Operation Midnight. Justine Davis
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patience, such as it was.
“You going, or do I have to drag you?”
“Going,” she muttered.
Liam was coming in as they came out of the hallway.
“All set,” he said. “You guys came in on fumes.”
“Extra weight,” Quinn said.
Hayley kept her expression even this time; he’d gotten to her with the toothbrush comment, and she wasn’t going to let it happen again.
“Not much,” Liam said, eying her with male appreciation that was a marked contrast to Quinn’s sharp impatience.
“She goes up in the loft. And don’t forget the dog,” Quinn said with a grimace.
“Who could be very handy,” Liam said, shifting his gaze to Quinn. “Warned Rafer off a rattlesnake out there.”
Rattlesnake. Wonderful, Hayley thought. Her home was blessedly free of the venomous types, so this was a new one. She had no problem with a nice garter snake, or the helpful kings, but—
“Don’t like snakes?” Quinn asked.
Did the man never miss anything? “I’m talking to you, aren’t I?” she snapped.
Liam let out a whoop of laughter. Quinn gave him a sour look.
“She’s definitely all yours,” he muttered, and walked away.
Chapter Seven
Quinn wasn’t one to believe in omens or premonitions, but as he stood in the doorway of the cabin, he was starting to have a bad feeling about this. Usually one or two, or even more, little things would go wrong on a job. Didn’t mean a thing. And this job had gone like clockwork—until they were leaving the target’s location.
Then, from the moment that damned dog had blasted out of the woods at him, things had gone to hell.
The dog. Where was he, anyway?
On the thought, the animal trotted around the far end of the barn where, if there were more delays and this turned into a long stay, the helicopter would be stored. With the ease of long discipline he managed not to think of the ramifications of a long stay with a recalcitrant, smart-mouthed woman, one he just knew wasn’t going to settle into any easy waiting routine.
The dog’s head and tail came up, and he started toward Quinn at a gallop. Quinn shook his head in puzzlement. Why would a dog he didn’t even know act like this? He’d never even seen such a dog, with that distinctive coloring. He was a very square, lean animal who moved with a swift grace that Quinn could appreciate.
Teague had apparently been following the dog, and as he came around the barn he gave Quinn the hand signal that meant hold. Quinn had put the order out for silent ops, until they knew they hadn’t been seen or followed. And thankfully, he thought as he watched the dog slow to a trot, then came to a halt in front of him, the dog didn’t seem to be a barker.
Quinn waited, guessing from the signal Teague had something to report. Almost absently, he reached down and scratched the dog’s ears. The blissful sigh the animal let out made one corner of his mouth twitch, and it was all he could do to keep from smiling. He didn’t get it, this sudden and inexplicable reaction from a strange dog, but he had to admit it was … enjoyable. Flattering. Something.
Teague slowed to a trot, then a halt, much as the dog had. The man’s right arm moved, then stopped, an oddly jerky motion. Teague was the newest member of the squad, and Quinn guessed the movement, if completed, would have been a salute. It would be a while before he got over the automatic response.
“Go,” he said with a nod.
“Yes, sir. Perimeter’s clear. But he—” he gestured at the dog “—found some big animal tracks in the gully on the north side.”
“Animal tracks?”
“Just a couple. I might have missed them, they were up under the lip, only reason they weren’t erased by the wind, I guess.”
So, as Liam had said, the dog could end up being useful. Quinn’s brow furrowed as he remembered some of the K-9 teams he’d worked with in the past, and he filed away the idea of adding one to the crew.
“Any idea what?” he asked.
“They were blurred, but paws. Big ones. Don’t have wolves out here, do they, sir?”
“More likely a mountain lion.”
The man blinked. Although well trained and fearless, Quinn knew Teague was a born-and-bred city boy. He knew what he needed to know for survival in the wild, but it wasn’t second nature to him as it was with many on the various crews.
He’d come to them through their website, where his long, thoughtful, articulate posts had first drawn the attention of Tyler Hewitt, the webmaster, who sent them to Charlie, who in turn had started sending them to Quinn. Unlike many, Teague had survived the incredibly long and difficult vetting process without faltering, and the first time Quinn had met the young former marine in person, he’d known he’d be a good fit.
That had been just before the flood, the deluge of dissatisfaction that had swept the Corps and the other branches. They could, if they wanted, pick and choose now, from a multitude of skilled, experienced warriors who had had enough, had finally realized just what was happening. Quinn didn’t want any of them.
He and Charlie had picked a date, somewhat arbitrarily, but a date that became the marker; aware before that and they still had a shot. Not, and … not. He wanted men like Teague, who had been smart enough, aware enough, and had the brainpower to see the patterns and read the proverbial handwriting on the wall. And see it early, not just when it became so obvious that the lowliest grunt couldn’t miss it.
And no one above a certain rank, he’d added. Once you got that high, there was no way you couldn’t see what was happening unless you purposely ignored it. It cut them off from a lot of experience, but to Quinn the other was more important.
“Tracks seemed old,” Teague was saying. “And he—” again he gestured at the dog “—was very interested but not … frantic.”
He ended the sentence hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure the word conveyed what he meant, but Quinn got the image immediately. He nodded in approval.
“Then you’re likely right. They’re old. But tell the others, we’ll keep an eye out just in case.”
“And I’m guessing the dog will let us know if it comes back,” Teague said.
Quinn looked down at the patient animal at his feet. “Probably,” he agreed, “but we can’t rely on it. He’s not trained and we don’t know him well enough.”
“You know, it was funny, out there. It almost seemed like …”
Teague trailed off, looking a bit awkward.
“Like what?” Quinn asked, reminding the man with his quiet tone that in this world, his opinion was welcomed, and sometimes even acted upon.
“Like he was trained. I mean, I’ve only worked with K-9s a couple of times, but it was like that, the way he seemed to know why we were out there, the way he tracked, searched almost in a grid.”
Quinn’s gaze shifted back to the dog, who sat patiently still, looking up at him with a steady gaze. As if waiting for further orders. Was it possible? Did the animal have some training? He looked too young to be a retired police or military dog, and moved too well to have been retired due to injury. Was he a washout of a program, for some other reason? Or was he just darn smart?
The thoughts about the dog brought him back to thinking about the dog’s owner. And that brought on the need to move, to do something, anything.
“Good work,” he said briskly. “We’re in two-man teams. Four hours on. You and Rafer take first