The Loner. Lindsay McKennaЧитать онлайн книгу.
fixed it up,” she noted, gesturing toward it. “New roof. It needed one. And you’ve repaired the spaces between the logs.” At least he wasn’t lazy. Shelby noted the entire area was picked up, clean and organized. He cared, she realized. In his own way, the man was trying to make life a little better for himself, even if it was in the middle of nowhere.
“I’ve had a year to make it less windy inside.”
Shelby watched the wolf bound happily up to the door. The animal sat, panting and wagging her tail, as she waited for Carson to walk up. He pushed the grayish wood door open with his foot.
“Not locked?”
“No need. I have a wolf alarm.”
Grinning, Shelby said, “Point taken. You’re good to go?”
Dakota hesitated at the door. “Yeah.”
Shelby stepped forward, pulling a business card from her shirt pocket. “Here’s my business card.” She took a pen and circled her number. “This is my private cell phone. If you need anything, call me. Day or night, it doesn’t matter.” His eyes narrowed as he took the crisp white business card. Her fingers tingled briefly when they met his. “Dr. McPherson is really worried about infection. I want you to have a lifeline, all right?”
The silence fell between them. Dakota regarded her from beneath his straight black brows. “You do this for everyone?” he demanded, his voice suddenly gruff. He tried to stop the warm feelings flowing through his chest because she cared.
“Anyone,” she assured him quietly. Just the raw, anguished look in his eyes hit her in the chest like a fist. There was such need in Carson, but he was so broken that it brought tears. She turned so he wouldn’t see them. Shelby’s voice was roughened. “Meet you here at 0700 tomorrow?”
He nodded, watching her turn away from him. She seemed so out of place. Her blond hair was like sunlight in the dark, muted shadows of the woods surrounding the area. She was like a ray of sunshine in his own darkness. “Yeah.”
Nodding, Shelby headed back toward the cruiser.
“Hey...thanks...” he called.
Turning on her boot, she flashed him a tender smile. “Anytime. Take care....”
“Are you sure you weren’t in the military?”
Shelby forced tears away and met his confused gaze. “No. My dad, though, was in the Marine Corps. He served in the military police for ten years before getting out.” She gestured toward Jackson Hole. “We ended up here and he became a sheriff’s deputy. Later, he became commander. He just retired two years ago to fish the trout streams.”
Mouth compressed, Dakota said, “That’s good to know.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re behaving like a SEAL. You take care of your teammates.”
Shelby didn’t know what that meant, but it was important to him. “I’m just glad to be of help, Mr. Carson.”
“Call me Dakota.”
“Will do...”
For a moment, all Shelby wanted to do was turn around, walk straight up to him and throw her arms around his shoulders. That was what he needed: a little TLC. Yet the exhaustion in his eyes and face, that gruff exterior, warned her off. She’d been a deputy for years and could read body language and facial expressions pretty well. That ability had saved her life in the past, but Shelby didn’t feel threatened by this ex-SEAL. If anything, her heart reached out for him, wanted to help him even though he pushed all her efforts away.
She watched him disappear into the claptrap cabin. Frowning, Shelby walked back to her cruiser. She was sure that Cade Garner, who was now second in command at the sheriff’s department, and her boss, would be happy to hear she was off duty. She climbed into the cruiser. Cade would understand because of the unusual circumstances. So often, even as law enforcement officers, they dealt in humanitarian ways with the citizens of their county. It wasn’t always about handing out a speeding ticket. She was raised in the giant shadow of her father, who had taught her that she should always look to help others who needed it. Shelby looked up to him and was inspired to go into law enforcement as a result. It was a good choice, one she had never regretted.
As she turned the cruiser around, worry ate at her. She wasn’t a paramedic, although she had advanced first-aid training. Jordana’s worry was real. Over the past two years, she’d become friends with the doctor and knew she didn’t show her worry often.
Shelby drove slowly down the steep, muddy road, heading back toward Jackson Hole. Something gnawed at her. Taking a deep breath, Shelby tried to shrug it off. Dakota was a man in his element up here in the raw, untamed Tetons. Apparently his SEAL training had given him the ability to survive in the harshest of environments.
As she drove down the narrow, twisting road, she figured out she’d do a Google search of SEALs and educate herself. Her father had been a military police officer in the marines. As a child of a military family, she recalled her moving from one base to another every two years. She lost good friends she made, never to see them again. It had been emotionally hard on Shelby, but her father was good at what he did. And she was proud of him, as was her mother. But she’d never heard him mention SEALs. Once her shift was over, Shelby would drop by for a visit to her parents’ home on the other side of town. Maybe her father would know more about this special breed of military men.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE NIGHTMARE BEGAN as it always did. Dakota was following his LT, Lieutenant Sean Vincent, up a slippery scree slope in the Hindu Kush Mountains of Afghanistan. It was black. So black he couldn’t see a foot in front of him without his NVGs, night-vision goggles, in place over his eyes. Everything became a grainy green. The only problem was there was no depth of perception when using them, and the four-man SEAL team slipped, fell, got up and kept moving.
They were hunting an HTV, high-value-target, Taliban warlord who was hiding out in the cave systems of the Hindu Kush Mountains. The wind was cold and cutting, the Kevlar vest and winter gear keeping him warm. A terrible feeling crawled through Dakota. They called him “woo-woo man,” because he had a sixth sense about danger and coming attacks. After three tours in the Sand Box with his platoon, everyone listened to him.
They were ready to crest a ridge at twelve thousand feet. Their breath was coming in explosive inhales and exhales. The climb of four thousand feet at midnight to catch the warlord by surprise, would be worth it. Or would it?
Dakota was ready to throw up his hand in a fist to signal stop, to warn the other SEAL operatives.
Too late! Just as the LT breasted the ridge, all hell broke loose. Enemy AK-47s fired. Red tracer bullets danced around the LT. Dakota saw him struck, once, twice, three times. The impact flung the SEAL officer off his feet, sent him flying backward, the M-4 rifle cartwheeling out of his hands.
Dakota grunted, crouched and leaped upward, catching the two-hundred-pound SEAL before he crashed into the sharp, cutting rocks. Slammed backward, Dakota took the full brunt of his LT’s weight. He landed with an “oofff,” on his back, the rocks bruising and biting into his Kevlar vest plates. He heard the two other operatives scramble upward, in a diamond pattern, to protect him and the LT as they skidded out of control down the steep grade of the mountain.
A hail of bullets, screams of Taliban charging their position, filled the night air. The SEAL team held their position up above, firing systematically, picking off the men as they launched themselves at them. Head shots, every one.
Dakota came to an abrupt halt, a huge boulder stopping their downward slide. His flesh was torn up beneath both his legs, his elbow raw and bleeding. “LT!” He dragged the unconscious officer around the boulder for protection. Dakota was their combat medic on the team. It was his job to save the lives of his team, his family. Glancing around the boulder, he saw Mac and Gordy on their bellies, firing upward, taking out every Taliban who surged