Blind Rage: Team Red, Book 4 (11 page)

I think my dog was laughing at me. I didn’t hear him in my mind, but there were waves of happy amusement in his emotions. A gentle head-butt to my shoulder over-balanced me, and I fell right on my rear. Yeah, now I could hear the mental mirth clearly.

The front door opened, followed by Gwyn’s, “What the hell happened here?”

Bas, a few Mustangs observing from the kitchen, and I chorused, “Tank!”

Red took the opportunity to glance toward the kennel. The bad puppy in question was turned away so he stared at the blank wall, ignoring our collective censure. There was a tell-tale flick of his ears, suggesting he was aware the conversation revolved around him.

Gwyn sighed heavily. “Who was supposed to be watching him this time?”

Again, the chorus sang out, “Red.” My perspective changed as Red, once again, dropped his head between his paws.

“I’m in trouble again, aren’t I?”
he sighed, dejected.

“Red is properly contrite, Gwyn. He’s promised to take better care of Tank. Bas is even considering a remote for the dog door to make sure we can monitor canine comings and goings.”

Gwyn’s smile turned positively evil as she reached for her cell phone, from Red’s perspective tapping what had to be a speed dial number. “Hello, darling. Are you still mad at Double D and Crooner?” Her grin widened at, what I suspected was, Russ’ affirmative answer. “Marvelous. Have I got a dirty job for them,” she cooed. “There’s a four-footed dog-castrophy in the living room. Should keep them occupied with a carpet shampooer and upholstery cleaner for half-a-day, or so.” She chuckled at her husband’s reply. “Yes, I think so, too. Whenever they’re ready, I’ll send them to the store to get supplies. Thanks, sweetheart.”

With a hard poke at her disconnect button, Gwyn smiled with movie-star brilliance. “Problem solved.”

“Which ones are Double D and Crooner?” I wondered aloud. “And what did they do to warrant cleaning duty?”

“Double D is Dean Dawson, a tribute to his initials as well as his preference for busty babes. The woman can be ugly as sin, but if she’s sporting a generous rack, Dawson won’t notice anything above her neck,” Bas offered, helpfully. “Crooner is Larry Andrews; he has a singing voice to rival Sinatra.”

“Dawson was over an hour late reporting for his shift this morning. Andrews was caught taking selfies in the PT area mirrors downstairs. We have zero tolerance for picture-taking in the basement,” Gwyn explained. “The reflection showed some of the Cave’s layout and computer monitors. Luckily, Andrews hadn’t posted the images. He was being a bonehead after his workout, careless of where he was. Russ was wondering what to do for punishment, so Tank has provided a great opportunity for atonement.”

Oh, I bet Russ was livid. I’ll admit, I was glad the cleaning chore wouldn’t fall on Ken’s shoulders. Once again, I followed the muddy trail through Red’s vision. The paw prints on the couch may end up being the hardest to clean.

Two sets of feet pounded the basement stairs, moments later appearing in the kitchen. The taller of the two, Larry Andrews, was the first to register the extent of the mess. “Oh crap, we’ll be scrubbing for days,” he moaned.

“It’s your fault,” Dawson accused, glaring at Andrews. “He was only mildly annoyed when I showed up late. You had to whip out a camera, in the Cave no less, to snap pictures of your sweaty ass for Rosie. From annoyed to ballistic in five easy clicks.” Dawson’s hand snapped out to thump his partner—soundly enough I could hear it from a room away—on the back of the head. “Great going, dude.”

Andrews dropped his gaze, obviously embarrassed. “Sorry, man. Can’t believe I did somethin’ so dumb. I know better. I wasn’t thinkin’ ‘bout where I was.”

“Coulda been worse,” Dawson reflected. “Leastways he didn’t send us back to SD.” Referring to their home base in San Diego.

“Come on, you two. I’ll give you a list of the supplies you’ll need.” Gwyn directed them to the dining room table, pulling a little spiral notebook and ballpoint pen from her apron pocket.

Bas took advantage of the lull in household drama to kiss me sweetly. He promised “See you later for lunch,” before disappearing into the pantry.

“If you see a brand name listed on here, don’t buy generic,” Gwyn warned, tearing out a page and extending it toward Dawson who stood closest to her. “Rent a heavy-duty shampooer, but be sure to get one that has a hand-held attachment for doing the couch and cushions. Call me if you have any questions. Did Russ give you a credit card?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dawson replied, folding the paper before sliding it into his back pocket. “’M’on, Crooner. Sooner we get ‘er done, the sooner we can get back to the fun stuff.”

“I hear ya,” he acknowledged. “Lead the way.”

The men left, their good-natured grumbling soft. Their exit seemed to signal the rest of the Mustangs who finished topping off coffees before scattering to their morning routines with the obligatory out-going roll call. Gwyn began unpacking the groceries she’d brought in ten minutes ago.

“I guess it’s you and me, pal,” I addressed my dog. “Let me change Tank’s bedding and brush some of the mud off his coat, then we can take a walk over to see how the excavation is coming along.”

“The Army guys left real early this morning,”
I was informed.
“It’s supposed to snow today, so they can’t dig anymore. One of the soldiers said they’ll be back next week when the temperatures come up again.”

“It will be nice to have some quiet mornings. Heavy machinery at seven a.m. gets irritating after a week or so.”

“Hey, let’s walk through the new property David and Bas bought. The guys put up some cameras yesterday. We can try to spot them.”

“Sounds like fun.” I think my sarcasm was lost on Red; either that, or he chose to ignore it. I’m betting on the latter.

Chapter
Ten

** Mid-morning, Friday - Jan 11
th
**

Cleaning Tank’s feet went easier than I’d anticipated, probably because the worst of the mud was covering a fifteen by twenty-five foot expanse of the living room.

I’d already changed to dry clothing, and Red was slurping noisily from his bowl, while I filled a to-go cup to carry on our walk. Red swung around to the sound of the Cave’s inner door opening, briefly warning,
“Lights on,”
before giving me a visual as Bas wandered out from the pantry, Dexter at his heels. “Hey, Babe. I expected you’d be out for your morning perimeter walk already. We’re waiting on the coffee to finish brewing in the Cave, so we thought we’d steal some of yours.”

I gave him the evil eye, which he ignored, leaning forward to fit his lips to the curve of my own. Okay, for smooches like these, I’ll share a few cups of my coffee.

“For all his smarts, Brain has a mental block against making coffee when he grabs the last cup. There’s a herd of Mustangs down below contemplating cruel tortures against one of their own,” Dexter shared.

“Which one is Brain? Barney?” I’ll have to request Frost write out a list of the guys and their nicknames. If I was having troubles with the eighteen men on site, I could only imagine the potential issues I’ll have when a few dozen are cycling through. Seeing the list, through Red, would help me remember the associations. “Barney Kirsch is supposed to be some mega-smart guy, right?”

“Barney is called DB,” Dex explained. “That’s short for Deep Blue, the chess playing super computer. Kirsch has a talent for discerning patterns and figuring out puzzles.”

“Brain is Brian,” Bas revealed. “He got the name by default, the payroll clerk kept transposing the letters of his name. It got to be a running joke and the name stuck. He is a smart guy, but nothing like DB or David.”

“What about you, Dexter? No one has ever mentioned a call name for you.”

There was a pause. Bas finally answered, “Err, Babe, Dexter is his nickname. He won’t let us use his first name, under penalty of death.”

I wasn’t quite sure I understood, so I had to ask. “As in TV serial killer, Dexter? Or am I missing something more obvious here?” Since Dex is a lanky black man, about my height, I was sure it wasn’t a physical resemblance to the actor on the cable show.

Red obligingly turned toward Dexter, who looked directly at him, giving me a beatific smile. Okay,
that
was weirdly creepy.

“After seeing the look on his face, I really don’t want to know.”

Dexter’s smile widened before he turned away to reach for a mug. From Red’s perspective, I could see him wearing a self-satisfied smirk. Maybe the name was simply because he has a serial killer smile? I’d ask Bas later.

I turned my attention back to the coffeemaker, filling my cup as high as possible. I couldn’t see what I was doing, as Red’s line of sight was too low, but a finger over the rim let me know when the level was at the top. Bas reached over me to grab a fresh mug. I’d been admiring the fit of his jeans, and had to hold myself in check when my hand almost reached out to follow through with a physical caress. I consoled myself with brushing my palm over the corded muscles in his upper arm and shoulder. He rewarded me by leaning into the stroke. Red’s viewing angle perfectly captured his eyes dropping to my bust line. “Don’t you dare,” I warned, in anticipation his hands might reciprocate. The twinkle in his eye confirmed he’d been thinking exactly that.

I cupped his nape and pulled him to me for a toe-curling kiss. Waiting for David to get back for “the talk” was so difficult. Now that I’d acknowledged my feelings for Bas, I was anxious to take our relationship to the next level. It was almost a physical ache to hold back. “Mmm, you’re the perfect woman; coffee and bacon-flavored.”

Okay, sexy moment over. I glared up at him for spoiling my great fantasy. “Red and I are heading over to the north-west corner. He tells me there are new cameras mounted, so he wants to try finding them.”

Bas’ grin returned, although his eyes were still heated with banked passion. “We’re having a meeting in ten minutes, but I’ll make sure we still have a couple guys at the monitors. With a storm front coming in, we don’t anticipate any problems, but stay close to Red.”

“We’ll be gone about forty-five minutes, or so. I can’t imagine it will take Red too long to find the cameras.”

“He’s getting pretty good,” Bas agreed. “It helps he can scent which trees the guys climbed.” He bent to deliver a last lingering kiss. “Gotta get going. Enjoy your walk, Babe. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” As Red tracked his departure, I watched the fit of his jeans until he disappeared into the pantry. Serious eye candy. I was a lucky woman.

“Come on, Red. I’ll grab my jacket and boots. Let’s enjoy this sunny morning before the clouds roll in. I am so ready for winter to be over.”

“Right behind you, Beautiful,”
Red said unnecessarily.
“I’m so excited! Only two more days and my boy will be here. Tank and I can show him the woods. Our pack is getting bigger, Teresa!”

I slid the glass door closed behind us, and trailed Red to the yard. I’d realized a few months ago, Red considered David, Bas, Gil, and I as a pack; considering we didn’t all cohabitate, it was an interesting dynamic. Since Marcia and Wes belonged to David, Red extended our circle to include them too. At Christmas, I was informed by my canine social director that Tank and Henry were now considered members. This left me puzzled as to why Gil and Bas had always been included (in Red’s mind), but not Janey and Ken. No time like the present…

“Hey Red, I’ve been meaning to ask. How come you have always considered Gil and Bas part of our pack, and now Henry, but not Janey and Ken?”

I have to give my dog points for restraint. I could feel the emotional “Well, duh,” in his mind, but he never voiced it.
“They aren’t part of Team Red, or our immediate family,”
he explained.
“Ken and Janey are their own pack, especially now, with the baby coming.”

Baby? Holy crap! I stopped dead in my tracks. “What baby? Janey hasn’t said anything about being pregnant.”

“She wasn’t pregnant before Christmas, but she is now. Her scent has changed,”
Red insisted.

Pregnant? I wonder if she even knows. I’ll have to ask when I see her tomorrow. Not understanding he’d dropped a major bombshell, Red continued with his original train of thought
. “Henry is pack, because he lives with us, and works with the Team. Wes and his mom are pack, because they belong to David.”

Still reeling from the Janey-Ken disclosure, I managed to ask, “So, are Frost, Jaspar, and the others our pack, since they are part of Team Red?”

This time, Red didn’t suppress his amusement. He obviously thought it was funny I had to clarify with him how our pack was structured.
“No, the Mustangs are allies who belong to Russ’ pack.”

Mmm, yes, of course, that made perfect sense. I tumbled this new information around in my brain. It was interesting how Red instinctively created a pack. Since most dogs wouldn’t understand the complexity of a working relationship with people, it was further proof of Red’s deductive reasoning he’d been able to categorize our Team work and home lives into a definable pack structure.

“You’re a pretty smart dog, Red,” I praised. He didn’t answer, but I could feel his pride. There was no clear trail through the new property. It had been wild, undeveloped land since I’d moved into the neighborhood a few years ago. Red was considerate about walking beside me for some of the trickier portions When the ground evened out to a flatter, more open field, Red dashed away to start looking for cameras, regularly glancing my way to help with my solo-navigation.

He located eight, high in the trees. I was surprised there were no drones patrolling, but I assumed they were recalled to the Cave in anticipation of the storm. The temperature dropped suddenly, so we decided to head back toward the house after twenty minutes. We’d need to cut some wider trails if we wanted to include this area in our daily walks.

“Teresa, I smell blood,”
Red informed me, lifting his head high to catch the scent better.
“This way.”
He wandered to the edge of a shallow gully, looking down into the shadows, searching. There. A dark body, contrasting against the pure white of the snow.

“I think it’s a deer, Red. How in the heck did it get there? I don’t see any tracks, do you?” The earth surrounding the deer was deep with snow, so tracks should have been plainly visible.

My dog’s gaze carefully panned up to the bank opposite us, where bush growth was heavier, masking a possible trail. The snow was unmarred.
“She might have fallen or jumped the brush, not realizing there was a steep drop.”

The angle of the body confused me. It had fallen sideways, as if it twisted in mid-air. Curious, I wanted a closer look. To the right of me, the slope downward was more gradual; there were tree roots I could grasp to maintain balance. “Wait here, I want to take a closer look. Follow me once I’m down,” I instructed, distracted by the amount of blood soaked into the snow around her head. Had she been shot? Probably not, bullets fired this close to the house would have alerted the Mustangs. Maybe she was injured elsewhere and ran until she collapsed from blood loss? No. That didn’t explain how she had the strength to jump the brush and fall into the ditch.

I managed to pick my way down the slope, through deep snow, dropping approximately ten feet to a sharp vee which cradled the deer. Once I reached the bottom, Red informed me,
“Lights off,”
as he maneuvered downward to investigate. Once Red joined me, and reestablished our mind-sight, we focused on examining the carcass of the doe. Her neck was slashed cleanly; blood, thick and dark, matted against her slender throat. The hunter neglected to take his prize, leaving her body in the open to draw predators. Through Red’s vision, we followed blood droplets to the top of the rise where the deer must have fallen. Her throat had been cut before she got here.

Red echoed my observation,
“She was probably killed above and thrown down the embankment.”
He sniffed the deer for a few moments, before looking up the opposite slope we’d just come down.
“The doe was healthy. I wonder why the hunter killed her and threw her away. Why not take the meat?”

“I’m not sure, Red. It’s such a waste.” From where I was standing, I could see mounded dirt where the foundation for the Wild Horse compound was being excavated. The earth was dark, almost black against patches of white snow. Bas told me—

There was the crack of a rifle, simultaneous with a yelp, as Red jerked abruptly, collapsing heavily to his side. My mind-sight link was suddenly gone. I knelt beside my dog, reaching out a hand to touch him, and my gloved fingertips brushed what felt like a dart. I plucked the projectile away, checking frantically over his coat to for wetness indicating blood. He was still breathing, but his body was unresponsive.

I had never screamed in my life, and I wasn’t sure now if I was capable of yelling at the top of my lungs. Drawing a deep breath, I shouted Bastian’s name, my voice cracking with fear and the unfamiliar stress to my vocal chords.

The sound of snowmobiles reached my ears. Tourists on rented machines? An experienced sportsman, wouldn’t be using a snowmobile with all the exposed rock on the ground. I heard the second rifle crack shatter the stillness of the crisp morning air. A painful stab as the dart connected mid-back, under my shoulder blade—out of reach. Acting on instinct, I dragged off my coat as quickly as possible, feeling the dart loosen and eventually pull away from my skin. Too late, as I experienced a coldness start deep inside, which had nothing to do with the eighteen-degree temperature. I tried to stand, stumbled and fell to my knees. Conscious, but drugged. I wondered if Red’s state was similar.

Had Bas heard me call out? Had anyone? I was off the property, out of camera view, drawn away purposefully. The doe hadn’t been left carelessly, she’d been bait for a trap. I forced myself to rise and lurched awkwardly up the side of the small ravine, hoping to reach an area putting me back in camera range. The bank was steep, but my instinct was to move away from the shooter, even though the gentler slope I’d come down would have been a faster climb. Without Red’s shared mind-sight, I was blind, literally and figuratively. I hadn’t bothered with my folding cane, or even my cell phone which I’d placed on the charger last night, arrogantly sure of my safety and competence with Red by my side. What an idiot, not to have prepared for some kind of emergency on our daily walks.