Chortling, Annie relaxed. “No, just the wooden staff all herders carry.”
Shaking his head, Joe muttered, “And I thought my growing-up years in National City were dangerous.”
“Where is National City?” Annie responded, praying that he’d open up to her, if just a little. Instantly, she saw his brows dip and she felt his defenses rise.
“It’s a hole,” he growled, making it clear he didn’t want to discuss it. Ahead, he saw the road leading to the stables. “We’re going to have to talk to Stuart Garwood,” he continued gruffly, changing the subject. “He’s the base stables manager. We’ll let him know we’re going to be checking the horses.”
Disappointed but careful not to show it, Annie nodded. Still, as the HumVee moved down the paved road to where the stables were situated, in a pocket among four large hills, she felt hope. At least Joe had responded to her. Perhaps she’d have to open up more of herself, become more personal so he’d realize that she wasn’t a threat to him. Then maybe he’d become more friendly—or, if not friendly, at least not so angry all the time.
As she climbed out of the HumVee, Annie automatically switched her internal sensing abilities to the case at hand. A man dressed in canary yellow riding breeches, highly polished black boots and a red polo shirt stood on the porch of the stables’ front office, observing their approach. Instantly, Annie felt an instinctive warning that he wasn’t to be trusted. She wasn’t sure what was behind the subtle feeling, but it was there nonetheless. She followed Joe as he quickly climbed the steps toward the man, who remained on the porch, hands on his hips, frowning at them.
“Mr. Garwood?” Joe queried, halting before him.
“Yes?”
“Sir, we’re here from the provost marshal’s office. We’d like to examine the horses stabled here for a possible identification.”
Garwood scowled. “What identification?”
Joe pointed to the plaster cast that Annie held. “We found hoofprints at the location of a possible sniper. We think they’re from the mount of whoever fired at Ms. Tyler.”
Garwood snorted violently and glared at Annie and the plaster cast. “Why, that’s preposterous!”
Joe held his temper. “No, sir, it isn’t. With your permission, we’ll check the stable horses as well as the privately owned ones.”
Though it wasn’t obvious, Annie caught the flare of anger in Garwood’s dark eyes and sensed a quiet fury radiating from the stable manager.
“Oh, go ahead! I think it’s ridiculous, but I guess you have to justify this stupid investigation of Ms. Tyler’s allegations.” Garwood turned on his heel and walked back into his office.
As the door slammed behind him, Annie winced. “Ouch,” she whispered to Joe. “He’s a little prickly about this, don’t you think?”
Joe rubbed his jaw and looked around. “I suppose. I don’t know why, though. It’s no skin off his nose. We’re the ones who’ll be looking at horses’ hooves all day,” he griped.
Annie smarted under his cynicism. “You think this is a wild-goose chase, too, don’t you?”
“I think I made that clear yesterday at the captain’s house. Come on, let’s get going.”
Sighing, but controlling her temper, Annie followed Joe off the porch toward the first huge corral, filled with about forty stable horses that were regularly used for trail rides. It would take both of them, working as a team, to complete the investigation, she knew. As they slipped between the pipe rails, she suggested, “I’ll check the hooves if you’ll hold the horses by their halters.”
“Fine with me. I don’t have any experience with horses,” Joe said gruffly.
Annie set the plastic-wrapped plaster cast on the ground outside the fence. It would be fairly easy to lift the various hooves. If she found one with a chip out of it, she could bring the cast over for a positive identification. Inwardly, she prayed they would find that horse. Otherwise, she knew, Donnally would hold this over her head as a “waste” of his day.
As Joe grasped the first horse’s halter, he glared around at their pastoral surroundings. The scent of hay and horses wafted on a warm breeze. Silver-barked eucalyptus trees encircled the stables area, making it look more like a farm than part of a Marine Corps base. He watched with a scowl as Annie quickly lifted each of the horse’s feet in succession. She was fast and thorough. He moved to the next horse. And the next. After about an hour, he decided to talk.
“Garwood seemed testy.”
Annie looked up from her crouched position, the raised hoof of the current horse in her grasp and nodded. Then, she straightened and brushed off her hands. Joe stood on the opposite side of the animal. “If you won’t laugh at me, I’ll tell you the readout I got on him,” she offered.
Joe stared at her. Annie had removed her soft cover and stuck it in the rear pocket of her utilities. Her shiny black hair was gently mussed around her face, giving her the look of a woman who thoroughly relished being outdoors. If she’d been labeled a tomboy, it was only from the standpoint of the culture that had raised her. Annie loved nature, Joe realized, and she wasn’t trying to imitate a man in any way. As she ran her long, expressive fingers across the sleek back of the horse, he felt his pulse leap through him, hard and strong. Everything about her was feminine and graceful. Making an effort to derail that line of thinking, he said, “I won’t laugh at you.”
With a shrug, she said, “I have a kind of internal radar, if you will.” She smiled a little, glad to straighten up and work the kinks out of her shoulders. “I call it my ‘all-terrain radar.’ I get a sense about a person or a situation—and I’m rarely wrong. It has saved my life a couple of times in the past with transporting brig prisoners—or tracking them when they’ve escaped.”
Fear bolted through Joe as he stared across the horse at her solemn expression. “What do you mean?” he croaked, his fingers tightening around the horse’s leather halter.
“Over the past five years, I’ve been flown in whenever brig prisoners escape. Various bases have used my skills to find the escapees. I’ve tracked through swamps, forests and about any kind of rough terrain you want to mention. I use these—” she pointed to her head and then her heart “—like radar. I can’t really explain it except to say that I can literally sense if danger is near. Then I’m really careful and make sure my backup is in position.”
“Intuition?” Joe could only guess at what she was talking about.
“I guess….” Annie smiled at him and held his blue gaze, which was now openly curious. But she noticed something else in the depths of his eyes that surprised her: fear. What kind? She wanted to ask, but knew she didn’t dare. Joe would open up, if at all, on his time and terms, not hers. “Anyway, the few times I haven’t paid attention to that internal red-flag warning, I’ve nearly bought the farm.”
“Died?”
She gave him a wry look. “Listen, being a brig chaser automatically puts you in the line of fire, don’t you think?”
Frowning, Joe muttered, “If you follow regulations and always work with a partner, it’s safer.” But not foolproof, as he knew all too well.
“I always had a partner.” Annie laughed. “My partner is the other set of ears and eyes that can stop a bullet from nailing me.”
A chill worked its way through Joe. “Tracking prisoners isn’t some kind of lark,” he snapped irritably.
Taken aback, Annie blinked. Joe’s face was thundercloud dark with accusation. “Hey, wait a minute. I didn’t say it was a lark.”
“You act like it is. You laugh at nearly getting killed. That’s stupid.”
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