart respond this way, and he had died in Desert Storm. Tears leaked into Annie’s eyes, and she quickly bowed her head. Marines didn’t cry. Their code demanded they remain tough, not showing fear or tears or pain. To show any kind of weakness meant losing the respect of other marines, and Annie wouldn’t allow that to happen. So, swallowing hard, she forced the tears away—but the memory of losing Jeff continued to ache like a wound that hadn’t completely healed. Perhaps, Annie realized, as she raised her head to focus on the marine rapidly closing the distance between them, it was best that she’d been transferred here. She had met and fallen in love with Jeff at Camp Lejeune and it was still filled with memories. Yes, coming here was best. Or so she hoped. * * * Sergeant Joe Donnally tried to contain his fury. He was angry that his boss, Captain Ramsey, had asked him to come retrieve the world-famous brig tracker, Corporal Annie Yellow Horse. What a hell of a name. And she was probably just as different as her name sounded, he fumed inwardly. He didn’t have time to be chief meeter and greeter to every new brig chaser transferred to Reed. With Ramsey turning on the heat to get the lackluster brig personnel squared away, Joe didn’t need this welcoming-committee stuff. Anyway, he admitted to himself, he was angry that Ramsey felt they couldn’t do without this woman brig chaser. Baloney! No one was indispensable in the corps, and they didn’t need this prima donna tracker. He had plenty of men—including himself—who were decent enough trackers to hunt escaped prisoners if necessary. Momentarily, Joe’s focus shifted, and he was startled to see a young woman with copper-colored skin sitting almost at attention on a wooden bench outside the personnel office. His heart sped up, and his scowl deepened. She had huge, cinnamon-colored eyes, and her black hair was neatly coiffed in a short style that emphasized her oval face and high cheekbones. Was this Yellow Horse? No, he growled to himself. She was too pretty. He’d expected someone old and tough looking—a throwback to the old-corps days. In spite of himself, Joe felt some of his anger dissolve as he met and held her widening gaze for a moment. Her gentle look offered him no returning challenge as he glared in her direction. Something in him told him this woman was Annie Yellow Horse, although he tried to convince himself it was a crazy idea. Whoever she was, she wasn’t conventionally pretty, but had an earthy kind of unspoken beauty. She wore no makeup, yet her skin glowed, the perfect backdrop to her expressive eyes and mouth. Joe slowed his pace as his gaze settled on that mouth. He’d never seen one quite like it—full lips curving slightly upward at the corners and parted just enough to make any man groan with need. Did she realize how damned sensuous she was? Joe wondered. He knew only that he was staring at her like a slavering wolf—a totally improper reaction to a fellow marine. Desperately gathering his strewn feelings, ignoring the blood pumping through him in response to her single, luminous look, Joe tore his gaze from hers. He was close enough now to read the nametag above the pocket of her feminine uniform: Yellow Horse. With a groan, he slowed considerably, his senses rebelling with anger and frustration. Annie Yellow Horse wasn’t anything like the image he’d invented in his mind. Captain Ramsey had spoken of her so often and in such glowing terms that Joe had automatically begun to dislike her. No one could be that good, he’d thought, as Ramsey extolled her capabilities as a tracker to heaven and back. After that kind of buildup, she had no right to look so young—and so damned beautiful! His gaze locked aggressively on hers, and he saw that her eyes were filled with curiosity and compassion. If he’d expected some hardened woman corporal, he certainly didn’t see one. Joe watched her slowly rise, tension evident in her tall, lithe body. He wanted to hate her. He certainly didn’t need to play baby-sitter to some world-famous tracker coming into his section. Not right now. Joe halted and tried to collect himself. His heart was pounding, and a strange emotion seemed to be radiating outward from it, touching him softly, subtly, throughout his body. What the hell was going on? Was Yellow Horse more than just a tracker? More than just a woman? As he drilled a merciless look into her eyes, he realized he barely needed to look down, so she must be at least five foot nine. Compressing his lips, he continued to glare at her. “Yellow Horse?” he snarled. Joe hated himself for behaving this way, but he had to take his anger out on someone, and she was the one making his life even more complicated. Annie felt buffeted by the marine’s snarl, but she held her ground, tightened her jaw and deliberately hardened her own eyes. “I am. And who are you?” she flung back in a low, husky tone. She saw surprise in the sergeant’s icy blue gaze. He was trying to tower over her, but because only three inches in height separated them, he couldn’t do it, so he placed his hands imperiously on his hips to bluff her. Annie had been in the Marine Corps for six years, and she knew her place in it as a corporal. This man might be trying to threaten her with his stance, but he was only one grade above her—and he had no right to try to intimidate her this way. Joe scowled heavily. He’d seen her eyes go hard—seen her luscious mouth thin with displeasure. And she hadn’t taken a step back from him—hadn’t so much as batted an eyelash. She’d held her ground and, bitterly, he had to respect her for it. “I’m your new boss, Yellow Horse. I’m Sergeant Donnally. I was sent over to baby-sit you. Captain Ramsey couldn’t make it, so you’ve got me instead.” His glance flicked to the personnel file she held tensely in her left hand. “That your orders?” “Yes,” Annie snapped back, “it is.” “Give them to me.” Joe felt a little chagrined at his own rudeness. Momentarily, he saw confusion dart through Annie’s beautiful eyes—the most alluring feature of her face. Her fingers accidentally grazed his as she handed over the folder, and Joe nearly jerked the file out of her grasp. He pretended to look at the paperwork, but it was a ruse. His heart was hammering so hard that he wondered wildly if this was some sort of early heart-attack warning. As he paged through the papers in her file, Joe could feel her silent appraisal. Well, let her look, he thought, it wasn’t going to do her any good. Yellow Horse meant nothing but trouble to him, arriving at a time when the office situation was still tentative and volatile. They had so many morale problems—the legacy of Jacobs, their recently departed captain—and Joe didn’t want to try to integrate a new member on top of it all. Especially since, as a corporal, Yellow Horse would be looking to him for help and direction. “Everything seems to be in order,” Joe said gruffly. He glanced over—and instantly drowned in her eyes, which had again lost their hardness. He felt himself being pulled into their gold-flecked, cinnamon depths, framed by thick, black lashes. Why did she have to be so desirable? Disgusted with himself and his response to her, he added in a low snarl, “Come with me.” “Wait!” Annie tilted her head. The sergeant was obviously furious—with her? “I don’t have all day. What is it?” She tried to let his irritability slide off her. “Sergeant Donnally, is something wrong?” He gave her a sarcastic look. “Everything’s wrong, Corporal.” “How so?” Restraining his building anger, Joe drilled her with a venomous look that he hoped would put a stop to her questions. “Corporal,” he announced brusquely, “you work for me. You’re in my section. When I want you to know something, I’ll be the first to tell you. If I don’t want to talk to you about certain things, that’s the way it’ll be. Do we understand each other?” Annie held his glare and felt ice pour through her veins. “I’ve had six years in the corps, Sergeant, and I’ve just taken my test to become a sergeant. In two months, I’ll know if I’ll be an E-5 like you. I feel a lot of resentment coming from you toward me. If there’s a problem, perhaps we should work it out here and now. I don’t want to start a new assignment with someone hating my guts.” Joe recoiled inwardly. Annie’s soft exterior concealed a steel backbone, he realized. The look in her eyes was no longer lustrous and inviting, it was pointed and fearless. Although part of him respected her for it, a greater part disliked her for her courage. His lips lifted away from his teeth, and he put his face inches from hers, his breathing strangled as he spoke. “Corporal, you work for me. Got that? Until you get that sergeant’s stripe, you’ll do as I say. I’m not the kind of marine who communicates a whole lot, so you’re just going to have to put up with it.” His mouth twisted slightly. “Unless you want a transfer—which wouldn’t bother me at all.” Annie swayed and caught herself, inwardly shaken by Donnally’s anger. His blue eyes narrowed with such a fierce light that she knew this man was a hunter and dangerous, with a brutal side that could hurt her emotionally. “I’ve got it, Sergeant,” she whispered tightly. But even as he pulled away and straightened, Annie knew she was in trouble. Great. Her boss hated her just for being here. Joe tried desperately to contain his ugly, unraveling feelings. What was wrong with him? He never snarled at his people like this! Thoroughly irritated with himself, he spun on his heel. “Follow me,” he snapped. Stalking down the passageway, he tried to figure out what had happened. Yes, he was angry with Captain Ramsey for pulling him off far more important work at the brig office to come and pick up Yellow Horse. Further, he disagreed strongly with his boss about needing a world-class tracker here at Reed: no prisoners had escaped in the two years he’d been here. His conscience smarted. He’d seen his fury hurt Annie. Damn! Now he was thinking of her as Annie! Use her last name and keep it impersonal, he angrily instructed himself. Scrambling internally, Joe didn’t want to admit that she’d surprised him—not only with her looks, but with her courage in standing up to his blistering “welcome.” Perhaps her Navajo lineage gave her a special kind of bravery, he mused. Not many marines stood toe-to-toe with him when it came down to a confrontation. Joe was a scrapper, and he was street smart. He’d grown up tough in a gang in the barrio of National City, near San Diego, and he knew how to fight—with his fists and his mouth. Although he looked like his Hispanic and Yaqui Indian mother, his father was of Irish ancestry, so except for his blue eyes, his name, Donnally, didn’t fit Joe’s otherwise dark looks. As he pushed open the door, the California heat and bright sunlight struck him full force. Settling the garrison cap on his head, he glanced over his shoulder to see if Yellow Horse was coming. Disgruntled to find her near his left shoulder, he was shocked that he hadn’t heard her at all. Hell! Usually he heard everything—his awareness of his surroundings was, by necessity, sharply honed. That supersensitivity to his environment had saved his life numerous times growing up in the gangs, who fought with deadly knives and pistols. Bitterness leaked through Joe at Annie’s obvious abilities. This woman was going to be the number-two person in his section whether he liked it or not. And he most emphatically did not. As they moved down the sidewalk, bracketed with recently mowed green Bermuda grass, Joe entertained the idea of telling Captain Ramsey he wanted a transfer. Again his conscience needled him—more sharply this time. Joe had a fierce loyalty to his section, to the men and women who put their lives on the line every day. No, they’d been left enough in the lurch by Jacobs, without Joe sulking and leaving them in more trouble. “Sergeant?” Joe started. This time he hadn’t realized that Yellow Horse had come abreast of him as he strode across the asphalt parking lot. The noontime sun blasted them, and Joe began to break out in a mild sweat. “What is it, Corporal?” “Can you tell me what your office does?” Having unwillingly made eye contact again, Joe tried to tear his gaze from her. She wore a bucket-style hat, her black hair as shiny as a raven’s wing in the sunlight where it showed around the edges. Annie had a grace that he’d not seen in many women before—an easiness and familiarity with her body, maybe. Although Joe couldn’t quite define it, the way she moved was riveting. Disgusted with himself, he snapped his head forward. “I run Section A of three sections at the brig,” he responded brusquely. “My people serve two functions: brig duty and transport of prisoners.” “How long have you been stationed here at Camp Reed?” He knew she was testing him, trying to find out something about him—as her boss. “Two years,” he replied with a glare. “And Captain Ramsey was just assigned? I imagine that’s causing you some changes?” she asked, understanding lacing her voice. Her insight was startling, and Joe scowled again. If she could fathom that much, what else could she perceive? The thought was unsettling as hell. “Let’s put it this way, Corporal—the last officer who ran the brig was a total loss. He was a screwup from the git-go, punching his ticket because he had to have this assignment look good on his personnel record so he could get early major’s leaves. Otherwise, he couldn’t have cared less about the brig, the prisoners, the transport of them or my people.” “So you ended up shouldering a lot of the load to protect your section?” she pressed gently. Joe’s mouth fell open. He halted and spun around, capturing her gaze. “Are you psychic or something?” he croaked. Then he caught himself and frowned in warning as he ruthlessly searched her eyes. Eyes that were wide, vulnerable and without harshness, he noted. Her lips lifted very slightly, almost into a shy smile. “Not psychic,” Annie said softly. “Being in the corps six years maybe gives me a better perspective than someone who’s had less time in grade.” Disgruntled, Joe nodded. “Yeah, things got rough. I came in while Captain Jacobs was on board, and we all suffered under the bastard for two years. I saw him tear down my people because he was unhappy and didn’t want to be here.” “So you ran a blocking action, took the heat and protected them?” Annie guessed. She saw the surprise in the icy depths of his light blue eyes. As growly as Donnally was, she sensed that the inner man—perhaps the real man beneath that armored exterior—was likable and decent. She vowed to withhold judgment until she could understand the responsibilities he carried on his broad, capable-looking shoulders. “Yes….” he admitted, hesitating. Annie smiled a little, hoping to ease the tension between them. “And Captain Ramsey has just come on board, so you’re trying to help him clean up the mess created by the previous officer?” Joe gave a bark of laughter and dropped his hands on his hips as he studied Annie. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were some kind of investigator from C.I.D., Criminal Investigation Division, not a brig chaser.” With an answering chuckle, Annie shrugged, noticing the way laughter changed Donnally’s dark, thundercloud features, if but for a moment. “No, I’m not C.I.D., Sergeant, I’m Navajo. My grandfather was a code talker in World War II, and my mother comes from a long line of medicine women. I’ve lived close to the earth all my life. Six years in the corps gives me knowledge on another level. It’s pretty easy to put two and two together.” Joe didn’t want to like Annie, but in that moment, he liked her immensely. If he’d treated a male marine the way he had treated her so far, he knew there would be no laughter, compromise or softening between them. No, it was Annie’s ability as a woman, he guessed, that had defused some of the anger he’d aimed at her. Still, he reminded himself, he couldn’t afford to like her or get close to her. Not now, not ever. His mouth thinning with the thought, he held her upturned gaze, which spoke eloquently of her compassion for the personal hell he’d suffered these past two years. “Your grandfather was a code talker?” he asked, with new respect for her heritage. During World War II, he knew, the Navajo code talkers had been drafted into the Marine Corps and used to convey messages in their native language to prevent the Japanese from understanding them. It had worked so successfully that Navajo men had served with great pride, helping to save hundreds, if not thousands, of lives during the war years. Annie nodded. “My grandfather is eighty-four now, but he still has clear memories of the time he served in the Marine Corps.” “That’s something to be proud of,” Joe muttered. Her grandfather being a marine explained somewhat why she was in the corps. Annie was following a tradition begun over fifty years ago. Joe had to back off a little on his aggressive attitude toward her, knowing she carried such a proud history. Standing there in the parking lot, Joe realized he was staring at her the way a biologist might stare at a bug under a microscope. But he didn’t want to know anything else about Annie—Yellow Horse, he corrected himself savagely. “Let’s take the station wagon over there,” he said, pointing toward it. “I’ll show you the office and then it will be chow time.” Annie knew that Donnally wanted nothing to do with her, and the knowledge hurt. She liked the proud way he held himself. She liked the rugged look of his square face. Now, in the sunlight, she noticed several small scars across his prominent chin and a more recent one across his left cheekbone. His nose appeared to have been broken several times, adding to his rough-and-ready appearance. No, Donnally certainly wasn’t pretty-boy handsome. Also, despite his Irish-sounding name and blue eyes, his dark coloring spoke of a mixed heritage, probably Hispanic. There was nothing forgiving about Donnally, either, she thought. Built tall and noble, he was medium boned and rather heavily muscled. Most brig chasers were taller and heavier than marines in other corps professions, and hauling around prisoners of all sizes and weights required top physical condition. Annie herself worked out three times a week at a gym to build and maintain upper-body strength. Her gaze ranged back to Donnally’s face and especially his mouth as he turned toward the vehicle he’d indicated. He had a generous mouth, she thought, but he seemed to keep it thinned, as if he were holding back a lot, buried deep within himself. She followed without a word to the olive green station wagon. It was a typical brig vehicle, she noted. The rear seats were separated from the front by thick, bullet-proof glass that prevented a prisoner from reaching the driver. Further, the rear doors were locked from the outside, with no inner handles, so a prisoner couldn’t open a door and escape. She took in the riot gun propped in the front seat as she opened the door—and the three different types of radios installed on the dash, for communicating with various law-enforcement agencies should a brig-chaser team need help during transport. Joe settled into the driver’s seat, then glanced over at Yellow Horse. She seemed introspective, and he was relieved not to have to try to respond to small talk, appreciating her calm presence in spite of himself. Shutting the door, he inserted the key in the ignition. The station wagon purred to life, and he put the car in gear. As they drove out of the parking lot, Joe pointed out the chow hall, the hospital and, finally, the brig and brig office. The brig sat by itself, a squat, flat-roofed, two-story stucco building that matched the color of the desert. A ten-foot-tall cyclone fence completely enclosed the area and was topped with razor-bladelike concertina wire to discourage prisoners from trying to climb up and over it to freedom. As Donnally slowed down, Annie took in the dry, barren environment surrounding the brig and the nearby office building. “It’s out in the middle of nowhere,” she murmured. “Best place for it.” Annie nodded. “A far cry from Camp Lejeune,” she added with a wry smile. “No greenery,” Joe agreed. “Just a lot of sagebrush and cactus.” “It’s dry, but pretty in its own way,” Annie mused as the car drew to a halt. “That’s right, you come from desert country,” Joe said, getting out. Damn! Why had he said that? He didn’t want to talk about anything personal with her. Giving her a glare as she came around the vehicle, he said, “Follow me.” Annie frowned. Donnally’s armor was back in place. With a sigh, she hoped that with time he wouldn’t be so prickly about her presence. Did he feel competitive with her? she wondered. With her notoriety as a tracker, it was a possibility. Maybe Joe was the chief tracker here at Reed, and he felt demoted by Captain Ramsey bringing her here. Annie simply didn’t know the lay of the land yet. She’d have to rely on her Navajo patience for now. With time, all answers came to light. Annie’s heart pounded briefly with a bit of apprehension as Donnally led her into the main brig office. She saw at least fourteen people, men and women, working diligently at their individual desks. Annie spotted two desks that were empty in one corner of the large work area. Would she have to work right next to Donnally? She hoped not. From inside a glass-enclosed office, a heavy-set civilian woman looked up. “Joe, is this our world-famous tracker?” she called. Annie stopped and watched the large woman, who wore a bright red skirt and white blouse, come hurrying out of her office. She took an immediate liking to her. Despite her weight, she moved with delicate grace, and the smile of welcome on her face was like sunshine to Annie. “Yeah, this is Corporal Yellow Horse.” Joe glanced at Annie. “This is Rose, Captain Ramsey’s civil-service secretary. Rose has been here for ten years and knows everything about our office.” “Hi there,” Rose gushed, coming to a stop and pumping Annie’s long, slender hand. “I’m Rose. You must be Annie. You don’t mind if I call you by your first name, do you? I hate the way the military refers to everyone by their last name. It’s too impersonal. We’re really excited about you being here. Welcome!” Annie returned the shorter woman’s enthusiastic handshake and smiled warmly. “Hi, Rose. It’s nice to meet you. And no, I don’t mind if you call me Annie.” “Such a pretty name!” Rose gave Donnally a sweet smile, then devoted her attention to the newcomer. “I don’t know what I expected when they said you were being transferred to us, but golly, you are a pretty thing. Isn’t she, Joe?” Annie almost had to laugh at Joe Donnally’s instant scowl. Trying to extricate her hand from Rose’s, she said, “Marines don’t look at each other that way, Rose.” “Oh, pshaw!” Rose said with a good-natured chuckle. “Marines think they’re perfect. Well, they almost are, in my book, but they keep forgetting they’re human, too.” She looked at her watch. “It’s noon. How about we go over to the enlisted men’s club and grab a bite to eat? I’m dying to talk with you, and maybe I can fill you in on what we do around here to help ease you into your job.” Annie could have kissed her in gratitude at that point. She glanced up at her superior. “Sergeant Donnally?” “You do what you want,” he growled. “Just be back at 1300, and I’ll get you squared away with a desk assignment and your duties.” His coldness hit Annie like a slap after Rose’s gushing warmth, but she merely nodded, suppressing her feelings. When Donnally turned and stalked back to his desk, Annie devoted her attention to Rose. “I’d love to have lunch with you. Any help you can give me will be great.” “Oh, wonderful!” The secretary clapped her hands together and grinned. “You don’t know how much I’ve heard about you, Annie! Your ability to track is legendary. You’re famous!” “I just want to fit in here, Rose, and get along with everyone—despite my skills.” With a grimace, she glanced around, catching quick, curious looks from other brig chasers in the office, feeling their perusal of her. Her reputation generally preceded her, and Annie had gotten used to being minutely inspected. Too many times in the past she had met male marines with their noses out of joint, unwilling to believe a woman could be a tracker. “Well, I’m gonna grab my purse, then I’ll drive you over to the club,” Rose continued excitedly. “They’ve got great hamburgers over there. Come on! I’ve got lots to tell you. I want you to know,” she said as she gestured for Annie to follow her into her office, “that you’ve got one of the finest officers in the world to work for. Captain Ramsey is such a sweet man.” Annie waited in Rose’s office doorway, her hands clasped in front of her. Sweet wasn’t a word she’d use for any Marine Corps officer! But Rose obviously was an ebullient, vital force in this office, and Annie knew she worked directly with Ramsey. Glancing over her shoulder, she stole a look in Donnally’s direction. He was sitting at his desk, scowling as usual, the telephone receiver pressed to his ear with one hand, a stack of phone messages in the other. It struck her that despite Donnally’s bulk and height, he had artistic-looking hands that spoke of a different side to his character. Was he an artist of some sort? she wondered. Perhaps he played a musical instrument? Painted? She tore her gaze from Donnally’s rugged profile and smiled to herself. Somehow, she couldn’t picture Joe as a painter—although he’d certainly displayed an artist’s stereotypical volatile temperament so far with her. “You ready?” Rose asked, coming around her desk with her white purse slung over her shoulder. Annie smiled and stepped aside. “Yes, ma’am.” “Ma’am? Pshaw!” Rose wagged her finger in Annie’s face. “Young lady, you call me Rose or nothing at all! I don’t want any of that military jargon used on me! I’m a civilian, remember?” With a laugh, Annie agreed, feeling welcomed, if only by the lone civilian in the office, to her new home for the next three years. The single fly in the ointment—and it was a considerable one—was the scowling Joe Donnally, who made it more than obvious that she wasn’t welcome at all on his turf. Chapter Two EM Clubs traditionally were noisy and crowded at noontime, and Annie was grateful when Rose decided to drive over to the base cafeteria instead. Once they’d selected their lunches, she found them a quiet corner. “I think it’s wonderful that Captain Ramsey got you transferred here,” Rose said again as she sat down. Annie smiled briefly and sipped her iced tea. “It’s sure a change from North Carolina.” Rose waved her hand, then took a bite of her tuna sandwich. “Isn’t it, though? Camp Reed has three temperatures—hot, hotter and hottest.” Laughing, Annie relaxed more. She liked Rose’s easygoing nature. “I think I’ll adjust. I was born in the New Mexico desert.” Her eyes twinkling, Rose said, “That’s right—the captain mentioned that you were Navajo. I haven’t met too many Native American marines. What prompted you to enlist?” “My grandfather was a code talker in World War II. He saw that I was restless, that I wanted to see more of the world than the reservation I grew up on.” “So he figured a hitch in the corps would cure you?” With a grin, Annie nodded. “Yes.” “And it didn’t?” “No. I signed up for a second one. I’ve been in six years.” “Do you plan to get your twenty in and retire?” “I hope to,” Annie agreed. “Did you have to leave someone special behind at Camp Lejeune?” For a moment, pain flitted across Annie’s heart, but she knew Rose was being kindly, not nosy. “Well…there was someone…but he died in Desert Storm.” “Oh, dear,” Rose murmured, and reached out to touch Annie’s arm. “I’m so very sorry. Were you in Desert Storm, too?” “Yes. We need provost-marshal and brig people in a wartime situation, too, I’m afraid.” Frowning, Rose took a few stabs at her salad with her fork. “Were you married?” “No, engaged. Jeff and I decided to wait until Storm was over to get married.” Annie shrugged, feeling the residual loss and pain filtering through her. “I guess it was the best decision. I don’t know….” “My grandma always told me it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved.” “Your grandmother was a wise woman.” Rose smiled a little. “Well, who knows? Maybe you’ll meet someone here at Camp Reed.” “No,” Annie murmured. “I made myself a promise never to get involved with another marine. I think a civilian man will be safer in the long run.” “Now you sound like Libby Tyler—she’s a riding instructor here on the base. You know, I think Captain Ramsey really likes her. Joe is doing some preliminary investigating for Libby right now, as a matter of fact. She’s noticed that someone’s been riding five of the stable-owned horses nearly to death about once a month. She feels something fishy is going on, so Captain Ramsey sent Joe to check it out.” She paused in her monologue to take a sip of cola. “Libby was married to a marine helicopter pilot,” she explained, grimacing momentarily. “He died three years ago in a crash here at Reed, and since then she’s sworn off marines as potential mates.” “I don’t blame her,” Annie said softly, feeling sympathetic pain for the unknown woman. “People in our line of work face more dangers than most.” “I don’t agree,” Rose countered matter-of-factly. “I mean, I could be killed in a car crash on the way to work at this base on any given day. If marines follow the proper safety procedures, they don’t get hurt any more than your average human.” “Except in case of war,” Annie amended wryly. “Yes, but that’s the only exception.” Annie finished her salad and started on her french fries. “Do you think our boss is serious about Ms. Tyler?” she asked, intrigued. Rose grinned. “I think so.” “Captain Ramsey was at Camp Lejeune when I first enlisted. I liked him a lot. He was a fair man who cared for the people who worked under his command.” “Nothing’s changed that I can see,” Rose murmured. “But I have to tell you, the last commanding officer, Captain Jacobs, was a stinker. I felt sorry for the enlisted people who worked under him. He was a terrible manager and the entire brig section more or less collapsed under the weight of his mismanagement. If it hadn’t been for Joe Donnally, I think a lot worse could have happened.” Annie’s heart raced momentarily. “Sergeant Donnally…” “He’s quite a man, isn’t he?” Rose gushed. Not sure how to answer that, Annie kept her own counsel. After a moment, she offered, “He made quite an impression on me.” At least that was the truth. “Joe’s special. He’s a tough sergeant and he’s a fighter from the word go. I don’t know how many times he squared off with Captain Jacobs. They had awful shouting matches behind Jacobs’s office door. I mean, you could hear their voices clear down the passageway sometimes. Jacobs tried to get Joe transferred, but he fought that, too, and won.” Rose wagged her finger at Annie. “I’m telling you, Joe Donnally single-handedly supported the brig personnel during those two years. He was more the officer than Jacobs. He got things done right and on time—and then Jacobs took all the credit. Jacobs got even by not allowing Joe to get his next sergeant’s stripe. He gave him bad ratings in his personnel record. But Joe didn’t care. He knew he stood between Jacobs and the welfare of his people.” “So Joe should be an E-6 instead of an E-5?” Annie asked slowly, thinking of her stupid remark to him about passing her E-5 test to become a sergeant. Perhaps that’s why he had rounded on her so angrily—she’d struck an old wound. “Yes, he should have made E-6 at least a year and a half ago. I’m sure Captain Ramsey will right the wrong as soon as he can, but the poor man’s snowed under with work. Jacobs left our office in a disaster, moralewise and every other way.” No wonder Joe Donnally had been short with her, Annie ruminated, folding her hands and resting her chin against them. “Is Captain Ramsey working to create better conditions for the brig chasers?” Chuckling, Rose wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. “Better believe it. We were four people short, and the captain already has four new people coming in, you among them. Of course, he went after you big-time when he saw the layout of Reed—all the rugged terrain and such.” “Have there been many brig breaks?” “No, but when there have been, a tracker’s been needed. We’ve always had to fly someone in from another base.” Annie nodded. “When I worked with Captain Ramsey at Camp Lejeune, he set up a drug program for the base. Is he doing that here?” “Yes. Colonel Edwards was so impressed with what he did down at the Yuma Air Station in Arizona that he had him ordered up here to set up a similar program for Reed. Captain Ramsey’s a real doer, but then, so is Joe Donnally.” She laid her napkin aside and picked up her purse. “They’re a great team. I can already see the positive effects around our office. ’Course, Captain Ramsey’s still new and I’m trying to fill him in on all the stuff that concerns us here at Reed, but he’s a quick study.” She smiled happily. “Well, you ready to get to work? I know Captain Ramsey wanted to see you at 1300. He wasn’t able to come and meet you personally, but he wants to see you as soon as possible. Joe will take you in to meet him.” Annie’s heart fell. She wished she could go alone instead of under the angry, watchful eyes of Donnally. Was he always like that, or just with her? Well, she’d find out soon enough. * * * Joe felt their entrance into the brig office long before he heard them. He was working at his desk over a stack of paperwork, and his heart raced momentarily, puzzling him. Annie’s voice had a soft, husky quality to it, surprisingly low and soothing, as she conversed with Rose. Trying to ignore her tone, Joe hastily signed his name to several pieces of paper as Rose approached with the tracker. “She’s all yours, Joe.” “Thanks, Rose.” He refused to look up even though Annie stood patiently in front of his desk. Getting up, he threw the papers into his Out basket and finally nailed her with a glance. He was struck by how serene Annie appeared in the midst of the office chaos. Did anything ruffle her composure? Probably not. He’d heard that Native Americans traditionally were stoic and expressionless. “What would you like me to do?” Annie ventured. Joe snapped a look at her. “That file over there. Read it.” Trying not to be hurt by his gruffness, Annie reached for the file on her new desk. “When you get done reading the report I typed up, we’ll talk.” Annie quickly perused the file on the Libby Tyler investigation that Rose had mentioned at lunch. She found it interesting that Ms. Tyler had reported the horses were being ridden hard at night during the new moon—and that the stable manager, Stuart Garwood, refused to take the matter seriously. But when she saw the scribbled note recently added to the file, she turned in her chair and stared at Joe. “She was shot at today?” Grimly, Joe nodded. “While you were at lunch, the captain called me. Ms. Tyler was out riding about three miles northeast of the stables when someone fired two rounds near her.” “Near or at?” He scowled. “I don’t know.” With a sigh, he tossed the pen aside. “Captain Ramsey wants us to go check out the general area where it happened.” Annie’s heart rose with hope. “Both of us?” “Yes,” Donnally said irritably, rising. “The captain seems to think you walk on water, so let’s see if you do. Come on.” Annie could think of nothing she could say to defuse his anger. She pointed to her uniform. “Could I change into my brig uniform before we go out?” “This isn’t going to take long.” She held his stare. “If we’re going to be out in the boonies of Reed, I’ll change. It will only take me a minute.” Holding onto his patience, Joe knew he’d overstepped his bounds. “Yeah, go ahead. I’ll meet you at the HumVee parked out front. It’s the vehicle we use for base investigations.” She offered him a slight smile of thanks. “I’ll be there in a minute.” * * * Joe was surprised when Annie emerged from the main brig building much sooner than he’d expected. Sourly, he admitted he was being hard on her. He was wrestling with so many stored feelings, and he had to stop being so nasty. She had changed into typical marine utilities, with the standard webbed, olive green belt around her waist. Ordinarily, a brig marine wore a pistol when on duty, but she hadn’t been issued one yet. Annie opened the door to the HumVee and climbed in. She felt lighter and happier than she had since her arrival—at least she was getting to work on a case right away. Maybe it would help keep her mind off Donnally’s angry attitude. “I’m ready,” she said a little breathlessly as she shut the door. With a grunt, Joe pulled the HumVee out of the parking spot. “Just to catch you up to speed, Libby Tyler is one of the base riding instructors, as you probably noticed in the file. According to Captain Ramsey, who had gone down to meet her for lunch, she was out riding roughly three miles northeast of the brig area when two shots were fired. Her horse reared up and she fell off, hitting her head on a rock. The captain is with her now—she’s still at the hospital getting fixed up.” “Will she be okay?” “I think so. The captain said he was going to be taking her to his apartment, because she can’t stand staying in hospitals and she’s in no shape to take care of herself.” “I don’t blame her,” Annie said wryly. Joe gave her a questioning look. “My mother is a medicine woman for our people. I never saw the inside of a hospital until I entered the Marine Corps.” Her voice lowered and she looked away from the eaglelike intensity of his blue gaze. “I had a bad experience with a hospital recently. I can’t say I like them, either.” “You were injured?” “Uh, no….” Annie prayed that Donnally wouldn’t ask any more questions. Her heart couldn’t stand to open up the very painful past before his glowering dislike. Joe turned onto a dirt road that meandered into the desert. “I’m not a great fan of hospitals, myself,” he growled, and left it at that, his attention temporarily focused on driving the big, clumsy vehicle across the rolling landscape of sagebrush, sand and cactus. The silence was a familiar friend to Annie as they bumped their way along the road’s uneven surface. Donnally seemed to know every inch of Camp Reed. He followed increasingly narrow and more rugged roads deeper and deeper into the inhospitable terrain. Off to the left, Annie could see the brig growing smaller. Finally, Joe pulled the vehicle to a halt and shut off the engine. “Well, this is roughly three miles northeast of the brig.” “What are we looking for?” “Where the horse reared and threw Ms. Tyler. That,” Joe said as he climbed out of the HumVee, “and maybe the rocks where the bullets hit.” “So we’re searching for the scene of the accident?” “Yes.” Annie climbed out and began to look around. She could feel Donnally watching her as she moved slowly around to the front of the vehicle. He had his hands on his hips, surveying the terrain with a scowl. He was handsome in a rugged kind of way, Annie thought—if only he didn’t frown all the time. “What do you want me to do?” she asked. Joe barely glanced in Annie’s direction, all too aware of her quiet, gentle presence. “You’re the world-famous tracker. You tell me,” he snapped. Annie knew better than to fall into that trap. Donnally was a sergeant, she a corporal. She was below rating and, therefore, the assistant, not authorized to make command decisions. “I can’t tell you anything until you give me an idea of the framework of this investigation. You’re in charge,” she reminded him calmly. Joe stiffened and turned toward her. He saw that her cinnamon eyes had gone hard and challenging again, and it surprised him. But why should it? Belatedly, Joe knew he’d overstepped his bounds with her. “You’re right. I want you to search this half of the area, maybe a quarter of a mile in diameter. I’ll search the other half. If you come up with something, give me a holler.” Annie gave him a slight nod and pulled the brim of her soft uniform cap, traditionally called a “cover,” farther down over her eyes to shade them from the intense sunlight. “Okay.” She turned and began an automatic perusal of the terrain, still feeling Donnally’s gaze burning into her back. Maybe he needed to be reminded that she wasn’t always going to take his anger. At least he’d backed down and started behaving in a correct manner with her. As Annie moved carefully through the brush, she admitted she didn’t want to fight with anyone. At heart, she considered herself a peaceful warrior, certainly not someone who relished violence. For more than an hour they searched the area, looking for any kind of evidence of the episode. Finding nothing at all, Joe was disgusted and finally called Annie back with a wave of his hand. As he stood by the HumVee waiting for her, he tried to ignore the delicate way she made her way between the sagebrush and avoided a prickly pear cactus. She moved with such natural grace that she looked more like a deer than a woman, he thought wonderingly. Then, angry at himself for his unbidden interest, he turned away from her approach. “I didn’t find anything,” Annie told him as she arrived on the road beside him. Joe nodded and gestured to the HumVee. “Makes two of us. Get in. When I get back to the office I’ll call and tell Captain Ramsey we need more specific directions. It was a wild-goose chase, anyway.” On the way back to the brig office, Annie remained silent. She wanted to like Joe Donnally—at least as her superior. True, he was gruff and abrupt, but she’d worked with marines like that before. She just hoped that his attacks would stop seeming so personal. If she could figure out why he was like this, she thought, maybe she could understand the basis of the anger aimed at her. Maybe something was causing him a lot of stress right now. She took a deep breath. “How long have you been here at Camp Reed, Sergeant?” she asked, struggling to keep her tone conversational. Joe shrugged. “Too long.” “Are there a lot of transition pressures on you right now?” He stared at her momentarily, then concentrated on navigating the dirt road. Once again, her astuteness surprised him. “Why would you want to know?” “I’m just trying to get a feel for what’s going down here. A new base always has its own set of rules.” “Isn’t that the truth.” Joe gave her an oblique look and was struck again by Annie’s earthy beauty. Her high cheekbones made her eyes look very large. And her mouth… Joe groaned inwardly. Then, disgusted by his unprofessional response to her, he gave himself an internal shake and said, “As I mentioned before, Captain Jacobs, the officer who just transferred out of here, was hell to work under.” “In what way?” Annie hoped that if she could get Joe to talk, it might ease the tension between them. “Jacobs was a screwup, as I said. All he was interested in was punching his ticket to get the necessary provost-marshal time on his personnel record and continue his goal toward being a major someday.” “Oh, that kind of officer….” “You got it.” She glanced at him, his profile set and his mouth a hard-looking line. Annie wondered if Joe ever smiled. Probably not often, after working under someone like Jacobs. No wonder he was sour. “A lot of problems?” she probed. “That doesn’t even begin to describe it.” “Were you badly understaffed?” “Very. Captain Ramsey just transferred four new brig marines to our office.” Joe sighed. “It’s going to help. We’ve all been standing twelve-hour duty, five days a week. Finally, we can start getting back to eight-hour shifts.” “It must have been pretty rough on you. You’re the section leader.” “I guess.” Annie decided that Joe Donnally was the master of understatement. She had been in her share of grueling, mismanaged situations, where the officers in charge were less-than-spectacular managers. “Pulling that kind of duty must have been hard on your family,” she ventured softly. “I’m not married.” “Oh….” Joe turned onto the asphalt highway that led back to the brig office, needled by her attempt to talk to him. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to Annie. It would mean dropping his defenses, and he wasn’t about to do that. No, somehow he’d have to get Captain Ramsey to put Annie into someone else’s section—anyone’s but his. * * * Joe hung up the phone unhappily. He’d just called Captain Ramsey at home, and Annie sat expectantly at her desk, looking at him. Stifling a curse, he ripped a piece of paper off the yellow legal-size pad and folded it haphazardly. “Ms. Tyler gave the captain specific information on where the shooting occurred. We have to get back there and check it out.” “No rest for the wicked,” Annie said with a slight smile, reaching for her cover. Joe glanced at his watch. It was 1700, quitting time. “No, we’ll do it tomorrow. I know you have to get moved into a new apartment, so I’m going to send you home. We’ll go out at 1400 tomorrow and check out this new area. I’ve got a bunch of work to catch up on for the transfer of a couple of brig prisoners. That has to be gotten out of the way first.” Annie rose and picked up her purse. Since her return to the office, she’d discovered that Rose had kindly set up her desk with everything she would need. “Okay, I’ll see you at 0800,” she agreed. Joe nodded and said nothing, watching her move toward the door. Why couldn’t Annie be less pretty? Less graceful? Less everything? Grumpily, he turned back to the demands of the long-overdue paperwork that crowded his desk. Not only did he have to bring Captain Ramsey up to speed, but Private Shaw, a marine in his section, had been discovered to be illiterate, and Joe had been assigned to watch over him and make sure the kid learned to read. On top of everything else, he had Annie. Well, it was too much. At first opportunity, he was going to talk long and hard to Ramsey about getting rid of her. He just didn’t want her around him or his section—the pain, the memories from the past that her presence called up were too great for him to deal with on top of the responsibilities he already shouldered. * * * The hot afternoon sun bore down on Annie as she climbed out of the HumVee. This time she had a camera slung over her shoulder, a report in hand, and she was prepared to search the area where Libby Tyler had said she’d fallen. Joe Donnally was no different, however much she’d hoped he would be. No, he was just as gruff and grumpy as ever. Compressing her lips, she moved around to the front of the HumVee where he stood, arms crossed, surveying the terrain. “This is it,” he said, discouraged by the rough rocks and sparse vegetation. How the hell were they supposed to find the exact spot where Libby Tyler had fallen? Frustrated, he looked over at Annie’s clean profile. He’d thought a day would make a difference in how he felt toward her, but it hadn’t. After a broken night’s sleep, with memories of the past bleeding into the fabric of the present, he was in an even fouler mood than yesterday, if that was possible. “We need to look for sagebrush or tufts of grass that have been disturbed,” Annie said. “Yeah? Well, it’s like looking for a needle in a damned haystack, if you ask me.” Annie smiled a little and set the report on the hood of the HumVee. Waves of heat, like invisible curtains, shimmered in front of them. It was over a hundred degrees, the sky a bright, cloudless blue. Only the refreshing scent of the Pacific Ocean less than ten miles away offered refreshment to Annie’s senses. “Maybe not.” She pointed toward the left. “You see that area?” “What, that bunch of sagebrush?” “Yes.” “What about it?” “I’ll bet that’s where the horse dumped her.” “How can you tell?” Joe looked over at her, incredulous. “I’ll show you.” Annie felt good about this opportunity to demonstrate to Joe that she knew her job as a tracker. As they walked about two hundred feet into the desert, she pointed to several surrounding markers. “She said she fell in a ravine. There are rocks on both sides of this V-shaped area. And the sagebrush down there looks damaged.” “It doesn’t to me,” Joe said flatly. Annie said nothing, but gingerly made her way down the steep side of the rocky ravine. Once at the bottom she knelt. Feeling Donnally’s presence, she looked up at him. “The sagebrush is broken here and here. This is where she fell.” Annie turned over several branches to show him they recently had been broken. Amazed that she could be so bold and sure about her discovery, Joe snorted. “Sure, and the next thing you’ll find is where the bullets hit the rocks.” Lifting her chin, Annie tried to ignore the sarcasm in his tone. “There’s one,” she said, pointing to a gray-and-black rock on the other side of the ravine. His eyes widening, Joe’s gaze followed her finger’s path. Stepping across the ravine, he spotted the rock she’d indicated. The surface of the huge boulder had been scarred recently by a bullet. Without a word, Joe lifted the camera and took a photograph of it, as well as where the brush had been broken by Libby’s tumble from the horse. Annie rose and started a rock-by-rock search for a second bullet indentation. About five feet away, on the opposite side of the ravine, she found what she was looking for. Calling Donnally over, she pointed to the rock. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered, and took another photo. Annie felt hope soar within her. Joe’s look had been one of praise, not anger. In her heart, she wanted to like him a lot. If only he would drop that angry wall he held up like a shield. Time, Annie cautioned herself. They needed time to adjust to each other. “The trajectory of the bullets indicate they were fired from that direction,” she told him, pointing off into the distance. Joe straightened. “You’re probably right.” He frowned and looked down at the rocks. “Whoever was doing the firing hit five feet either side of that horse.” “Yes,” she murmured, “the shooter knew what he was doing.” “I don’t think this was an accident,” Joe said quietly. “I don’t, either.” Joe wrestled with how easy it was to fall into a comfortable working relationship with Annie. She was all-business, and possessed a keen intelligence that startled him. He tried to suppress his burgeoning respect for her. “I’m going to assume the shots came from an M-16,” he told her. “Ms. Tyler said she didn’t see the person who fired, so it must have been long-range.” “Six hundred yards?” Annie guessed. “Bingo.” “You think the person who fired it was more than just an expert marksman? Maybe sniper-quality shooting?” “Yes.” Annie saw a gleam of respect in Joe’s eyes—if but for a fraction of a second—and a warmth flowed through her. At last, he was thawing a little toward her—even if it was strictly business, she thought as she nodded and followed him back to the HumVee. They rode in silence, the HumVee grinding over several small, rounded hills as Joe headed in the direction from which they believed the bullets had been fired. “Look,” Annie said suddenly, excitement in her voice. “See that cluster of rocks on top of that hill?” Joe smiled grimly. “Great place to hide a sniper, isn’t it?” Annie grinned. She liked Joe when he acted more human and less like a cornered mountain lion. Suddenly, they were a working team. She loved the natural high that came from successful investigative work, and obviously, so did Joe. The usual frostiness in his blue eyes had been replaced by an intensity that could only be translated as enjoyment. Getting out of the HumVee, they cautiously approached the series of boulders that were stacked haphazardly to form a semicircle at the top of the hill. Her eyes scanning the ground for spent cartridge casings, Annie felt her heart pump with excitement as she neared the other side of the boulders. “Look! Footprints!” She knelt and pointed to a partial print barely visible on the sand and rock. Joe grunted. “Good. Keep looking.” Feeling like a bloodhound on a fresh trail, Annie scanned the ground. Sunlight was glinting off something about ten feet from her and she picked her way through the thick sagebrush. Leaning down, her fingers searching, she felt the heat of metal and quickly grasped it. Triumphantly, she turned and held the cartridge casing up for Joe to see. “I found one!” He turned. The glint of sunlight off metal in Annie’s fingers spoke of her important find. From where he stood, he noticed a number of hoofprints. “Great! Looks like whoever fired the rifle rode a horse, too.” Annie nodded. She moved carefully around the prints and placed the shell in Joe’s outstretched hand. Just that minimal contact with his hand—callused from hard, outdoor work—was unexpectedly thrilling. Trying to hide her response, she examined the hoofprints closely. “Wait!” she whispered excitedly. “Take a look at this, will you?” Joe hunkered down opposite Annie. He liked the husky enthusiasm in her voice as she pointed to a particular print. “What about it?” he asked, mystified by her excitement. “The horse has a big chunk missing from the wall of its hoof. See? There’s a crescent-shaped piece gone. The horse has thrown a shoe; maybe he chipped his hoof on a rock.” “Yeah?” Joe grunted. Lifting her head, Annie met and held his blue gaze. For a moment, she felt a thrilling sense of joy move through her, hotter than the desert breeze. Joe was a powerful man, and her heightened senses were responding. He was masculine without being threatening, stimulating her in ways she’d never experienced. Mystified, Annie forced those discoveries aside and tried to explain the importance of the print. “Horses are usually shod to protect their hooves. If they lose a shoe, they risk chipping the outer hoof wall or bruising the soft area known as the frog.” She pointed to the print. “This horse lost its shoe and chipped a chunk off the outside wall of its hoof. I can take a plaster cast of this, and we can go back to the stables to see which horse this matches—just like a fingerprint or a tire tread. If we find the horse, we might find out who rode it or owns it.” Joe assimilated her explanation. If only he didn’t have to look into those warm, wide eyes of hers, with so much life sparkling from their depths. Part of him wanted simply to stand and stare like a love-smitten twelve-year-old. Fighting the desire, he said, “You’re assuming the horse was used by the sniper.” “Yes,” Annie conceded slowly, “I am.” “But if it was just someone riding out here, it may have nothing to do with the sniper.” “Still, it’s a clue,” she urged. “A starting point. The sniper couldn’t have driven out here, or Ms. Tyler would have seen the vehicle. The only two ways he could have gotten here are on foot or, quicker, by horseback.” She twisted around and pointed to the deep ravine at the foot of the hill. “He could have hidden his mount down there and waited for her to ride by. She never would have seen the horse.” It was good, basic logic, Joe had to admit. “Okay. Take a plaster cast of the print—and any others you think might be significant,” he ordered. That done, they’d need to bring the evidence to Captain Ramsey. Glancing at his watch, Joe realized it would be nearly 1700 before they could finish here and drive over to the officer’s home with their findings. He watched Annie for a moment, then forced himself to continue searching the site. But the rocky ground had destroyed any possibility of prints elsewhere. Disgusted, Joe realized they’d probably end up with only the one hoofprint. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a bullet casing near the end of the boulderlike fortress. He crossed the rough terrain and picked it up. “Bingo,” he said, holding it up to show Annie. “Here’s the second spent cartridge.” Annie broke out in a wide smile of appreciation. “Good work!” she praised. Heat sheeted through Joe at her beaming smile, and he stood frozen, stunned by the glow in her eyes and the radiance in her face. Such genuine happiness shone in her gold-flecked eyes that he was helpless to combat the rampant feeling rushing through him. Was the woman part witch? Casting a spell on him? Confusing him? Angrily, he spun around and walked down into the ravine, pretending to look for more prints. If only Annie wasn’t so beautiful—and in such a natural way. She looked completely at home in this arid land—a part of it rather than the stranger to it that he felt. Disgruntled, Joe tried to shift his focus back to the investigation. No question about it. As soon as he possibly could, he would ask Captain Ramsey to put Annie in another section—permanently. Chapter Three Joe tried to fight the exhaustion he felt as he entered the office earlier than usual the next morning. He hadn’t slept well at all, so he’d decided to come in and try to work away his restlessness. It was 0730. Unhappy with the results of their consultation with Captain Ramsey last evening, Joe knew he had to talk to him about Annie. Wiping his eyes tiredly, he raised his hand in greeting to Rose, who waved back. She was always at work by 0730. Looking around at the sound of other footsteps, he was surprised to see Annie coming down the passageway, dressed in the normal brig attire of desert-camouflage utilities. Today, she carried the mandatory holster and pistol on the web belt encircling her waist. If possible, she looked more desirable to him than ever. Panic struck Joe, and he gave Annie a brusque nod as he walked swiftly past her and out the door, ignoring her softly spoken, “Good morning.” Stepping into the passageway, he hoped that Captain Ramsey would be in his office. He knew Ramsey had been coming in every morning for about an hour before returning home, where Libby Tyler was continuing to recuperate under his care. Knocking at the officer’s door, he heard Ramsey call, “Come in.” Taking a deep breath, Joe hesitated momentarily. His heart was pounding hard in his chest, and he felt a little shaky—completely unlike himself. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he knew he had to go through with this desperate, last-ditch effort. He had to make a confession to Captain Ramsey, although it was the last thing he wanted to do. What he had to tell him, Joe had hoped he’d never have to tell anyone, but he was backed into a corner now, with no other option that he could see. His strong, brown fingers wrapped around the highly polished brass doorknob. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door, praying that once he heard the painful story, Ramsey would let Annie Yellow Horse be reassigned. * * * Joe tried to swallow the bitter taste in his mouth as he left Ramsey’s office. He felt tired, beaten and disappointed. Annie Yellow Horse was his partner—whether he wanted her or not. Ramsey hadn’t been moved by his tortured confession about the haunting past that walked with him every moment of every day. He stood in the passageway, feeling lost and guilt-ridden. Dammit, why did Annie Yellow Horse have to be so likable? One thing Joe knew: he couldn’t go back into the office and face her right now. It wasn’t her fault, even if he was just a little jealous of her tracking credentials. No, he didn’t dare to get close to a woman brig chaser ever again—even on a strictly professional basis. Their line of work was too dangerous, too filled with unknowns, to risk his heart again as he had with Jenny. Joe walked slowly back down the passageway, uncertain of his destination. He just needed time to settle his roiling emotions, raised by talking about his sordid past. Blinking back sudden, unexpected tears, Joe shoved open a door that led him outside to a small alcove of thick green grass, a few silver-barked eucalyptus trees—and some much-needed solitude. Several picnic tables and benches were scattered around the lawn beneath the shade of the huge, graceful trees, but, thankfully, no one was using them. Sitting down on one of the benches, Joe watched without interest as several robins hunted for worms on the recently watered grass. The dry heat of the California desert ebbed and flowed around him, but he didn’t really feel it. Off in the distance, he could hear a helicopter lifting off a pad at the base airport. He loved his life as a marine. And he liked Captain Ramsey. The man was fair, but he was blind, too. Maybe the captain’s feelings for Libby Tyler interfered with his ability to see that keeping Annie and Joe together was the wrong thing to do. What was he going to do with Annie? Joe sat for a long time, hoping that his gut would unclench, that his heart would stop aching. It was the first time he’d told anyone here about Jenny. He’d come to Camp Reed shortly after that tragic situation, and no one here knew what had happened. Joe didn’t want them to know. It was too personal, too gut wrenching, to have the story talked about over lunch or at the NCO, the non-commissioned officer’s, Club. Slowly rubbing his face, Joe was startled to see Annie’s features appear before him. Lowering his hands and opening his eyes, he cursed. Somehow, he was going to have to keep her at bay, keep her from ever bonding with him the way most brig partners did over time. But how the hell was he going to accomplish that? Already his protective instincts were working overtime. Annie’s face was vulnerable—not the tough marine facade he had expected. How had she lasted six years in the corps? Even her voice was soft. He could see nothing hard about her; she had remained entrancingly feminine despite the responsibilities she carried on her shoulders. Frustrated as never before, Joe slowly eased off the bench, immune to the beauty that surrounded him as he slowly trudged back into the building toward his office. He had no answers to his questions. And right now, he was angry. Angry at Annie Yellow Horse for stepping squarely and unexpectedly into the turmoil of his life. He needed her the way he needed rocks in his head, Joe thought, disgruntled. “Sergeant Donnally?” Annie’s husky voice, low with concern, intruded on his spinning thoughts and torn emotions. He snapped a look to the left. Annie was standing there, extending his hat to him. Her face looked serene, although her eyes reflected concern—for him. Swallowing hard, Joe rasped, “What is it?” “Captain Ramsey just ordered us to get to the stables as soon as possible.” She shrugged a little and ventured a small smile. “Here’s your cover. I already put everything else we’ll need in the HumVee.” Taking his hat and settling it on his head, Joe stood there, filled with anguish. Somehow, he had to ignore Annie’s ethereal beauty. Somehow. “Yeah,” he croaked, “let’s get going.” “Do you want me to drive?” “No, I will.” Joe saw the question in her eyes, but refused to offer an explanation. He knew by the way she was reacting to him that he must look like hell. He certainly felt like hell. Annie tried to ignore the hurt of their confrontation yesterday at Captain Ramsey’s home, when Joe had tried to discredit her hoofprint clue. Luckily, the captain, who had grown up on the same reservation she had, understood that hoofprints were as unique as fingerprints. But it had been a minor incident, so Annie let it go. As she fell into step with Donnally, she tried to ignore new hurt that sprang from her heart as they moved into the passageway. It was impossible for Donnally to disguise the fact that he didn’t like her. Casting around for some way to defuse the unhappiness radiating from him, Annie said, “I grew up on the New Mexico desert and my folks raised sheep for a living. My mother is a medicine woman, but she weaves rugs, too. I guess I was kind of a tomboy for a Navajo girl, because I liked herding the sheep better than learning to weave. One of the things I had to learn in a hurry, though, was how to track strays from the main flock. Sometimes a ewe that was ready to birth would leave the herd to have her baby. Out there, coyotes were just waiting for strays, because it meant a meal to them.” Joe opened the door that led out to the parking lot. He was trying desperately not to listen to Annie’s soft, enthusiastic voice. Heat from the morning sunlight was overcoming the previous night’s coolness, and he inhaled the salt-laden air deeply. Annie hurried to keep step with Joe, determined to break the ice with him. “I had to learn to track those ewes before the coyotes got to them and their new babies. That’s when I realized that no sheep’s hooves were the same.” She laughed a little as he slowed down to get into the waiting HumVee. “Can you imagine me, as a nine-year-old, following ten or fifteen sheep trails, trying to sort out which one belonged to the pregnant mother?” Annie climbed in and sensed a bit of a thaw in Joe’s jutting jaw. Closing the door, she continued, “No one taught me about the differences in the way a hoof looked. I just kind of learned out of desperation, if you want to know the truth. I knew if I lost a mother and baby, I’d be blamed by my family for not taking care of something more helpless than I was.” Joe turned the HumVee down the street that led to the main boulevard, which would take them to the west-gate area where the stable facility was located. The warmth of Annie’s laughter, the intimacy of the way she confided in him, unstrung him. “Did you ever lose any sheep?” he found himself asking, against his will. Thrilled, Annie tried to keep her hopes from getting too high. At least Joe was talking to her. “Almost. I must have run down about ten sets of tracks on the red desert where we lived, and all of them came back to where the flock was grazing. My brother Tom kept watching the flock, and I’d take off running again. My lungs hurt, my legs hurt, and I was crying on top of everything else. I didn’t want to shame myself. You see, I’d begged my parents to let me be a herder. They told me that if I couldn’t do the job my brothers did, I’d have to learn the things women are taught and stay out of a man’s world.” Joe nodded, the pain around his heart miraculously easing beneath Annie’s spontaneous warmth. A large part of him wanted to know about Annie—as a person as well as a marine, but it was a dangerous area to tread. The better he got to know her, the more risk there was to both of them. The look on Joe’s face encouraged Annie as they drove down the busy boulevard. The line of his mouth had eased, if only a bit, and she could feel him listening with interest to her story, so she continued. “It was near evening, and a lot of the ewes lamb at night. On about the twelfth trail, I noticed that this sheep had a chip out of the left side of one hoof. I found her at twilight.” Annie smiled fondly in remembrance. “She was just birthing, and a pack of coyotes was stalking her. I ran at them, yelling and shouting to scatter them.” “You did?” Joe turned briefly. It was a mistake. The joy in Annie’s eyes was his undoing. Her lips were slightly parted, as if she were breathless, and that radiance that always seemed to be in her face was pronounced, her eyes dancing with memories. “Coyotes aren’t like wolves—they run,” she explained. “What did you have to chase them off with? A gun?” Chortling, Annie relaxed. “No, just the wooden staff all herders carry.” Shaking his head, Joe muttered, “And I thought my growing-up years in National City were dangerous.” “Where is National City?” Annie responded, praying that he’d open up to her, if just a little. Instantly, she saw his brows dip and she felt his defenses rise. “It’s a hole,” he growled, making it clear he didn’t want to discuss it. Ahead, he saw the road leading to the stables. “We’re going to have to talk to Stuart Garwood,” he continued gruffly, changing the subject. “He’s the base stables manager. We’ll let him know we’re going to be checking the horses.” Disappointed but careful not to show it, Annie nodded. Still, as the HumVee moved down the paved road to where the stables were situated, in a pocket among four large hills, she felt hope. At least Joe had responded to her. Perhaps she’d have to open up more of herself, become more personal so he’d realize that she wasn’t a threat to him. Then maybe he’d become more friendly—or, if not friendly, at least not so angry all the time. As she climbed out of the HumVee, Annie automatically switched her internal sensing abilities to the case at hand. A man dressed in canary yellow riding breeches, highly polished black boots and a red polo shirt stood on the porch of the stables’ front office, observing their approach. Instantly, Annie felt an instinctive warning that he wasn’t to be trusted. She wasn’t sure what was behind the subtle feeling, but it was there nonetheless. She followed Joe as he quickly climbed the steps toward the man, who remained on the porch, hands on his hips, frowning at them. “Mr. Garwood?” Joe queried, halting before him. “Yes?” “Sir, we’re here from the provost marshal’s office. We’d like to examine the horses stabled here for a possible identification.” Garwood scowled. “What identification?” Joe pointed to the plaster cast that Annie held. “We found hoofprints at the location of a possible sniper. We think they’re from the mount of whoever fired at Ms. Tyler.” Garwood snorted violently and glared at Annie and the plaster cast. “Why, that’s preposterous!” Joe held his temper. “No, sir, it isn’t. With your permission, we’ll check the stable horses as well as the privately owned ones.” Though it wasn’t obvious, Annie caught the flare of anger in Garwood’s dark eyes and sensed a quiet fury radiating from the stable manager. “Oh, go ahead! I think it’s ridiculous, but I guess you have to justify this stupid investigation of Ms. Tyler’s allegations.” Garwood turned on his heel and walked back into his office. As the door slammed behind him, Annie winced. “Ouch,” she whispered to Joe. “He’s a little prickly about this, don’t you think?” Joe rubbed his jaw and looked around. “I suppose. I don’t know why, though. It’s no skin off his nose. We’re the ones who’ll be looking at horses’ hooves all day,” he griped. Annie smarted under his cynicism. “You think this is a wild-goose chase, too, don’t you?” “I think I made that clear yesterday at the captain’s house. Come on, let’s get going.” Sighing, but controlling her temper, Annie followed Joe off the porch toward the first huge corral, filled with about forty stable horses that were regularly used for trail rides. It would take both of them, working as a team, to complete the investigation, she knew. As they slipped between the pipe rails, she suggested, “I’ll check the hooves if you’ll hold the horses by their halters.” “Fine with me. I don’t have any experience with horses,” Joe said gruffly. Annie set the plastic-wrapped plaster cast on the ground outside the fence. It would be fairly easy to lift the various hooves. If she found one with a chip out of it, she could bring the cast over for a positive identification. Inwardly, she prayed they would find that horse. Otherwise, she knew, Donnally would hold this over her head as a “waste” of his day. As Joe grasped the first horse’s halter, he glared around at their pastoral surroundings. The scent of hay and horses wafted on a warm breeze. Silver-barked eucalyptus trees encircled the stables area, making it look more like a farm than part of a Marine Corps base. He watched with a scowl as Annie quickly lifted each of the horse’s feet in succession. She was fast and thorough. He moved to the next horse. And the next. After about an hour, he decided to talk. “Garwood seemed testy.” Annie looked up from her crouched position, the raised hoof of the current horse in her grasp and nodded. Then, she straightened and brushed off her hands. Joe stood on the opposite side of the animal. “If you won’t laugh at me, I’ll tell you the readout I got on him,” she offered. Joe stared at her. Annie had removed her soft cover and stuck it in the rear pocket of her utilities. Her shiny black hair was gently mussed around her face, giving her the look of a woman who thoroughly relished being outdoors. If she’d been labeled a tomboy, it was only from the standpoint of the culture that had raised her. Annie loved nature, Joe realized, and she wasn’t trying to imitate a man in any way. As she ran her long, expressive fingers across the sleek back of the horse, he felt his pulse leap through him, hard and strong. Everything about her was feminine and graceful. Making an effort to derail that line of thinking, he said, “I won’t laugh at you.” With a shrug, she said, “I have a kind of internal radar, if you will.” She smiled a little, glad to straighten up and work the kinks out of her shoulders. “I call it my ‘all-terrain radar.’ I get a sense about a person or a situation—and I’m rarely wrong. It has saved my life a couple of times in the past with transporting brig prisoners—or tracking them when they’ve escaped.” Fear bolted through Joe as he stared across the horse at her solemn expression. “What do you mean?” he croaked, his fingers tightening around the horse’s leather halter. “Over the past five years, I’ve been flown in whenever brig prisoners escape. Various bases have used my skills to find the escapees. I’ve tracked through swamps, forests and about any kind of rough terrain you want to mention. I use these—” she pointed to her head and then her heart “—like radar. I can’t really explain it except to say that I can literally sense if danger is near. Then I’m really careful and make sure my backup is in position.” “Intuition?” Joe could only guess at what she was talking about. “I guess….” Annie smiled at him and held his blue gaze, which was now openly curious. But she noticed something else in the depths of his eyes that surprised her: fear. What kind? She wanted to ask, but knew she didn’t dare. Joe would open up, if at all, on his time and terms, not hers. “Anyway, the few times I haven’t paid attention to that internal red-flag warning, I’ve nearly bought the farm.” “Died?” She gave him a wry look. “Listen, being a brig chaser automatically puts you in the line of fire, don’t you think?” Frowning, Joe muttered, “If you follow regulations and always work with a partner, it’s safer.” But not foolproof, as he knew all too well. “I always had a partner.” Annie laughed. “My partner is the other set of ears and eyes that can stop a bullet from nailing me.” A chill worked its way through Joe. “Tracking prisoners isn’t some kind of lark,” he snapped irritably. Taken aback, Annie blinked. Joe’s face was thundercloud dark with accusation. “Hey, wait a minute. I didn’t say it was a lark.” “You act like it is. You laugh at nearly getting killed. That’s stupid.” Working to hold on to her mounting anger, Annie said tightly, “I think we had better get back to our original topic: Garwood.” “What about him?” Reeling from his suddenly cold attitude, Annie snapped back, “He’s dangerous!” Joe snorted. “Oh, sure.” “You asked what I felt, and I’m telling you!” Joe’s anger surged upward. Annie’s blazing eyes triggered all of the tamped-down fury and frustration that had simmered for the past two days since her arrival. “I don’t care how famous you are, Yellow Horse. To me, you’re just a brig chaser—like the rest of us. This crap about sensing stuff is for the birds. Saying Garwood’s dangerous is ridiculous. You can’t prove it.” “Why…” Taking a deep breath, Annie stopped herself from saying anything else. Donnally was her superior. Her boss. Instantly, she clamped down on her anger. But what had stung him to make him attack her again? It seemed totally unjustified. Compressing her lips, but holding his furious gaze, she said tightly, “Let’s get back to work.” “Yeah,” Joe rasped, struggling to calm his overflowing fears and anger. Why was his heart beating this way? As soon as Annie had mentioned being in danger, a hard, unrelenting pounding had started in his chest. Dammit! It seemed as if he had no control over this automatic, protective urge toward her. Annie was a marine. A brig chaser on top of that. If anyone knew how to protect herself, she did. But so had Jenny, something deep within him warned. And look what had happened to her. 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. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». 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