Operation Midnight

Chapter Seven

Quinn wasn’t one to believe in omens or premonitions, but as he stood in the doorway of the cabin, he was starting to have a bad feeling about this. Usually one or two, or even more, little things would go wrong on a job. Didn’t mean a thing. And this job had gone like clockwork—until they were leaving the target’s location.

Then, from the moment that damned dog had blasted out of the woods at him, things had gone to hell.

The dog. Where was he, anyway?

On the thought, the animal trotted around the far end of the barn where, if there were more delays and this turned into a long stay, the helicopter would be stored. With the ease of long discipline he managed not to think of the ramifications of a long stay with a recalcitrant, smart-mouthed woman, one he just knew wasn’t going to settle into any easy waiting routine.

The dog’s head and tail came up, and he started toward Quinn at a gallop. Quinn shook his head in puzzlement. Why would a dog he didn’t even know act like this? He’d never even seen such a dog, with that distinctive coloring. He was a very square, lean animal who moved with a swift grace that Quinn could appreciate.

Teague had apparently been following the dog, and as he came around the barn he gave Quinn the hand signal that meant hold. Quinn had put the order out for silent ops, until they knew they hadn’t been seen or followed. And thankfully, he thought as he watched the dog slow to a trot, then came to a halt in front of him, the dog didn’t seem to be a barker.

Quinn waited, guessing from the signal Teague had something to report. Almost absently, he reached down and scratched the dog’s ears. The blissful sigh the animal let out made one corner of his mouth twitch, and it was all he could do to keep from smiling. He didn’t get it, this sudden and inexplicable reaction from a strange dog, but he had to admit it was … enjoyable. Flattering. Something.

Teague slowed to a trot, then a halt, much as the dog had. The man’s right arm moved, then stopped, an oddly jerky motion. Teague was the newest member of the squad, and Quinn guessed the movement, if completed, would have been a salute. It would be a while before he got over the automatic response.

“Go,” he said with a nod.

“Yes, sir. Perimeter’s clear. But he—” he gestured at the dog “—found some big animal tracks in the gully on the north side.”

“Animal tracks?”

“Just a couple. I might have missed them, they were up under the lip, only reason they weren’t erased by the wind, I guess.”

So, as Liam had said, the dog could end up being useful. Quinn’s brow furrowed as he remembered some of the K-9 teams he’d worked with in the past, and he filed away the idea of adding one to the crew.

“Any idea what?” he asked.

“They were blurred, but paws. Big ones. Don’t have wolves out here, do they, sir?”

“More likely a mountain lion.”

The man blinked. Although well trained and fearless, Quinn knew Teague was a born-and-bred city boy. He knew what he needed to know for survival in the wild, but it wasn’t second nature to him as it was with many on the various crews.

He’d come to them through their website, where his long, thoughtful, articulate posts had first drawn the attention of Tyler Hewitt, the webmaster, who sent them to Charlie, who in turn had started sending them to Quinn. Unlike many, Teague had survived the incredibly long and difficult vetting process without faltering, and the first time Quinn had met the young former marine in person, he’d known he’d be a good fit.

That had been just before the flood, the deluge of dissatisfaction that had swept the Corps and the other branches. They could, if they wanted, pick and choose now, from a multitude of skilled, experienced warriors who had had enough, had finally realized just what was happening. Quinn didn’t want any of them.

He and Charlie had picked a date, somewhat arbitrarily, but a date that became the marker; aware before that and they still had a shot. Not, and … not. He wanted men like Teague, who had been smart enough, aware enough, and had the brainpower to see the patterns and read the proverbial handwriting on the wall. And see it early, not just when it became so obvious that the lowliest grunt couldn’t miss it.

And no one above a certain rank, he’d added. Once you got that high, there was no way you couldn’t see what was happening unless you purposely ignored it. It cut them off from a lot of experience, but to Quinn the other was more important.

“Tracks seemed old,” Teague was saying. “And he—” again he gestured at the dog “—was very interested but not … frantic.”

He ended the sentence hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure the word conveyed what he meant, but Quinn got the image immediately. He nodded in approval.

“Then you’re likely right. They’re old. But tell the others, we’ll keep an eye out just in case.”

“And I’m guessing the dog will let us know if it comes back,” Teague said.

Quinn looked down at the patient animal at his feet. “Probably,” he agreed, “but we can’t rely on it. He’s not trained and we don’t know him well enough.”

“You know, it was funny, out there. It almost seemed like …”

Teague trailed off, looking a bit awkward.

“Like what?” Quinn asked, reminding the man with his quiet tone that in this world, his opinion was welcomed, and sometimes even acted upon.

“Like he was trained. I mean, I’ve only worked with K-9s a couple of times, but it was like that, the way he seemed to know why we were out there, the way he tracked, searched almost in a grid.”

Quinn’s gaze shifted back to the dog, who sat patiently still, looking up at him with a steady gaze. As if waiting for further orders. Was it possible? Did the animal have some training? He looked too young to be a retired police or military dog, and moved too well to have been retired due to injury. Was he a washout of a program, for some other reason? Or was he just darn smart?

The thoughts about the dog brought him back to thinking about the dog’s owner. And that brought on the need to move, to do something, anything.

“Good work,” he said briskly. “We’re in two-man teams. Four hours on. You and Rafer take first watch. Work out who does what between you, but I want that perimeter checked every quarter hour. Liam and I will relieve you at—” he glanced at his watch, the big chronograph that told him more than he needed on this mission “—eleven hundred hours.”

“Yes, sir!” Again Teague barely stopped the salute. Quinn gave him a wry smile.

“It takes a while,” he told him.

“It’s not just that.” Teague hesitated, then plunged ahead. “It’s being able to salute a boss who deserves it.”

And that, Quinn thought sourly, was what happened when you assigned a young, honest, decent, smart kid to work for brass who thought only of their next political move and made every decision based on how it might move their personal agenda forward. If Teague had been in a combat unit, he would have lasted a lot longer.

And he wouldn’t be here, which would be their loss, Quinn thought.

“Thank you.” He acknowledged the tribute with more than a little sadness. “Now get to it.”

The young former marine turned on his heel smartly and headed out to connect with Rafer, who had just emerged from the barn where he’d been checking on the big power generator. He saw Quinn, gave him the “Okay” signal; Rafer was the mechanical guy on the team, and if he said the generator was okay, they were set for as long as the fuel lasted. The big underground tank held enough to keep them going for a month, if they were a little careful. If this turned out to go longer than that, then refueling would become an issue.

If this turns out to go longer than that, insanity is going to become an issue, Quinn thought. They really were out in the middle of a lot of nowhere.

Middle of nowhere, careful what you wish for, and now damning with faint praise. My life’s suddenly full of clichés.

The woman’s words—he refused to think of her by name, it would be better if she remained just the woman, the glitch, the impediment, the nuisance—rang in his head. Oh, yes, she definitely had a mouth on her. And the wit and spirit to use it.

And both were things he’d be better off not thinking about.

Chapter Eight

Hayley drew back from the banister that topped the three-foot-high wall running along the edge of the loft. Her anger had ebbed slightly now, allowing her to think. Her father had once told her that anger fogged the brain, and she’d never had a clearer demonstration than just now.

It was absurd, after all, to have anger be the thing her brain seized on when Quinn had told her neighbor not to speak to her, as if she were some sort of pariah. Absurd indeed. But anger, her father had added, was still better than despair. At least it was more useful, if channeled properly.

She sat in the single chair in the long but narrow space, realizing she needed clear thinking now more than she ever had in her life. While her mother was ill, she’d gotten used to having to fight through the cloud of exhaustion for every decision, for the steps of every action, had been aware she had to be extra careful simply because of it, careful not to make a mistake she would normally never make if she weren’t so tired.

She was tired after the harrowing night without sleep, but that was nothing compared with months on end of sleeping less than four hours at a time. She could do one sleepless night standing on her head, she told herself. So it was time to start thinking hard about the situation and a way out of it, now that she was alone and could concentrate.

Liam had left her there with polite but firm instructions to stay put, that someone would always be downstairs watching. And for all his joking and smiling, Hayley sensed the man meant what he said; there was a steel core beneath the young, affable exterior.

She doubted Quinn would have any other kind of man working for him.

And Quinn was obviously and indisputably the boss. She’d heard enough when he’d been in the doorway, giving orders with precision and decisiveness. Clearly all of the men followed his lead without question or hesitation. He was definitely the leader, and one who commanded respect.

Among other things, she thought. This would all be simpler if he wasn’t so damned … impressive. A shiver rippled through her, a reaction she’d not had to any man in a very long time. That she was having it now was nothing short of infuriating.

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