“Handy skill to have in a war.” Toland stepped back. “And message received.”
Kinsley nodded toward the construction crane at the far end of the camp. “Are you working with the contractors to build the new water towers?”
“I am,” Toland responded. “But please, don’t let me keep you from your exercise. I’m sure Sergeant Agar needs a good run to keep him in shape, too.” He waved his hand as if granting her passage.
All in all, Kinsley was irritated by the man’s arrogance in stepping in front of her in the first place. And even more convinced Agar was right to growl at the man. She’d learned to trust her dog’s judgment of character.
Toland hadn’t said or done anything too far out of the ordinary. Even so, Kinsley couldn’t put her finger on it, but she wasn’t sure she trusted the man. After all, why did a man stop a lone female soldier just to talk? Didn’t the contractors get the same briefing as the military personnel?
Don’t fraternize. Period.
As soon as she cleared the buildings, she shook off the prickly feeling at the back of her neck and quickened her pace into a slow, steady jog, with Agar easily keeping up at her side.
Running had never been a joy, but she did it to stay in shape for the semiannual fitness test and to be able to keep up with the physical demands of the job. She had to be in shape to walk long miles carrying a heavy rucksack. She might also be required to run into and out of bad situations. She expected Agar to be fit; she required nothing less of herself.
She ran along the track circling the containerized living units, staring at the stark desert beyond. She could glimpse a bit of the blue waters of the Gulf of Aden. No matter how hot, she preferred running outdoors than in the air-conditioned fitness center on the treadmills set up for residents of the camp. If Agar had to run in the heat, then she would do no less. The peace of the desert, with the wind off the water and the salty tang in the air, lulled her into a trance, nearly clearing her thoughts of the man Agar had come close to slamming into earlier.
Kinsley had to admit McGuire had appeal, unlike William Toland, who was perhaps old enough to be her father. Knowing McGuire was a SEAL made her all the more curious about the man. Anyone who had gone through BUD/S training had to be not only physically fit, but also mentally equipped to handle the most extreme environments and situations.
Based on the man’s broad shoulders pulling tautly at his uniform, he was fit. But she wasn’t sure about his mental fitness. For a long moment, he’d stared at her before actually opening his mouth. Perhaps he’d been hit once too often in the head and had suffered a brain injury.
At least that’s what Kinsley told herself. She preferred to come up with reasons she should stay away from the man rather than reasons to fall under his spell. She hadn’t joined the army to get married. And fraternization at Camp Lemonnier was strictly forbidden.
Footsteps sounded behind her, disturbing her not-so-peaceful escape.
She tightened her hold on Agar’s lead and moved to the outside of the dirt path, making room for the other runner.
Instead of passing her, the runner slowed to match her pace.
She frowned over at him, ready to tell him to move on, when she noticed it was him...Petty Officer McGuire, the navy SEAL who had been occupying entirely too many of her thoughts since she’d run into him minutes before.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked with a grin.
She shrugged and kept moving. “Can’t stop you.”
“All you have to say is shove off, and I’ll leave you alone,” he said. “Sometimes it’s nice to have a running buddy to fill the time.”
“I actually have one,” she said, and tipped her head toward Agar.
As if he could understand, Agar glanced up at her, his tongue lolling to the side.
“I see.” With a twist of his lips, McGuire gave a curt nod. “Then I’ll leave you two to your workout.” And he picked up his pace, leaving Kinsley behind.
For a moment, Agar strained at the leash, wanting to keep up with the jogger ahead.
Kinsley gave him a sharp command. “Heel.”
The German shepherd immediately fell in step with her, looking up at Kinsley and back to McGuire as if to tell her he could easily catch the man.
“I suppose I was rude,” Kinsley admitted to Agar.
Agar looked up at her words, his mouth open, tongue hanging out the side. He appeared to be smiling, when in fact he was only trying to keep cool in the incredible heat.
“It’s just as well. He has red hair. I make it a point not to get involved with men while I’m deployed. But even if we weren’t deployed, I couldn’t date the man. He has red hair. Our babies would all be doomed to red hair.” She shuddered. “I wouldn’t wish all of my children to that lot in life. Not if I have a choice.”
Her gaze followed the SEAL as he ran to one corner of the huge field, turned and kept running, his powerful thighs pushing him forward with ease.
Kinsley’s heart beat faster and her breathing became more labored as she watched the man’s tight buttocks and well-defined legs. If she were into gingers, he’d be the one to catch. Thank goodness she wasn’t.
Nevertheless, she slowed to a fast walk, letting McGuire widen the gap between them. She didn’t want to risk running into him again at the end of her run. The man had complication written all over him.
When she arrived back at her quarters, she found a note stuck to the door.
Meeting at command center ASAP.
Kinsley had never received a message like that. Her pulse kicked up a notch, but she focused on staying calm. For all she knew, someone might have lodged a complaint about her exercising Agar too close to the living quarters. Or they were switching her to night shift.
She refused to get excited and dare to think she might be sent on an actual mission.
T-Mac had just stepped out of the shower facility when Big Jake found him.
“Meeting in the command center, now,” Big Jake said.
“Give me two minutes to get dressed.” T-Mac hurried in his flip-flops toward his quarters, threw on his uniform, hat and boots and ran out the door, buttoning his jacket as he went. He jogged all the way to the command center and stepped inside the air-conditioned containerized office unit.
Inside, his team sat around a long, narrow table. Navy Commander Trevor Ward stood at the head of the table, his gaze on T-Mac as he entered. “Now that we’re all here, let’s get this party started.”
T-Mac remained standing near the door, his curiosity piqued, his adrenaline pumping. He preferred missions to boredom any day.
“We’re all ready to mobilize back to the States—” the commander held up his hand “—and as far as everyone is concerned, we will still be leaving in four days. However, we just received intel on a trade deal going down tonight on the border of Somalia.”
The team waited quietly for Commander Ward to continue.
“You might ask what we have to do with trade in this area. But here’s the deal. Someone from around here has been funneling shipments of weapons from around Camp Lemonnier to the Al-Shabaab terrorists in Somalia. Intel intercepted a text communication from a burner cell phone nearby. Apparently, there will be handoff of a shipment conducted tonight in one of the abandoned, shelled-out villages on the other side of the border between Djibouti and Somalia.” He nodded to his assistant, who clicked the keys on a laptop.