Lindsay McKenna - Breaking Point

“Knock off the disrespect,” Hampton growled. “The answer is yes. And you wouldn’t have heard about it through the grapevine because every man signed that waiver, promising to never speak of it to anyone. Not even to other SEAL squads or platoons.”

Hammer lifted his chin. “She’s going out on our patrols with us?”

“That’s what a doc does,” Hampton replied in a reasonable tone.

“That’s friggin’ babysitting, Chief!” Hammer protested loudly. “It’s not like we don’t have enough on our hands watchin’ out for the tangos, the goddamn IEDs and the rest. Now we have to watch out for her ass, too? She’s a major distraction and that can get us killed.”

Bay put her hand out and briefly touched the chief’s shoulder. “Chief, if you would allow me?”

Hampton shrugged. “Go for it.”

Gabe sat back. Bay Thorn’s blue eyes narrowed slightly and her wide, soft mouth thinned. He was surprised she’d take on a SEAL, expecting her to hide behind the chief and let him do the fighting for her. That impressed him.

Bay met Hammer’s black glare. “I have never worked with SEALs, that’s true. From what I’ve heard about you guys over the years, y’all are heroes in my eyes.”

Gabe watched the team preen to a man, as if stroked by her long, narrow hand. They were warriors. And they had the confidence and training to rightfully feel that way about themselves. It was always nice to hear someone consider them heroes and tell them to their face, however. He watched Bay with fascination, wondering how she was ever going to handle this male alpha wolf team.

“The chief was right. I am trained for combat. I also have a yearlong immersion course in Pashto. I hope to be of help in different ways to you. I’d much rather be a terp, translator, for you, or another gun in the fight, than have to save your hide once you took a bullet out in the field. But I can do that, too. Like you, I’m multiskilled and consider myself an asset.”

Opening her hands, Bay said, “I come from hill people. I was born in the Allegheny Mountains of West Virginia. I grew up barefoot, learned to hunt in the woods starting at age six with my pa. My mama is a hill doctor and she’s saved many people’s lives and delivered a ton of babies. I know how to track, shoot and heal. I hope you’ll let me prove myself over time. I promise, I won’t be a pain in your collective butt. I will never put any of you at risk for me. Instead I’m trained to take the risks for you.”

The sincerity in her eyes and voice deeply affected Gabe. He looked around and saw about half his team bought her explanation. The other half didn’t.

“Okay,” Hammer said, “so you’re a friggin’ hillbilly. So what? What did you do, shoot squirrels and possum for your mama’s soup kettle?”

A snicker went through some of the team.

Hampton opened his mouth to chastise the squad, but Bay cut him a glance. He closed his mouth.

Giving the SEAL a loose smile, she said with humor, “Yes, I’m hill stock, for sure. And it’s true what we shoot, we eat. Squirrel ain’t all that bad,” she teased, dropping more into her dialect. “Tastes a little like the dark meat of a chicken or a wild turkey.” She saw Hammer’s eyes fill with disgust.

“We don’t need no hillbilly in our squad. Hell, I’ll bet you can’t hit the broadside of a barn!”

Gabe roused himself. He saw Chief Hampton ready to pounce on Hammer. He didn’t take guff from any of them, and Hammer was way out of line. “Hey,” Gabe called to Hammer, “why don’t you ask Doc what her longest shot was to kill an animal?”

Bay blinked. The SEAL in the back had a feral grin on his face as he challenged Hammer. What was this guy up to? She felt protectiveness emanating from him toward her. It was nothing obvious, but she picked up on his energy, anyway.

Hammer nodded. “Damn good question, Doc Thorn. What’s your best shot out in them thar woods?”

A number of the SEALs chuckled as he mimicked her dialect.

Bay shrugged. “I bagged an eight-point buck at twelve hundred.”

Half the SEALs burst into laughter, their collective guffaws echoing around the room. Bay frowned, saddened that they didn’t want her in the squad. Except for the SEAL in the back and maybe three other guys who were impressed with her medical training. The SEAL in the back was looking directly at her now. Their gazes locked. She felt the intensity of his slitted green gaze, a one-cornered smile appearing on his weathered face. In that moment, she felt the full power of his invisible protection.

When the laughter died down, Gabe called, “Doc, was that twelve hundred feet or twelve hundred yards?”

Hammer twisted around. “Oh, come on, bro! You know damn well it has to be feet, not yards! What fairy-tale world are you livin’ in?”

Bay suddenly understood what the SEAL was doing. She gave him a nod of thanks for having her back in this melee. Shifting her gaze to Hammer, who was dramatically rolling his eyes, she remained serious. “I sincerely apologize to y’all. I thought you knew I meant twelve hundred yards.”

The room went completely silent. Gabe lowered his head and hid his smile. Finally, he swallowed his grin to surface and he called out, “Hey, Hammer. You got wax in your ears? Did you hear her say yards, not feet?” He enjoyed Hammer’s glare as he twisted around and stared at him.

Snorting, Hammer jerked his head toward the woman standing relaxed, her hands clasped in front of her. “No friggin’ way, sweetheart, have you shot anything, much less hit anything at twelve hundred yards. That’s sniper-quality shootin’ and I don’t care how long you ran around barefoot in those woods growing up shooting squirrels out of trees—no woman can hit anything at that range. Not one.”

Chief Hampton sighed. “Doc? I know you’re pretty wiped out by the flight from Iraq, but are you up to a little range shooting this afternoon? You need to zero in your rifle, anyway.”

“Of course, Chief. My pa began teaching me to shoot at age six. We didn’t have any boys in our family, and I was the oldest girl, so I learned to do what the boys did.”

Hammer shook his head. “What a load of shit.”

“We’ll see,” Hampton murmured. He straightened and looked over the group of men. “What kind of rifle are you wanting to use, Doc?”

Bay heard the wry humor in the chief’s tone. “Well, sir, if someone has a .300 Win Mag, I’d like to try my hand at that. Of course, with their permission.”

Hammer howled with laughter, leaning over, his hands against his belly. Everyone in the front row joined him. The SEALs in bench two were seriously digesting her request. The Win Mag .300 was one of the rifles used by the SEAL snipers. The SEAL in the back stood up. He picked up his ruck sitting on the bench beside him.

“Chief, I’ll loan her my Win Mag to settle this,” Gabe called.

Surprised, Bay watched as he stood and slowly walked toward her. He had a loose kind of walk, a man with confidence to burn. There was a rifle strapped to the outside of his rucksack. This SEAL was a sniper, no question. Bay saw humor lurking in his eyes as he approached her with his boneless grace. He immediately made her think of the mountain lions she’d seen stalking prey. It was that kind of silent, lethal walk.

Gabe halted a few feet from her, set his ruck down on the concrete floor. He leaned down and pulled open the Velcro straps that held his sniper rifle in place. Pulling it out of the straps, he said, “Here you go, Doc. I’ll be your spotter if you need one. I’m Gabe Griffin, by the way.”

When their fingers met as he handed over his rifle to her, Bay gulped. The SEAL was tall, probably six feet or more. There was warmth in his green eyes as he smiled down at her. She took the rifle, allowing it to hang, barrel down, beneath her left arm and rest against her hip. “Thank you,” she said, meaning it. “And I could sure use your help with this beautiful rifle.” Her voice turned soft with humor. “I’m used to my dad’s Winchester to bring down game. This one is a lot different feeling. Lighter.”