“Guilty feeling, too, I’m sure.”
“Yes. See? You’re not as hard-hearted as you’d like the world to think.”
“Maybe not.” Dakota gave her a soft grin.
“If one of your men was lost, you’d do everything in your power to find him.”
“I’d go to hell to find him if I had to, no question.”
“Right.” She finished off her coffee and set the mug aside. “Let’s get saddled up. We can stop inside the south entrance at Grant Village and grab some food. This could be an all-day, all-night kind of track.”
Dakota rose. “We’ll leave Storm here. I don’t like her around groups of people. They’ll think she’s a wild wolf and start getting weird about it.”
“Can she track?”
“If I give her a piece of fabric the person wore, yes. She’s good at finding a trail. Cuts my tracking time down.”
She smiled at the gray wolf. “We could use her today.”
“I don’t like running into Fish and Game types with a wild wolf trotting at my side. They’d want to take her away from me.”
Shelby grabbed her knapsack and pulled on her thick, warm dark green coat. “No kidding. You’d get fined up to your butt and back, too.”
“Duly noted,” Dakota said drily, pulling his rucksack out of the closet. He reached inside and pulled his H-harness off a hook.
Shelby stopped packing her knapsack and watched Dakota. The odd-looking piece of gear settled around his shoulders and fastened it around his narrow waist. “That’s a nifty-looking piece of equipment. How many pockets have you got in that thing?”
“It’s my H-gear. All SEALs wear it. We call it second-line gear.” He pulled open a drawer at the counter. “I got fifteen pockets in this thing and I can carry ammunition, protein bars, a tourniquet and anything else I might need on this hike.”
Impressed, she saw him filling each one. “That’s a lot of weight if you’re stowing mags of ammunition in it, isn’t it?”
“It’s not unusual if I’m wearing my first, second and third line of gear to be carrying sixty-five pounds on my body, and that includes my rucksack.”
“Phew, that’s a lot.” But then, she was coming to realize SEALs were not the typical American male at all. Dakota was strong, tall and powerful, but he wasn’t muscle-bound. He was a finely honed athlete who was in amazing shape.
“Normal weight for us to hump on a multiday mission,” he assured her. He took a sheathed knife from his ruck and strapped it around his left thigh. On the other thigh, he already wore his SIG Sauer.
“I feel like we’re going to war,” Shelby said, locating her gloves in the suitcase.
“Don’t kid yourself. We are. There’s nothing to say Welton and Hartley aren’t snooping around up there, either,” he warned her.
Mouth quirking, Shelby said, “Yeah, I already thought in that direction.”
He picked up his rifle, a modified M-4 that he routinely carried on SEAL missions. This was a civilian model of the military weapon he used to have. The only downside was that he couldn’t slap a grenade launcher below the barrel. Grenades were frowned upon out here in the civilian world, but they could come in damn handy if he had to use them.
“How’s your arm doing this morning?” she asked. “Do you need the dressing changed?”
“No, it’s fine. It’s healing well. You can help me change it tomorrow or whenever we get off this track.”
“Just remember to take your antibiotics with you. I don’t know how long we’re going to be out there looking for this guy.”
“Are you always such a mother hen?”
“Nah, just special for you, Carson.” She pulled the knapsack over her shoulder. There was a shadowy grin on his unshaven face.
Pulling on his camouflage jacket of green, dark brown and tan, he met her smile. “Let’s go Down Range.”
Shelby pulled the door open. Dawn was coming, light infusing the area. Storm bounded out the door and disappeared into the surrounding woods. She opened the rear of the sheriff’s cruiser and stowed her gear. So did Dakota.
“Is Storm off hunting?”
“Yeah, every morning and night.”
Shelby retrieved the keys from her jacket pocket. “What will she do if we’re still tracking tonight and don’t get back here?”
Dakota placed his H-gear next to his rucksack. “Nothing. She comes and goes as she pleases. She always comes back at some point.”
After climbing into the driver’s seat, she started the vehicle and then called the sheriff’s department to let them know they were on their way to the campground in Yellowstone. Dakota climbed in and closed the door. She appreciated him being along.
Shelby pulled out and turned around near the cabin. “I’m looking forward to working with you. First time I’ve ever tracked with a SEAL. I’m sure I’ll learn a lot from you.”
“It’s a little different from how you track.”
“How so?” Shelby asked, driving down the long, narrow, winding road toward the valley. The sky was lightening, a pink color following the shadow of the night.
“We’re tracking gomers. It’s kill or be killed.”
“Do you think Welton and Hartley have anything to do with this missing guy?”
“No. My gut tells me they’re in the Tetons. I don’t think they’re stupid enough to hide in Yellowstone again. They got caught by you the last time. Welton won’t make the same mistake twice.”
Her skin crawled with momentary fear. They were probably hunting her right now. “I just hope we can find this guy alive. The nights are below freezing up at that altitude.”
Dakota could hear the worry in her voice. “Alzheimer’s is a bitch. We’ll find out more from his wife.” He noticed Shelby’s thin brows knit and the worry in her profile as she turned onto the main highway that would eventually lead them into Yellowstone. Across the road was a small herd of buffalo, their breath like misting shots from their nostrils as they hungrily grazed on the early grass coming up from the long winter. Their shaggy brown coats kept them warm in any type of weather.
“Did you get any sleep last night?”
He turned his attention to her. “Not much. I got it in snatches.”
“Nightmares wake you?”
“Always.”
“You’re probably so sleep-deprived you’re used to it.” It hurt Shelby to realize he suffered all the time. Jordana often talked about PTSD symptoms, that insomnia was a major component. Over time, it added another horrific layer of stress upon the person.
Dakota managed a dark chuckle. “Stop worrying. When my SEAL team was deployed over to Afghanistan for six months, no one got much sleep. We’d be operational around the clock on some missions. You learn to gut through it. The thought of being killed keeps you alert and awake.”
“For a day or two?”
“Sometimes longer.”
Shaking her head, she muttered, “I think I’m deciding that you guys who join the SEALs are supermen. You’d have to be.”
“There’s a six-month course everyone goes through,” he told her. “It’s called BUD/S. And it’s hell on earth. It weeds out the wannabes from the rest of us who want it bad enough to work through any kind of pain and training they throw at us.”
She shook her head. “Then what drives you SEALs, Dakota?”
“Heart. Teamwork. Family, I guess.” He looked around the empty highway. “We’re looking to belong to something bigger than ourselves. To be a part of something that’s important.”
Hearing the wistful note in his voice, she glanced over quickly to see his face soften for a moment. “Maybe the P.C. response would be that you’re patriots? But really, underneath, you want to belong?”
“Yes,” he said, “and our patriotism is strong. The bottom line is we know we can protect America and her people.”
“You lost your entire family,” she said. “Did the SEALs become your family instead?”
He felt his way through her deep insi
ght. Taking in a breath, he released it and said, “Looking at it from that perspective, yeah, I got my family back. But it’s more than that, Shelby. We’re warriors. We want our gun in the fight. We believe in what we’re doing—getting rid of the gomers on this planet. We like combat. We’re never more alive than when we’re in a life-and-death dance with the bad guys. We feel as a platoon, no one is better than we are. We’re training eighteen months of every two-year cycle. Then we’re deployed overseas to hunt and make a difference in the war effort for six months.”
She brushed a strand of loose hair over her shoulder as she considered his quiet, impassioned words. “I couldn’t possibly do what the SEALs do.” She met his glance. “Truly, Dakota, you are a hero in my eyes.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SHELBY WAS EAGER TO get on with the track. They’d arrived, talked to the distraught wife about her husband, Tony Banyon, who had wandered off sometime during the night. A number of other people, volunteers, were looking for him, too. Dakota got them on the same page with a plan. Every group would work in a grid pattern for maximum coverage.
The sun was just rising as Dakota picked up a trail outside the camp. No one else was a trained tracker, so the officials allowed them to follow what they found. The rest of the groups would begin searching other grid-assigned areas. Their breath was white, the temperature in the twenties. Shelby let Dakota take the lead, his gaze fixed and moving in front of him. The woods were thick and the light bad because of the forest canopy above them.
The pine-needle floor was brown and soft. It had snowed two days earlier, melted and Shelby felt it was a good time to track. A man’s footprint would leave a minuscule depression even in the soft, spongy brown needles. She could see Dakota was quickly following the slight depressions as it led deeper into the woods.
They had tracked for an hour, up and over a small hill, when he held up his fist. She halted beside him, breathing hard. “Is that a signal you just gave me?”
He turned, looking over at her. Shelby’s cheeks were a bright pink from the exertion of the climb. “Sorry. Yes.”
“Is that nonverbal SEAL talk?” she ventured, appreciating his nearness. Dakota looked almost invisible in the camouflage gear. He blended in almost to the point where he couldn’t be seen. Only his face made him stand out against the mottled light and dark of the woods.
“It is. Don’t you deputies have hand signals?”
“No. What does it mean when you raise your forearm in a fist?”
“Stop.”
“I did. I’m pretty good at this.” Shelby gave him an evil grin.
Heat flowed through his sweaty body as he saw Shelby’s teasing smile. He almost leaned down to kiss her. Almost... Turning, Dakota pointed down the hill. “This guy, from what I can tell, probably left about two o’clock yesterday morning. He seems to know where he’s going. He’s not wandering around in circles. People who are really lost walk around in circles.”
“It looks like he stops and rests for a bit, and then moves on,” she agreed.
“Poor bastard,” he breathed, shaking his head.
“At least he took his coat, hat and gloves.”
“You can still freeze to death from hypothermia in this stuff, Shel. Real damn fast. It takes no prisoners.”
“You were in the mountains of Afghanistan. You would know.”
“Yeah, and we were operating at twelve thousand feet, twenty below Fahrenheit and the wind blowing like a banshee.” He touched his gear. “I’m wearing five layers of specially designed cold-weather gear. That poor guy doesn’t have anything near that to survive in.”
“I don’t think we’ll find him alive, Dakota,” Shelby said softly.
“I don’t, either. Helluva way to die.”
“I wonder if he did this on purpose.”
“What? Walk away knowing he’d freeze to death out here?”
“Yeah. Maybe he had enough of his mind left to know how much of a burden he was becoming to his wife. Maybe he couldn’t stand seeing her suffering and working so hard to keep him safe. I’ve seen other suicides like this.”
Dakota could see the raw concern in her blue eyes. He was losing control. And God, that was the last thing he needed right now. Control to keep his hands, his mouth, off Shelby. Her trembling words, the grief on her face, did something internally to him. He couldn’t name what it was, only that it happened. Taking off his glove, he said roughly, “Come here....” He slid his hand along her clean jaw. Tilting her head up slightly, he moved close. “You have the softest heart, Shel...” He leaned down, curving his mouth across her parting lips. He’d seen the look of surprise and then heat and desire enter her eyes as he’d shifted, captured her and kissed her.
Shelby had been aching to continue the first interrupted kiss they’d shared days ago. Momentarily startled by his unexpected move, she stepped forward, sliding her arms around his broad shoulders, drawing him against herself as she met and moved her lips against his plundering, commanding mouth.
His breath was punctuated against her nose and cheek, his callused hand feeling raspy, fingers sliding down her jawline and curving around her nape, drawing her hard against him. She felt the full force of his hunger and she responded, matching his desire with her own. There was something incredibly haunting and vulnerable about Dakota; she felt it, couldn’t put it in words. Yet, as their lips moved together, she felt him quiver. He rocked her lips open and they tasted each other. She pulled him as close as they could get with all the gear on between them. His beard was harsh against her cheek, but she didn’t care.
The heat built explosively between them. She glided her tongue boldly against his. Instantly, he groaned, his fingers capturing the base of her skull, holding her so he could plunder her more deeply. There was such need erupting between them, Shelby realized. She ached to somehow get closer to him, to his flesh. Never had she had a kiss like this. It was rough, unbridled and primal. But so was she.
Gradually, Dakota came out of the lust haze and need for Shelby. He realized he had probably bruised her soft lips. She wasn’t afraid of him. No, she was just as assertive as he’d been. Easing the pressure of his mouth against hers, inhaling her feminine scent, a mix of sweetness and pine, he reluctantly broke contact.
He barely opened his eyes, but instead drowned in the blue luster of her glistening eyes. Dakota brushed her wet mouth, wanting to ease any pain he might have caused her. He hadn’t intended to hurt her. Hell, he hadn’t intended to kiss her at all! He was shattered in another way, unable to control his needs for her. His body trembled inwardly, the ache increasing between his legs. There was no disguising his feelings for her. Her flared hips rested against his. He knew Shelby could feel his hunger in real time. Placing small, gentle kisses against her cheek, brow and finally, upon her mouth once more, he rasped, “I wanted to finish that kiss we started at your house.” That wasn’t a lie. Hell, he was thinking about kissing her every friggin’ minute of the day. He felt like a drug addict. He felt trapped, his heart and body screaming for her and his mind imprisoned in PTSD screaming he had to stop—or else.
Her mouth curved softly into a smile. “I did, too.”
“I’m sorry if I hurt you.” He touched her lower lip with his thumb, moving it gently across the swollen, glistening surface.
Shelby shook her head, tried to struggle out of the all-consuming kiss. “No...you didn’t hurt me.” As she looked up at his scalding gaze, her body exploded with a need that shocked her. “It was mutual, Dakota. I wanted you as much as you wanted me.”
Though he didn’t want to let her go, Dakota knew he had to. Their five minutes of rest were over. Releasing her, he stepped back. Studying her in the silence, a few birds calling somewhere beyond them, Dakota memorized her oval face, those fierce blue eyes that shone with desire for him alone. Somehow he had to keep his hands off her. Somehow... “We need to keep going.”
Nodding, Shelby said, “I’ll take over the tracking.”
“I could
use a break.” Tracking took every ounce of a person’s concentration. His body clamored for more of Shelby’s kiss and he struggled to establish control over his body. She was like a missing key to his heart and soul. How could he stop her effect on him when she’d already melted his control with just one damn kiss? Shelby had opened him up in ways that rocked his dark, wounded world. There was nothing shy or reclusive about her kiss—or her.
As she moved past him to pick up the trail, Dakota’s mouth twisted with pain and frustration. Whatever they shared, whatever it was, made him feel whole. And that was a joke, because he was broken in so many ways. Shelby appeared in his life, and his goddamn heart thought that she could transform him. His mind knew otherwise, that the effects of trauma didn’t just disappear.
Dakota kept his attention on the surrounding area. Everything seemed quiet, the woods always making him feel embraced by nature. He took the radio from his belt and checked-in to Ranger HQ, giving them an update as well as their current GPS position. Because the woods were so thick, the cover impossible to penetrate, it would do no good to use a helicopter to find the poor gent. Ground tracking was the only way to find Banyon.
After signing off, Dakota watched Shelby track. She was good. Every once in a while, she’d kneel down, study a depression, look around before moving on. That was the only way to find out if the lost man might be somewhere ahead. Tracking was not done quickly. Sometimes it was, depending upon the spore or print. Here, Dakota knew pine needles, especially if dry, were hell to track in, slowing everything down to a near crawl.
Shelby moved silently, the woods making the area dim and dark. There were rocks here and there, fallen logs, but for the most part, Tony Banyon seemed to have a destination in mind. She felt bad for him. She half expected to find him huddled by a tree. But that didn’t happen. The man seemed to be in good physical condition because his stride was even, not choppy or unbalanced. She tried to keep her mind on her work, but her body was like a starved animal, her lower area between her thighs wanting to be satisfied. Dakota’s kiss had forced her to acknowledge she missed having a man in her life. He reminded her fully that she was a woman with healthy needs. Up until now, she could ignore them. Dakota was like a match striking against her, flaring her dormant body back to explosive life. And she’d felt his arousal earlier, wanted him in every way.
The Loner Page 13
