Free The Zero Dog War by Keith Melton Page A

before the briefing,” he said. “Make sure we’re on the same page.”
    “I’m still tracking down my people.” I glanced at my watch. “And I’m scheduled out until about…eight twenty-five. And hey, that’s when your briefing starts. How unfortunate.”
    His smile slipped a notch. “Maybe afterwards—”
    “Look, Captain Sanders—”
    “Call me Jake. Save syllables.”
    “Fine. Jake . I’m busy running a team, Jake . Not a lot of time to attend your little tête-à-tête .” Hail, and all witness Captain Andrea Walker behaving like an ass—yet, I couldn’t stop now. Inertia was a horrible thing.
    He didn’t seem daunted as the wattage on his smile dialed back up to blazing. “May I call you Andrea? In private, of course.”
    God. Damn. It. Men, you let them pick up the ball and they ran off the field with it, yelling how they’d won. “I’m more comfortable with Captain Walker, Jake , thank you.”
    “All right, Captain Walker.”
    We stood so close, with no one else around. My skin felt afire, flushed, and sweat dampened my armpits. The urge to drop my gaze from his eyes pulled at me like an iron chain, but I refused to look away. Dominance games? I could play them all week, and he’d soon find out if he didn’t stand down. I stepped back from him again, putting even more distance between us. Any farther and I’d fall down the stairs—but I still didn’t blink, so point to me.
    He didn’t pursue. “I’m confident we can map out some strategies to maximize our team assets.”
    “ Our team assets? Look, Jake , those are my people. Mine. I’m responsible for them, for keeping them safe and getting them back here every night after we go out and bust our asses, blowing shit up. I call the shots. I’m the only Captain Ahab around here. You can dispense advice when I damn well decide I need the input of a magical Green Beret.”
    Something flared in his eyes—either anger or respect—before the professional detachment slammed back down. Anger I could understand, but respect would only vex me more. I didn’t need his damn respect.
    “I didn’t mean to violate protocols,” he said in a smooth, calm voice. “I just want to make certain we mesh together well. That our leadership styles are fully integrated to avoid any splintering of command.”
    Mesh together well. That conjured up some distracting images. Oh, he did vex me something awful, the bastard. “We can fully integrate if you listen to my orders. When we’re hot, I’m calling the shots.”
    “Understood. I’m here to support and advise. My only goal is to achieve our mission objectives.”
    “Then I suggest you stay out of my way. I’m driving this truck.” I walked around him, careful not to touch him again, and continued up the next set of stairs, willing my fists to remain unclenched and my jaw muscles to cease and desist from grinding my teeth to powder.
    He called after me. “One last thing, Captain Walker.”
    I glanced down. He had his game face on—a hard-as-steel, raptor-eyed, chew-dynamite-and-spit-out-nitroglycerin look which appeared pretty damn impressive. “What?”
    “I meant what I said about achieving mission objectives. I’ll do whatever I have to. There are lives to save.”
    I swallowed my cheeky comment and gave him the benefit of a nod, despite my smoldering irritation. As if I didn’t know there were civvy lives at stake. Who’d he think he was dealing with? Backwater hicks?
    I spun on my heel and took the stairs two at a time, eager to be away from him. God help me, this might just be the hardest damn job I’d ever done.
     
    My skin still burned from my run-in with Captain Sanders—and no, I wouldn’t start calling him Jake—and my stomach still practiced sailor’s knots with my guts. I was so flustered I walked right past Gavin’s door before realizing it. Men. Problems. The lament of the double-X chromosome for half a million years.
    Gavin Carter, driver, pilot and wannabe novelist.