Talon: Combat Tracking Team (A Breed Apart) (15 page)

I
f a guy talked to me like that, he’d be next week’s leftovers.” Timbrel shoved open the door and held it for Aspen, who led Talon into the conference room. With the heat, the confined space smothered her with claustrophobia. The long table and chairs didn’t help. Considering the chipped paint, the scuffed cement floor, and the chairs that looked like they were
literally
on their last leg, she got a swift picture of the state of affairs here in Djibouti. She couldn’t imagine this room with another dozen or so bodies stuffed inside.

But that was just it—there
should
have been a dozen others. “Guess we’re early.”

“Or they’re late.” Timmy hopped up on the table and dangled her legs. “Okay, so seriously—don’t let this guy railroad you.”

Aspen tugged the red ball from her leg pocket and showed it to Talon. Tail wagging, he panted his excitement. She rolled the ball across the floor since there wasn’t room for a good throw. He turned, hesitated as if saying, “Now why did you do that?” then lumbered after it.

“Look, I get it—you’re a good girl, you try to be nice.” Timbrel hiked a leg up and hugged it. “But that guy? Don’t give him an inch or he’ll take the whole freakin’ world from you.”

Aspen reined in her frustration. “Timmy, relax. I’m not letting him take anything.” She pointed to the ground, indicating Talon should drop the ball at her side as he returned with the slobber-covered toy.

He deposited it at her feet then settled on the floor. She sat on the ground, her legs stretched out and ankles crossed. Talon reclined against her, his side pressed against her thigh.

“I know you believe that,” Timbrel said. “But I’ve seen you drop your guard before.”

“And you don’t?” Aspen shouldn’t have said it, shouldn’t have let her frustration get the best of her.

Tension radiated through the gorgeous brunette’s face and shoulders. “Don’t change the subject. This guy is trouble if you let him be.”

“I’m not letting him
be
anything.”

“Then why have you been all morose since we got off that plane?”

Aspen smoothed her hand over Talon’s dense fur. Remembering the way Dane had spoken to her renewed her belief that he’d crossed a line. “You’re right. He was wrong in the way he spoke to me.” She didn’t know him. He didn’t know her. She took direct talk from her friends, but from a guy she barely knew?

Wariness shadowed Timbrel’s features. “But?”

“But…he was right.” She cocked her head, looking at the complete surrender of Talon’s anxiety as he rested with her.

“How can you say that?” Timbrel planted her hands on her hips. In black tactical pants and black tank, she looked like she’d stepped right out of an action flick. “The dude totally dissed you.”

“No, he put it straight. He got to the point. I needed to hear it.”

“What are you saying?”

Admitting she was afraid, that she wasn’t sure she could find Austin…What an absolutely basic, foundational problem. “What am I doing here?”

“Hey!” Timbrel’s gruff, loud word snapped through the sterile room. She hopped off the table and stomped toward them.

Talon lifted his head, and though it was quiet, Aspen felt a rumble in his chest. She placed a hand on his side to reassure him. Timmy read his body language, the way he sat up a bit and eyed her, and slowed.

“Don’t.” Timbrel crouched on the other side, away from Talon, looking directly at Aspen. “Don’t you dare do that.”

Tears stung Aspen’s eyes. “I’m not a warrior. I’m not a special operations soldier. I haven’t even seen combat like you and the others.”

“You’re Austin’s sister, and you have the most to lose if you don’t find him.” Timbrel’s expression flared with fury.
“That
will get you where you need to be. Don’t let that jerk get in your head, Aspen.”

“He’s not a jerk.” Why on earth was she defending him?

“You don’t get a vote on that right now.” She leaned in. “You’re the strongest woman I know. We’re here to find Austin, and we’re not going home without a mountain of proof either way. Don’t let Mr. SexyKillerBlueEyes wiggle into that innate soft spot you have. Give him the fight of his life, and make him think twice about playing you again. Got it?”

“Got it.” The voice boomed from the door.

Timbrel swiveled around and up as she faced off with him. “No manners either. You could’ve knocked.”

Dane towered over them both by a head and shrugged. “Why? It’s a public room.”

“Courtesy,” Timbrel said as she strode back to the table and crossed her arms. “Doubt you know anything about that.”

“Probably not, since I’m a jerk who wiggles into soft spots.” The smirk of a smile—did the man
ever
really smile?—squirreled through Aspen’s hastily erected barriers, the ones Timbrel said she should have up. Was he taking the jibe she’d dished out in stride, or was he annoyed? Probably both.

“See?” Timbrel turned to Aspen. “The man confesses to it. Maybe
that
is why he was sitting in a church after ditching
you—confession.”

Heat flooded Aspen’s face, and she widened her eyes at Timbrel, ordering her to cease and desist. The humiliation was enough knowing Dane had heard their conversation. She didn’t need it worse.

But Timbrel had no effect on Dane. “Watters is on his way with the team and the plans.”

“Where did this team come from?”

“Burnett.”

Aspen hesitated. “Why…why would he do that?” How did everything suddenly become so easy and attainable? “I tried for the last year to get them to listen to me, and they told me to move on, get over it.” Her pulse raced. Maybe they knew something. Maybe they—

“It’s my fault.” Dane looked sheepish. “By going public on the news, I made them dig deep and take a serious look.”

His charm, his easy mannerisms pushed her back a mental step, forcing her to remember Timmy’s warning. “How long has it been since you saw him, again?”

“Two months.” A glint registered in his stormy eyes. Recognition. Awareness that she was questioning him, his story.

That awareness folded back on her and wrapped around her own doubts. “Do you think he’s still here?”

He lowered his head as he propped himself against the table. “Probably not. If he’s alive and hasn’t contacted someone he knows, then that means he’s either in trouble or causing it.”

Aspen jerked. “Causing it?” Even as her words rang in her ears the indignation ripped through her chest. “What on earth does that mean?”

“Exactly what you think it means.”

“Listen, Blue Eyes,” Timbrel said, coming alive, “you don’t get to talk to her like that.”

“Yeah?” Dane crossed his arms over his chest as amusement and irritation surfed his rugged face. “So, you think Aspen would prefer I sugarcoat it, feign ignorance and stupidity to make her feel better?”

“Slick snot!” Timbrel let out a disbelieving laugh. “And everyone thinks
I’m
abrupt. This guy is downright mean.”

“Not mean. Downright blunt. Being coy, playing roulette with truth isn’t going to bring Austin home or get answers.” He locked gazes with Aspen, and she felt as if he’d hooked into her soul, drenching her with resolute strength. “I’m not going to play with your emotions by shoveling platitudes down your pretty neck. And I won’t give you false hope or play nice.” His face hardened. “I
don’t
play nice. I play to win. Can you handle that?”

Aspen swallowed, shaken by the ferocity and virility of his words.

“Because if not, then we need to part ways. Now.”

Part ways? With the single hope of finding her brother or the truth about his disappearance? “I wouldn’t want it any other way. I might be nice or a good girl, as Timbrel says, but I don’t quit.” She hated when people felt the need to protect her instead of fighting
with
her. “I don’t want to be pampered.” She gulped the adrenaline then gave him a curt nod. “Thank you for knowing the difference.”

Silence dropped as he stared at her for what felt like minutes.

The door swung open, and a flood of uniforms entered.

“Whoa! Thank You, God!” One of the men with a sandy blond beard and Oakleys clapped a hand over his chest. “Be still my beating heart!”

Timbrel groaned. “Not you again.”

“Candyman at your service.” He grinned and tugged off the shades. “Baby, I was right.”

Aspen watched as Timbrel moved a foot back, taking a defensive posture. Yet she didn’t move. Didn’t punch. Or strike out, not even with words. Hesitation silenced Timbrel as she gave the guy a sidelong glance. “About what?”

“Told you a face like yours would inspire a man to stay alive.” He held out his hands. “And hooah! A year later, here we are, and I’m still alive.”

Timbrel’s eyes narrowed. “I can fix that.”

“Down boy,” a guy with a dark brown beard intercepted with a grin. “I’m Captain Watters. First op will include medical escort to Peltier Hospital.”

Aspen frowned. “Why are we doing that?”

Watters turned to her. “The Djiboutians need our help.” He grinned. “And for cover—we can look around, ask questions without attracting attention.”

“Without attracting attention?” Dane snorted.

Aspen wasn’t following. “What?”

Dane met Watters’s gaze. “She has white hair, fair skin, and is pretty. You don’t expect her to draw attention?”

Loaded into a Cougar MRAP with Talon sitting beside her, staring out the window, Aspen smoothed a hand over his yellow coat. Such a handsome, noble-looking dog. So willing to go the extra mile, to lumber on even though he probably wanted to just go back home and trot around the safe environment of the ranch. She could relate. The mission had already set her on edge, upturned her expectations.

Crammed between Timbrel and Dane, Aspen considered the others. Watterboy, as the others had called him, and Candyman—the man who’d earned the moniker handing out candy bars to Afghan children to win hearts and minds and who’d taunted Timbrel from the moment he encountered her on their first mission—drove the second Cougar creeping toward Peltier General Hospital, where the medical team in the first vehicle would aide with surgeries and the like.

Timbrel groaned beside her as the front right tire hit another crater and jolted them into each other. “If I get bruises…”
Thud. Bang
. “You do know the point is
not
to hit the holes, right?”

“Sorry,” Candyman shouted back. “Did I miss one?”

Sweat sliding down her temple, Timbrel glowered at the Special Forces soldier driving. “Next one, and I’ll throw
your
head into the window.”

Aspen elbowed Timmy, feeling the sweat and grime that came with being in an African country during one of their hottest months. Even though they’d just left the base and would spend the day in the city looking around, she already yearned for a cool shower when they got back.

One of Talon’s drool bombs landed on Timbrel’s tactical pants. She half groaned, half laughed. “If I didn’t love dogs so much…”

Dane leaned forward, his arm stretched across the back of the seat, affording a little more room. “So, you prefer a drooling beast over a man?”

A caustic look slid into Timbrel’s features. “Is there a difference?”

The front end jolted, then the deafening noise and jarring beating the Cougar stopped.

“Blacktop!” Candyman announced as he patted the dash. “Knew you could do it, baby.”

“Thank God,” Timbrel muttered. “Now, can someone teach him how to drive?”

Candyman shot a wink over his shoulder. “She’s crazy about me, can’t you tell?”

Aspen resisted the urge to laugh. The two had been dogging each other since they reunited. If she didn’t know better, she’d think there was some serious romantic tension beneath all those jibes and cutting remarks. Well, not for Timbrel. But she worried Candyman might be getting some ideas about her.

Though only eighteen miles stretched between Camp Lemonnier and Djibouti proper, the atrocious road conditions slowed them. Now on the paved roads, they might make up a bit of time, but what was two minutes when it felt like the heat would bake flesh off your body?

As they turned onto Avenue Marechal, Aspen eyed the street of white buildings shadowed by trees and littered with women robed in black and their heads covered with vibrant, beautiful scarves. The town looked as if it had been designed in the seventies then never touched afterward. Still…“It’s pretty.”