Tracked Down
Lonato Ray hunts danger, never acknowledges fear, never admits weakness. Now his ruthless human prey hides deep in the wilderness, and he needs a tracking dog to find him. Canine trainer Carlin Witmer not only knows and understands this forest but insists on accompanying her Doberman. Day slides into night. Their primitive surroundings call to the loners, and they come together in heat and energy. Secrets are stripped away and vulnerability takes on new, deeper meaning. Lives will change in the battle for survival.
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Excerpt
Some men can flat out loosen a woman’s teeth.
Watching the athletically built, dark-haired man stride toward her looking for all the world like a bull elk, Carlin Witmer amended her initial observation. This prime example of what the male beast should look like could loosen a hell of a lot more than just what was stuck in her jawbone. With not so much as a glance in her direction, he’d revved what lay between her legs to life. True, there wasn’t much about the male animal she didn’t like, but it made her day when one who lived beyond the top of her hunk list showed up on her property.
Wild. Yep, that’s what he is. Wild.
Sighing in regret, she reminded herself that Stud Studly hadn’t come here to prime her pump. Damn it, he was simply a client.
One hell of a client.
“Lonato Ray,” she said and stuck out her hand. “And if it isn’t you, I gave at the office.”
Eyes straight out of the bottom of a cave bore into her as the man closed his strong, rough fingers around her own. He wasn’t all that tall, probably no more than six feet, but muscles on top of tendon and bone supplemented by even more muscles had a way of adding to the impact. “What office?” he asked. Although the obligatory shake was behind them, he continued to hold her hand—not that she was complaining.
“Good point.” Somehow she managed to keep eye contact going while indicating their surroundings which consisted of a dozen large dog pens, obstacle courses, her small place, and a separate garage. “Actually, I do have one in the house, and since I’m both boss and employee, I control all donations.” She thought about pulling free then decided he was trying to learn something about her from the extended flesh to flesh contact. No way was she going to let him believe she felt overwhelmed since she’d barely ever experienced the emotion. “You are Lonato, aren’t you? The man from Recovery.”
“Yeah. This place isn’t easy—”
Before he could finish, ninety-five pounds of Doberman slammed into his thigh. Rocking back on his heels, he released her. She was glad he made no move to try to defend himself against Rio. If he’d raised a hand against her baby, she would have drop-kicked him.
“Beautiful,” he muttered as he spread those so alive fingers over the search and rescue dog’s back. “An incredible creature.”
“He is,” she acknowledged. And it takes one incredible creature to identify another, she silently added. “He’s my prize pupil, or maybe I should say I’m his because I’m not sure which of us is in charge.”
“I’ll be using him?”
“Not you, me.”
Something that reminded her of a rain cloud slipping between sun and earth settled in his eyes. “We need to talk about that.”
If you say so. I’d rather do something else, big boy.
She said nothing, and the man from the agency that had retained her and her trained dogs to search the wilderness east of the Oregon coast turned his full attention to Rio. For his part, now that he’d done his part as official greeter, Rio was content to lean against a strong male thigh and have his head rubbed. Watching the interplay, she came to the damn easy conclusion that her first impression of Lonato had been incomplete. Yes, he still put her in mind of a bull elk because of the proud, easy way he carried himself, but there was also more than a bit of junkyard dog to him, although perhaps wolf was a more apt comparison. Despite its size, an elk was, at its core, a prey animal while a wolf was a carnivore, a hunter. So was this man.
Shaken by what she now accepted as fact, she pondered what had turned him into a hunter. It could simply be a by-product of the Native American heritage borne out in his dusky flesh, solid stature, and longish dark hair and eyes, but she couldn’t quite convince herself he’d been born that way. Life had infused him with a hunter’s mentality. He’d even dressed for action as witnessed by his hiking boots, jeans, and ride-his-chest olive chambray shirt.
Although he continued to give Rio the attention the dog would be content to suck up indefinitely, Lonato fixed his unsettling eyes on her. At least they weren’t wolf-yellow. “You agreed to Recovery’s request,” he said, each word no-nonsense. “If you don’t understand how the agency works—”
“Oh, I understand. You may not know this, but my father is a DA. He’s told me a great deal about your agency.”
His gaze became even more intense. “As much as we choose to reveal to law enforcement, you mean. Recovery accomplishes what it does because we’re selective about what we share with the outside world.”
Although she hated doing so, she had to admit he was right. According to her father, Recovery was part private detective agency, part mercenary unit, part do whatever it takes at all costs. People came to the select group of operatives when they wanted things done that couldn’t be accomplished within the normal parameters of law and order. Acknowledging that the male human beast in front of her lived by that code sent her a loud and clear message. Beating him at his game wasn’t going to happen.
But it didn’t matter that she didn’t yet comprehend what his game, his mission was. She held the trump card in Rio. And from what she knew of the situation, an elite wilderness-tracking dog spelled the difference between Lonato’s success and failure. “What are you saying?” she demanded. “You believe that because you don’t answer to the bureaucracy you can tell me how it’s going to be? Not going to happen.” She snapped her fingers. “Rio, the best tracking dog in this state, answers only to me.”
Even before she’d relaxed her fingers, Rio had left Lonato’s side and now stood before her, every line of his body as alive as she felt. “Rio, guard.”
Fangs instantly bared, Rio whirled on Lonato. The Doberman made no sound, but his body language said it all. “If I tell him to, he’ll kill you,” she said.
“Unless I get to him first.”
Lonato hadn’t done more than drop his hand to his side so how the hell had the slim and deadly knife appeared in his fingers? He didn’t point his weapon at Rio, but he didn’t need to. She got the message.
“Standoff,” she acknowledged.
“Not really. You aren’t going to sacrifice your dog.”
“No, I’m not.” She snapped her fingers again, and Rio went back to his what do you want next, boss stance. Feeling not so much defeated as understanding, in part, what made this man tick, she rubbed Rio’s head. “But neither is he going to work for you. You want someone found. I’m part of the deal.”
“There are guns out there.”
“I figured that.”
“And men who won’t give a damn that you’re a woman.”
“I didn’t figure they would.”
“Then why—”
“My reasons are mine,” she interrupted. “Tell me something. If I demanded you explain why you do what you do for Recovery before I agree to have anything to do with you, would you?”
He smiled. At least the gesture resembled a smile more than anything else. “No.”
“So where do we go from here?”
By way of answer, he trailed his gaze from her eyes down over her body. With each passing millisecond she felt more and more naked, more in tune with her sexuality, more focused on the desire to jump his bones. Damn, but the man could heat flesh and muscles without so much as a touch. What the hell would happen if he laid his hands on her?
Unnerved by the image of her body smoking and being reduced to ash, she forced herself to stand there while he continued his survey. She’d always thought of herself as long and lean, although in truth she had enough muscle tone thanks to her physical lifestyle that lean didn’t really qualify. If he wanted soft and curvy, he wasn’t going to get it. She kept her reddish-brown hair cut short and seldom bothered with makeup. She owned one business suit and two dresses, all seldom used.
But if he had complaints, she sure as hell didn’t. Far be it for his clothes to hide the packaging. The formfitting shirt said he had no need to hide a soft middle while the jeans—hell, the jeans said not hard to see what’s underneath, is it? No way could he get away wearing slim-cut slacks with those muscular thighs. He had not so much as a bump of a belly and what she could see of his ass was tight with a capital T, but not only that, he was built for action, for an active life, for staying power.
Staying power? Granted, she couldn’t tell much about the discreet bulge except that she hadn’t, so far, given him a hard-on, but if his cock lived up to the same billing as the rest of him, any woman lucky enough to ride it would have no complaints.
Feeling her cheeks and other parts heat, she reached for what she hoped was the shutoff switch to her libido. “We’re not going to get very far today,” she pointed out. “I’ve arranged for someone to stay here with the rest of my animals and cleared my calendar for the week. I’m guessing you want to take off in the morning.”
“He might not have the time.”
“He?”
“The man I’m looking for.”
“Who is he?”
“Sorry. I’m not giving you that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want you telling your dad and involving the legal system. This is private, not public.”
“In other words, if I knew who Rio is being asked to find, the cops would want to do the same thing?”
“And the press.”
“Hmm. And that’s a bad thing?”
“Yeah, it is.”
Feeling as if she was being sucked into something she should have nothing to do with, she shook off her sense of unease. Too often her and her dogs’ work was complicated by the presence of law enforcement, the media, family members, the curious. Having this between her and Lonato had a certain appeal. She just hoped she wouldn’t regret it. “What do you want to do?” she asked, throwing things back at him. “How do you hope to handle things?”
“Except for giving my backpack a final check, I’m ready.” He indicated the all but new rig he’d driven up in. “My gear’s in there.”
It belatedly dawned on her that he no longer held the knife. What was he, a magician? “And I already keep what I need for a protracted search ready and by the door,” she pointed out. “If I get a call about a lost kid, I want to be able to move fast.”
“Damn it, I don’t want you along.”
He’d said it soft enough, but she wasn’t the only one who’d caught the hard undertone. Rio looked over his shoulder at Lonato, ears perked forward.
“Doesn’t matter. You’re getting me.”
“No.”
“Look, I’ve had Rio since the day he was born. I put hundreds of hours into training and working with him. More than a few people owe their lives to him. I might let you have another of my dogs, but you’re paying for the best. Where Rio goes, I go.”
Publisher’s Note: Previously published in the Down and Dirty anthology.