Lindsay McKenna - Dangerous Alliance

“Of course, Colonel. Thank you for your time.”

Ardella gave her a dark look as Libby passed, but Libby smiled and called, “Thanks,” as she sailed out the door.

Once in the hall, its floor lined with highly polished green-and-white squares of tile contrasted by battleship gray walls, Libby walked slowly, reading the names on each of the office doors. The provost marshal’s office was part of the Headquarters building complex that sat off Teddy Roosevelt Boulevard, the one and only main highway loop that connected everything of importance on Reed.

Libby made it to the end of the hall without finding a Ramsey listed. Two rooms, doors shut, had no names on them. She wondered if Edwards was giving her the run[charound. The military was famous for it, as Libby knew all too well from personal experience. Brad had been killed in a helicopter accident, and the Marine Corps had done ev[chery[chthing possible to hush up the matter with interested civilian reporters. They’d even tried to avoid telling Libby the whole truth until she’d squeezed it out of them, with similar methods to those she’d just used on Edwards.

A tall, darkly tanned marine, showing three dark green staff-sergeant stripes and a rocker arm beneath it on his summer tropical-weight short-sleeved shirt, appeared out of a nearby office. Libby had heard of brig chasers, marines who formed a special arm of the provost marshal’s jurisdiction, charged with transferring dangerous prisoners to and from bases, but she had seen few close up. Still, she was certain this man was one. His harsh features included merciless-looking blue eyes and a mouth compressed into a hard line. Although she judged him to be in his late twenties, tension and power radiated around the man. The black nametag over his right breast pocket read Donnally, J., Corrections Div.

“Excuse me, Sergeant,” Libby called, lifting her hand.

He halted and slowly turned toward her, his eyes quick and appraising. “Yes, ma’am?”

“I’m looking for Captain Dan Ramsey’s office.”

The sergeant nodded differentially. “Third door on the right, ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

She moved with respect around the sergeant and headed for one of the closed doors with no name on it. Libby hesitated momentarily, knocked on the opaque window, then entered.

Dan Ramsey was down on his hands and knees, surrounded by a dozen boxes, when he heard someone knocking on his door. Before he could say, “Come in,” the door opened to reveal a woman in highly polished black boots, yellow breeches that outlined her form to perfection and a simple white blouse. He sat back on his heels and looked up at her as she stood poised in the doorway. Some things Dan had just never expected to see at HQ. One of them was a beautiful woman horseback rider. And God, was she beautiful. Not in a classically pretty way, but because of a unique combination of features that made her stand out like a wildflower in a meadow of dried grass.

“Hi…” Libby said hesitantly. “Are you Captain Ramsey?”

Dan grinned, liking the coverlet of freckles across her wide cheekbones and her nose. Her eyes were a glorious green that reminded him of new leaves in springtime. “Yes, ma’am, I am,” he agreed. The life in her eyes struck him deeply, as if sunlight danced in them. His gaze moved to her nose, which was crooked as if it had been broken at some time, but which suited her oval face. Dan’s eyes continued their inspection, coming to rest on her full, expressive mouth, parted and breathless looking, as if she weren’t sure she should be in his office. He quickly got up from the tile floor, dusted off his hands and stood awkwardly.

“I’m Libby Tyler, one of the base equestrian instructors,” Libby explained, offering her hand. As her fingers gripped Ramsey’s, she felt their latent power. She could tell so much from a handshake. She distrusted men who gave her a wimpy, weak one—and equally disliked those who tried to grind the bones of her hand together in a macho power display. But Ramsey’s warm, dry grip was strong without being overpowering, exerting just the right amount of pressure. And she liked the warmth and interest banked in his intelligent blue eyes.

Realizing he still had a hold on her hand, Dan reluctantly released her fingers. “Glad to meet you.” He looked around, a wry smile on his mouth. “I’d offer you a seat, but I’ve got boxes piled everywhere.”

“Are you moving in or out?” Libby asked, her hopes falling. It would be just her luck if Ramsey was moving out of the office.

“In.” Dan’s smile deepened. Libby’s sable hair was shoulder length with just a bit of curl, dancing with reddish highlights. He felt inexplicably drawn to her, but there wasn’t time to ask himself why.

“Oh, good,” Libby whispered, pressing a hand to her heart in relief. “Colonel Edwards told me to come down here and talk to you. He said you’d handle my case.”

Frowning, Dan looked around. His small office, painted a pale green and lighted by two windows covered with venetian blinds, was in a state of chaos. “Well…Ms. Tyler, I just got here this morning. Two hours ago, as a matter of fact.” What the hell was his boss doing, sending him a case to investigate? Wasn’t he supposed to move in and get briefed before he started taking on a caseload? He’d seen Edwards first thing this morning and had figured him as a no-nonsense officer like himself. But throwing him a case like this was unheard of in Dan’s book.

Libby shifted from foot to foot. “I know this is un[chusu[chal. And from the looks of it, Colonel Edwards didn’t take my case seriously, or why would he give it to someone who’s still moving in?”

Grinning, Dan nodded and put his hands on his hips. “It does seem odd, Ms. Tyler.”

“Call me Libby. I can’t stand marine formality. It just drives me crazy.”

“All right…Libby.” He liked her friendliness in this world of ceremony and protocol. She was tall—at least five-nine or -ten—and medium boned. Dan had always wondered why the advertising industry touted women who were little more than skin sagged over tiny skeletons. Libby probably weighed around a hundred and thirty or forty pounds, and on her tall frame it looked good. Damned good. She was curved and firm, a testament to her demanding physical job. Her shoulders were thrown back, her chin held proudly. He supposed it was riding that had given her such an elegant carriage.

“This is crazy. The colonel doesn’t care about what I’ve seen. He’s just dumped me on you. I’m sure he’s hoping I’ll just let it go.”

“Whoa, slow down.” Dan turned around and took two boxes off the leather chair in front of his desk. “Here, have a seat.” He went around his gray metal desk and removed several more boxes from his chair, a metal contraption that was unmercifully squeaky when he sat down. Fumbling for a pen from the pocket of his shirt, he finally found one, then hunted for the Investigation Report form that had to be filled out. It took nearly five minutes of rummaging through desk drawers to find what he wanted. He noticed Libby sat fretfully, crossing her legs first one way, then the other.

“Are you always in a hurry?” he teased, laying the forms on his desk.”

“Not usually.” Libby forced a smile as he arranged the items he’d need to take her report. Dan Ramsey was around thirty, she guessed, with dark, walnut brown hair cut military short. And he must be a good two inches over six feet tall. Like the man she’d seen in the hall, Ramsey was powerfully built, with an aura of latent power swirling around him. He must be part of the brig-chasing team, too, she guessed. She’d noticed that brig chasers were a lot like recon marines—set apart from other marines. There was a special look to them. A bearing, perhaps. Libby couldn’t put her finger on it, but Ramsey had it.