Her heart contracted as she thought about one in particular. Cody, her best friend from high school, had been killed in Iraq when he’d stepped on a mine.
Kinsley wanted to keep other young military men and women from the same fate.
On her first deployment, she’d hoped to land in Afghanistan or Iraq. Instead she’d landed in Djibouti, a fairly stable environment but also a jumping-off point to other more volatile areas. She hoped that her being female wouldn’t keep them from mobilizing her to support missions outside the safety of the camp’s borders.
Kinsley reached her quarters, filled a bowl full of water for Agar and stripped out of her uniform pants and boots. While Agar greedily slurped the entire contents of the bowl, Kinsley slipped on her army-issue PT shorts and running shoes and switched her desert-tan T-shirt for her army PT shirt. After strapping her flourescent belt around her waist and pulling her hair back into a ponytail, she planted a black army ball cap on her head and stepped out the door, leash in hand.
She moved smartly, walking past the rows of shipping-container quarters and other buildings, working her way through the complex toward the open field designated for PT.
She passed the motor pool and offices set aside for contractors who were providing additional support and building projects for the camp.
A silver-haired man stood at the corner of one of the buildings, smoking a cigarette. He wore khaki slacks and a polo shirt, incongruous with the multitude of uniforms from all branches of the military.
As she approached, he smiled. “Good afternoon,” he said.
Not wanting to be rude, Kinsley slowed, though she’d rather speed by without engaging. “Hello.”
He stepped in front of her. “You’re new to the camp?”
“Yes, sir.” She frowned, her gaze running over his civilian clothing. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.” She held out her hand. “Specialist Anderson.”
“William Toland.” He reached out and shook her hand. “No, we haven’t met. I’d remember a woman and her dog.”
Kinsley’s hand automatically dropped to Agar’s head. “Sergeant Agar is a Military Working Dog.”
“I assumed he was.” The man reached out as if to pet the dog.
Agar’s lips pulled back in a snarl and he growled low in his chest.
Toland snatched back his hand. “Not very friendly?”
Kinsley stepped between Agar and Toland. “He wasn’t trained to be friendly. He’s trained to sniff out explosives, not to be petted by strangers.”
“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.
