Trinity: Military War Dog (24 page)

10 Klicks outside FOB Robertson

S
moke snaked into the sky, the snowcapped mountain marred by the black pillar stretching high over the spine. Dark and angry, it told Heath this wasn’t a wood or forest fire. Black and billowing meant fuel and oil. And lots.

“Not exactly a small campfire, huh?” Aspen asked quietly. “What do you think happened?”

Green Berets huddled around the MRAP drew his attention. “Let’s see if we can find out.” Heath trotted that way.

Tense, quiet conversation carried between Watterboy and Candyman, hunched over a relief map. Of the mountains, if Heath guessed right. Candyman stabbed a finger at the one-dimensional topography, his expression intense. Watters held up a placating hand.

Slapping both hands against the hull of the MRAP, Candyman growled, “This is bull.”

With a step back, Watters leaned in as if to say something to Candyman, then noticed Heath lurking. Man, he felt like some criminal eavesdropper.

Heath cleared his throat and gave a nod to them. “What’s going on?”

Candyman turned to him and rolled his eyes. “Classic bureaucratic bull.” He stomped off.

Asking again would agitate the man he’d worked with, so Heath waited.

Watterboy jerked toward him, a squall of anger hovering over the storm in his eyes—but it dropped flat as he sighed. “Look, I’d like nothing more than to tell you, but I can’t. It’s—”

“No worries.” Hand held up, Heath cocked his head. “I get it.”

Into a secure phone, Watters said, “Yes, sir. Holding.”

Holding? Heath chewed that nugget as he returned to his team. Was that “holding” as in holding position and not returning to base, or holding on the line? By Candyman’s frustration and anger, Heath bet it meant staying here. In hostile territory. No RTB orders and no going in to help with whatever had happened in the mountains.

“What did he say?” Jibril’s brow knotted in concern and consternation.

“Nothing. He won’t tell me what’s going on because I’m not authorized personnel. But I heard him say they were holding.”

“Holding?” Aspen folded her arms. “Holding what?”

“Position, most likely.” Jibril’s gaze rose to the lingering smoke. “The fire is still burning.”

“That wasn’t a house fire,” Hogan said as she adjusted the helmet that bobbled on her head. “Something bad happened up there.”

“You got that right.” Candyman’s voice erupted behind them.

Heath glanced past Hogan to his old buddy. Hogan arched her eyebrow at Heath, and somehow he knew what she was going to do.

“So, it’s bad?” She sounded like a doe-eyed woman.

Candyman hesitated as he looked down on her, their nearly twelve-inch difference exaggerated with them side by side. “Baby, don’t work me up if you’re going to work me over.”

Hogan laughed. “I like you.”

“Mutual.” Candyman smiled, then looked at Heath. “Running this morning, I saw one of my former buddies hustling to a chopper. They were sent out for an emergency extraction of some stupid survey team up in the Kush.”

“Survey?”

“Yeah, checking out the rocks or something. Hanged if I know, but why on this insane planet anyone would be up there in the first place if they aren’t wearing an Interceptor and carrying”—Candyman hoisted his M4—“at least one of these …”

An image erupted in Heath’s mind. Warm almond eyes. “Wait.” He gripped Candyman’s vest. “Survey team. You mean the geological survey team?”

Candyman shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. Don’t know.”

Aspen shouldered in, her blue eyes locked like radar onto Heath. “You think she was with them?”

“Who?” Candyman glanced between the two of them.

Jia. Heath wanted to look at the smoke-streaked sky, but it’d give away his concern.
Play it cool
. She wasn’t anything…. Except the only person who’d made him consider the future. The woman who made it easy to talk and be around someone of the opposite sex. The woman who—

Was so scared of what she felt for him, she wasn’t willing to feel it. That fake e-mail address—RockGirl—told him he wasn’t worth the effort to get to know. Which he could’ve informed her from the beginning. But no, he’d let himself off-lead when it came to her. And been downright brazen about their mutual attraction.

She was up there…. His pulse hiccuped at the thought of her being near—or in—that explosion.

A wet nose nudged his hand.

Yeah, Trinity knew. She always knew when he was off-kilter. Knew when he needed space to breathe. He lifted her lead and mumbled to the others, “Excuse me, I think Trinity needs to do her duty.”

“Heath.” Hogan’s voice trailed him, but he kept walking.

Watterboy intercepted him. “Hey, stay close.” When his gaze rammed into Heath’s, he must’ve seen the panic. “We’ve got unfriendlies here still. And with whatever just happened”—he motioned to the mountains—“who knows where we’ll end up by nightfall.”

Heath caught on. “It’d be smart to move a little closer. Get us out of here where we’ve got headhunters breathing down our necks. Then we’d be closer and in position. If needed, I mean.”

Eyes crinkling, Watters slapped him on the back of his shoulder. “Good thoughts, Ghost.” He stalked away.

Heath walked Trinity to an area where the dead grass matched the hard-packed roads. After taking care of business, Trinity trotted over to a building and flopped down in the sliver of shade provided. Pink tongue dangling, she panted, eyes squinting sheer pleasure. She thrived on this scene. Loved working.

Heath started toward her, smiling. Somehow, that seventy-pound fur ball made everything seem okay. When everything wasn’t.

Just above her right ear cement erupted.

As if punched in the chest, Heath sucked in a breath. “Trinity, down!” He dropped to a knee, knowing the shooter was somewhere behind him. “Taking fire, taking fire!”

His beloved canine flattened herself against the earth.

Heath used his torso as a shield to break the line of sight between the shooter and the only girl who’d ever protected him. She fastened those amber eyes on him. He signaled with his hand. “Come,” he said, quiet and hoarse.

Trinity low-crawled toward him, a stealthy thing that made his heart balloon with pride. She was incredible, her trust implicit, her loyalty thorough. Her snout puffed dust around her. When she reached him, Heath covered her. Trinity was a prized asset, but more than that, she was his best friend. Soldiers and civilians alike knew whoever killed a war dog lived well for the next decade.

They’ll have to go through me first
.

“Ghost!”

With Trinity huddled beneath him, dust and grit billowing into his mouth as a cold wind pulled at his clothes, Heath shot a glance to the side. Amid another plume of dust, Watters and Candyman knelt by the MRAP for cover. “Where?”

“Shooter,” he gritted out, inching his way toward them. “My nine o’clock.”

As soon as the words escaped his lips, the team pelted the building. Heath scooped up Trinity and sprinted. A half-dozen feet from safety, something plowed into his back. Like the mighty hand of God shoving him face-first into the dirt. He released Trinity, who skidded out in front. On the ground, he felt himself dragged to safety by two or three men.

Hauled out of the line of fire, he scrambled to see Trinity. She sat beside him on her haunches, tail thumping, as if this had been a day in the park. “Only you, girl.” Chuckling, he ruffled her fur—pain snapped through the tendons and ligaments in his arm and back.

A slap on that same spot about made him come out of his skin.

Augh!

“How’s that shoulder?” Candyman asked.

That thing would leave a nice, shiny bruise. Pushing to his feet, Heath grunted. His back felt as if someone had driven a stake through it. “Much better now that you hit it.” Rotating his arm to test the range of motion, Heath took up Trinity’s lead with his other hand. When he turned, he met malice-hardened eyes.

Four men wrangled an Afghan to his knees a few feet away.

“Here’s your dog killer.”

“Or attempted killer,” another sergeant said.

Gaze locked on the shooter, Heath lunged.

So did Watters. “Hey!” Caught him by the arm. Swung him around. Candyman was there in a heartbeat, too, both strong-arming Heath back a safe distance.

“He tried to kill Trinity—took shots at her. I’m not—”

“Ghost.” Watters shoved him back with his shoulder, then braced him with two palms against his chest. “We’ve got him.” His calm, in-control gaze stilled the fury in Heath’s chest. “He’s not going anywhere, no more weapons.”

Only as he saw the concern in his former buddy’s face did Heath grab hold of his sanity.
What is wrong with me?
Nerves buzzing, he stood down. Blew out a breath as he turned a circle.

Rather than longing to be in the middle of combat, taking a bead on the enemy, suddenly Heath wanted nothing more than to jog the trail at the ABA ranch. Escape. Again, it hit him:
I don’t belong here
.

Parwan Province, Afghanistan

“Push in, push in,” Darci said, scooting along, palms flat against the wall of the cave, her mind hooked on Toque’s sacrifice. Why? Why had he done that? The shot she’d heard as she dove into the cave and tripped … had that been the signal that he was dead?

Think positively
.

Darci squinted to see the thin thread of light that filtered in from the opening thirty feet back. But slinking farther into this cave to hide was as bad as trying to hide in a coffin. Dark, no air … death.

Think. Positively!

Her shoulder ached, a sticky mess after all the exertion and trauma. Darci gritted her teeth against the pain. She had to get Badria and Alice to safety. Back to Bagram.

“Why are we in here? Won’t they find us and …?” Alice’s voice trailed off.

“This area is home to thousands of tunnels,” Darci said, crouch-walking inch by inch. “It should lead us to a safe location.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

Darci sighed. “Let’s keep our options open, okay?” If they didn’t, they’d give up before they started. But she was determined to find a way home. She wouldn’t abandon her father, no matter what he had done in the past.

“Right.” For a young, naive girl from the country, Alice had a strength about her that surprised Darci.

“Trust me, we’ll be fine.”

“What about the others?”

Frustration coiled around Darci’s mind. “Let’s not talk for a while. We have no idea if they’ve followed us, and we don’t need to be a homing beacon.” Besides, she needed mental space to think and work out a plan.

“Right.”

As darkness gathered them into its arms, Darci knew she had to push her mind somewhere pleasant or she’d suffocate herself. Okay, so … where? Home? With her father?

No …

On the training field. A dog barking. Warm gray eyes that led to a very deep, rich—but tortured—soul. He’d been so crushed when she tried to lower the boom that they didn’t have a chance that she’d wanted to take back the words, feed him empty promises. And yet … yet, he’d pressed in. Yanked the truth out from behind her barriers like some thief. Some guy who thought he owned the world.

And yet … he didn’t. What a strange dichotomy in him. Broken, but strong. Confident, yet uncertain.

She’d left their lunch date without handing out promises. That had been intentional, and his hurt lingered in her mouth like a bitter herb. But she wouldn’t. She worked targets and objectives. She wouldn’t work a guy she … liked.

Look how things ended for all of James Bond’s girls—dead or gone to the dark side. No thanks. She wouldn’t bear the blame for things like that.

If only the double life she led could compare to the glitz and glamour of James Bond. And yet Bond had a string of heartbroken women in the wake of his speedboat-style life. That’s the reason Darci never went there.

Okay, so the mission in China had taken longer than usual. Jianyu had gotten under her skin, under her defenses. The biggest mistake of her life. She hadn’t seen the real him. And when she had …

A shudder ripped through Darci. She blamed it on the clamminess soaking her shirt. But she knew better.

“Why’d you stop?” Alice’s whispered words skidded into the darkness. “What’s wrong?”