her to say something like the kind she’d seen last night—and especially that morning. But that wasn’t something she intended to admit.
“Small ones,” she said. “These guys are cute, but they look difficult to walk and control. I like dogs that I can train and manage.” Oh, Lord. She knew she was stepping into a nasty mess that had nothing to do with dog excrement. He could read a lot into her words if he chose. Maybe that was a good thing, if he really was what she suspected. But there was no way she would ever admit to him that what she had seen had touched her libido, gotten her most intimate parts simmering.
“Sounds like a very interesting way to treat your...dogs,” he said. “I’d be glad to teach you how to work with these guys—or any others.”
She’d had enough. They were outside the building on a walkway that led toward the woods in one direction, or toward the BOQ in the other. “I’ve got someplace I need to go now,” she said. “See you later, Sergeant.” She stood straight, looking at him, until he saluted her. She saluted back.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said so officially that it sounded facetious, then he whirled on his heels and strutted off.
Sara headed back toward her quarters. She would find something productive to do until it was time to go meet the general.
* * *
At around nine-thirty, Sara realized she had actually gotten something accomplished in a short time, although not what she had intended.
For one thing, she had thoroughly searched Google on her laptop to see if she could find any information to suggest that shapeshifters could be real.
Of course there was. The authors could all have been credulous fools who wanted to believe, so they did. Nothing stood out to her as proof.
There were also a lot of websites ridiculing the whole idea.
She logged off the computer and left it on the small table in the kitchenette in her quarters. Then she checked herself in the mirror. Almost time to go wait for the general.
She’d decided to meet him right away, before he had time to talk with anyone else.
Soon she headed down the stairs in the BOQ and out the door. She walked toward the front gate.
And got waylaid by Jason. What was he doing out here?
He soon told her. “Hello, Lieutenant. I’m the general’s unofficial greeter from Alpha Force. Is that why you’re out here? I’m supposed to call Drew—er, Major Connell—and let him know when the general arrives.”
“Won’t the security guys notify the major?” Sara asked.
“Probably. But those were my orders.”
“Okay. We’ll both wait for him, then.” She didn’t want to wait with Jason. He would be a big distraction. He would keep her from asking the general questions right away, too. But she nevertheless walked with Jason toward the base’s front gate.
She saw a few other soldiers walking around and some cars cruising the nearby roads. But she was extremely aware of Jason’s tall, masculine presence beside her.
Especially when he said in a voice tinged with suggestiveness, “How are you enjoying Ft. Lukman so far, Lieutenant?”
“It’s fine, Sergeant. I intend to get a lot accomplished here. Learn a lot, too.”
“About Alpha Force?”
“That’s right,” she said. “I have some ideas already about how it can be improved, and I intend to let the general know.”
She sensed Jason’s hesitation beside her, but she wiped the grin off her face before she turned to him. His expression now was grim, not suggestive of anything but worry.
Good.
She looked again toward the guard gate, just in time to see the general’s old, classic Jeep stopping. His ID was apparently approved right away, since the large gate opened inward and the general drove through.
Continuing to drive slowly, he approached the area where Sara and Jason stood.
And then Sara spotted smoke pouring out of the car’s back end.
Chapter 4
What the hell? Jason didn’t need Sara’s frantic shouts of fear, magnified by his canine senses, to spur him to dash to the burning vehicle that suddenly veered off to the side.
He assessed the situation as he ran toward the front of the car. He kept all assumptions and fears, all emotions, in check. Now was only a time for action.
He had worked on the general’s Jeep a couple of times when the old man had come to Ft. Lukman for meetings since Jason’s recent enlistment. It was an early 1990s model Jeep, not quite old enough to be a classic, but still an admirable aging vehicle.
The gasoline tank was in the back—near where the smoke was pouring from, but down low, beneath the axle. That model’s gas tank was built well, to prevent catching fire from sparks off the road or otherwise. Everything should be fine.
Except that the tires were flammable. So were the seats, the carpeting, the safety belts...
And right now, there was plenty of smoke. What remained of the canvas cover could confine a lot of it inside, enhancing the danger of smoke inhalation by the general.
Plus, depending on the location and intensity of the fire...well, despite the built-in precautions, there were no guarantees that the gas tank wouldn’t explode.
Jason aimed for the driver’s door, shoving his hands in his pockets as he ran to check for anything useful. Despite his dedication to working on cars, he didn’t coincidentally happen to carry tools that people were supposed to keep in their glove compartments to shatter windows in emergencies. All he had were keys. A pocket knife. His cell phone.
Nothing likely to be helpful.
Was the general still conscious? The haphazard way the car now progressed suggested otherwise. Yet if he was, maybe Jason could get him to turn off the engine and take the thing out of gear. Push the button to unlock the driver’s door.
For now, he would assume the commanding officer remained alive. He had no evidence he wasn’t...at least not yet.
The stench of burning rubber and more grew even ranker as he arrived at the vehicle, but Jason ignored it. He also ignored the shouts of other people. All behind him? He saw no one closer to the car than he was.
Unsure what was searing hot and what wasn’t, he yanked off his camo shirt and wrapped it around his right hand.
He reached the door and looked in. Smoke. Lots of it. But in the middle of it all, Jason could see that the general appeared conscious—barely. His eyes were open. His hands? Moving, but not in the right direction to get him out of there.
Jason first tried to yank the door open, to no avail. He pounded on the window to get the general’s attention. “It’s locked!” he shouted as Yarrow’s head jerked toward him. Had he heard? Was he aware enough to understand?
