by D. C. Stone
“Few understand. And before you go biting my head off, I’m not saying that it’s right.” He scratched at DA’s neck as the Shepherd started getting restless. As intended, the touch pulled his attention back to Chris and off Samantha. “There are options, though, one of which I’ve decided on. I’m adopting Dumb Ass and he’ll be medically retired from the military. Means the military will pay for all his medical care until he passes.”
“Sort of like a retirement plan, huh? Is that what happens with all the dogs?”
He thinned his lips. While he had the option to choose, some did, or would not. “Not entirely. Those who can’t get adopted by their handler get put to sleep.”
“But you just said the military will pay for their medical care. Why put down a dog that has faithfully served his country?”
“Sweetheart, what you have to realize is that even though the MWD is a tool, it’s still a tool trained to kill, to attack, and are often ran on high stress. They can be unpredictable around children, especially if something were to happen, such as a child pulling on their tail. They can’t be around other pets, are extremely dominant creatures, and exclusively work on their own. They don’t partner up with anyone other than their handler. That’s their sole contact, their best friend and family all rolled into one. The military can’t allow these dogs to be adopted out to anyone other than a handler, so that handler can react accordingly to anything that may or may not happen.”
Samantha’s hands shook as she finished wrapping the gauze. Had he shocked her? “So, the handlers can do as you are, right?” she asked.
“Well,” he hedged, “they can. But many don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because some of these handlers have families, and they know the threat. Other handlers don’t want that added responsibility of having a dog that could kill. It’s a tough decision.”
He wrapped his palm around DA’s snout affectionately and kissed the tip of his nose.
“You’re such a good guy.”
Her words startled him. “What? Why? Because I’m adopting my dog?”
A sweet and slow smile spread across her face, like lava rolling over a meadow. “That’s just one reason.”
He stared at her, but it seemed like the moment they shared before had splintered. She wouldn’t meet his eyes.
Chapter Eight
A few hours later, Chris walked up the steep gravel drive to his cabin. The air grew crisp with the wintery season change moving in, causing his breath to come in little clouds. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his shorts and picked up his pace, looking forward to the very warm shower waiting for him. It’d be nothing like the warmth he’d experienced in Samantha’s arms, but he could deal with that. For now. This had always been his favorite part of a new relationship, the anticipation involving the sexual dance a couple went through before breaking past the last barrier of attraction and succumbing to the body’s needs.
He hadn’t expected the punch of lust he felt in her presence. Sure, she had a nice voice, and he was a male. His mind kept telling him their parts would fit together nicely. And normally, he wouldn’t hesitate to go after what was sure to be a great time between them.
With her heavy southern drawl, and her throaty rasp almost reminiscent of Patsy Cline, whom his mother listened to nonstop when he was a kid, Sam had a voice that made a man want to beg for her to talk dirty, to explain in detail just what she wanted to do to him, or him to her.
Getting lost in the overly creative fantasy of that conversation—and if he were being honest, looking forward to trying it out—he almost missed the familiar feeling of unease across his nape. The hair back there stood on end and a tightening of his shoulders told him something was wrong. He stopped at the base of his three steps to the porch and froze.
The forest surrounding his property was quiet, almost too quiet. That was the thing about living out in the wild, he didn’t need an alarm when he had nature running his security detail. The birds no longer chirped, and despite the changing weather, there were a few that’d stick around. The kaaar of the rough-legged hawk didn’t piece the air, nor did he see any sitting in trees close by looking for a treat. The sound of deer and turkey weren’t crunching through the layer of fall’s leaves blanketing the ground, either. A black bear could be roaming nearby, frightening everything off, but he had a strong feeling the hunter of the forest had already laid down for the upcoming winter hibernation.
No, this silence screamed manmade, and it wasn’t him who caused it.
Missing the familiar weight of weapons on his body, he turned three-sixty in a circle, his gaze scanning the tree line. Not a shadow moved, almost as if nature shivered in anticipation for the next move. His shoulders itched as if someone held a scope and aimed it at him, but he refused to give in to backing down.
Chris took a few steps away from his house and looked along at the drive. Sure enough, fresh tire tracks disturbed the gravel, the marks stopping far enough away from his Explorer that it wasn’t his rental. He took a deep breath. The heavy scent of diesel sat ripe in the air.
After a few more minutes of looking around, he figured someone must have stopped by to check in on him, but not finding him home, left. He did an about-face and jogged up his steps, then froze again with his hand inches from the doorknob.
The door was cracked open, not enough to let any wildlife in, but enough to tell him someone had been inside. He knew without a doubt he’d locked it before leaving—or had he? He frowned, thinking it over. He’d been in a state when he left, so perhaps with the remnants of the nightmare running through him, he hadn’t been as security conscious as he thought.
Mentally cursing himself, he slipped inside and listened for a few beats to the silence surrounding him. He scanned the room, walking through his house carefully, trying to and finding nothing out of place.
Reaching his front door again, he went to throw it shut but stopped. Someone had been in here. The locking mechanism was still in place. Below, on the ground, chips of wood scattered along the frame, the evidence stating someone had kicked the door in.
“Dammit!” Who the hell would do this? Why him? Why his house? Nyack didn’t have much crime, and even though he lived out in the middle of the woods bordering the town, he’d never had a problem with squatters or home invaders. Hell, half the time he left his door unlocked when he went in town simply because that was the small-town way of life.
His heartbeat, already thundering in his chest, picked up and pounded a rhythm up to his temples. Having his earlier unease confirmed wasn’t comforting in the least, but it was enough to have him popping up and making a beeline for his gear in the back. A quick shuffle through his rucksack had him pulling out his gun case, unlocking it, slamming a magazine home, and beginning his search through his house all over again.
Fifteen hair-raising minutes later, he’d found nothing more. Just a few papers scattered in positions he didn’t leave them in, and a feeling that left a black mark on any good Samantha’s mouth had given him. He dug in his pocket for his phone, grabbed the small green notebook containing numbers to his team, and dialed Sergeant Dean Davis, their squad leader, and one of Chris’s best friends.
“Yo, you’ve got Dean here.”
“Sarge.”
“Crack? That you, man?”
“Yeah,” he answered and set his SIG on the table, taking the chance to rub a palm across his head. The feeling of being watched still hadn’t gone away, but being inside and talking to a familiar friend eased the discomfort a little. Sure, a round could pierce through his windows no problem, and on that thought, he moved away from any direct line of sight to the windows. But at the familiar deep voice, the earlier unease started to unfurl. “Listen, I don’t know if I’m losing it—”
“I’m going to stop you right there. What’s going on?”
Chris sighed and looked around again and spied his gun sitting by its lonesome on the table some five feet away. Close enough should he need it. “I
think someone broke into my place.”
“Isn’t your brother the town detective or something?”
“Yeah, but hell.” He huffed. “I didn’t want to call him in case I’m just seeing things.”
“So, you decided to call me instead? As if I have nothing better to do than talk to your ugly mug?”
Chris snorted. Davis chuckled. Always the jokester. All of them. The humor always helped, and it did now. His shoulders eased. “You get any word from command about that op?”
Silence for a few seconds, then, “Bits and pieces, nothing concrete, just some big internal investigation going down at the Clowns In Action.”
Clowns In Action, also known as the Central Intelligence Agency. But the past few years, they’d earned their new nickname. The latest mess-up with his team’s mission only added more fuel to the fire.
Chris looked at his front door, frowned, and tried to get the inkling of unease out of his mind. He’d seen a lot through his years in Spec Ops, things he wished he didn’t know. Could this break-in be related? A long shot, but in this day and age, especially with their suspicions that something else had happened to throw their operation off, that his team had been sent in to fail, the conspiracy thought was impossible to miss. Davis, not missing the silence, and no slouch when it came to reading his team, immediately picked up on his thought process.
“Crack, you still with me? What’s going on? I know you, man, and I know you won’t call for some ridiculous break-in. What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know. I have this feeling like I’m being watched. Then I get to my front door and find it kicked in. Also found fresh tracks outside, and while it all could be a coincidence, I can’t get it out of my mind that it is. Anyone else check in yet?”
“No,” Davis grumbled. “But if your gut is screaming, it’s trying to tell you something. I don’t want to feed the panic pie, but you’re a trained operator, one of the best I know, and with how everything went down, I say trust your gut and be careful. I’ll check in with the team and Captain, and if I hear anything, I’ll call. You just do us a favor and keep your shit together and be careful, you feel me?”
“Yeah, I feel you.” The tightness in Chris’s chest eased slightly, knowing at least someone else would be looking into things. He didn’t trust anything right now, even his own mind. He was too tired, too confused, and a jumbled mess when it came to thinking straight.
“All right, how’s Dumb Ass?”
Chris briefed Davis, caught him up on the action plan he and Samantha had come up with, and laughed off the jesting Davis gave him at having a female vet.
“She sounds like she’s got it under control,” Davis said. “Are you going to try to see if she’s interested in making you feel better, too?”
Chris laughed. “Is it always sex with you?”
“Do I like oxygen? Water? Food?” Davis fired back.
“True. I barely know Doc Eagen, but if it happens, it happens. I won’t force it.” Sure. Like you didn’t practically force yourself on her earlier.
Well, okay, but that was beside the point.
“I’ll check in with the guys, get Captain to do some searching, then let you know what’s shaking. If anything else pops up, don’t hesitate, and give me a holler, okay?”
“Got it,” Chris answered. “Thanks.”
“Anytime. Later.”
Chris hung up the phone, surprised to find the sky outside had darkened considerably. He hadn’t been on the phone that long, but figuring Davis was a talker, it wasn’t unusual.
He tossed his phone down then eyed it, wondering if he should call and check in on his dog. Last he left, Dumb Ass had been falling into a fitful sleep but loving the attention he received under Samantha’s eye. He knew exactly how his dog felt. When her attention focused on him, he’d practically preened, too.
Being honest with himself, he really wanted to call and hear her voice again, to see if the connection he felt toward her was just physical.
Giving up on the fight, he dialed her number, frowning when he got her voicemail. He left his number with instructions to call if there were any problems, refraining at the last minute from asking her to dinner. He didn’t want to seem too pushy. And he was also trying to heal. Pushing his problems on to her while also trying to make an impression with her didn’t seem like the right path to take. Figuring to take his own advice, he promised himself he’d take it day by day. No strings, just the promise of a rekindled friendship, and maybe more.
After making sure everything was locked up, he grabbed his SIG and phone and headed for the bathroom. He waited for the shower to get hot, chucked his clothes, tossed them in the corner, and set his phone and SIG on the counter within reach should he need them. He didn’t want to seem as if he were being too cautious, but better safe than dead.
When the small bathroom had steamed up enough to where his reflection disappeared in the mirror, he stepped under the hot spray, palmed the wall in front of him, and let the hot water wash over the back of his neck. The memories of the day ran through his head again and he mused everything over, from Samantha Eagen and the problem with Dumb Ass, to his house being broken into. Whoever had come by hadn’t wanted to commit burglary, but searched for something. What? He didn’t know. He didn’t like it, though.
Thinking on it more and more, the break-in seemed connected to something dealing with what he did. But in a world where the government was supposed to have the back of their military, he didn’t want to believe it. Problem was, too much was out of their control. So much they couldn’t get their hands on. Files redacted after being read by only the top of the house. People who disappeared into thin air as if they never existed. If there was a way to share information directly with the Special Forces teams who were risking their lives, without all the bureaucratic bullshit, then things would be so much better … safer.
That was what they needed. A specialized intelligence team who supported the units directly and dealt specifically with those assholes at the CIA. That way, there wasn’t any loss of information, and the teams on both sides could feel comfortable making a decision that could result in life or death.
For a moment, he considered doing that. Starting this specialized intelligence team, but then dismissed it, knowing it was a battle he’d have to fight, and a war he’d have to win in order to even get a team started. He considered his own team, but knowing how much they loved their military lives, just as he did, he immediately dropped the idea.
Pushing all the problems out of his mind brought Samantha to the front. With her plush, shiny lips. Her long red hair that looked on fire when it caught in the sun’s rays. Smoky eyes that spoke more than her words said yet held a million secrets. The feel of her breasts pillowed against his chest. Her thighs clamped around his hips, so strong, yet giving, as if she waited for him to sink inside her body.
She’d fit him, too, of that he had no doubt. And taking refuge in her body would be a sweet, curvy heaven against all the darkness he’d seen. He’d get lost in her for hours.
A tingling between his legs identified the lust raging in his body, an attraction it seemed only she could slake. He leaned a forearm to the wall and looked down at his hardened cock, taking himself in his free hand and giving one long stroke.
His toes curled and breath punched from his mouth. He closed his eyes and imagined his callused hand wasn’t the one stroking him, but instead, Samantha’s soft, feminine hands. When he couldn’t get the stroke right, he grabbed the soap, built the lather, and went back to the task.
Suds gave him the right friction. His back blocked the water from washing it away. He pumped and stroked, ecstasy heightening with every move. He could imagine her mouth parting as she watched his pleasure. He pictured her nipples, guessing they’d be a darkened rose color matching the shade of her lips, peaked and begging for his mouth. He’d suck one tip in his mouth and she’d grip him tighter, stroke faster, her lust building as much as his.
Her cries
would fill the bathroom, shouts of need ringing in his ears. He’d push her back to the wall, spread her legs, and plunge inside with one deep stroke.
The orgasm hit him then. His back arched, her name growling out of his mouth and his seed pumping from his body. His buttocks clenched, his hand wringing the last of the ecstasy from him before he had to let go or fall over.
He blinked to clear his vision, smacked the wall with one hand to steady himself. If it was that good without her, he wondered how it’d be once he got her in his bed.
Chapter Nine
The next day, Samantha struggled to focus on work. The résumés for a vet’s assistant blurred from one to another in front of her. She needed someone to help her run the shop, take care of the animals she hoped to be obtaining soon, and deal with the administrative tasks that came with running a business. Sure, she could handle all the accounting and ordering of supplies, but she needed an assistant to give her some leeway when it came to making sure she was a vet, rather than a glorified administrator. The assistant would be a blessing and help tremendously. There were many things that went on behind the scenes of running a veterinarian’s office. And unfortunately, the temp wasn’t cutting out for the job.
Her lower back also ached from sitting for so long, hunched over reading. She checked her calendar again, knowing she had a few more minutes to check in on Delta Alpha before her first interview showed. Making sure the bell sat on the counter in the event anyone popped in, she grabbed the keys to her desk and a doggy treat, and headed back to the treatment room. With all the space, seeing as DA was her only patient for the time being, she left him in a treatment room by himself. That way, she could leave his kennel open and he’d have a bigger area to explore. The few times she’d check on him, though, he hadn’t been out of his crate, and instead sat just inside the opening, dozing off and on for brief periods of time.
It couldn’t be good for him, the lack of a deep, long, restful sleep. Nor could the lack of exercise. His wounds seemed to be healing, but his mind struggled to cope. Getting him up and moving around and interacting with others was the first step she wanted to take with his treatment plan.
