Countdown. Lindsay McKenna
that startled him. He tried to suppress his burgeoning respect for her. “I’m going to assume the shots came from an M-16,” he told her. “Ms. Tyler said she didn’t see the person who fired, so it must have been long-range.”
“Six hundred yards?” Annie guessed.
“Bingo.”
“You think the person who fired it was more than just an expert marksman? Maybe sniper-quality shooting?”
“Yes.”
Annie saw a gleam of respect in Joe’s eyes—if but for a fraction of a second—and a warmth flowed through her. At last, he was thawing a little toward her—even if it was strictly business, she thought as she nodded and followed him back to the HumVee. They rode in silence, the HumVee grinding over several small, rounded hills as Joe headed in the direction from which they believed the bullets had been fired.
“Look,” Annie said suddenly, excitement in her voice. “See that cluster of rocks on top of that hill?”
Joe smiled grimly. “Great place to hide a sniper, isn’t it?”
Annie grinned. She liked Joe when he acted more human and less like a cornered mountain lion. Suddenly, they were a working team. She loved the natural high that came from successful investigative work, and obviously, so did Joe. The usual frostiness in his blue eyes had been replaced by an intensity that could only be translated as enjoyment.
Getting out of the HumVee, they cautiously approached the series of boulders that were stacked haphazardly to form a semicircle at the top of the hill. Her eyes scanning the ground for spent cartridge casings, Annie felt her heart pump with excitement as she neared the other side of the boulders.
“Look! Footprints!” She knelt and pointed to a partial print barely visible on the sand and rock.
Joe grunted. “Good. Keep looking.”
Feeling like a bloodhound on a fresh trail, Annie scanned the ground. Sunlight was glinting off something about ten feet from her and she picked her way through the thick sagebrush. Leaning down, her fingers searching, she felt the heat of metal and quickly grasped it. Triumphantly, she turned and held the cartridge casing up for Joe to see.
“I found one!”
He turned. The glint of sunlight off metal in Annie’s fingers spoke of her important find. From where he stood, he noticed a number of hoofprints. “Great! Looks like whoever fired the rifle rode a horse, too.”
Annie nodded. She moved carefully around the prints and placed the shell in Joe’s outstretched hand. Just that minimal contact with his hand—callused from hard, outdoor work—was unexpectedly thrilling. Trying to hide her response, she examined the hoofprints closely.
“Wait!” she whispered excitedly. “Take a look at this, will you?”
Joe hunkered down opposite Annie. He liked the husky enthusiasm in her voice as she pointed to a particular print. “What about it?” he asked, mystified by her excitement.
“The horse has a big chunk missing from the wall of its hoof. See? There’s a crescent-shaped piece gone. The horse has thrown a shoe; maybe he chipped his hoof on a rock.”
“Yeah?” Joe grunted.
Lifting her head, Annie met and held his blue gaze. For a moment, she felt a thrilling sense of joy move through her, hotter than the desert breeze. Joe was a powerful man, and her heightened senses were responding. He was masculine without being threatening, stimulating her in ways she’d never experienced. Mystified, Annie forced those discoveries aside and tried to explain the importance of the print.
“Horses are usually shod to protect their hooves. If they lose a shoe, they risk chipping the outer hoof wall or bruising the soft area known as the frog.” She pointed to the print. “This horse lost its shoe and chipped a chunk off the outside wall of its hoof. I can take a plaster cast of this, and we can go back to the stables to see which horse this matches—just like a fingerprint or a tire tread. If we find the horse, we might find out who rode it or owns it.”
Joe assimilated her explanation. If only he didn’t have to look into those warm, wide eyes of hers, with so much life sparkling from their depths. Part of him wanted simply to stand and stare like a love-smitten twelve-year-old. Fighting the desire, he said, “You’re assuming the horse was used by the sniper.”
“Yes,” Annie conceded slowly, “I am.”
“But if it was just someone riding out here, it may have nothing to do with the sniper.”
“Still, it’s a clue,” she urged. “A starting point. The sniper couldn’t have driven out here, or Ms. Tyler would have seen the vehicle. The only two ways he could have gotten here are on foot or, quicker, by horseback.” She twisted around and pointed to the deep ravine at the foot of the hill. “He could have hidden his mount down there and waited for her to ride by. She never would have seen the horse.”
It was good, basic logic, Joe had to admit. “Okay. Take a plaster cast of the print—and any others you think might be significant,” he ordered.
That done, they’d need to bring the evidence to Captain Ramsey. Glancing at his watch, Joe realized it would be nearly 1700 before they could finish here and drive over to the officer’s home with their findings. He watched Annie for a moment, then forced himself to continue searching the site. But the rocky ground had destroyed any possibility of prints elsewhere. Disgusted, Joe realized they’d probably end up with only the one hoofprint. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a bullet casing near the end of the boulderlike fortress. He crossed the rough terrain and picked it up.
“Bingo,” he said, holding it up to show Annie. “Here’s the second spent cartridge.”
Annie broke out in a wide smile of appreciation. “Good work!” she praised.
Heat sheeted through Joe at her beaming smile, and he stood frozen, stunned by the glow in her eyes and the radiance in her face. Such genuine happiness shone in her gold-flecked eyes that he was helpless to combat the rampant feeling rushing through him. Was the woman part witch? Casting a spell on him? Confusing him? Angrily, he spun around and walked down into the ravine, pretending to look for more prints. If only Annie wasn’t so beautiful—and in such a natural way. She looked completely at home in this arid land—a part of it rather than the stranger to it that he felt.
Disgruntled, Joe tried to shift his focus back to the investigation. No question about it. As soon as he possibly could, he would ask Captain Ramsey to put Annie in another section—permanently.
Chapter Three
Joe tried to fight the exhaustion he felt as he entered the office earlier than usual the next morning. He hadn’t slept well at all, so he’d decided to come in and try to work away his restlessness. It was 0730. Unhappy with the results of their consultation with Captain Ramsey last evening, Joe knew he had to talk to him about Annie. Wiping his eyes tiredly, he raised his hand in greeting to Rose, who waved back. She was always at work by 0730. Looking around at the sound of other footsteps, he was surprised to see Annie coming down the passageway, dressed in the normal brig attire of desert-camouflage utilities. Today, she carried the mandatory holster and pistol on the web belt encircling her waist. If possible, she looked more desirable to him than ever.
Panic struck Joe, and he gave Annie a brusque nod as he walked swiftly past her and out the door, ignoring her softly spoken, “Good morning.” Stepping into the passageway, he hoped that Captain Ramsey would be in his office. He knew Ramsey had been coming in every morning for about an hour before returning home, where Libby Tyler was continuing to recuperate under his care. Knocking at the officer’s door, he heard Ramsey call, “Come in.”
Taking a deep breath, Joe hesitated momentarily. His heart was pounding hard in his chest, and he felt a little shaky—completely unlike himself. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he knew he had to go through with this desperate, last-ditch effort. He had to make a confession