Under Fire (Elite Force #3)(40)
Author: Catherine Mann

Still, as she placed her order for three shrimp po’ boys and two orders of fries, she studied the trees and marsh around the diner, wondering where he would choose to walk Disco. The parking lot only had a few cars—an old Cadillac, a Land Cruiser with surf boards on top, and a truck with fishing poles across the back window. Not many vehicles overall, but that area still might invite traffic—and attention.

The campground was deserted, other than a Porta-Potty. Lots of grass, but someone else had the same idea about using it for a dog walk.

Would Liam know to keep her Lab away from the other dog, a boxer puppy—maybe seven or eight months old—walking over by the creek? The pup seemed more interested in pawing at a rotting log than taking a bathroom break, to the frustration of his owner, a young man who appeared to be around twenty or so. The dog was painfully thin. Probably looking for something to eat, poor pup.

Judging by the owner’s loud board shorts and the cut-off sleeves of his shirt, he was probably on his way to the Florida Keys. And he was likely driving the Land Rover in the lot with surfboards strapped to the roof. Definitely on vacation.

Liam replaced the gas nozzle and she paid the rest of the tab to the indifferent cashier. She pivoted back to get her food…

Her eyes snagged on the picture window view of the guy with his boxer. Tugging his boxer, who very definitely didn’t want to leave. Shouting at the dog until even the cashier glanced up briefly.

Her stomach lurched at the escalation. She could already predict where this was going even as she hoped otherwise.

Low profile. Low key. Low profile…

She paid the cashier, reached for her bag of food, and tucked it to her chest. Her lips pressed tight as she shouldered through the door.

Just as the shouting jerk kicked his dog right in the head.

***

Shit.

Keeping Disco on a short leash, Liam ran full out toward the jackass kicking his puppy. Rachel was nearer and closing in fast, with steam coming out of her ears. He was twice as far away.

Still, he pumped harder, faster, racing to close the gap and make it there before Rachel. He needed to stop the jackass, while defusing the situation before anyone got hurt—or drew undue attention to themselves. His pulse hammered in his ears. Hell, his heart was in his throat.

Yeah, he would have said something to the jerk even if Rachel hadn’t been around. But he suspected if she got to the guy ahead of him, this wasn’t going to shake down peacefully.

“Rachel!” Liam shouted, batting at a low-hanging pine branch, needles showering free. Disco raced alongside in step.

The college-aged guy looked over sharply, his eyes visibly bloodshot even from a distance. He stumbled drunkenly. Intoxicated and violent? It wasn’t much of a leap to think the guy would turn that rage from an animal onto a woman.

Onto Rachel.

“Hey!” Rachel shouted. “Wanna lay off your dog there, dude? He’s just a curious—hungry—puppy.”

The guy pivoted, staggering in the sparse grass. Definitely drunk even this early in the day. His dog cowered closer to the ground, whimpering. “Wanna mind your own business, bitch?”

“That’s no way to treat your pet. If you need help, I’ll be happy to lend a hand—”

“Get the f**k out of my face.” He jabbed a finger in the middle of her chest. Then hesitated. Eying her br**sts in the tight pink shirt. Twisting his finger in the fabric.

She didn’t back down even a step. Just held a hand up behind her, stopping Liam in his tracks. For now.

Disco crouched low to the ground, snarling. Liam echoed the sentiment. Completely.

Grasping the Lab’s collar, Liam paused about five feet away. He held back the dog, respecting Rachel’s request. But he stayed close enough to end this in a heartbeat. The guy was too wasted even to see Liam standing on the perimeter, ready to pound this dipshit loser into the ground if the bastard dared hurt Rachel.

Her eyes narrowed. “Move your hand. Now.”

The bastard just sneered and poked her chest again. “How about you move your sweet little ass, lady.”

Liam growled. Rachel smiled.

“I warned you.” She moved in a flash, whipping her hand around his wrist. Her other hand bent back his pinky back until he dropped to his knees, shrieking.

“What the f**k? You’re breaking my finger. Let go!”

“Does that hurt a little bit?” She pushed harder on his finger and leaned right into his face. “Lay off the dog, you psychopath.”

She was frickin’ magnificent.

Her confidence, her strength of will and passion, radiated off her in tangible waves. She didn’t need to glam up or plaster on makeup. Pure, undiluted Rachel was absolute perfection.

Liam couldn’t pull his eyes away.

A second lanky guy in board shorts shouted from the doorway of the Porta-Potty before he jogged toward them. “Hey, Chaz, dude, chill out. You’re gonna make them call the cops and they’ll find the weed in our—Just lay off.”

Snapping into action, Liam put himself between Rachel and the second approaching guy—who appeared sober enough to grasp the wisdom of staying back from Liam and the tensed black Lab.

The sober guy raised his hands. “No harm, no foul, old man. We’re outta here as soon as she lets go of my buddy.”

Slowly, Rachel released his hand, but her guard was clearly still in place. The way she kept her arm extended protectively in front of the leggy puppy, she wasn’t as ready to let this guy off the hook.

Shaking his hand, Chaz stumbled to his feet again. He dropped the leash and staggered away mumbling, “Worthless chickenshit dog… You want it? You take it.”

His sober pal hauled him toward the Land Rover, mumbling warnings to shut the hell up as he stuffed him into the passenger side. Once they’d roared out of the parking lot, Rachel knelt in front of the puppy, extending her hand for the cowering pup to sniff.

“It’s okay, little one. I won’t hurt you.” Carefully, she stroked her hands over the dog’s sleek brown fur, checking the legs and paws for injury. “Want something to eat?”

She fished into the paper bag she’d dropped to the ground. She dug out… a po’ boy. Their supper. Of course. She tore off pieces of their food and fed it to the puppy one bit at a time, making fast friends.

Watching the way she’d pulled the dog away from its abusive owner told him that while she might be taking a break from her profession, she would never be able to turn off that need to rescue. She might not know it yet, but she would be back one day, sifting through the rubble, willing the survivors to hang on until she could find them.