Page 123 of Luck Be Mine
“Where?”
“East Village.”
“Oh, hell, no.” Hunt’s seriously unhappy face didn’t improve her mood.
Cait huffed. “I need to talk to the man before he disappears again. I’m changing clothes.” She handed Hunt her phone. “Talk to Mackey.”
His mean face had a counterpoint. It was his strict, do-it-my-way voice he could execute in one word. “Mac?”
She shut the bedroom door behind her, stripped off her scrubs, and put on her favorite old jeans, a navy UCSD Schoolof Medicine T-shirt, and a comfortable pair of running shoes. A quick brush of her hair, some lip balm, and she gripped the countertop in the bathroom. “What in the hell am I going to say to him? Of everything we’ve figured out, and I let this sit. Crap.” She grabbed a light jacket.
“Cait!” At Hunt’s yell, she scooted to the living room.
“Where am I meeting them and when?”
Hunt passed her phone over. “11thand G Street. Parking lot.”
Confused, her eyes widen with ire. “That’s in the East Village.”
Hunt patted her arm. “Yes, it is. I’m going with you. I want to meet this man.”
The team in unison watched them like a tennis match.
“What are we talking about?” Tommy tossed a file to Doogie, and she glanced over. There were a range of files across her coffee table.
New team member candidates. A dog?
The Belgian Malinois in the photo had amber eyes locked on the camera, lean muscles coiled under his coat, and a focus that made you believe he could track a ghost through smoke. His handler, CPO Cade “Trek” Larrison’s grin was all trouble. Like Tommy. Another folder lay to the side, Morgan, Wes. A., LTJG. Annapolis. Cait’s eyes widened.
Hunt took her hand to snag her attention. She would question all this later.
“Cait has a homeless vet she needs to meet.”
Brennan eased off the seat at the kitchen counter. “Why?”
Hunt turned to her. “Do you want to explain or shall I?”
Cait swallowed an anxious clip of words and went with military succinct. “A patient of mine. Former Army. Retired. Needs a surgery. It’s been denied by the VA because the original injury isn’t documented in his file from Khadahar, 2011. I’mgoing to do it for him. If I can get there to talk to him.” She bounced on her toes, encouraging Hunt to stand.
“Why, Doc?” Carter was slouched on the sofa, his face hard and neutral.
“Because I can, John.” She patted his shoulder and went to the table to rummage in her purse. With wallet in hand, she turned to Hunt. “Ready?”
“Yeah. Lock up when you leave, gentlemen. Be on base at 0500, workout first.”
Nods of agreement went around.
“My car or your truck?” Cait grabbed her keys.
Hunt’s serious face made her pause. “Mine. Your car looks like a doctor drives it.”
Cait snorted, dropping her keys back on the table. “I am a doctor.”
“My truck looks normal and won’t attract attention in the neighborhood.”
“I’m sorry. There is nothing normal about you.”
She was first off the porch and into the truck. The bickering with him felt good. Like the beginning times. Before the weight of death and arguments busted it.
