Breaking Point. Lindsay McKenna

lowered his head and hid his smile. Finally, he swallowed his grin to surface and he called out, “Hey, Hammer. You got wax in your ears? Did you hear her say yards, not feet?” He enjoyed Hammer’s glare as he twisted around and stared at him.

      Snorting, Hammer jerked his head toward the woman standing relaxed, her hands clasped in front of her. “No friggin’ way, sweetheart, have you shot anything, much less hit anything at twelve hundred yards. That’s sniper-quality shootin’ and I don’t care how long you ran around barefoot in those woods growing up shooting squirrels out of trees—no woman can hit anything at that range. Not one.”

      Chief Hampton sighed. “Doc? I know you’re pretty wiped out by the flight from Iraq, but are you up to a little range shooting this afternoon? You need to zero in your rifle, anyway.”

      “Of course, Chief. My pa began teaching me to shoot at age six. We didn’t have any boys in our family, and I was the oldest girl, so I learned to do what the boys did.”

      Hammer shook his head. “What a load of shit.”

      “We’ll see,” Hampton murmured. He straightened and looked over the group of men. “What kind of rifle are you wanting to use, Doc?”

      Bay heard the wry humor in the chief’s tone. “Well, sir, if someone has a .300 Win Mag, I’d like to try my hand at that. Of course, with their permission.”

      Hammer howled with laughter, leaning over, his hands against his belly. Everyone in the front row joined him. The SEALs in bench two were seriously digesting her request. The Win Mag .300 was one of the rifles used by the SEAL snipers. The SEAL in the back stood up. He picked up his ruck sitting on the bench beside him.

      “Chief, I’ll loan her my Win Mag to settle this,” Gabe called.

      Surprised, Bay watched as he stood and slowly walked toward her. He had a loose kind of walk, a man with confidence to burn. There was a rifle strapped to the outside of his rucksack. This SEAL was a sniper, no question. Bay saw humor lurking in his eyes as he approached her with his boneless grace. He immediately made her think of the mountain lions she’d seen stalking prey. It was that kind of silent, lethal walk.

      Gabe halted a few feet from her, set his ruck down on the concrete floor. He leaned down and pulled open the Velcro straps that held his sniper rifle in place. Pulling it out of the straps, he said, “Here you go, Doc. I’ll be your spotter if you need one. I’m Gabe Griffin, by the way.”

      When their fingers met as he handed over his rifle to her, Bay gulped. The SEAL was tall, probably six feet or more. There was warmth in his green eyes as he smiled down at her. She took the rifle, allowing it to hang, barrel down, beneath her left arm and rest against her hip. “Thank you,” she said, meaning it. “And I could sure use your help with this beautiful rifle.” Her voice turned soft with humor. “I’m used to my dad’s Winchester to bring down game. This one is a lot different feeling. Lighter.”

      Gabe turned, standing beside the combat medic. Hammer was giving him a look of utter disbelief. “Hammer, let’s meet out at our shooting range, say at 1300?”

      “You got it. You’ve picked the wrong side of this contest, Griffin.”

      Shrugging, Gabe said, “Hey, I was born in Butler, Pennsylvania. I grew up with a few hill people who lived up in that neck of the woods. They were all crack shots.”

      “A hundred bucks says she can’t hit any target at twelve hundred yards,” Hammer said, grinning over at his buddies.

      Gabe rested his arms across the front of his H-gear around his chest. “I got a hundred that says she can nail the target dead center every time.”

      Hooting and hollering broke out excitedly among the team. SEALs got easily bored, and a rifle competition whetted their weapons appetites. There was heavy betting going on, mostly against the new doc. Chief Hampton raised his hands.

      “You just got back off a twelve-hour patrol. Get cleaned up, eat, write up your reports and we’ll meet at the shooting range at 1300.” Chief looked over at Bay. “You all right with this, Doc?”

      Bay kept a serious face. “Yes, sir, I am.”

      “I’ll collect her winnings,” Gabe told the chief, his grin widening. His team was in for one helluva surprise, he hoped.

      “On that note,” Hampton said, sliding off the stool, “I’m assigning you to be her mentor, Gabe.”

      More hollers and laughter broke out in the room. Hammer was gloating. “Glad it wasn’t me having to train in a cherry!” he yelled at Gabe. “You poor sorry son of a bitch.”

      Gabe took the gibing good-naturedly. Cherry was a slang term for the new guy coming into the squad. He saw Bay give him a confused look.

      “That means,” he told her, “I’ll integrate you into the team. It will be my responsibility to show you the ropes, teach you how we patrol. Stuff like that.”

      Relief fled through her. “That’s great, Gabe. Thank you.”

      Hampton gave Gabe a hard look and lowered his voice. “Give the team time, but don’t take any shit off any of ’em, either. She’s our medic. They shouldn’t care if it’s a man or woman saving their ass. Understand?”

      “Yes, Chief, I do,” Gabe replied, reading between the lines. Gabe knew half the team wasn’t happy about having a woman assigned into their ranks. The only thing to do now was for her to earn their respect. Turning, he looked down into her wide, innocent-looking blue eyes.

      “Can you really hit a deer at twelve hundred yards?”

      Bay remained humble. She lowered her voice so only he could hear her. “Actually, I’ve dropped a couple of deer at fourteen hundred yards, but I didn’t want them thinking I was tellin’ them a big windy.”

      Gabe picked up his ruck and slung it over his shoulder and gave a soft chuckle. “Come on, I need to show you where our shooting range is located.”

      Grateful he didn’t hate her as half the team did, Bay carried his sniper rifle easily beneath her left arm. The rest of the SEAL team was up, walking toward the doors with them. There was a lot of laughter and ribbing going on. Mostly about her. Bay had been hazed before and tried not to take it personally.

      As they left the building, Gabe Griffin at her side, the sun had risen more, taking off the chill. Automatically, Bay slipped on her sunglasses, just as he did. At eight thousand feet on a mountaintop, the sunlight was brutal. Without sunglasses, it would be hard to see enemy at times, especially in the glare. That could cost them their life.

      “Down this unnamed street,” he said, gesturing down a row of tan canvas tents sitting up on plyboard platforms.

      The SEALs split up, going their separate ways. Most would put their weapons in their tents and then hit the chow hall, starved. Gabe took her over to his tan-and-gray tent he shared with Phil Baker. He decided to use the tent next to his. “Doc, this is a catch-all tent for our equipment. You’ll find SEALs are real good at getting creative. I’ll rustle up a cot for you after we eat.”

      “May I give you back the Win Mag? I want it kept safe.”

      “Sure.” He took the weapon and placed it on his cot inside his tent. Gabe questioned why he wasn’t upset about training in the newbie, man or woman. Because of his recent divorce, he’d stepped down as LPO, lead petty officer, of the team. He’d asked the chief to assign it to Philip Baker, who was content to take over the position. The chief probably figured this was a good way for Gabe to get back into the saddle as LPO at some point in the future.

      Knowing Chief Hampton as he did, going on fourth deployment with him, Gabe understood he was a wily people manager, got that he was hurting. Focusing on a newbie would take his mind off his cheating ex-wife. Gabe wasn’t at all sure, however, that dealing with another woman right now was a smartest decision, but Hampton had good insight into people and situations. Lily, his ex-wife, had broken his trust, broken his heart and broken any good