Courage Under Fire (Silver Creek #2) - Lindsay McKenna Page 0,83
busy packing her clothes in a small suitcase, which was in the rear of the truck beneath a canvas tarp, along with his. They were strapped down so they couldn’t fly out.
“It’s an old habit of anyone who has worked in intel or undercover,” he told her, his one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the door arm. “You pack something small and leave it by your door so that in case there’s a siren announcing a rocket or missile attack coming in, you grab it and go, running for the nearest safe place, like an underground shelter.”
She reached down, feeling how lumpy the one closest to her booted ankle was. “What did you pack? Water and food?”
“There’s a Glock 18 pistol in both of them, with plenty of ammunition,” he warned her.
Instantly, Cari jerked her hand away and sat up. “Oh? But why would you pack two weapons, Chase? I thought we were safe. That Dirk is probably still behind us somewhere in that logging area in the mountains.”
“Well,” he said, glancing at her, the soft light from the dashboard showing her worried features, “we don’t know where he is, Cari. And until we do? I’m not taking chances.”
She sat back, feeling utterly deflated. “And I was so happy we were escaping . . . leaving him behind.”
Reaching over, he gripped her hands, which were knotted in her lap. “It’s just a safety measure, Cari. That’s all. I can’t have spent years of surviving out in the Sandbox of Afghanistan and not have learned something important from it.” He released her hands. “I don’t want you worrying. You don’t have to. I’m in guard-dog mode from here on out. All I want you to do is be happy that Dirk is more than likely behind us and that we’re heading west. We’ll drop Valkyrie off at that raptor center and then we’ll go meet your mother at the place where you’ll be safe to see one another.”
“You’re right,” she said, apology in her tone. “I guess . . . just having this window, this week with you, alone, without worrying about Dirk and what he’s up to, is so important to me.”
“The go-bags are just a part of my security training,” he explained gently. “I do not expect any trouble. Okay?” He gave her a look he hoped soothed some of the anxiety he saw in her shadowed eyes.
“Yes . . . Okay . . . I just thought you took these things along because you expected Dirk to jump us, was all.”
“No,” he told her, shaking his head, “I don’t. But you have to understand, Cari, I was in enemy territory for years, and only safe, so to speak, behind the wire of our base, about six months of that five years, total. Old habits die hard. And they turned back up in volume when Dirk suddenly showed up. That’s all.”
“Are you worried about my mother? That she’ll be attacked? Or she’ll be followed to our safe place where we’ll meet up?”
“That’s why I packed my two Glock pistols. I know the sheriff is sending a deputy to take her to that location, and that he or she will be there with us, but I’m just not taking chances. Dirk’s entire gang network is in that region. We have reason to be careful, sweetheart. That’s all.”
“I understand . . . now. So what else is packed in these go-bags?”
“Yes. And the antibiotics can mean the difference between life and death if I ever contracted septicemia—blood poisoning—out on a mission. I normally couldn’t be picked up for three or four days because there were too many enemy around to make a safe landing to get me.”
“I just never realized,” Cari whispered, giving him a worried look. “I’d seen a long scar on your left forearm. I wondered how you’d gotten it.”
“I was running after my kill shot, and it was at night. I had on my NVGs, night vision goggles, full-out running, and I tripped. I fell over a five-foot cliff and landed on a dead tree. A limb was sticking up and it ripped my left arm open from my wrist to just below my elbow. I did almost bleed out, but managed to get a tourniquet on it above my elbow and keep on going. I got picked up five hours later and was flown into the Landstuhl, Germany, hospital and underwent