Lindsay McKenna - Protecting His Own

As Sam carefully made her way back to her seat and sank into it, Roc continued to stand, just in case she lost her footing again. The good doctor wasn’t used to walking on the heaving deck of a helo as he was.

Once she was seated and strapped in, Roc moved forward. “My map?” he said, extending his hand.

“Oh!” Sam quickly held it out to him as he bent over her, one hand on the overhead strap to keep from falling. The instant their fingertips met, she had the crazy urge to jerk away. But she didn’t. That would look childish to her people, who were watching them with curiosity.

“Thanks,” she managed to reply in a strangled tone. As she looked up into his darkened eyes, she saw his mouth twitch wryly.

“You’re welcome, Dr. Andrews.”

Feeling inept and completely out of her league, Sam turned away, looking anywhere other than at Gunnison, who sat down right across from her. She heard the engine change and felt the chopper begin to sink earthward. Swallowing repeatedly, Sam tried to gather her thoughts. What was going on? Was it seeing the awful devastation that had her so shaken up? Was she in shock?

She didn’t want to give Gunnison credit for any sympathy. The man made her feel like an awkward teenage girl who had a crush on the star football player.

How ridiculous! Jerking off the earphones, Sam dropped them in her lap. She didn’t want to talk to Gunnison. He took off his earphones, too, his face once again inscrutable.

He’s just doing his job, Sam told herself. Calm down, will you? He’s got you rattled. He probably did it on purpose, just to keep you off balance. Get your stuff together, woman. Don’t let him intimidate you.

Sam continued to berate herself with that litany until they landed. Outside, dust rose in thick yellow clouds around the helicopter, almost obliterating the marine in the distance who held a pair of orange flags in his hands that signaled where they were to land.

Though it seemed like forever to Sam, a few minutes later the engines were shut off and the rotors stopped turning. When the blades came to a halt, the loadmaster on the flight unlocked the sliding door and hauled it open. As the dust filtered in, Sam saw a small group of people standing well beyond the range of the blades, waiting with anxious looks on their faces. She watched as Gunnison got up and ordered his team to move out. She waited until the five-man Recon team disembarked. Then she unstrapped her seat belt and looked at her own team.

“Okay, we’re here,” she told them. “Let’s go.”

As she stood on the lip of the cargo bay, ready to jump down, a hand appeared: Gunnison’s large, heavily scarred palm and fingers. Mesmerized by the sight, she noted that his fingers were long and strong looking, his nails blunt cut. Under any other circumstances she’d have found his hands beautiful to look at. As she hesitated there, unsure of whether to accept his offer of help as he stood looking up at her, her mind was filled with the sudden unexpected image of his fingers trailing over her flesh.

Discombobulated by her tumbling thoughts, Sam reached out automatically and took his hand, gripping it as she eased down off the lip of the helo to the dusty ground. Quirking her lips, she barely looked at him as she jerked her hand out of his. Moving quickly away from him, she headed toward a male marine lieutenant and a woman in a deputy’s uniform beside him, who looked like the leaders of the group.

“Dr. Andrews?”

Sam halted in front of the marine, who was dressed similarly to Gunnison and his team. “Yes, that’s me.”

He smiled. “I’m Lieutenant Quinn Grayson. Welcome to area 5.” He saluted her.

Sam returned the salute. “Thanks, Lieutenant.” She turned her attention to the woman at his side. “And you must be Deputy Chelton?”

“Yes, I am, Doctor. Call me Kerry. We don’t stand on formality around here,” she replied, as she offered her hand.

Sam instantly liked the young woman. “Me, either. Call me Sam,” she said, shaking her hand warmly.

“Thanks, I will. We’re here to help you all we can.” She looked up at Grayson. “The lieutenant will take you to your tents. They just came in yesterday, and have been erected near ours. We’re looking like a tent city at this point.” Rubbing her hands together, Kerry added, “I’m sure you’re just as cold as we are. Winter mornings can be chilly even in Southern California. We’ve got hot coffee, hot chocolate and a warm stove waiting for you over at our main tent, which is where we plot and plan for area 5.”

“Great!” Sam exclaimed. “I’m freezing. The hot coffee sounds too good to be true.” She turned to her team. “Ready?”

They chorused in agreement, their smiles eager.

Sam saw Gunnison remaining behind with his men and the loadmaster on the flight. Frowning, she said, “Kerry, can you take my team over there? I’ve got to coordinate the off-loading of our supplies.”

“I can help,” Lieutenant Grayson said, stepping forward. “Let me direct them, ma’am. You go get warm with your team. Kerry will show you where you’re going.”

Sam hesitated. It would be a relief to let Grayson deal with Gunnison and his men. “Okay, Lieutenant, you’ve got a deal. Ask Captain Gunnison to join us when he’s done?”

Quinn nodded. “Of course, ma’am. It’ll take only a few minutes to get your supplies into our storage tent, which is guarded twenty-four hours a day against theft. I’ll pass on your request to him.”

Good. Sam turned and smiled at Kerry. She seemed warm and gentle for someone who worked in police enforcement. Noting that Kerry moved slowly and with a limp, Sam came up beside her.

“Are you okay, Kerry? You’re limping.”

“I’m fine. I took a bullet in the thigh a while back. Quinn—I mean, Lieutenant Grayson—saved my life. We got into a shootout with the Diablo gang about two miles from here.” She pointed in a northerly direction.

Sam eyed the younger woman, automatically going into doctor mode. “I see…. Are you in pain?”

Shrugging, Kerry said, “Sometimes. I take aspirin and that helps a lot.” Then she flashed her a smile. “Lieutenant Grayson just rigged up a bathtub he found and brought to our washroom facility.” She pointed to a tent to their right. “He’s a master at finding stuff and putting it together. When my leg starts aching, I get into a hot bath and sit there for ten minutes, and the pain goes away.”

“What a creative guy!” Sam exclaimed. “But if your aches get to be too much, you let me know. I got some pain meds with me in that shipment the guys are unloading right now.”

“I will. Thanks, Doc—I mean, Sam.”

Sam smiled at her before turning her attention to the huge camouflage-colored tent that loomed before them. Fifteen tents had been erected in three rows. A small American flag flew atop the largest tent, and someone had hand scribbled HQ with a black marker over the top flap, which was shut. Kerry stepped forward and unzipped it, holding the flap open.

“Come on in. Welcome to HQ for area 5.” She motioned the group inside.

Sam was the first to duck under the opening and step on to unpainted plywood floor, where her boots thunked hollowly with each footstep. At the opposite end of the tent was a redwood picnic table with a bench on either side. Nearby, an electric heater was throwing out a lot of welcoming warmth. On one side of the tent was a makeshift coffee bar. On top of a half-destroyed buffet counter that someone must have salvaged from the wreckage and brought in was a coffeemaker and a number of ceramic cups, some of them chipped or missing handles. There was a name written in black marker on each one. The coffee smelled fresh and inviting, Sam thought as she stood near the back and watched her team trundle in.