Talon: Combat Tracking Team (A Breed Apart) (18 page)

Who on earth was pummeling them? Cardinal pulled himself along the belly of the building, ignoring the warmth slithering down his arm…then his underarm…and along his oblique muscle. Hand over hand, he used loose boards, exposed pipes, whatever, to drag himself around.

“What are you doing?” Aspen asked.

“Getting out.” Cardinal finally had a decent view to the exterior but could not locate Candyman or Hogan. To the left, a thin beam of light fractured then reappeared. The two were holed up at the southeastern corner.

“Backup en route,” Candyman shouted.

As if to confirm his words, in the distance screeching tires prevailed against the crack of weapons’ fire. As Cardinal dragged himself between earth and wood to reach the north face of the building. Something glinted in the dirt. A rock? Token? The fact that something lay beneath this rubble of a building and was still shiny…His fingers curled around it, and he continued on. At the other side, a mere four meters or so, he shoved his feet against the splintering boards. It gave out, light fracturing the darkness.

He glanced over his shoulder.

Light streaked along Aspen—and his heart slowed. Blue eyes locked on him. Aspen had an arm hooked around Talon. “He’s trembling.”

“Can you get him out this way?”

“I…I think so. I have to, don’t I?”

It wasn’t really a question. And she was already scooting along.

“C’mon, boy.” Her voice remained calm and authoritative. “Talon, go. Seek.”

And as if another dog took over the Lab’s body, scritching told of his movement. The sound of sand and dirt dislodged by his nails and soft pads joined with the affirmation he no doubt needed from Aspen. Something swelled inside Cardinal at the dog and handler. Or maybe it was just the handler. The no-surrender policy she lived out.

Even if it was the handler, what mattered was their movement. They weren’t sitting ducks…dogs. Whatever.

Cardinal pushed against the skirting. It budged but not enough to release them from the suffocating, narrow void that felt very much like the underworld. Mentally, he ratcheted down the thoughts of the amount of space—or more precisely, the
lack
thereof—and trained his efforts on busting out. He swung his legs around and angled—

Whack!

He jerked back and cringed—he’d hit heads with Aspen.

“Sorry,” she said.

He worked on setting himself, flat on his back, at a perpendicular angle to the skirting on the north side. “I probably did more damage with my hard head.”

“I’ll probably have a shiner,” she admitted with a laugh that was anything but convincing.

On his back, Cardinal glanced to the side.

She was…Right. There. Wide eyes. Full lips. Prim nose. Innocence. Everything about her radiated a vibrancy that defied the shadowy underground they crawled through.

“What?”

   Cardinal flinched. “Nothing.”
Cad, you just gave her a black eye
. “Sorry. ’Bout the eye.” Gripping the pipes, he shoved his mind back into line and his feet into the skirting.

Light erupted.

A breathy laugh skated along his ear and down his neck, flooding him with a preternatural warmth that had nothing to do with the Djibouti heat.
Get out. Before it’s too late
.

“Let’s go.” He scrambled out into the open and stayed low, eyeing the road that stretched east and west in front of them. Empty. He wagged his fingers toward Aspen. “C’mon.”

“Talon, go.”

Soon soulful brown eyes twinkled in the sunlight.

“Good boy.” Cardinal held out his hand, palm up, so Talon could reassess him.

Dirty blond curls rustled as Aspen broke free. Cardinal helped her up.

She drew in a long, greedy breath of air and exhaled it quickly. “I hate tight spaces.” She smiled at him—and the red welt on her cheekbone glared back.

Noise from behind yanked him around. He reached for the weapon holstered at his back but stilled the instinct. Candyman and Hogan hustled toward them. “Team’s coming.”

A blur of tan burst around the corner. Dust plumed out, providing ample cover around the steel-reinforced vehicle. A door flew open. Watterboy jumped to the rear and leaned against the Cougar, watching. “Go, go,” he shouted, waving them into the MRAP.

Bullets pinged the hull.

Candyman bolted to the corner and knelt, weapon pressed to his shoulder as he provided suppressive fire.

Cardinal reached back to Aspen, who stood to his five. Pain rippled down his side. He cringed but stuffed it. “Go on,” he said with a nod.

She gripped Talon’s collar and rushed into the safety of the Cougar, followed close behind by Hogan. Cardinal trailed them into the vehicle, landing hard on a boot, then shifting out of its way as he hauled himself onto a seat. Arm pinned to his side, he tried to quench the fire licking through his shoulder.

Loaded with Candyman and Watterboy, they were in motion.

“What happened?” Watterboy demanded, his face smeared with dirt and anger.

Cardinal glanced at Aspen with Talon sitting between her feet, stroking his ears. She didn’t return his gaze, but he could tell she was aware of his attention. “Took fire. Don’t know who or why.”

Watterboy shook his head. “We’re going to get our butts handed to us back at Lemonnier.”

“Lemonnier?” Removing his helmet, Candyman snickered. “Captain, I’m worried about Burnett.”

Heat spread through Cardinal’s back and side.

“How’s that shoulder graze?” Candyman asked. “Probably should have one of the docs check that out back at the base.”

With a slow bob of his head, Cardinal knew he wouldn’t. Medical attention meant medical records. A trail.

Never leave a trail.

Twenty minutes later, they unloaded at the base.

“Hey, that dog going to be a problem?” Watterboy asked, his tone providing the answer he expected. “Do we need to pull this mission?”

“No, I…he hasn’t done that—”

“He hit on something.” Cardinal stepped between them, a hand on Aspen’s shoulder as he guided her out of the conversation. “It means he’s back in action.” The mere motion of his arm at that angle made his side warm again. Wet trickled down his side.

His eyes closed for a fraction of a second.

Whirring air conditioners and chatter embraced them as they stepped into a building. He didn’t know which one till he heard the clanking of utensils and trays: mess hall.

Aspen paused. Her hand came to his side. “Thank—”

Groaning, he arched his back, pulling out of her grip. Hot and cold washed through him. What was this? He’d been riddled before without feeling like this.

Blue eyes widened as she pulled her hand away, stained red. “You’re bleeding!”

The weak smile he mustered wouldn’t convince her. “A graze.”

“Of an artery!”

“No, but thank you for your concern.” He inclined his head and stepped away from her.

“Let me help you.”

“I’m fine.” Cardinal forced his body to comply, to walk out of the building, to head back to the bunks they’d been assigned for the next few weeks.
“let me help you.”
She would help him. Straight into the grave. He’d made mistakes out there. Tripped up over a pair of ocean-blue eyes. Swam in them.

The bunkroom sat empty. He dropped on the striped mattress and dragged out his first-aid kit. Stuffed it into his toiletry bag. In the showers, he flipped the shower knob to cold.

Heated water blasted from the head.

Cardinal slumped. Of course. The water purifier only pumped hot water. To kill anything in the water. Maybe it’d kill the bad bacteria forming around his wound. Under the saunalike spray, he washed the wound, dug out the bullet, and sewed it up. Used the searing pain to remind him—not to fail. Not to…

She’d been so alarmed seeing his blood on her hand. Not just an apathetic “you’re bleeding,” but a—

Cursing himself, Cardinal spun the handle and cut the water. He had to gut this up. Get over it. Get the mission done. Get back to Virginia. Maybe…maybe he’d even go…home.

“Are you stupid?” She batted her long, black hair from her face.
“Shooting
at them?”

“They’re getting too close. They need to go back, leave.”

“Leave?” she shrieked. “They aren’t going to leave. They’re going to come looking for us.”

“They won’t.”

“How can you know that?”

“Because, they’re too invested in protecting the dog.” It was a theory. One with as many holes as a strainer. “She won’t put that dog in the way, not if she thinks he might get shot.”

“She was protecting him.”

He nodded, remembering how she’d pushed beneath the house to shield the dog with her body. Then the big guy had joined them.

Neil’s bullet wound, though stitched, had become red and irritated so he’d gone to Peltier for antibiotics. He couldn’t afford to see a doctor and expose himself. But he knew his way around the building. What were the odds the Americans would be there at the same time? And the Lab…

Neil wasn’t trying to kill them. Just get them off his back. It’d been too close.

Everything
had been too close.

In fact, everything had gone wrong. Two days ago at the Palace Kempinski, he’d taken a two-minute shower, dressed, and was stuffing a pack full of the items he’d hidden in the room when he heard squealing tires. He ordered Lina out of the shower as he checked the window. A dozen cars barreled toward the hotel.

They’d made it out the doors with barely seconds to spare. He hotwired a car, and they vanished down the street, where they abandoned the car ten minutes later. They’d been at the hotel less than fifteen minutes when he heard shouts and gunfire.

“Let’s leave, get as far away—”

“No.” Neil tightened his jaw. “They stole my life from me. I’m not leaving till I get it back.”

Slumping onto the thin mattress bed, Aspen stroked Talon’s fur as he slept on the gray-striped mattress. The words Dane had shot at Watterboy still rang in her ears. Is that what happened with Talon? Had he hit on something? Or was he running scared? What happened had made no sense. They’d been there, he was fine, engaged the little boy, then everything went nutso.

It just didn’t make sense.

It’s why she came back to the bunkroom, why she’d found that lame excuse about washing off Talon. She wanted to talk to Dane. He had good sense.

Did he really think they’d find Austin? Why did she keep asking that question? Was it her doubt? If she truly believed they’d find him alive, these questions wouldn’t haunt her. Right?

She felt the presence more than heard it.

Aspen pushed to her feet, heart catapulted into her throat as she found Dane standing on the other side of the steel bed. Hands at her side, she gulped the adrenaline burst—saw the angry red wound on his side.

“What are you doing here?” He snatched a shirt from his bag and stuffed his hands through the sleeves.

“I…” She ran her fingers along the ridges of Talon’s lead. “What you said earlier to Watterboy, about Talon getting a hit on something and being back in action…”

“Yeah?” Dane ran his hands through his hair, but the strands around his crown dropped back into his face. Beautiful olive skin. A dusting of stubble that made him appear rugged. Those eyes that somehow managed to funnel strength and courage to her heart like an IV.

“I…” She sighed. “I’m not sure that’s what happened.”

“Then what did?”

She looked down at the seventy-five-pound dog, his oh-so-steady brown eyes, and the smile that tugged into his face when he panted. He had panicked. As he’d done before at the ranch. At home. In any new situation. He’d settle for a bit, but once he went into that “vigilance” mode, it was like trying to lasso a mountain.

She’d hoped…hoped so dearly that he’d be able to do this. But was it fair to put such high expectations on a dog? A dog with more hurt than courage.

The truth hurt. She braved Dane’s gaze again. “I think he got scared and ran off to hide.” She shrugged. “I mean, look where we were finally able to corner him.”

He held up a hand to her as he retrieved his boots with the other, perched on the edge of the bed next to Talon. “Let’s examine your theory.” He threaded his socks over his feet—big, flat feet. Nana’s old wives’ tale about men with flat feet having a bad temper flitted through Aspen’s mind. Though she’d seen him determined and perhaps a bit intense, she couldn’t imagine him with a bad temper. It just didn’t fit.