Countdown

Joe recoiled inwardly. Annie’s soft exterior concealed a steel backbone, he realized. The look in her eyes was no longer lustrous and inviting, it was pointed and fearless. Although part of him respected her for it, a greater part disliked her for her courage. His lips lifted away from his teeth, and he put his face inches from hers, his breathing strangled as he spoke. “Corporal, you work for me. Got that? Until you get that sergeant’s stripe, you’ll do as I say. I’m not the kind of marine who communicates a whole lot, so you’re just going to have to put up with it.” His mouth twisted slightly. “Unless you want a transfer—which wouldn’t bother me at all.”

Annie swayed and caught herself, inwardly shaken by Donnally’s anger. His blue eyes narrowed with such a fierce light that she knew this man was a hunter and dangerous, with a brutal side that could hurt her emotionally. “I’ve got it, Sergeant,” she whispered tightly. But even as he pulled away and straightened, Annie knew she was in trouble. Great. Her boss hated her just for being here.

Joe tried desperately to contain his ugly, unraveling feelings. What was wrong with him? He never snarled at his people like this! Thoroughly irritated with himself, he spun on his heel. “Follow me,” he snapped.

Stalking down the passageway, he tried to figure out what had happened. Yes, he was angry with Captain Ramsey for pulling him off far more important work at the brig office to come and pick up Yellow Horse. Further, he disagreed strongly with his boss about needing a world-class tracker here at Reed: no prisoners had escaped in the two years he’d been here. His conscience smarted. He’d seen his fury hurt Annie. Damn! Now he was thinking of her as Annie! Use her last name and keep it impersonal, he angrily instructed himself.

Scrambling internally, Joe didn’t want to admit that she’d surprised him—not only with her looks, but with her courage in standing up to his blistering “welcome.” Perhaps her Navajo lineage gave her a special kind of bravery, he mused. Not many marines stood toe-to-toe with him when it came down to a confrontation. Joe was a scrapper, and he was street smart. He’d grown up tough in a gang in the barrio of National City, near San Diego, and he knew how to fight—with his fists and his mouth. Although he looked like his Hispanic and Yaqui Indian mother, his father was of Irish ancestry, so except for his blue eyes, his name, Donnally, didn’t fit Joe’s otherwise dark looks.

As he pushed open the door, the California heat and bright sunlight struck him full force. Settling the garrison cap on his head, he glanced over his shoulder to see if Yellow Horse was coming. Disgruntled to find her near his left shoulder, he was shocked that he hadn’t heard her at all. Hell! Usually he heard everything—his awareness of his surroundings was, by necessity, sharply honed. That supersensitivity to his environment had saved his life numerous times growing up in the gangs, who fought with deadly knives and pistols. Bitterness leaked through Joe at Annie’s obvious abilities. This woman was going to be the number-two person in his section whether he liked it or not. And he most emphatically did not.

As they moved down the sidewalk, bracketed with recently mowed green Bermuda grass, Joe entertained the idea of telling Captain Ramsey he wanted a transfer. Again his conscience needled him—more sharply this time. Joe had a fierce loyalty to his section, to the men and women who put their lives on the line every day. No, they’d been left enough in the lurch by Jacobs, without Joe sulking and leaving them in more trouble.

“Sergeant?”

Joe started. This time he hadn’t realized that Yellow Horse had come abreast of him as he strode across the asphalt parking lot. The noontime sun blasted them, and Joe began to break out in a mild sweat.

“What is it, Corporal?”

“Can you tell me what your office does?”

Having unwillingly made eye contact again, Joe tried to tear his gaze from her. She wore a bucket-style hat, her black hair as shiny as a raven’s wing in the sunlight where it showed around the edges. Annie had a grace that he’d not seen in many women before—an easiness and familiarity with her body, maybe. Although Joe couldn’t quite define it, the way she moved was riveting. Disgusted with himself, he snapped his head forward.

“I run Section A of three sections at the brig,” he responded brusquely. “My people serve two functions: brig duty and transport of prisoners.”

“How long have you been stationed here at Camp Reed?”

He knew she was testing him, trying to find out something about him—as her boss. “Two years,” he replied with a glare.

“And Captain Ramsey was just assigned? I imagine that’s causing you some changes?” she asked, understanding lacing her voice.

Her insight was startling, and Joe scowled again. If she could fathom that much, what else could she perceive? The thought was unsettling as hell. “Let’s put it this way, Corporal—the last officer who ran the brig was a total loss. He was a screwup from the git-go, punching his ticket because he had to have this assignment look good on his personnel record so he could get early major’s leaves. Otherwise, he couldn’t have cared less about the brig, the prisoners, the transport of them or my people.”

“So you ended up shouldering a lot of the load to protect your section?” she pressed gently.

Joe’s mouth fell open. He halted and spun around, capturing her gaze. “Are you psychic or something?” he croaked. Then he caught himself and frowned in warning as he ruthlessly searched her eyes. Eyes that were wide, vulnerable and without harshness, he noted. Her lips lifted very slightly, almost into a shy smile.

“Not psychic,” Annie said softly. “Being in the corps six years maybe gives me a better perspective than someone who’s had less time in grade.”

Disgruntled, Joe nodded. “Yeah, things got rough. I came in while Captain Jacobs was on board, and we all suffered under the bastard for two years. I saw him tear down my people because he was unhappy and didn’t want to be here.”

“So you ran a blocking action, took the heat and protected them?” Annie guessed. She saw the surprise in the icy depths of his light blue eyes. As growly as Donnally was, she sensed that the inner man—perhaps the real man beneath that armored exterior—was likable and decent. She vowed to withhold judgment until she could understand the responsibilities he carried on his broad, capable-looking shoulders.

“Yes….” he admitted, hesitating.

Annie smiled a little, hoping to ease the tension between them. “And Captain Ramsey has just come on board, so you’re trying to help him clean up the mess created by the previous officer?”

Joe gave a bark of laughter and dropped his hands on his hips as he studied Annie. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were some kind of investigator from C.I.D., Criminal Investigation Division, not a brig chaser.”

With an answering chuckle, Annie shrugged, noticing the way laughter changed Donnally’s dark, thundercloud features, if but for a moment. “No, I’m not C.I.D., Sergeant, I’m Navajo. My grandfather was a code talker in World War II, and my mother comes from a long line of medicine women. I’ve lived close to the earth all my life. Six years in the corps gives me knowledge on another level. It’s pretty easy to put two and two together.”

Joe didn’t want to like Annie, but in that moment, he liked her immensely. If he’d treated a male marine the way he had treated her so far, he knew there would be no laughter, compromise or softening between them. No, it was Annie’s ability as a woman, he guessed, that had defused some of the anger he’d aimed at her. Still, he reminded himself, he couldn’t afford to like her or get close to her. Not now, not ever.

His mouth thinning with the thought, he held her upturned gaze, which spoke eloquently of her compassion for the personal hell he’d suffered these past two years. “Your grandfather was a code talker?” he asked, with new respect for her heritage. During World War II, he knew, the Navajo code talkers had been drafted into the Marine Corps and used to convey messages in their native language to prevent the Japanese from understanding them. It had worked so successfully that Navajo men had served with great pride, helping to save hundreds, if not thousands, of lives during the war years.

Annie nodded. “My grandfather is eighty-four now, but he still has clear memories of the time he served in the Marine Corps.”

“That’s something to be proud of,” Joe muttered. Her grandfather being a marine explained somewhat why she was in the corps. Annie was following a tradition begun over fifty years ago. Joe had to back off a little on his aggressive attitude toward her, knowing she carried such a proud history.

Standing there in the parking lot, Joe realized he was staring at her the way a biologist might stare at a bug under a microscope. But he didn’t want to know anything else about Annie—Yellow Horse, he corrected himself savagely. “Let’s take the station wagon over there,” he said, pointing toward it. “I’ll show you the office and then it will be chow time.”

Annie knew that Donnally wanted nothing to do with her, and the knowledge hurt. She liked the proud way he held himself. She liked the rugged look of his square face. Now, in the sunlight, she noticed several small scars across his prominent chin and a more recent one across his left cheekbone. His nose appeared to have been broken several times, adding to his rough-and-ready appearance. No, Donnally certainly wasn’t pretty-boy handsome. Also, despite his Irish-sounding name and blue eyes, his dark coloring spoke of a mixed heritage, probably Hispanic.

There was nothing forgiving about Donnally, either, she thought. Built tall and noble, he was medium boned and rather heavily muscled. Most brig chasers were taller and heavier than marines in other corps professions, and hauling around prisoners of all sizes and weights required top physical condition. Annie herself worked out three times a week at a gym to build and maintain upper-body strength. Her gaze ranged back to Donnally’s face and especially his mouth as he turned toward the vehicle he’d indicated. He had a generous mouth, she thought, but he seemed to keep it thinned, as if he were holding back a lot, buried deep within himself.

She followed without a word to the olive green station wagon. It was a typical brig vehicle, she noted. The rear seats were separated from the front by thick, bullet-proof glass that prevented a prisoner from reaching the driver. Further, the rear doors were locked from the outside, with no inner handles, so a prisoner couldn’t open a door and escape. She took in the riot gun propped in the front seat as she opened the door—and the three different types of radios installed on the dash, for communicating with various law-enforcement agencies should a brig-chaser team need help during transport.

Joe settled into the driver’s seat, then glanced over at Yellow Horse. She seemed introspective, and he was relieved not to have to try to respond to small talk, appreciating her calm presence in spite of himself. Shutting the door, he inserted the key in the ignition. The station wagon purred to life, and he put the car in gear. As they drove out of the parking lot, Joe pointed out the chow hall, the hospital and, finally, the brig and brig office.

The brig sat by itself, a squat, flat-roofed, two-story stucco building that matched the color of the desert. A ten-foot-tall cyclone fence completely enclosed the area and was topped with razor-bladelike concertina wire to discourage prisoners from trying to climb up and over it to freedom. As Donnally slowed down, Annie took in the dry, barren environment surrounding the brig and the nearby office building.

“It’s out in the middle of nowhere,” she murmured.

“Best place for it.”

Annie nodded. “A far cry from Camp Lejeune,” she added with a wry smile.

“No greenery,” Joe agreed. “Just a lot of sagebrush and cactus.”

“It’s dry, but pretty in its own way,” Annie mused as the car drew to a halt.

“That’s right, you come from desert country,” Joe said, getting out. Damn! Why had he said that? He didn’t want to talk about anything personal with her. Giving her a glare as she came around the vehicle, he said, “Follow me.”

Annie frowned. Donnally’s armor was back in place. With a sigh, she hoped that with time he wouldn’t be so prickly about her presence. Did he feel competitive with her? she wondered. With her notoriety as a tracker, it was a possibility. Maybe Joe was the chief tracker here at Reed, and he felt demoted by Captain Ramsey bringing her here. Annie simply didn’t know the lay of the land yet. She’d have to rely on her Navajo patience for now. With time, all answers came to light.

Annie’s heart pounded briefly with a bit of apprehension as Donnally led her into the main brig office. She saw at least fourteen people, men and women, working diligently at their individual desks. Annie spotted two desks that were empty in one corner of the large work area. Would she have to work right next to Donnally? She hoped not.

From inside a glass-enclosed office, a heavy-set civilian woman looked up. “Joe, is this our world-famous tracker?” she called.

Annie stopped and watched the large woman, who wore a bright red skirt and white blouse, come hurrying out of her office. She took an immediate liking to her. Despite her weight, she moved with delicate grace, and the smile of welcome on her face was like sunshine to Annie.

“Yeah, this is Corporal Yellow Horse.” Joe glanced at Annie. “This is Rose, Captain Ramsey’s civil-service secretary. Rose has been here for ten years and knows everything about our office.”

“Hi there,” Rose gushed, coming to a stop and pumping Annie’s long, slender hand. “I’m Rose. You must be Annie. You don’t mind if I call you by your first name, do you? I hate the way the military refers to everyone by their last name. It’s too impersonal. We’re really excited about you being here. Welcome!”

Annie returned the shorter woman’s enthusiastic handshake and smiled warmly. “Hi, Rose. It’s nice to meet you. And no, I don’t mind if you call me Annie.”

“Such a pretty name!” Rose gave Donnally a sweet smile, then devoted her attention to the newcomer. “I don’t know what I expected when they said you were being transferred to us, but golly, you are a pretty thing. Isn’t she, Joe?”