“What’s a pretty girl like you doing all the way out here by yourself?” He signaled to his buddies behind her to halt with his hand and shifted one of them over to cover the eastern exit between two tents.
“In Khost?” She played dumb.
“In the back fifty of the compound without your posse? I’ve seen you with the other cleaning ladies.”
“The ugly ones,” one of his friends behind her added.
“Yeah,” Wide Grin agreed. “It’s not often we get hot chicks in from the States.”
“We miss home,” sunglasses added. “We miss the variety, the—”
“The willing?” Natalie offered.
“So you’re up for a little tag team?” Wide Grin’s grin doubled. “Saves us some trouble.”
“I don’t mind trouble.” The man was close enough to her back that moist heat radiated onto her neck.
Nice. She liked knowing where they were. His proximity nominated him to be the first man down. His attitude only added to her pleasure of the prospect.
“Tag team girls often?” Natalie asked.
“One or two,” WG admitted. Finally, the asshole came nearly close enough for her to read his uniform but stalled.
“What do you do when you’re out on a mission? Tag team each other?” Natalie placed the grenade neatly under their asses and waited for the explosion.
WG’s face blanked for a second before turning molten red.
“Look here, bitch.” A heavy hand landed on Natalie’s shoulder.
Had she not been anticipating the eruption of offended testosterone, the rough grip would have shaken her.
She embraced the man’s hand by literally grabbing it. Her fingers dug under his thumb and wrenched it high. The hitchhiking tool cracked under her touch. Without pause, Natalie yanked the hand forward. As she pulled him to her, she threw her head back. The bridge of his nose crunched under the force of her skull.
WG lost the G altogether.
The man in her grip screamed.
Natalie leveled her gaze on W. “If you ever hope to get another erection, you’ll tell me the names of the women you’ve raped at this base.”
“Tell me your name, so I can tell you the name of the last woman I’ve raped on this base.” W motioned his other man behind her into action.
“Idiot.” Natalie gripped the man’s wrist and heaved the apex of his elbow onto her shoulder while simultaneously standing to her full height. The arm formed an unnatural L, reinvigorating the screams.
W’s accomplice, Sunglasses, balked. His steadfast, “Bro, I’ve got your six,” faltered with several steps in the direction of evac.
Pressure threatened to concave Natalie’s jaw. Daylight flickered. The ground shook. No, she staggered. Fuck. Screamer’s noodle arm slipped from her grasp. Two tight bands cramped her ribs, but the hold steadied the shimmying world.
In front of her, WG was back in control—not of her but of his buddies. Sunglasses found firmer footing, but whoever was behind her had a grip like a grizzly.
“She’s got some fight, after all.” Grizzly’s tongue slobbered up the cheek he’d tried to demolish.
“We live for the fight.” WG jerked his head toward the tent and wrestled with the buckle on his pants.
Glasses shoved them farther up his nose as he bounced on the balls of his feet.
“Natalie!” Renee rounded the far end of the long row of tents.
Grizzly’s grip vanished, and she stumbled forward, too close to WG and not stable enough to inflict the amount of pain she planned for him. Her legs quivered as the lining of her stomach threatened to make an appearance.
“If you’re not going to eat, stop making time with the soldiers and get back to work,” Renee bellowed.
“Natalie,” WG spat.
The name stitched onto his uniform stitched itself onto her brain.
Willis.
“Soon, Natalie,” he threatened.
“Very, Willis,” she wheezed.
When he turned the corner, her knees hit the dirt.
Chapter 2
As McCabe opened the door to the training pit, he craned his neck to make certain the woman who’d stomped his heart from his chest and left him for dead hadn’t followed him. His head smacked the metal frame. A gong reverberated through his skull and out his ears. Not the brightest move, but some threats packed more punch than others. He’d take the doorway ten times over the woman he’d just run away from.
“Hey Dick, you’re late.” The gritty, overused voice of Rickshaw, his CO for the moment, nagged McCabe’s already ringing ears. His cohorts cackled. “Dick, that’s a good one.”
“Original,” McCabe grumbled. Instead of enlightening them on their true lack of comedic genius, he shoved her out of his mind and himself through the tiny opening.
Their laughter died down. The closer he walked to the four men in the center of the training pit, the higher their gazes rose and the wider their eyes bloated. All except for his CO’s. The man had taken his moment five days ago when McCabe had gotten off the plane and been shoved into some BS site orientation, and then again two days ago when he’d assigned him shit shucking duty in the kennels. Like McCabe hadn’t been the commanding officer of the 341st Training Squadron at Lackland.
He had. They just didn’t know it.
Scrubbing kennel walls and scooping dog poop wasn’t above McCabe, but he’d paid his dues a lifetime ago. To these guys, he was a too old and too inexperienced transfer—aka a nightmare—which was why he heard a low, consistent growl from behind the men. They were about to indoctrinate the new guy.
“It’s time you met your partner, Dick.” Rickshaw stepped aside, and his buddies did the same.
A large crate cramped the largest German Shepherd he’d ever seen inside its metal bars. The dog’s enormous muzzle swung toward the man closest to him.
“Whoa, dog.” The youngest of the horde tossed up his hands and eased away from the crate.
Sharp white teeth challenged the cage’s tensile strength with a snap. The jerks’ laughter gained strength as the dog changed angles and launched himself at them again.
Just because McCabe was no longer Army didn’t mean he couldn’t work his sources. He’d met the growling Shepherd while mucking the kennels. Word was the big guy’s handler had been dishonorably discharged for abuse. The sack of shit should have been strapped to a tree and left with the dog until the end.
“I expect you two to work border patrol at sundown unless he kills you before then.” Rickshaw held his grin at bay. The same couldn’t be said for the others.
“Yes, sir.” He nodded.
McCabe called upon years of experience in discomfort as he ignored the assholes and walked to the side of the cage. His shoulder brushed against one of the trainers, but he didn’t look up. He leveled a stern gaze at Zeppelin, the dog who’d been dealt a shitty hand. The dog he’d been sitting and talking with for the past two days who needed months’ worth of rehabilitation but only had a few hours until showtime. The gaggle quieted, waiting for him to open the kennel and get ripped to shreds.
Wide dark amber eyes shifted from the group to McCabe. Slowly, Zeppelin’s teeth hid behind his dark sable muzzle. Thick knuckled paws spread wide on the slick cage bottom shifted one at a time under his frame. His ears perked and rotated in his direction.
The tight knots of McCabe’s fists—the ones he hadn’t realized he’d been holding—relaxed. He crouched low. Behind him, the men jockeyed for a view of the show they lusted after. His knuckles met the dirt ground. He plopped his butt down, turned, and leaned his back against the cage.
Everyone shared silence for a minute. Soon, the men screwed up their faces, one by one.
“You only have four hours until you report. I’d use them wisely,” Rickshaw prodded.
“Yes, sir.” McCabe stretched his legs out in front of him, crossed his arms, and waited. Zeppelin followed suit, as well as he could, cramped in the crate.
“Pussy.” The
shortest guy spat the word and shoved off through the far door. The others agreed with the assessment but held out for nearly thirty minutes before bowing out for one excuse or another.
An hour in, Rickshaw was the last to leave. He slammed the door so hard it bounced off the frame and hung wide.
“Close the door,” McCabe ordered in an even tone.
The commanding officer closed the door and then kicked or punched it a couple of times from the other side. McCabe just heard the thumps.
He kept silent. Fifteen long minutes passed without anyone to annoy. Then four more. His legs had long since knotted and numbed.
One high whine whistled into McCabe’s ear, and a smile stretched his lips.
“You’re dying to know.” He chuckled. “I knew it. You were playing the hard-ass, and now mine is tingling. That’s cool. Way to play it, but I knew you were a softy.”
The dog whined again.
“All right. All right.” He raised his hands in surrender, letting the pup see and smell them before he set them back in his lap. “It was her. One hundred percent, Natalie freaking Winston. You remember what I told you the other day, right?”
Zeppelin yipped.
“I trust you didn’t tell anyone?”
Again, he gave a soft bark.
“I know. I can’t believe that shit either.” He drew his knees up and draped his wrists over them. “I can believe you didn’t tell. You seem like a trustworthy fella.” He flapped a wrist. “I can’t believe it was actually her. It’s been a lifetime.”
His not-so-silent partner in the conversation pawed at the metal.
“You’re right. Not a lifetime, because I managed not to get myself killed over the past seven years, but it’s definitely been a career since I’ve seen her. And boy, oh boy!” McCabe adjusted his pants. “Like a vintage bourbon, she’s gotten finer than fine with time.”
He tried to shake the image of her leggy six-foot frame under him, around him, over him, smothering him in heaven. It shouldn’t be easy because of the hell in which she’d left him.
“That doesn’t matter anymore.” If he could convince the dog, maybe he could convince himself.
The pawing gained gusto, proving the futility in his words.
“Fuck, Zeppelin, she should be in an office somewhere ordering people around and solving military crimes, not sweating her sweet tits off in hostile territory.” He turned to face the dog. “And she has a rack.” His head shook. “No looking, you hear me?”
All four feet stayed in place, but his haunches eased back a bit. Those large ears quirked while black brows pulled together.
“Sure, you do.” McCabe’s heart broke for the dog. The one who promised to love and care for him the most had betrayed him. Hell, he could relate. All these years later and he was still biting, but he wasn’t a dog. By nature, the K-9 was more trusting and loyal than any person.
“So why is she here, Zep?”
He groaned and nosed the cage door.
“I have to know. You with me on this?” He shrugged, flipped the latch, and opened the small door.
The handsome sable pup dropped his haunches in protest.
“I know you’re curious. You can’t hide it. Your eyebrows give you away every time.”
When the dog didn’t move, McCabe turned his back to the cage and resumed his legs out, numb butt position. “Fine. Guess I’ll solve the case all on my own. It’s only been seven years since I’ve worked one. Who needs a partner? Not me. Partners just let you down anyway.” The first shifts echoed from inside the metal crate. “High and dry.” Long claws clicked on the plastic bottom. “Without a prayer. All alone. With no one—”
Zeppelin paced a wide circle around him. Not as wide as the one on that first day. Hell, he’d practically melded to the walls.
“Where was I? Oh yeah, with no one to watch your six. With no one to share your meals and intriguing conversations.”
Each pass brought the Shepherd’s massive paws closer until he eased to McCabe’s side and saddled him with a “fine, I give, just please stop talking” glare.
“Good.” McCabe stood, signaled to his heel, and started walking. “We have two problems to solve.”
The dog rushed to his heel, and they headed toward the door. “And I know just the place to start digging.”
Chapter 3
Surrounded by washers, dryers, and piles of uniforms, Natalie couldn’t pause to change her dirt-covered shirt and pants. She should feel some level of gratitude toward the woman who worked her like a forced laborer. Her butting-in had likely saved Natalie from rape or worse.
“Count your days, assholes.” Those pieces of shit were at the top of her list for suspects in the disappearances. She slammed another sleeve of desert digital camo between the two slabs of iron. Steam rose, mimicking that which rose from her ears and rolled past her sore head.
Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.
Natalie stilled with another uniform midway to the second iron. Awareness rippled through her. Hell, it had only left while she’d been unconscious in the dirt. Inflated dick dudes shifted to the background and RPGs quickly stole their place. Sure, she’d heard them in the distance before, at the mess hall and in her bunk, but never in the hot house. Never over the roar of the machines.
If she could hear them now, they were too close to camp.
Boom. Boom.
A loud chatter began in the front of the tent.
She removed the uniforms from the irons, tossed them both on a table, and ran to the front. All four women stood statue-still, straining to hear over the incessant machines.
“Holy Christ.” It filtered through the canvas partition of Renee’s office situated in the far corner, away from the intense heat. The devil appeared seconds later, her dyed-red hair high atop her head. She yanked glasses from her face and glared. “Why aren’t you working?”
The woman’s yell lifted above the din, silencing the other women.
“RPGs. Listen.” Natalie pointed at the sky and cupped her ear for emphasis.
Boom.
“I only hear the sound of your whining.” Renee made a talking hand and snapped it at each of the women before throwing both hands up. “Keep working.”
Boom. Boom.
The ground shook and vibrated through the soles of Natalie’s shoes. Around her, the women obeyed like robots, unaware of their own mortal danger. Outside, the explosions continued—too close and too consistent for her comfort.
They had protocols, dammit, for times like these. Wash and fold could go to hell with Renee. They needed to duck and cover.
Natalie ran for the breaker and flipped the main switch. Every machine and light in the place died. The last rays of daylight filtered in through the tent’s doorway. It illuminated her boss’s warpath, directly to the tips of her dirty boots.
“Oh my God, it’s an attack,” Janet screamed.
“They’re not supposed to get this close,” another woman wept.
“See.” Renee pointed a sausage finger in her face. “You’ve gotten everyone worked up over nothing.”
Natalie ignored her, listening intently for the direction of the attack. It mattered. Direction dictated their protocols.
The short woman’s shoulder connected with Natalie’s ribs. She staggered back, caught completely off guard. No woman had ever gotten physical with her—not in all her thirty-four years. She’d always been the biggest in her classes, out of the boys too, until the military. Even then, she was bigger than many of them were.
Renee flipped the breaker. “Get those machines on now.”
A haze of red coated Natalie’s field of vision. In the crosshairs stood a woman not worth her effort, shouting at women she was supposed to be protecting. The damn fools jumped at the order, re-igniting the cacophony.
The blasts drowned in the madness, but not enough that every woman in the tent—Renee included—didn’t hear them, machines be damned.
“You stupid women, get to work, or I’ll have you
taken out of here.” The woman bellowed the threat.
It was a threat, all right, but of what? Kidnapping or demotion? What was lower than working laundry in godforsaken Afghanistan?
Chapter 4
Coast clear, McCabe motioned Zeppelin inside his barracks and followed. The moment he ensured the place was empty, he pulled the phone he shouldn’t be carrying from his pocket and dialed his boss. Well, one of his bosses—half of the lead of the Omega Team, Grey Holden. He could yell at Grey. Athena, not so much. Old fashioned, though it might be, he tried his damnedest not to yell at women. Natalie tried him on that time and time again.
“I thought I’d hear from you three days ago.” Grey chuckled and mumbled something into the background.
“You didn’t tell me she was going to be here,” McCabe accused.
“She?” Grey hummed.
“Don’t play dumb with me. You see all things, know all things, except who the hell is taking these women.”
“I guess you don’t either then?” Grey shot back.
“One topic at a time,” McCabe barked. Zeppelin stopped his inspection of the bunks and eyed him. “Why didn’t you tell me she was going to be here?” he managed to ask more calmly.
“Don’t be a pussy, McCabe.” Athena’s husky voice poked him through the phone.
“Because you wouldn’t have gone, would you?” Grey asked.
“Hell, no.” Not for double his contract. “Who’s she working for? I know it’s not regular Army. She’s wearing civilian clothes, but that doesn’t fit either.”
“Two sets of eyes are better than one,” Athena offered. “At least, that’s been our experience.”
“You hired her?” McCabe growled.
The dog stopped his exploration and sat. His alert. It didn’t make sense. His yell should have incited him to aggression or submission. He called him to heel, and the big guy obeyed.
The Omega Team: Furiously Mine (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Base Branch Series Book 12) Page 2
